Egypt running through my head

The first thing I noticed looking around the rest station was how fat, sloppy and skimpily dressed people were. I was sitting with my mom eating a big green, albeit slightly flavorless, salad at the Charleston rest stop on our way home from Logan Airport in Boston. We left Zamalek 2:00 a.m. Cairo time and arrived in Boston 2:45p.m. EST.
The last day in Cairo was also our first day back from Abu Dhabi, we got to the Marriot, where we had rooms for the day, at 9 a.m. slept, shopped for souvenirs’ and were packing when the guys—Mufas, K-$ and Amir arrived at our door.
Mufas--7p.m. is too late, this is your last night in Cairo. Lily-we’re not done packing—come at 6:30. They arrived at 6, the first time they—or actually I’ve ever seen any Egyptian, arrive early. Lily-How did you get here so fast? K-$—We were at Macs. Lily-Where!? K-$—MACCdonalds.—Ohh. Lol. Right down the street…..

Conversations usually go like that with them.

It hasn’t hit me that this is more than ‘cya in a week or two.’
Some cried when we left. I didn’t; felt pretty detached actually. Denial? The rush of all I have to do here right now….we’ll see how I feel in a couple of weeks.

What I’ll remember most about the trip, aside from Arabic—inshallah, are the people. They not only influenced where I went and what I saw but how I saw and understood it all. They provided a lens, showed me Egypt as they knew it.

‘I know I’ve asked you this before,’ Mufas said. From the way he said it, I was knew it would be yet another thoughtful question. ‘But how has your view of Egyptians and Egypt changed from being here?’

We were sitting at an outdoor café the most casual type—a few tables, juice and sheisha, at Moquttam Hills with the lights of Cairo glowing below us and the pyramids visible, at least before it got dark, in the distance.

I tried not to have a lot of expectations. Be open-minded. Plus, I told him, I left in such a rush. Finals, job searching, goodbyes, moving and packing, I hardly had time to think.
The difference is I feel more connected now, I won’t picture pyramids when I think of Egypt, I’ll picture friends and places I love and remember ridiculous stories about one-way streets.
The answer, unsurprisingly, didn’t satisfy him.
I tried to explain it like this.
When we were in Marsha Matruh I met a guy Rami, half Palestinian, half Greek, born and bred in Egypt. Everything I told him, he shrugged. Nah, I think it’s just those people, if I showed you Cairo it would be completely different, you wouldn’t think that.
While I think he’s right to some extent, it’s not that simple.
If I had traipsed Cairo with him I don’t think my picture would be more correct, simply different.
It’s slice replacing slice.
We can expand by seeing more and withholding judgments. We can accumulate slices and fit them together like puzzle pieces but even then, even if we were to complete an entire puzzle, it’s still only one out of countless and we’re only seeing it through our own lens.
Insert nature vs. nurture debate here if you feel the need…I know where I stand.

The whole journey for me was perfect. Amazing. I hate using phrases like best thing of my life so I won’t. I think it’s silly to qualify like that, unnecessary. How it turned out was an endless array of choices and risks and chance. I can use words like “perfect,” but really a different choice could have led to another perfect and who am I to mess with words like that….
So what is was….
Probably the most I ever laughed and smiled
Tons of great quotes, phrases and invented words
More thoughts chasing each-other and jousting for space inside my head, blog and conversations than ever
The most I’ve talked about things I care about
I won’t compare girl friends—I am so lucky in that regard, but the guys—in the highest percentile I have ever known, you guys make it hard to accept what’s here…i.e in the US.

And speaking of here…
I am typing at the kitchen table in my home—my mom’s home—where I still have a bedroom and some stuff and I’ll be living for the next week or so before, inshallah, I find an apartment in DC.

Abu Dhabi

I have a lot to say about The Arab Emirates and a whole lot else to say about what we did there, where we went and who we met. For now however I will leave it at the country itself--at least my glimpse of it which made me appreciate Cairo more than ever.

The people we met on the other hand. About 30 Arab students from I believe 14 out of the 22 Arab countries were mostly incredibly. Walking in the first day, exhausted from traveling and sick from Koshari in Cairo, fish on the plane? we were met by a room filled with students in traditional dress. I was intimidated, surprised, while Egyptians may be different, they dress the same.

Turned out a lot of them had planned it.

"I told them it would scare the Americans," Maher, a Palestinian peer, told me.

There’s a lot that goes between that first night and what I will write soon.

For now suffice it to say somewhere between long conference hours brainstorming and writing, arguing and explaining tours and bus rides, meals, mall and spa trips, we all became pretty tight.

Stuck in the desert

It is big and comfy, complete with lean-back seats, AC—not all buses here have that, and a flat screen TV up front. This is also our bus’s maiden voyage and it is still working out a kink or two…
Tara—let’s sit in the back, than we can sit all together.
Tara, Katharine and I setup camp in the back of the bus.
On the way to Marsha Matruh
A couple hours later finds waking up from naps to breathe the smell of gas. After putting shirts over our noses for a few minutes and Tara talking about how many brain cells we were losing I decided it was time ---Sullivan! It smells like gas back here.
Turns out the gas filter was broken.
We stopped at a military museum and graveyard while it was fixed.Rushhh we’re NOT getting stuck in the back of that bus again. We stretched out, opened our books and turned on our ipods, happy to be seats away from the front of the bus for the three hour ride to Siwa from Marsa Matruh.
This time we woke up to a burning smell….a smell no one could miss.
We pulled over to the side of the road, which happened to be desert. In fact all we could see, with the exception of a little stand and shed thing, was desert in every direction and our road.
We waited an hour or so for vans to drive from our hotel to rescue us.
Our poor driver, who had to wait with the bus, didn’t arrive in Siwa until 4 a.m. in the morning. –we’d left MM at about 1:30 p.m.
We drove our bus to the cites this morning and other than a few scratches, from trees that reached into the dirt road, everything went fine.
We’re driving our bus back to Cairo on Friday 13th.
This could be an adventure…..

