promised pictures

Here are some DDC pictures compliments my friend Kara. Click any to make 'em bigger:

On the grounds of the DDC.

DDC grain fields.

Maddy, keep feeding them!

Our chauffeur.

Millions of peaches...

Mokhtar and I receiving an explanation of the owner's irrigation system in Arabic. We did not understand a word.

Futbol with the kids!

By the way, I'm off to the Sinai tomorrow for a week. Stories upon my return.

Keep feeding them! Egypt's hungry!

Spent Friday and Saturday at the AUC Desert Development Center as a field trip for my Peasants, Nomads, and Rural Change anthro class. The “two hour” ride there turned into a four and a half hour ordeal, but that’s something I’m getting used to. My professor worked in this station twenty-some years ago, and it has grown considerably since. Located out in the Western desert (about 3 hours from the White Desert), it is huge research facility for desert irrigation, cultivation, and livestock rearing. It even includes an irrigated forest of trees imported from Australia when the center began. The dormitory rooms were the nicest place I’ve stayed in Cairo so far: soap, toilet paper, two towels, a plug-in bug repellent, a fascinatingly comfortable pillow… After checking in, I walked out to the woods, which were very reminiscent of a Northern Michigan coastal forest—pine trees, sandy soil, small greens coming out of the heavily needled forest floor. I wandered a for a bit with some classmates before being ambushed by a group of Boy Scouts wielding large sticks and obnoxious screams. A past coordinator of the center had lots of Scout connections and now organizes campouts for American Boy Scouts willing to make the trip. After a razzling game of 2x2 soccer, we had a late lunch of soup, grilled chicken, rice, stewed veggies, fresh veggies, tahini, bread, Hi-Spot (a citrus soda bearing the crest of Canada Dry). All of which, except the Hi-Spot, produced on DDC farms.

We took a tour of the whole center, which included a huge number of seedling tents, of which the DDC is among the country’s top sellers; an herb and medicinal garden; vegetables; citrus; landscaping tree seedlings; you name it, they grow it. We also saw their livestock pens, full of Egyptian-Swiss hybrid cows. Naturally the first thing you want to do when you see a giant lumbering drooling hoofed mammal is feed it. A classmate (and roomie on the trip), Yazin, started grabbing strands of hay to feed to the nearest cow. Mesmerized by the sloppy rotary grind and the black alien python tongues and seeing other cows amble on over after hearing the news, we scrambled for more hay. After we’d gotten a following of about five cows, Yazin cocked a little grin at me as he turned around and dragged over an entire bail and stuffed it through the fence. Our bus driver commented from behind, “Keep feeding them! Egypt is hungry!” (See previous posts.)

Later that night we visited the village beside the compound where a lot of local Egyptians who work in the university fields live. This village was started from the ground up a few decades ago. One mosque, one bakery, one café, and a whole lot of curious children.

The next day we visited a larger and older village. This one was started from the ground up under Nasser’s agrarian reform programs of the 1950s. A canal was dug out all the way from the Nile; engineers, farmers, and construction crews were sent; a city was created. We parked on a main street while our professor got off to find contacts of people she’d worked with 25 years ago. Little by little, children started coming out of the houses, hollering and laughing, while grabbing and teasing each other about what to say to us. We were still in the bus, so a wave and smile came first, followed by giggling and running behind the wall. The glass between us was gigantic. On each side were the observers and observed. They looked up at the big fishtank of Americans, and we looked down off the safari bus at the villagers. Once we felt sufficiently patronizing, we got out with candy and biscuits. Meanwhile, our professor tracked down a woman she used to know from her ethnography work.

The village had fallen on quite hard times, with the canal extensions failing because of a lack of resources to properly seal it. (A grad student recorded in some places they were losing 50% of the water through the ground and evaporation.) This woman’s brother migrated to Italy to find work. He worked construction and odd jobs until he could afford to open his own corner store. He saved up and turned this into a supermarket, and eventually added on a café. After twenty years in Italy he returned to Egypt to buy out two other families’ farms. When he left, they had five acres; they now have 93. We took a bus out there, and had to walk once the road got too rough. Peaches are just now coming in, and I made good use of their hospitality harvesting myself a good handful of fresh ‘uns. We walked along the little road to their house, peaches on the right, barley on the left, the wind blowing through it all, washing off any trace of Cairo pollution. A couple of us fell behind from eating peaches, so we hitched a ride in the back of pickup truck driven by a 7-year-old named Ahmed. He was a great driver.

