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.)