Update: we’re back at Flamenco hotel in Cairo. Unpacking and repacking for Abu Dhabi. We’re going out with the guys 6-ish “real time…” to where, they won’t tell us.
We’re staying at the Intercontinental hotel, all expense paid, with 30 students from Arab countries.
Our conferences are supposedly 10-5 Sunday through Tuesday. We were assigned around 300 pages of reading material which I’ve done some of and been disappointed by. Instead of providing intelligent information and answering questions it brings up points without providing adequate context and seems to miss the big picture.
There is however, one thing the reading brought to out attention. The whole time we’ve been talking about how liberal the Arab Emirates are, Sullivan said “anything goes in Dubai,” more than once.
Turns out women couldn’t even vote until 2006….
The next section of this journey is underway—I’ll update as possible, I might not pay for internet at the hotel…

Sandboarding and other desert wonders

Yesterday, Wednesday 12th, was one of the most fun days I’ve experienced. Ever. Though for the record, fun and laughing, I’ve learned are different. I laugh more laying on the beach with Tara and Katharine talking into the night or driving around with the Egyptian guys….
In the morning we toured The Mountain of death, predictably a set of tombs, and the Oracle temple.
Along the way we dove into Cleopatra’s Well. Pulling up I thought, who’s going into that! It was very slimy looking and a ways below ground level, but minutes after getting out of the van Ted had jumped and Oscar was stripping hurriedly as I filmed. A bunch, including myself when I finished filming, joined them.



The water was warm and refreshing at the same time. Climbing back onto the bus I felt wonderful and refreshed.

When Sullivan said we’d be taking four-wheelers into the desert a bunch of us pictured driving our own motor bikes. Instead jeeps showed up at 4:30 to take us on our desert trek.

Five of us chose a lovely blue jeep with a smiling driver and we set off into the desert, west toward Libya. We zoomed up sand dunes and sped down.
This is with my regular camera. There's lots of footage I took of sandboarding and such on the video camera.

He swerved back and forth and raced with the other jeeps. We screamed, laughed and felt pretty safe. We played on dunes, posed on rocks and picked up seashells.


We stopped at an oasis where Tara and I swam out and reveled in our location—we’re in a oasis, in Africa!! There we ran into a couple other students from BU, I think it was.
Weird.
Next we visited a natural hot spring.

Amazing. I know the wonders of nature but there are things here I’ve never heard about…and for the finale—we sand boarded.
Our drivers took out wooden boards waxed them and let us figure out the rest.
The driver handed me one when we were getting out of the van so I took it and went for it…it wasn’t as hard as I expected—I stayed up and glided a ways before falling and getting sand in every possible place…yummy…lol
Running up was the best workout I’ve had in Egypt…














After having our fill of the boards we sipped mint tea our drivers brewed us and watched the sun set over the dunes.














Moments after arriving at our hotel, Paradise Siwa, a few of us jumped into the pool, another natural body of water with converted into a pool, aka amazing and warm and chlorine-free. We played Marco Polo, haha I haven’t played that in a year or two. After dinner—which we got to around 9:30 or so, I did some reading for Abu Dhabi before falling asleep. It’s about 2:00 a.m. now and I can’t wait for morning. As much as I want time to go slowly here I am so eager to begin each day. Today we’re going to drive back to Marsah Matruh—three hours if our van doesn’t break down again, and spend the day on the beach. We’re—I hope leaving early Friday morning so we have most of the day in Cairo before jetting off to Abu Dhabi at Saturday morning.

We'll make it a one way street and other classic Cairo

Yesterday we—Tara, Katharine and I, is who I generally mean by that these days—decided to visit Alzar park, the cite of Cairo Earth Day festival. Tara found the festival listed on yallabina.com, the site Sullivan told us to scavenge for events, and the irony of an Earth day in Cairo, one of the world’s most polluted cities, seemed too good to miss.

At the park we failed to find the wide selection of NGOs promised however we did see a lot of interesting art work—drawings and creations composed of recyclables, and see in interesting e walked in a wedding procession swirled by us, busy in dance, and everywhere we walked children played and couples reladance by children dressed as trees and the like.

The park itself was magnificent. The air smelled fresh, the views were incredible and there were flowers, trees and ponds with sprinklers that made rainbows. As wxed in the shade of trees.

We’re going back to the park today with our entire group to have our last, “debrief,” as Sullivan likes to call our group discussions.

Each day here is a new adventure, a new story, full of possibilities and intrigue. The people I have met deserve most of the credit.

It’s hard to capture the little things which make moments perfect with laugher but those are the ones that mean the most.

Here are some of my favorite/intrinsically Cairo episodes from the last couple days.

There are few stop signs here, no traffic lights and a plethora of police, mostly tourist, but none who seemed concerned with the rules of the road. I’ve seen people get clipped by cars—none hurt and no cars that stopped a time or two.

The other day driving around the block to pickup friends took a good 40 minutes—they could’ve walked to the car in two minutes but the guys decided to swing by and get them….I wouldn’t trade that drive for anything…

It’s a one way street.
Mufas -That’s OK we can make it a two way street.
—Abu Shady zooms down it.
Me-look there’s a woman…and a dog…
Abu Shady—zoom swerve stop zoom swerve.

The guys ask a bizliodfsn people for directions to get back around the block—after we’ve told them—dudes we live here!

Suleyman joked that sometimes he gets his laughs watching foreigners cross the street. Sometimes it takes them five minutes just to get up the courage to walk, he said.

A couple days ago we played soccer probably about 30 Americans and Egyptians combined. It was at this huge outdoor club where adults seemed to sit around chatting while hordes of children of all ages ran wild. I had my video camera out and many of the boys pounced all over me. It was hard to tell if they wanted to be filmed or for me to turn it off...When we finished soccer--about 2 or so in the morning, kids were still everywhere. Only in Egypt.

Last night we—planned, to have dinner with our fav Egyptian guys—Mostafa aka Mufas and Karim—aka K-Money, and then go to a concert at the Sowi Cultural Center, a venue on Zamalek.

*Flashback a couple days ago*
“Who’s playing?”
“The best band in Cairo!”
“What are they called?”
“uhhh hmmm….I don’t know! We’ll get tickets.”
Sounds like a plan.

Sullivan explained before leaving the United States that Cairo time is not the same as time we know. Lateness here is part of the framework. If it’s not the notorious traffic maybe it was time for tea—or really what’s the rush. (Though I’ve been told by Egyptians the rush is here and we’re simply oblivious to it.)

Anyway, 7p.m. found the three of us waiting in Hardee’s, an American chain near our hotel. Ironically we never would’ve set foot in if it weren’t for the Egyptians who always want to meet there.