I'll work on getting pictures of any of this...forgot the camera.

i was gonna do my homework, but then i ended up on facebook starting a revolution

On the topic of shortages here, water periodically goes in and out here as well. Waking up to no water is definitely a bummer. We also had a lightbulb explode last week. But no worries, I fixed it with a sock and a potato, using a modified technique that I saw improperly demonstrated on Home Improvement once.

Until yesterday there was still some fighting in Mahalla going on, the industrial town north of here where the idea for the strike first started. The government has promised to appease them, for now. There has been at least one death in Mahalla, and a large number of injuries and arrests. A number of organization leaders and online activists were also arrested--including bloggers and even the creator the facebook group announcing the strike. That's right, he's in jail for starting a facebook group. Seeing as facebook was the first line of communication for large scale real time networking after the Virginia Tech shooting, and now this, I'm starting to really see facebook not just as the guilty pleasure, sometimes addicting, most times quite vain, generally a bit scary (do you know who owns facebook and how he makes his money?), social networking site, but as a useful and hardly regulated tool for grass-roots (sometimes I hate that phrase) networking engine. The biggest problem with it here? The people who use facebook are only the rich and educated with access to computers, not the people that are being hurt most by this economy.

There is a new facebook group announcing the next general strike to be May 4.

news from the front

Another story that apparently barely made it overseas:

An American cargo ship, the Global Patriot, opened fire on and killed a 28-year-old vendor who was selling (with a license) cigarettes and antiques to boats in the Suez. Bush apologized to Mubarak on Thursday. ...and that's all.

Struck out

Don't know if this made the news across the world, but Egypt was on lockdown today since a number of organizations called for a nation-wide general strike to take place today (Sunday). After much confusion, the instructions came to be that participants should refrain from buying, selling, working, or riding public transportation today, with the addition of a public demonstration in Tahrir Sq. There are some big problems with that. Firstly, public demonstrations are technically illegal in Egypt, and the government warned, "immediate and firm measures against any attempt to demonstrate, disrupt road traffic or the running of public establishments and against all attempts to incite such acts". This hasn't totally stopped everything in the past, of course. There were demonstrations in front of our building across from the Social Fund for Development (remember them?) in January and again last week, and I've witnessed a doctors' demonstration as well as a public university professors' strike since I've been here.

No one knew what to expect today. I had one class canceled and one class remain. There was a strange air waking up this morning; outside looked more yellow than usual, and cloudy, like a big storm was approaching. Going down the stairs off to my 9am, I noticed the heavy fog making it difficult to even see down the street. When I got outside and across the street, my throat and eyes told me what I thought was fog was actually dust, and the fabled spring "khamsiin" dust storm was here. While the wind and cloud cover made the temperature feel unusually cool, the riot squads and armored personnel carriers made the atmosphere on the streets feel just as cool. Every corner from my apartment had a squad--young, bored guys shifting weight and smoking in their all black suits with helmets and thick fascist black boots behind the unconcerned half-greying man with the captain's hat, blue shoulder cords, mustache and walkie-talkie.

I came home after my first class and killed time until noon or so; the Tahrir protests were scheduled to start between 1 and 2 according to messages being circulated by phone and, yes, facebook. After being on campus for a bit, I decided to go check out the view from the roof (overlooking Tahrir Square). On my way up I ran into a bunch of other study abroad kids who had just been kicked off the roof. So by two o'clock I was walking out of campus and along side Tahrir... nothing. Just more cops and more cops. Can't exactly say I was disappointed, just curious. Some people (all Americans) were all pumped and hustling from spot to spot trying to get a good view and "wait for the show to start." If something did happen, there is a good chance it would've been broken up by force, and I didn't want to get caught in anything, nor did I really want to see someone get beaten with a baton. I suppose we'll see what affect this all has in the coming days. The government has declared the strike a complete failure, but also arrested 40 politicians and writers for inciting unrest.

Why?
The reasons for this action are many-fold and go back a ways. Most immediately is the staggering inflation that has hit since January. I was in a Western-style supermarket last week and saw a 5kg bag of rice for LE26 and thought, "This crazy overpriced place! I can get that for LE15 at the market." Only to realize the next day that prices were like that everywhere, and rice had gone up around LE10 since I had last bought it. In fact, since January, both rice and pasta have doubled in some places. This leaves bread as the major affordable grain. Of course you need flour to make bread, and Egypt happens to be the world's largest importer of flour. Hence, the price of bread is almost entirely contingent on the international price of flour. This price has also been going up on account of projects like bio-fuel production which has been taking over productive lands in Africa (particularly Tanzania) and using it to grow crops for fuel rather than food. Nasser introduced bread subsidies decades ago in attempts to ensure all citizens a basic right. They have come to take a heavy toll on the federal budget, and in 1977 Sadat tried to lift the subsidies. Riots ensued. So today, the subsidies still stand, but the supply is running thin. Subsidized bakeries face hopeful and, at times, desperate mobs from open to close daily. And everyday, the bakeries close with people still swarming at the window trying to get a loaf of the 'aiish baladi (lit. "life of the people"). Other bread does exist, but outside of the subsidies, it usually costs about five times as much.