We’re not sure how exactly we agreed to meet at 7, as the concert supposedly started at 8, predictably the guys arrived 7:20ish—actually quite impressive.

We headed to Didos Al Dente—our fav Italian joint where we had to wait another 15ish minutes for a table. The restaurant was a slightly odd choice; for once we blended in better than our Egyptian counterparts.

While waiting another 7 or so people from our group arrived—again, completely typical. While there’re a plethora of restaurants on Zamalek, let alone Cairo, we hardly go anywhere without seeing a few of the 35 familiar American faces…(I.e. in the middle of the biggest Souk in Egypt we ran into fellow NEU-ers down a small side-street.

So now for the impressive “ow-e” (very) part of the night. They guys knew there own lateness and had a backup plan for us.

We went to Cairo Jazz club, where they had reservations, and spent the night laughing, taking ridiculous pictures, listening to amazing music and playing hand games Brits? at the bar mimicked. Another interesting difference. The guys here are incredible dancers--way better than any of us. I'd love to trade hips....lol.

I’m shocked my ribs aren’t sore from laughing….

I don’t know what the internet situation will be like in the desert we’re driving into early tomorrow…so don’t be alarmed if I don’t post blogs for uhh.. about a week =)

Mufas smiling and Tara and I imitating him....lol>

Suleyman's House

If these entries seem choppy and rough it's due to lack of time...there are so many things I'd love to write about and explore but time's limited. Likely I'll add to and edit all of these at some point.

Also, there is apparently a feedback/response section of this blog I don't know how to get to. Either e-mail or leave comments, those are the only things I get. Thanks!

Suleyman, the Senegalese student I met at St. Andrew’s, invited Julia and over to his house for a traditional dinner cooked by his mother. He lives alone with his mom downtown Cairo by The Palace of Abdeen, Quaf Abdeen was a Turkish occupier of Egypt in and he built his palace as an exact replica of the dsklf palace in France.

The cab found the place easily and we waited on the corner until we saw Suleyman, easily distinguishable due to his height, striding toward us.

We followed him through the park adorning to the palace, down a side street and up the stairs of an old building. People stared and I spoke words in Arabic I didn’t know..but that was nothing unexpected.

We entered a neat albeit sparse apartment. His mother was sitting on a couch watching Senegalese TV, via satellite.

Though she insisted she spoke little English, it was much better than our Arabic and when she wanted to she was perfectly capable of getting her ideas across.

They served the Egyptian pastries Julia and I brought and cookies and then she brought out a huge platter of different fish with vegetables and spices. We ate with spoons, directly from the platter in the traditional way. We were sitting in the living room, all huddled around the plate and his mom kept placing choice pieces of fish in front of us. I tried to eat as much as I could which was not nearly enough—if someone doesn’t eat we say they don’t like the food, she said to me. I assured her over and over it was delicious. “Wad,” I said, I promise.

The whole time we ate Akon, he’s Senegalese, and Chris Brown played in the background. They’re very nice, Suleyman said repeatedly. My favorite. I kept thinking about past dance parties.

It was one of the strangest juxtapositions of culture I’ve encountered.

Morgan Heritage is another one of his favorite artists I don’t know. When he left to play it for me, Julia and I followed. The music had been coming from an old PC in a bedroom with two beds he shared with his mother. His was distinguishable by a Michael Jordan poster which hung above it, the sole decoration on the wall.

He was open and welcoming. He took out a t-shirt from his dresser—Bob Marley, the same picture as on my backpack, he said. He showed us pictures of his sister, Aisha who’s studying biology in Senegal. He played us music and said he’d make us a C D of artists we didn’t know.

Julia and I were discussing it afterward. While all outsiders here, as a fellow African he has a different sense of entitlement than we do. While we try to absorb all the differences and love Egypt for them, he compares the traffic, noise and nonchalance of the city to the community life in the-not-too-far-away Senegal. While we resist judging with all our might, because we often don’t feel we have the right to do so, he doesn’t hold back.

Never been kissed

One of the other Arabic classes went to dinner at their 24-year-old teacher, Peter’s, house. Sometime during the meal the differences in dating and relationships came up. Like who hasn’t kissed before? Someone said. Peter raised his hand.

How the men and women interact here, the cultural expectations, relationship norms and traditions are one of the most interesting differences between here and the United States.

Last night—by the time I post this, i.e. no internet, who knows when, we had a surprise birthday party at a café for two of our Egyptian friends. We were hanging out, just talking when one of the guys suggested we play spin the bottle.

WHAT!! Maybe when we were 14 and even then…lol. They reassured us, no, we just ask each other questions.

Culture, marriage, relationships, politics…no alcohol, drugs not even sheisha…Real conversation.

Some of the differences are hard to take. For example all the girls we meet have curfews. They’ll go home early or not come out at all while the majority of the guys can stay out ‘til all hours.

The guys also refuse to let us take cabs alone or pay for them.

While in the United States, I wouldn’t put up with it—after all I’m the girl who ruins first dates by insisting on going Dutch…here I think of it differently. These guys don’t mean the same things by it, they’re paying because they really believe it’s right, women here often don’t have money, jobs and don’t take cabs alone to begin with. It goes beyond egotism or macho-ism it’s about caring, friendship and I think treating us as they would any other friend or sister.

I think because of the different expectations overall, kind gestures seem more genuine from them. I’ve learned more about Egypt and people in general from them and then I ever could from a course, a moderated dialogue or my own observations…

While I like that things are more laid back, people don’t rush through things as much—by choice or not… I also wonder if the oppression results in the harassment—i.e. catcalls, hisses, stares—we encounter everywhere we go. While I feel physically safer here than in the United States, the words and stares become exasperating. Control yourself! Is my general gut reactions. I try to hold back my disgust, realize they don’t mean anything by it…it's so hypocritical...

The other night about a bunch of the guys came back to our hotel to hang out. Within two minutes of entering our room the phone rang. Egyptian guys aren’t allowed in your room, it’s hotel policy. Katharine, Tara and I were more furious than the guys, it’s OK it’s OK they said and discouraged us from arguing.

They ended up letting us chill on the porch, I guess where there was no danger of extramarital sex…

My first reaction was shock and outrage; the engineering guys have all been over without a problem. Besides the fact that I don’t like being told who can and cannot be in our rooms the fact that they said “Egyptians,” specifically is what infuriated me.

I'm trying to be open-minded. It’s like the receptionist was looking out for fellow Egyptians—i.e. Americans are not their business, the hotel’s reputation and the values, agree or not, with the society we’re in.

I asked one of the guys the other night what one thing he would change about his religion. He said how people interpret it.

Unrelated topic wise...but check it out. This was a favorite spot downtown where some of the above took place.
Also interesting, after performing she came around looking for tips, which we, still in awe from her performance, immediately gave her. The boys told us we didn't do it discreetly enough. It's not to make a show, they explained. It supposed to be from the heart, between you and God, you and the person, not something to show other people or benefit in earthly ways from.

Leaving footprints in the sand

I spent the last Friday and Saturday in Alexandria with the majority of my group. We drove there in the vans and they shuttled us to the Qaitbay Citadel, Catacombs and the Alexandria Library.
The Citadel was my favorite. I could’ve stayed there for a long time.Mary, Ted, Me, Megan, and Molly sitting on the Citadel. Alexdria's there behind us.

The best moments of the trip for me were off the trail. After seeing the sites Friday night Tara and I wondered away from the rest of the group in search of an authentic fish restaurant. A little ways down the Corniche we came across a casual looking café with an Arabic name and little show—a good sign. Upon entering a couple men led us to stocks of fish arranged in ice. Though the men who worked there didn’t speak English we got the gist—if we wanted to eat there we were picking our own dinner.

We turned around and walked out before re-entering and choosing our dinner. A man asked us “fried,” or “grilled” in English—seemingly two of the dozen or so English words he knew.
We went upstairs, where we were the only two Americans and sat down at a table overlooking the Mediterranean. After a bit a man came and covered our entire table with a huge sheet of paper. He came back with salads, tahini sauces, pita and vegetables followed by our fish.
There were no prices anywhere and we didn’t ask; we figured it had to be cheaper than the touristy place on the sea where are peers were dining.
Along the same casual trend as the meal—i.e. no menus, they simply stated a price at the end. It was 100 pounds, less than $20 US total but more than we expected. It is hard to believe all the locals surrounding us were paying the same.
How much to pay, what to blow off and when to argue is a constant struggle for us here. I can see it from two sides. First, why should we pay up to five times what locals pay for essentials like food and cab rides. A lot of us are broke college students, they have no right to assume we have money just because we’re foreigners. On the other side, the brokest of us, just by virtue of being here, have more opportunities than most we interact with ever will.
This is a tangent…but before this trip I never realized how lucky and rare it is to be able to pick up and leave a place. People here don’t have money for a cab across town, let a lone a plane ride. Plus they have different concepts of family, responsibility and values. Most are just trying to get by; success and fulfillment take on completely different meanings.
Anyway, the fish was lazeez owi owi (very delicious).

After dinner, sitting on the Corniche looking at this, Tara and I had another idea. We decided to see Baby Doll Night.
In part because we wanted to minimize time at A”crap”olis (acropolis) our adventure-of-a-hotel, and because we’d been wanting to anyway, Tara and I decided to go see Baby Doll Night, an Egyptian film with no English subtitles. We had the impression, via miscommunication with our Egyptian friend Mustafa, that it was based on the classic collection 1001 Arabian Nights.
Tara, whose Arabic is far superior to mine, successfully bought the tickets, a feat considering no times, prices or titles were posted and we had to pick our seats on a chart. We finally entered the right room after being questioned by the doorman—you want to see this movie? You speak Arabic?
The room was the same size as one in the United States, but there were at least double the amount of seats jammed together. Comfy chairs and drink holders—pshh people were here to see a film and socialize not kick back, relax and jam their faces with oversized popcorns and sodas.
After a good 20 minutes and every seat plus some were filled, the screen flickered to life. It became apparent pretty immediately this was no classic love story.
From the Arabic we understood and the reactions of the audience it was about terrorism and relations between the Arab world Israel and the United States following September 11th.
There were torture scenes from Abu Ghraib, Jews shot as they tried to escape from a concentration camp and a woman shredded by Israeli tanks as she defended Palestinian turf.
There were a lot of things we couldn’t follow. A woman cares for children in a temple in Israel, her hood flaws to reveal half her face is terribly disfigured. The doors of the temple are thrown open, men enter and begin shooting.
The audience burst into sporadic laughter.
It’s moments like that which remind me how much stuff there is under the surface.
When we introduce ourselves as American restaurants give us free food and drinks, taxi drivers tell us Ahlan and our Egyptian friends and refugees dream of visiting the US, many things aren’t said.
Throughout the film people talked their cells, babies—why were they there?? cried and men and women a like stared at us. Tara swore she heard people whispering there were Americans in the theatre.
I want to see the movie asap with subtitles. “I will be your subtitles,” Mustafa told us, but I don’t think we’ll have time before leaving….
A little information we didn't know before viewing...http://www.thedailynewsegypt.com/article.aspx?ArticleID=14210 http://movies.yahoo.com/movie/1809938892/details

not your average cop-out

Today was the first day of the last week of classes and my last week in Cairo, for now, I’ll be back. I have lots of studying/writing in Arabic to do and a busy day tomorrow—we’re finally visiting the Cairo Museum and then we have dinner reservations, that I’ll probably opt out of, and a soccer game with some Egyptians friends by the pyramids.

Everything is going really fast. I’m sorry I haven’t kept up, responded to emails etc. We were in Alexandria Friday and Saturday and I volunteered on Sunday. One week from today we’re leaving Cairo for Marsah Matruh and Siwa. The 14^th we’re going to Abu Dhabi and the 18^th we’re going to Dubai. We’re returning to Cairo on the 19^th and flying back to the United States on the 20^th.

I have a couple stories and lots of thoughts that I will post as time permits. I’ve written some stuff out in my journal which I will transfer…be patient.

And just 'cause I'm writing anyway, today we--Tara, Katharine, Oscar and I went to another mall in Cairo to look for business clothes to wear to the conference in Abu Dhabi. The number of skimpy going out clothes again shocked me. And this was no western style mall. Mary suggested it and said it was aimed at middle class Egyptians. *sigh* There were short skirts in one store that shocked me, and compared to the norm in the United States, they nothing too skimpy. We'll see how I dress when I get back. I'm thinking it's going to take me a little while to feel comfortable bearing skin again--though knowing myself, maybe not... but either way, I have different opinions about dressing modestly now and more respect for those who choose to. I see why women who come to the United States don't take off their head scarves.