The other side of this the demand for higher wages, as all this inflation has not seen any correlating rise in people's incomes. Public university professors and doctors both demonstrated in the last month. The former generally get a salary of about LE400. A salary. Per YEAR. If you break this down into months and deduct what it would cost to feed a family of 4 only daily bread, you would end up with about LE20 to spend on things like rent and clothing. (Or you could afford one McDonald's breakfast meal, medium sized.) To supplement their income, professors sell their notes and coursepacks themselves; often a student will have to hire the professor as a private tutor to ensure getting good marks in the class. I don't need to explain how this butchers the educational system. Aside from professors, more than a third of Egyptians live below or just above the poverty line of $2 a day (BBC).

The government has made vague promises to increase bread production and separate distributors from bakers on account of corrupt bakers selling flour on the black market instead of baking with it. (They can easily make more money doing this than baking and selling bread.) There are also parliamentary elections here on Tuesday, so this will be topic number one. I'll keep you posted.

done list

Last weekend I ate a cow brain sandwich and got electrocuted. Luckily, not at the same time, or else there may have been some inconvenient bovine Frankenstein business a-goin' on.

It was chewy.

LUXOOORRRRRRRR

Alright let’s get back to business. Luxor two weekends ago. Similar to the desert trip, I just hopped a train on down and met up with other groups that were going. Took the overnight 10 hour train there and slept most of the time. I had gotten myself all set by looking at maps and orienting myself, looking up hotels and making my pick. Upon arriving though I figured I’d just stick with the people on the train and go to the same hotel as everyone else. They all had reservations, but there was still a room open.

The Presidential Suite, I presume.

Regardless though, it was mine—quiet and to myself.

I found out real quick that Luxor is a city built on tourism. People in the city are always at work networking, relaying information of newly arrived tourists—where they are staying, what tours they’ve set up, where they’re from—and selling their own or their friends’ services. You can see it all sitting at a café on the main drag: young guys on bikes out patrolling for tourists, whether they look lost or not, making calls, directing friends to them, selling tours. It seems a lot of these guys don’t even work for a particular hotel, but carry worn out flyers and business cards of a number of places, take you there as if they worked there, and then collect a small commission if someone ends up staying there. Somewhat related, I came back from the Luxor Temple after the first day to find two new beds and bags in my room. Some other AUC kids showed up and the manager just tossed ‘em in my room. I guess I was surprised...but not really.

I’m gonna skip talking about Luxor Temple and go right to the tombs. We took a guided tour with a (gorgeous) Coptic guide, getting bussed across the bridge up to the Valley of the Kings. Also, in case ya dunno: Luxor is the place with most of the real famous stuff outside of the Pyramids. King Tut, all the Ramses, Hatshepsut… all these big players, plus even stuff built by Alexander the Great is down (upriver) there. Saw the tombs of Ramses I and IV first. (Sorry, no pictures as they were not allowed.) Before I stepped foot in Ramses IV’s tomb, I honestly had no real interest in Ancient Egypt; that is, it just felt too detached. The moment I stepped inside and saw all the walls and ceiling (probably 8-10 feet up) carved and painted, I knew it was something real. Most of it is very well preserved behind glass, but you see it and instantly connect with it—real people did this. Even most of the colors were intact, as they were made from powdered stone mixed with oil, not some shoddy pigment. The art itself hit me on so many more levels as well. All the patterning and abstractions (like a man pouring life on someone else symbolized by a shower of anks falling from an urn, or a crowd carved as a series of side profiles spread out like a deck of cards) stood out with a sort of contemporary relevance that stuck with me.

The same day, we covered the Valley of the Queens, the Temple of Hatshepsut, and the Colossi of Memnon. None of which I particularly feel like explaining right now, but feel free to click click click! Let’s move on to Karnak, an amusement park of old. I rented a bike the night before and took a pleasant 2km ride along the Nile out to the massive temple structure. Looking at pictures now really just frustrates me because not even the best ones come close to representing it fairly. Besides not capturing the majesty and size of the walls and pillars and statues, the exhilaration of being inside Karnak is from being completely engulfed.

Taking a picture of a couple trees doesn’t represent a forest, just as a few columns don't represent the Great Hypostyle Hall.

Everything in the temple is covered in hieroglyphics as well—they sure had a lot to say. Exiting the main courtyard to the left, I walked over some excavation sites to the satellite temple of Ptah. Inside is also an eerie and perfectly preserved statue of Sekhmet, complete with the one single hole built into the wall to send one solid beam of light down, Indiana Jones style. I was waiting patiently to take a picture behind a couple who were admiring it. A couple minutes passed, “Ooooooooook people…liiiiike to take a picture now.” I left the room, came back in, scuffing my feet a bit just to make sure they knew I was there. Nothin. Suddenly, movement! The couple took a step forward, placing a hand on Sekhmet’s chest while bowing their heads in silence. “Ahhh ok… uhh… I think I get what’s going on here.” Just then a number of their fellow travelers came in whom I immediately identified as German; a larger bald man with patterned baldness bore a chain with a marble at the end he was waving in front of the statue’s face and reciting something not German and not Arabic. “Great. Stuck here in a tiny stone room with some new-age German Egypto-pagan cult.” I needed a break so I went to find a tree and ate some Moltos under it.

Sekhmet

At some point after this I returned home and ate what would become a very fateful falafel sandwich. The falafel is, by the way, quite delicious down there. They add French fries and fried peppers. Anyway, the last night, like most of the others, was spent laying about chatting on the roof of the hotel. The last morning, I got up and decided I didn’t want to be there anymore. There was nothing left to do on my list and I had midterms due, so I decided I’d try to catch the 9:30am rather than the 10pm overnight train I had planned before. Scraped everything together without a shower, paid way too much for my hotel room, grabbed another falafel for breakfast and got on the train without a ticket (to be paid for later). This latest falafel went down a little rough and my stomach was feeling it during the first hour of the ride. Then the second hour came and “rough” became an understatement. Within the next 20 minutes I’m leaning out the side of the moving train blowing falafel back to the wind. A few Egyptian guys brought me some sugar cane, “Gentle,” one said in English. Nice and empty, my stomach was feelin’ fully rejuvenated, and took the sugar cane happily. I found another seat; we had to move around as people who actually had tickets got on the train and found their seats. After another hour however, I started feeling the twist again and I was back in the end of the car with the door open again. A couple hours later, there were no seats left, so I joined the other late-comers in sitting on the metal ground between cars next to the bathroom, which actually ended up being a pretty convenient set up. Soon after, someone offered me their seat, which I took, and spent the rest of the ride next to a boxer named Osama who once fought in Vegas.

igaaza

Off to Luxor for the weekend. Followed by more midterms.

Back Tuesday!

a sad song

ya shunti! intii fein ya shunti? Ya habiibti!
!يا شنطي! انتي قين يا شنطي؟ يا حبيبتي

...i left my backpack in a taxi tonight. Don't worry, I only have two midterms coming up.

Black and White issues

Last Thursday I decided Friday would be a great day for the desert. Packed up minimal provisions, not excluding the dates and bread, the 'aiish baladi, 'life of the people.' 7am I showed up to the bus, not knowing who I was going with. We loaded into the minibuses, 12 a piece. I picked the one with the group not a part of any other, two and a half Punjabis and a Russian bear wrestler who couldn't keep his shirt on, among others. It was four hours, not including stops, to the Bahriiya Oasis.

We broke at this small gated hotel/cabin rental/lodge building. The underground oasis waters nurtured all sorts of palms and ferns, sharp bushes, and even clover patches. Outside the dirt paths beside pale sea green adobe-like walls interrupted by thick arched wooden doors, left open in the hot midday. To the back were the winding stone garden paths leading to the guests' cabins. We stayed in the main hall for a bit, eating beans and soggy macaroni, which tasted much better than they should have. The dusty walls, amber windows with wooden grates, and bright paintings on the wall (especially the purple-red blocky abstract eagle) resembled something more of a Mexican monestary or Navajo pool hall. From there we split into a whole gang of 4x4s (Toyota LandCruisers). Our guide, Mat'hat, got in, his face brown from being Egyptian and red from being Bedouin, plugged his mp3 player into the tape adapter and said in a voice that was tightened at the back of the throat like a pleading blues singer but trailing at the end of words like someone unconcerned with city living, "Welcome...to Alaska." I laughed because I'd never heard it before, but everyone else in the car had, and laughed because I hadn't.

The next ride was quiet, heading down the desert highway, stopping here and there for maintenance.
These trucks are likely the biggest investment they have, so they spend the majority of their attention making sure nothing breaks more than it has to.

We were headed for the White Desert, and ironically enough you have to drive through the Black Desert to get there. We made a few stops to climb some hills and take some pictures. Extinct volcanoes left this place with a layer of heavy matte black rocks all over the surface.