OK. No time now...

Cya

Lily

About four blogs in one

I'm not a person to always be snapping pictures and recording every moment. At the same time I value writing as a means of sharing experiences and jogging memory. It's a constant struggle between taking the time to write and saying 'screw it, I'm going to make more memories, not get caught up in the old.'
So this is going to be a long one. Feel free to chose a section--separated by pictures instead of reading this all....I'll break it down by day.

On Saturday a bunch of my fav Long Champions--as we call those ourselves in our hotel, went to Ain Suchna, a stretch of beach called by some the Red Sea and others still the Suez Canal. The theme of the day was fein fein fein (where).
The night before we went to the bus station and bought tickets and 6a.m. the next morning found us snoozing on a public bus with the beach becoming ever-nearer.
Though only about 1 hour outside Cairo, the trip took around 3 hours because it drove to the Suez canal first, which was just fine with me.
It is strange but seeing the Suez canal was almost as exciting for me as seeing the pyramids. I snapped a bunch of awful pictures through the dirty bus windows. I kept thinking about learning about it in Mr. Bergman's? Mr. Lee's? class in HS. All the drama that thing caused...unlike the pyramids, I never had a clear image of what the canal would look like. It was extremely satisfying to be before something I learned about in HS.
We groggily shuffled off the bus, stretching our lives and looking around. Before us was a stand with an assortment of chips and other processed snacks, old men smoking sheisha at tables and dirty structure around back that looked like a bathroom.
It was the last bus stop. Welcome to Ain Suchna!
Somewhere along the way the others had decided it was Lily-practice-her-Arabic-day. That was pretty much fine with me. I asked a guy when the evening buses was and which way the town was and we set off walking down the desert roads, mountains on our right, the sea on our left.
And we kept walking.
...and kept walking.
Hey guys....? maybe we should ask how much further at one of these resorts?
Unfortunately we didn't know the word for town and they didn't speak English. We borrowed some transliterated phrases from the back of my guidebook and learned--gasp--there was no town. Just beach resorts.
After renting a flat for the day so we could use the beach, our next adventure, a search for sustenance, began.
There's a fish restaurant a few kilometers down that way, the man who rented us the flat pointed.
30 minutes later, many half understood conversations (fein matum?? --where's the restaurant?) and very hungry we sat down in a garden and were handed menus, completely in Arabic.
Chicken we asked? salads?
La, bes semack. (No, only fish.) Then fish it was for all.
But then something strange happened.
"Mish semack."
We stared blankly. What. No. Fish.
Turned out they caught fish daily and the boat wasn't back yet.
We bought crackers and chips and a joint next store--the only of its kind in the vicinity and trudged back to our spot on the beach.
where we preceded to soak up the sun
and parting the red sea....(Rami later said really isn't =( )

Until I checked my phone.
wait what does that number end with?
Sullivan.
And he was not happy.
FEIN!?!?! WHERE ARE YOU!?!?!
While we thought we were taking the initiative to make the most of our day off he thought we were taking undue risk using public transportation, not briefing him of our plans and the cause of his morning of anxiety.
We took the earliest evening bus home flawlessly.
While I understand he feels responsible for us I also strongly believe breaking into smaller groups and doing things independently is essential for learning about Egypt; after all the goal of this program. We didn't want to take our attention-drawing-tourist vans, we wanted to travel like Egyptians.

Sunday I volunteered at the after-school program in Maqatum. Here are some pics, any I'm in taken when children hijacked my camera.

Monday after our usual four hours of Arabic we had another dialogue after which most of us went on a felucca with our new Arabic friends. Afterward about ten of us rode horses into the desert toward the pyramids. We had feisty horses and inexperienced riders so didn't make it very far, but it was one of the best things I've ever done it my life.
It was after midnight, the stars and moon shone and the pyramids waited majestically in the distance. We could hardly see in front of us--the desert and dunes stretched out into nowhere but I felt safe and content to enter that nothingness.
It felt great to be on a horse again, mines name was Gamela meaning beautiful, and I was so happy to be out with new friends and what at this point feels like old, doing something new.


Today I left Arabic class early for orientation at St Andrews, a multi faith church which sponsors programs for refugees. Five other students and I have were selected to tutor English to adult refugees Tuesdays and Thursdays there for the next two weeks. --Which was a shock--only two weeks left in Cairo--It's going way too fast for me...

After orientation and then a two hour break, where Julia and I took the metro for the first time--seemed cleaner and better organized than most in the states--to AUC for coffee and HW, we entered the small library where other students and tutors were busily conversing.

While waiting for more tutorees I read Where the Wild Things Are and and a Dr. Seus book, Dr. Brown Can Moo Can You? to Maria, a 13-year-old Sudanese refugee. Her older sister was working to another tutor and I sat down and started talking with her. She spoke almost no English so our reading, which Julia participated in too was a combination of Arabic, gestures, sounds and quick dives into the dictionary. This is the way I like learning Arabic best...

After she left, I worked with a 23-year-old named Suleyman from Senegal. Suleyman had to explain to me where it was and then deal with my mililildjfdin questions that followed.
We talked about so much--concepts of family, religion, culture, opportunity, community--he gave me so much to think about.
For example, why do we--i.e. me, westerners, value independence to the extent we do? If you came to my town, he said, every one would notice, they'd come to my house and welcome you and want to know all about you. Cairo, which is the most family oriented place I've seen, seems disconnected and lonely for him.
Btw he loved America, was wearing a NY jersey and when he left I saw a Bob Marley backpack swinging from his shoulders.

And just to make this day even better--I ate vegetables for dinner, which besides two 'lil siblings, a buff bro a couple parents and my many loves in Boston and beyond--i.e. China--are what I miss most here.

Moqattam

5/25/08

8 p.m.

I’ve talked about poverty, stench, dirt and the likes some. We visited Stabl Antar and I described that. But nothing like what I saw Friday.

Nermeen, our Arabic teacher, heard about the knitting factory project and volunteered to take us to a Coptic church in Moqqatum, built into the side of a cave. The catch was the cave is in the middle of Moqqatum, a city where people make their livings sorting through trash.

www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A23780270
Nermeen said it’s like an Egyptian Mafia. Be careful what you Americans throw away she told us. These people get rich off it.