The Black Desert

Gave the highway the old boot and headed off-road where we started to see white.

If you look closely, you can see the Tuskens on the far ridge. (nerd out.)

The weather was not so much your expected desert safari weather. It was moderately hot (80s) but with overcast skies and a heavy breeze. The white desert is named so because of the chalk formations. The wind gets to pickin' up this chalk and creates a second level of haze on top of the foggy horizon.

Welcome...to Alaska.

The air was smooth with a hint of chalkiness and almost unreal after leaving the fume garden of Cairo. Visibility became less and less as the sun got lower, and more and more of the plaster sculptures began disappearing into the fog. Like some extension of a mad fairy world underground, they created more of an alien under-water seascape than a desert image. A close look at the solid chalk tells you this isn't too far off; you can see plenty of sand dollars and shells stuck there since this was all an ocean 20,000 years ago.

Waiting for the Muppets to pop out.


This one taken while driving.
Mat'hat says there are no jinn in this desert. I don't believe him for a second.

We got to camp and the Bedouins set it all up for us. Arranging the trucks in an L, they put up tent cloth all the way around to block the wind, and strung lights across the corners. Next came the rugs, covering the whole square area, along with short tables all along the wall. The kids (50 of us) dawdled around taking pictures or throwing a football, finally sitting by the fire where I exhausted my ghost stories (all true) before lying back for a quick nap while dinner was being stewed. Rice (better than most any I've had, with a nutty oil flavor and gray hue) and potatoes in red sauce came out first. Then the spiced chicken parts roasted in tin foil on the fire coals, followed by oranges and tea for desert dessert.

After dinner was time for drum songs and more tea-sipping. The kids all started to splinter, off to chat in their respective circles, or mingle from one end of camp to the next. The Bedouins brought out their shisha pipe made from a glass jar and smoked unflavored massell (as the manly men do around here.) I went out for a walk in the burning silence, trying to mark my way back, but long-story-short it was probably 30 or 40 minutes trying to find my way back, lost as lost can be in the starry dreamscape. Grabbed a sleeping bag, walked out a few dozen yards and cashed out...only to wake up freezing a couple hours later, cursing the tiny blanket and my huge legs. The next morning brought more tea, with boiled eggs, bread, and cheese just after sunrise...and then a long smelly cramped ride home.

You heard it from the man

I can't believe I didn't post this sooner.


Egyptian Lover - Egypt Egypt


(He's actually from California, but I couldn't resist.)

Teaching in the Eye of the Sun

Wayyyy behind. First stop: English classes.

I began teaching English classes to refugees through the STAR organization two weeks ago. I was placed in the most elementary level, so on the first day I found myself in front of 20-something adults who spoke almost no English at all. My Arabic was painfully insufficient, and my teaching partner has not taken any Arabic class but has lived in Cairo for three years so she can speak and understand colloquial pretty well. I barely made it through the first class in one piece and immediately after I requested to be moved to a higher level. The new class hadn't opened by the next scheduled class, so I taught my Level 0 students again. This time we came prepared with a lesson plan, and I had looked up important words I wanted to use. (It was quite difficult trying to teach the alphabet without knowing the word for "letter" or "sound".) The class had shrunk to about 12 students, and the dynamic had completely changed. By the end of the class, we had covered basic greetings and the sounds of A-I, and I'd learned the names of all the students except one. At the end of the class, however, I had to break it to everyone that I wouldn't be back next week. It had only been an hour and a half, but I felt completely a part of the class. Judging from the reactions of students, I assume they felt the same way. After Mary made tear gestures with her fingers, I knew I couldn't leave.

The coordinator came in after the class and told me my new class was set for next week, Tuesdays and Thursdays, as opposed to my Mon-Wed schedule. I spent the weekend trying to find a replacement, but when Monday came I realized I'd be teaching four classes that week. Each class is an hour and a half and the commitment includes a Metro ride of 30-40 minutes. I wouldn't feel comfortable taking a picture on the Metro, but perhaps you can imagine car after car being filled with so many people you can't turn in place without bumping shoulders. For those of you that have been to concerts in clubs, you know when everybody pushes forward and you're packed like mortar in between everyone else's sweaty torsos? A half hour of this is all it takes to get to Ain Shams. Ain Shams is a northeast district of Cairo where I hold class. I've tried to find some more information on the demographics and general situation of this place. It strikes me as a bit telling to see that to get to the streets of Ain Shams, you get off the Metro stop, turn right, then go through the portion of the cement wall that's been busted through, over the garbage, rubble, and train tracks.