As we enter the stench seeps into our van. We turn up the AC and wave air in front of our noses as life continues on the other side of the glass. I see kids playing and screaming. They wave as we pass and have the energy to jump up near our van. I see an old woman sitting in a doorway, she is surrounded by garbage, the stench of which seeps into our van. Many men sit in front of narrow stalls selling bread, fruit, or American brand snacks and water. We pass a young mother leading her daughter through piles of trash and a filthy donkey.

Later from the steps of the church, a magnificent structure rising out of the chaos, covered with carvings and seating 20,000 people, we see roof upon roof piled with trash. I can see a pen with pigs, people sifting through piles of garbage and clothes hanging out to dry from those same buildings.

I don't like the smell, I am hot and disgusted by the bathroom in the café by the church, which like usual, was filthy and had no toilet paper.

But I am only a passerby and our van is hovering somewhere around the corner.

This is a way of life. Most of these people don’t have the funds to pick up and leave.

And where would they go? The unemployment in Egypt, is over 10 percent. And many in places like this can’t read and write, can’t speak other languages, don’t have cars or connections beyond their immediate community.

Do these people have lower life-expectancy? How could they not. Do they feel sick often, do they ever breathe fresh air—rare anywhere in Cairo to begin with, do they ever see a spotless street? A little girl handed Katharine a sweet smelling flower….

I haven’t done a real work-out since I’ve been here, my eating habits have gone to crap and I’ve been mildly sick more times than I can count. (Please don’t worry anyone…ahem, Mom.) But what is that compared to these people?

On our way to teach English today we drove past signs for Moqattam. Perfectly normal signs standing straight with green backgrounds and white writing. These places are on a map, they’re no secret.

I thought about the micro-bacterial spray my Mom gave me-- spray if things seem dirty--like if you have to touch a doorknob you don’t want to or spray all around your bed. It seems so comical now.

Where could I spray it, how could I ever chose?

I pictured gallons of the spray being dumped upon the humanity, animals, junk and treasures of the garbage town. It seemed so cruel. This is all they have, it’s their home, their way of life.

On the roof of the Café, overlooking the town, Tara talked about the Dominican Republic where she studied abroad. The people are so poor she said. They have so little, but at the end of the day they dance and sing together. Do they have something like that here, she asked Mary. Do they have little things like that to make there day? Shiesha? I suggested.

Of course they must, I think. I don’t believe people are capable of living without something to make them happy, some kind of hope, however small. And then how can you compare happiness?

Is a child-in a-garbage-dump’s happy any weaker than American kid’s in a suburb? Can’t a chocolate drink in a bag be just as enticing as a Playstation or a teenager’s first car or man’s favorite shiesha flavor. There’s only a range. Contrasts. What we know, expect and think we want.

Now none of this justifies people living in garbage when others, have so much. Happiness does not make up for grossly unequal standards of living.

What I said before about the micro-bacterial stuff I meant in terms of not looking down on their life, not holding our noses or cringing, rather taking it in and really seeing.

That said, I am not OK accepting the differences in luck, birth, nationality and all the inequality that comes with it.

After Moqattam and then Khan—the big outdoor market, we ended our class trip with City Stars, the biggest mall in Cairo.

Fully veiled women pushed shopping carts full of purchases past stores like Espirit and Puma. I didn’t want to be there. I definitely didn’t want to go in any stores I knew so I tried some with Egyptian names, the prices seemed ridiculously high and the clothes inappropriate and impractical for the conservative society we were in.

The gross inequality is not just a western problem. It' s a human one, from what I see prevalent in every division of communities and societies.

I saw it at the dialogue last Monday too. Our Egyptian peers talked about how poor Egypt is, incomparable to anything in the United States. Clad in Gucci shoes and driving BMWs --yess I'm generalizing not all were---were they any more connected then us?

At the end of the day some lived in a garbage dump and some didn’t and we all went on our way because what else could we do?

Any opinions? Questions? Thoughts?

Thanks for reading.

Lily

Shared lessons

Near the end of the interviewing for the knitting project a woman came to collect six of us. We followed her a few buildings over to a school where we were going to read to children.

We entered a building consisting of couple rooms filled with art supplies, books and games and children everywhere. Do you speak English? She asked the kids. She repeated the question in Arabic. Few knew more than a few basic words, the alphabet and how to count to 10.

I went in part because I had the video camera, which is always a good combo with kids. However, I had no intention of standing in the background the whole time. After filming for a few minutes I sat down with a few girls and we said our names in Araglish.

By means of introduction I put the video camera in one girl’s hands. At first she would hardly hold it, she looked at me questioningly, I tucked her small hand into the strap and showed her “on,” and “off.” A few minutes later they were all arguing over it in Arabic. I put it away in my bag and Grace and I, who were working in a room together, moved on to seeing how much English they knew. The “reading,” we did was pointing to words and saying them in English and Arabic if we knew them.

The children were all cooperative and eager to learn. They taught me words in Arabic, tried to understand and correct my mistakes and repeated words in English. I definitely learned as much as they did….

Toward the end I asked the women, who spoke excellent English, how the program is funded and who the kids are. She grimaced at the funding question, saying getting sponsors and funds is always rough. As for the children, they all live in the neighborhood and can sign up for particular programs at the school or just come in during free periods.

Different kids come each day.

Despite, things were being accomplished here. Framed artwork by the children was everywhere and a mural of a حصان, which the children knew means “horse” in English, covered an entire wall.

We’ve been told people in these communities only see people who look and dress like us on TV. From the way people of all ages, especially kids, surround and wave and run to our vans it could be true.

Whatever the significance of our presence to the children, they were open minded and eager to learn and teach.

We taught them songs like, “Head, Shoulders Knees and Toes,” and “The Hokey Pokey,” They taught Grace and I a game where you close your eyes, yell in Arabic and spin around in circles. The girls kissed and hugged us when we left.

I’m going back on Sunday.

While this type of unsustainable project is not what our service learning was meant to be, it feels worthwhile. If we make connections with a couple children, if they learn a little English and want to know more, if we are pushed farther from our western bubble, we are changed and they are too. I believe in ripples….

A story through translation

Upon piling out of our van we were bombarded with children, mostly boys, who were using straws to drink a brown liquid out plastic bags. “Hi, hi they squealed.” One of them asked my name, English? Arabic? I don’t remember. When I said “Lily,” the gang of them started following me and repeating it, I asked them what they were drinking and they insistently thrust their drinks at me.