Anyway, back to class. Basma and I got our lesson together and headed out. We reached the
center (rooms rented in an apartment complex) to find a dozen or so students standing outside. An unapologetic Egyptian man stood in the doorway. We eventually understood that the entire STAR program had been evicted from the building because of tenants' noise complaints. Students continued to show up and directors were called and nothing was resolved. Classes were canceled for the week while coordinators found a new facility.

In the meantime, the coordinator for Ain Shams decided he would cover my new class so I could stick with my crew. Class is supposedly up and running for tomorrow, so I'm looking forward to getting back to it.

My students are mostly Sudanese, with a few from Senegal, Mali, and Ivory Coast. As awkward as I can make myself in front of the class with my broken Arabic, I couldn't ask for a better class to teach to on account of their eagerness to learn. Most of them hope to either get a decent job in Cairo or seek refugee status in an English-speaking country. Egypt's refugee situation is a bit of a mess. There are something like 17,000 registered Sudanese refugees in Egypt. These are only the acknowledged ones, but most are not granted papers, and many more came here without a trace. The last I heard, Egypt has stopped giving official status to any of them, leaving them with temporary "yellow cards." So in affect, most are stuck living in the city without a legal means of income. With the cost of living so low in Cairo, getting by is possible, but the option of getting to a Western country takes money, or at the very least some language. A friend of mine has a student who ran a successful shop in Iraq before the invasion. It has since been destroyed, so he is living in Cairo with his life savings, hoping to connect with family in the States at some point. It feels huge to be a part of someone's opportunity, no matter how little I actually do.

you dig, cat??

I know I feel like I'm always promising posts. But for real, big stuff comin'. Had a long week complete with my first two classes teaching entry (and I mean entry) level English to African (from Sudan, Senegal, Ivory Coast, and Mali) refugees. More on that to come. Tomorrow is the SOS Music Festival on the other side of town. I'll have notes to report on that I'm sure.

But for now, let's get acquainted with one of my neighbors. This is Bellah:

She (I'm guessing) likes to eat my garbage. I gave her a name (which means "dates" on account of her color) because she is the most polite stray I've met so far. I have yet to be hissed at by her, and she meows at a reasonable volume, unlike other cats who we can hear screaming from the ground 5 stories up. Plus, she's actually cute. Most of the other cats are basically large feline rats.

La la la, mafeesh!

Here’s my theory on the taxi situation in Cairo: the city owns all the taxis in the city and any citizen of Cairo is welcome to hop in an empty one and start charging people for rides. I can’t think of any other reason for so many taxi drivers to have no idea where anything is.

Yesterday, my roommates had a cabbie that had not heard of Virgin Mega Store, and then our friends got a cab that didn’t know where the Opera House was. But let’s take Friday as my example. I’d heard about a store with vinyl records somewhere in Mohandiseen, an area known for some good shopping districts for tourists and otherwise, especially along Mossadeq St. The only directions I found to this store, however, were, “Go to Mossadeq. Turn right at Hardee’s. Then take the first left and go until you find it.” As you might imagine, instructions like this are basically worthless in Cairo, but I was up for the adventure. Let’s see how it turned out…

(with cabbie in Arabic):
“Mohandiseen?”
“Sure. Where?”
“Mossadeq Street.”
“What?
“Mossadeq”
“No no, there is no Mossadeq in Mohandiseen.”
“Yes there is. Go to Doqi Street.”
“Then it’s in Doqi?”
“Sure.” (which is only a few blocks south of Mossadeq)
…
“This is Doqi Street.”
“Ok here is fine.”
“You want Doqi Square or Doqi Street?”
“Doqi street.”
“unintelligible muttering and pointing…”
“Is this Doqi Street??”
“Yes.”
“Then here is fine. ::getting out:: How much?”
(Unfortunately at this point he sees me pull a 10 from my pocket, and this ride should’ve cost around 5 or 6.)
“10 pounds.”
“No, I want change.”
“No, ten is good.”
“Fine. Whatever.”

After a half hour of walking up Doqi St. with which Mossadeq intersects, I noticed the street signs have changed and I’m no longer on Doqi St. Effectively giving up on finding the store, I figured I’d just keep exploring because I hadn’t been to that part of town yet. So I walk, and walk, and walk, and by some juice, and walk… eventually I miraculously find one of those big maps at a major intersection. Needless to say, I’d missed Mossadeq and walked about two miles in the wrong direction. After a good look at the map, however, I was back on my way. Found Mossadeq. Found Hardee’s. Took the first turn. Took the second. Walked two blocks and saw it, “Better Music” (in English).