The 11 or so others and I, led by Cynthia, were looking for the entrance of a knitting factory involved with Sohbeit Kheir Organization, the NGO we’re working with. We were there to conduct interviews with women workers, the manager and organize products to put on a website to expand their markets and raise awareness about the women, their plight, goals and potential.

A couple women walked out of a nondescript building, shooed the boys away and led us in.

We shuffled into a fair-sized room filled with around 15 tables with built in sewing machines. Women, mostly middle aged and clad in long dresses and head scarves, sat sewing at about half of them. After breaking ourselves into groups—cataloguing, photographing and interviewing, we got to work.

Our first interviewee, the male manager, Ye Hia (sp) stood behind a big table to the side. He spoke little English, though more than every women, so Mary translated mine and others’ question.

.

We are still waiting to interview Yesmeena, but here is the story as I currently understand it. Going in, we didn’t know she founded the enterprise

Around 12 years ago two widowed women, Hagga Nasra and Om Amr, needed a way to provide for their children. As residents of the traditional Islamic community ?? where the unemployment rate is estimated at 34 percent, there is no running water or sewage system and illiteracy rates are above 90 percent, finding a way to make a living was no easy prospect.

When Yasmeena, a leader in the non governmental organization Sohbet Kheir, visited the community and heard the window’s plight she decided to help. She saw potential when Hagga Nasra transformed a piece of fabric into a beautiful tablecloth before her eyes. She obtained space for the women to work in, provided two sewing machines and fabric. Hagga Nasra and Om Amr got to work crafting tablecloths, hot mitts and other kitchen ware.

In the small community word of the opportunity spread quickly. Other widows, in need of an acceptable way to make a living, trickled in eager to work. Yasmeen/SKO?? paid for their training, supplied materials and machines. In 2001 the workshop expanded its focus and the women began sewing dresses and beach-ware targeted at female tourists. The products are sold on beaches and stores in Zamalek, Maadi and soon Fustandt.

At first the women were given an allowance, as the factory grew they were paid according to how much they produced, dictated in part by demand. Yasmeena, who travels a lot, brings back ideas and patterns which the women “Egyptianize.”

Ye Hia, the current manager, said the women can fill any orders and the project can grow and invigorate the community. Currently women desperate for work are being turned away because of lack of space and funds for machines.

In addition to producing dresses and kitchen ware, the women take special orders. For example the 15 women recently sewed 2,000 uniforms for Qasrel 3ainy, the biggest hospital in Cairo.

In the future they hope to expand their markets further by reaching international audience. The women pride themselves on their work and independence. Ye Hia stressed they are not a charity and not looking for sponsors, rather they are a self sustaining enterprise looking to grow reinvest and be an asset to its community. Through the work they’re doing, Ye Hia said, the women creating a name for themselves and providing a future for their children.

After about half an hour of questioning we asked to speak with Hagga Nasra. Ye Hia pointed to a smiling old women sewing near the door. Hagra Nasra, who was about 2/3 my height, insisted we interview her in the office. We followed her to a teensy room only half of us fit in. An old desktop computer, opened to an excel spreadsheet with Arabic words and mixed numerals, took up most of the room.

I took out the video camera and stood in the entrance balancing questions with getting a decent shot with poor lighting and little space and other women nearby who refused to be on camera.

During the interview Hagga Nasra smiled and looked curiously at us. She laughed and later had tears in her eyes. I attempted Arabic here and there, understood a word or two and mostly relied on Mary.

Hopefully today, we will finish the history, mission, Hagga Nasra’s story and the products and give it other students putting together the website. I’ll link it when it’s up.

I’m still sorting out the experience. So much happens here; there’s hardly time to process it all. For one, I know I was a bit controlling about the whole thing. The nine of us responsible for the knitting factory met prior to going and I felt my journalism side kicking in….

Being there, squinting at the faces, trying to pick up any words I could, I realized, once again, how important knowing languages is to me. Wherever I am, I hate relying on others, however much I like them, to do things for me, especially speaking and interpreting. At times Ye Hia and Hagga Nasra spoke for five minutes with out pausing. Women spoke among themselves, and said words to us. I asked to take a picture of one and she said no.

There was so much going on beyond my reach.

I can’t tell if I’m over-complicating something quite straight forward and practical or reaching to understand a different systems and way of life.

I don’t know these women, they’re not my grandmothers or teachers, they don’t live down the street. I don’t know what they expected from life or how they feel about what they got.

All of them live walking distance from the factory. They come in wearing shawls and long dresses to craft revealing, western-style-wear out of stretchy, flowery fabric. Sullivan would freak if we wore such clothes in Cairo. If these modest women dream of wearing their products I don’t know. When I asked what they were like on the way there someone compared the dresses to Forever 21s, albeit handmade.

While this is providing the women with a trade, a community, hope and independence, I have so many questions about it….

There is so much context we are missing. Ye Hia said projects like the knitting factory are common….

How to--have a cultural exchange--

Cultural exchange. Peers. Stereotypes. Understanding. Talk.

Dialogue.

Tonight 35 Americans “dialogued” with a similar number of Egyptians at the Fulbright Scholar center in Cairo. What I expected, I’m not sure. It was definitely one of the oddest cases of formality and free for all I’ve ever encountered.

Denis had us count-off to divide into four equal groups of Egyptians and Americans and branch off into four different rooms where professor moderated, and at times dictated, our discussions.

During the fifteen minute break in the middle and even more so at the end the small lobby, where goodies and coffee were laid out, was noisier than the streets of Cairo, which is saying a lot.

Our conversations ranged from the honking phenomena in Cairo to politics—mostly American, to media instilling terror and harassment in the streets.

Despite the science project-like set-up of the program, we're going places. Students are out together now and me and others are meeting tomorrow. The real dialogue is just beginning….

I have many thoughts on the content of our evening, what my fellow Americans said as well as the Egyptians, that however, must wait for another post.

I'm excited for the next few weeks....

Islamic Cairo

I was excited to tour Islamic Cairo because of the Arabic supposedly thrown into the tour, to understand more about the structures which most Arabs hold so dear and because I was dying to explore Islamic Cairo.
I read a lot in my guide book about dirt roads, small allies and traditional foods and dress--this I thought will be a real taste of Egyptian culture.
What I wasn't expecting was to feel a connection with the Mosques themselves.
A girl of multiple religions, loyal to none and only spiritual in the loosest freest sense I expected to value the Mosques only because of their place in society.
The Mosque of Ibn Tulun pictured to to the left, was my favorite. Built in 870 AD by the Tulunid Dynasty who had Turkish and Iraqi connections. It is simplistic, majestic, strangely spiritual and above all peaceful. It is also the oldest Mosque in Cairo and I believe the third largest in the world. I would have loved to stay a while longer, pull out a book or my journal.
Imen our tour guide told us the pillars in the Mosque are specifically placed slightly out of line so all are visible, i.e. nothing is hidden. It adds to the sense of open space and freedom. Gives a sense of confidence and security.
We climbed up the minaret--where the prayers are called from--and gazed down at our city of Cairo. A couple girls were sitting up there with their school books chilling out and studying.
Later mosques we saw were more pretentious...I could get into a whole long thing about that...I'll save it for an editing job...got to run.

You're on my list

To Do List

11:10 p.m. Cairo time….

Because crossing things off makes me happy and yeah, this is also a cop out/I'm getting to it ;D

Write paragraphs in Arabic for class tomorrow

Learn grocery store words/finish presentation with Tara

Write blogs about Arabic class, service learning at a knitting factory, teaching English in a school, dialogue with Egyptian students and reflections on it all

Finish website content with knitting factory group

Reply to a million e-mails, facebook messages, send postcards etc

Figure out how to edit and post video on line---I’ve got some great footage

Figure out my life when I get back—aka housing in DC and such…

Have those conversations, go all those places, meet all those people—live in Egypt =D

Time is going fast…..

Some faces to go with the words

I've put up a couple long posts. So here's a shout out to the more visual =P

















Yeah, a pic of me at the pyramids is definitely a bit overdue...


















Tara, Me, Mary, and Julia a board a Felucca in Aswan.




















What was directly behind us.
















The Luxor Temple.


Not what I expected when I ordered crabs for
dinner in Aswan. I got a plate of 5 for less than 5 US dollars.

Beside the point?

Today we visited Stabl Antar, an illegal/unplanned "town" of about 5,000 where people live without running water or other basic infrastruture.

We drove for a good 20 minutes on streets which hardly existed past children that waved and peered into the windows of our air conditioned van with yellow seat covers reading, 'welcome.' If we had encountered another vehicle driving opposite us it would have been tricky manuvering, but other than a donkey or two, we seemed to be the lone vehicles braving the roads.

I saw a pack of, I think, goats standing in rubbish, which was not surprising considering garbage was not scattered everywhere. Lots of men were cutting wood in small dusty shops and fruit and vegtables lay out for sale under a bridge.

Our destination was a family owned and operated glass blowing shop partnering with the non governmental organization Sohbet Kheir. The plan is for us to help them build a website to market their products. There was also talk of us collecting garbage, with Sullivan objected to.

When the vans stopped we piled out and were directed into a small clean room where two men were paining glass figurines laid out on a table. We were offered cold sodas, which Sullivan told us to take, and encouraged to ask questions to the men, which Sullivan and Mary translated.

The scene was a shock. We could have been anywhere. The shop was clean, albeit small, the men were dressed in typical clothes and fully focused on their work. Nothing on the inside gave away our destination deep inside the poorest area I had ever encountered.



Across the narrow hallway another man sat on a stool creating the glass pieces painted in the room before. He would start with a tube of glass alternately holding in a spout of fire and shaping it with tools. After making a small teapot, he asked Grace, Sullivan's daughter, to spell her name. He deftly inscribed it on a perfume bottle he blew and welded before our eyes. It was complete magic to me.

Who were these people? How had they learned to shape and paint glass? Where were they selling these delicate pieces? Sullivan said it was the first day they were painting the glass; he and others had suggested it when visiting in January. I longed to speak Arabic…I realized how little we knew...It was the most foriegn I've felt since being here.

So the title of this blog...I picked this trip largely for the service learning component. I wanted to jump in and help; get to know Egyptian society by meeting people and contributing. I thought the langauge barriar would be the biggest challenge; it's just the begining.

As we were driving through, one of the guys said something about he'd rather walk in a violent Philaldelphia slum then Stabl Antar. The comment annoyed me. The dirt, poverty and stares didn't bother me and I know I wouldn't be touched. What do you think Mary? I asked.

You can't just walk around here, she said. It's a small community, they all know each other. We're invading. Wait what! Her criticism caught me off guard.

Our meeting with on Monday with Yasmeen and Yousef (sp?) the two attempting to organize our service projects touched upon similiar issues. We sat in a classroom at AUC and they gave a powerpoint presentation about the service projects they're arranging for us. At one point this question came up. "Did these people ask us to pick up garbage and create websites or was this your i.e. the NGOs idea?"
Yasmeen circled the question.

Yesterday a group visited a carpet factory where we are supposed to help. Apparently all they wanted to do was sell us carpets...

However comfortable I may feel, however much I want to help, whatever skills I can offer is only a small part of the picture.

I'm starting to realize how much I don't know. How different it really is here. It's easy to forget. A lot of places we have gone people speak English to us, especially around Zamalek and touristy places like Aswan and Luxor. Brittany Spears is probably the music I've heard most in restaurants.

This pic is actually from Aswan. We couldn't take any today in Stabl Antar.

Today at Stabl Antar the guys could play soccer with the boys, us girls Sullivan suggested, could hold hands and talk about clothes with the other women...ouch...cultural shock anyone?

And take last night. We went out to dinner in Mohandaseen (sp?) a neighborhood in Cairo right across the bridge from Zamalek. Three of us decided to walk home. It was around 10:30. Walking down from the bridge we saw people our age chillin' below. Oooh what's that! I said excited to stumble upon a local hangout. As we got closer we realized it was a mosque. "Let's stay and party at the mosque, I joked. As we walked away I realized what a strange, yet true thing that was.

The mosque is a whole social world and dynamic we can't break into. People spend hours a day praying. Streets filled with green mats because the mosque are overflowing is a common sight.

I was almost dissapointed I didn't feel culturally shocked the first couple weeks. I wanted something extreme. To be shaken....I think the more I open my eyes the more I'll get my wish.

Mabye a reason we forget how different it really is sometimes....