Despite the name, the place turned out to be a little DVD rental shop, with one rack of CDs and a shelf of cassettes. The owner did not understand the words “vinyl” or “record”. As he was showing me some CDs of American rock bands I’d never heard of before, I noticed a clear plastic bag on the top shelf full of vinyl.

“Those!”
“ahhhh. Turntable?”
“Yes yes!”
“Oook, ::getting them out to show me one by one:: Joon Deenver?
“No.”
“Ehhh, Toom Joonz?”
“No.”
“Ahhh, Batsy Cline?”
“No.”
“ehhh, Neil Diomoond?”
“…Do you know where else I can buy turntable music in Cairo?”
“No. Virgin Mega Store? but no turntable there.”
“Nowhere else?”
“No.”
“Ok, you obviously have no idea what you’re talking about” “Thank you, good bye.”

Luckily my ride back home redeemed taxi drivers for the moment being.

“Tahrir Square?”
“Yes.” ..."Where in Tahrir?"
"Kasr el-Ainy."
"That is one way. Where on Kasr el-Ainy?"
"Right up here's fine."
"No no, where are you going? I'll get you closer."
"Alright, Hussein Hegazy Street, by the Co-Op gas station."
"Ok, right here."
“How much?”
“Oh, whatever. No problem. Five or six.”
(I gave him six.)

so this is what all the tissue salesmen are for

A friend sent me this NYTimes article about the religiosity of the youth in Egypt to ask about my observations here in this regard. Once again however, the NYTimes doesn't blink in presenting a piece of blatantly sensational and Islamophobic writing. I couldn't really get past that enough to make any sound comparisons. Plus, I don't mean to get personal, but with all the lazy generalizations in this article, I couldn't help but smirk at the author's name: Michael Slackman.

First of all, the point of the article is to explain that in an economically struggling country such as Egypt, the poor and disenfranchised seek out alternative populist ideologies that distance themselves from economic stratification: here, religion. In other words, when something isn't working out for people, they look to somewhere else. This is an incredibly basic concept of sociology, and it doesn't take a journalist or scholar to figure it out. What catches me here is the insistence of using the word "Islam" rather than "religion" over and over again, despite that there is nothing in this trend that is particular to Islam, but as far as many journalists (and unfortunately, many readers) are concerned, "Islam" makes for a more interesting, exotic, and immediate topic than "religion".

So after the provocative headline, "Dreams Stifled, Egypt’s Young Turn to Islamic Fervor," the article sets out to describe Cairo as a wasteland of opportunity, a failed economy that is bearing down on the social fabric of its millions of citizens. Hopeless graduates are plunged into a desperate Islam, clamoring for identity after the failure of "Arabism, socialism, and nationalism." In opposition to this, I'll discuss the current resurgence of Arabism in an upcoming post, and if you think that nationalism here is a failure, I advise you to watch the videos of the prior post. (If that isn't a nationalist expression, I'm terrified to know what is.) But moving on, ending every personal story the author describes the subject's increase in religious observation as the direct result of some psychological/emotional ailment, whether they are chronically "bored" or generally "hurt." The description of their changes in practice come between the stories of economic hardship and mental frustration, as if being religiously observant is a symptom and something to lay our pity on. Combining that with the Islamic fixation, we get the implication that Islam is less of a legitimate religion and more of a pitiful symptom of depression. (Prejudice? in the US media? Where??)

"Back in Cairo, every Friday, the Muslim day of prayer, Mr. Sayyid’s mother cooks him something special, so that when he returns from the mosque he has something to look forward to." ...because, of course, congregational prayer and social gathering are incredibly depressing...

"In Egypt, where the people have always been religious and conservative..."
... .... ...what?

After the story of an observant Muslim: "He could walk unnoticed in the West." ..!!!!!!!
Lock your doors! Lock your doors, Westerners! There are people in the street who might be Muslim, and you don't know it! It could be anybody!


"Mr. Sayyid, are you now or have you ever been a member of the Muslim faith?"
Give me a break.

So what happens when young Cairenes read this article and challenge the author's generalizations? Someone writes a follow-up piece noting their youthful, near-sighted ignorance.

"The fact that they would not associate the two points is meaningful. This was the heart of the article: alienation from the public sphere is driving people towards religion, toward something they see as a private gesture at a moment where the sense of collective action is losing its meaning."

...On the contrary, religion is seen as a quite public endeavor here. People can be seen praying from the side of the street, to the market, to our campus. The author mentions the 'zebibah' ("raisin") that a surprisingly large number of older men don on their foreheads in Egypt to announce their adherence to daily prayer. Hardly a simple "private gesture."

Yes, there are some heavy duty economic problems in Egypt and the government is impenetrably corrupt. Yes, religious observation is growing here, as it has been since 1980 and as it is too in the West. There's no need to sensationalize this; I would very much contend the use of "fervor" in the headline. Returning to the issue of catch-word dropping, if it is an issue of specification, then it is really quite redundant to keep using "Islam" when you're talking about religion in Egypt when it is at least 85% Muslim. On the other hand, the significant Coptic Christian population here is not mentioned at all. They must all be rich and emotionally sound.

I only read this article online, but I'm wishing I had a paper copy so I could have the satisfaction of throwing it in the garbage. (recycling bins are rare here.)



***EDIT: I just re-accessed the story and noticed the editors have changed the headline from "Dreams Stifled, Egypt’s Young Turn to Islamic Fervor" to "Stifled, Egypt's Young Turn to Islamic Fervor." They have apparently decided that Egyptians still maintain the capacity to dream.

Maybe I should go with the Sambas next time.

Apparently Pumas are outside the dress code of the Cairo Opera House. I was told last night that my footwear was inappropriate for main floor seating, and I would have to sit on the balcony despite a main floor ticket. That was, however, one usher's opinion, I figured. So after turning the corner I asked another to kindly show us our seats. No problem.
I could've been barefoot for all I cared when the strings released the opening anxious notes of Shostakovich's Fifth Symphony. I'd never heard it live before, and I'm just about convinced to go home and smash my recording of it. (I figured out why classical music fans are such vinyl audiophiles.)
They played Rimsky-Karsakov's Scheherezade Suite also, but Shosty definitely took the cake.

Real time

I finally got those videos up from Sunday's festivities (compliments my roommate Sharif).


This is very soon after the game ended. We went out into the street after it was over and people were just starting to assemble and stop traffic and such. Things started getting rowdier with every new cheer circle and finally someone (seen below ghostriding his whip) took off toward Tahrir Sq., the main square of Cairo. All the major streets had crowds the size of ours and when they converged in Tahrir this is what it was like. Take note of the Hardee's and Pizza Hut in the background. I suppose I am proud to say I ate my first Hardee's meal of my life that night... and most likely my last.



More in Tahrir Square a little later on. This was pretty typical of the night: a crowd of kids would spontaneously erupt into cheers, and then just as suddenly disband and mingle around until another cheer started (which was generally within the next 2 minutes). I learned a few cheers from some kids, but I've been told I probably shouldn't repeat them outside of a screaming football crowd. The end of the video, however, is what sticks out to me.
Despite all the chaos and relative recklessness, the fireballs, the stunningly dangerous methods of riding vehicles, the climbing and jumping and running mobs, the atmosphere remained very positive where I was and age did not play a segregating role in the crowd. If this happened outside your apartment in the States, I guarantee parents would be barricading their kids in the bathroom. Last Sunday, it was actually the kids that were the most active outside. It didn't matter if you were 6, 16, or 66, you were welcome to hang off the cars and cheer in circles (though most, not all, were male, by the way).
I figure this has a lot to with the lack of widespread alcohol culture here. Something like this in the States would carry with it the assumption that (lots of) boozing was going on, and therefore it would be primarily an "adult" gathering. Here, everything that was going on honestly felt safer because people were (generally) not intoxicated. Yes, there are seven people on that motorcycle, but I guess at least they're sober... Anyway, it was a real ecstatic feeling to have adrenaline as the major substance keeping everyone going. Plus, not once did I see any of the vomit or urine that typically accompany any celebration at MSU. So that was nice.
I'm not suggesting this was a care-free night for everybody (a few of my girl friends fell victim to being harassed and/or groped in the big crowds), nor that alcohol or drugs were totally absent, but the fact that the celebration was so big and so rowdy yet still a place for families was new to me.



A few hours after the end of the game, with everyone still going at it strong, we went back to the apartment to find this parader in his most steadfast noble stance.

Love strikes in Cairo

I picked up a date for Valentine's Day!

















Her name is Delicious.

MASR! MASR! MASR! MASR!

Egypt 1 - 0 Cameroon
2008 Africa Cup of Nations Champions.


No better time to be in Cairo.



And of course, no national celebration would be complete without...






GHOSTRIDING THE WHIP!

Yalla yalla!

Since we live around the government buildings and embassies, taking pictures is prohibited. Such is the nature of a paranoid dictatorship. Even loitering in front of the Shoura Council or anywhere else will get you hassled on by the guards.
I sympathize, however. We live across the street from the Egyptian Social Fund for Development. Any and all precautions are necessary to protect it from spies and activists; I can only imagine the serious hard work that goes on inside that building to make Cairo's social welfare a reality.