Downtown and Down-trodden

Downtown Cairo. If you’ve watched a news station in the past year, than you’re familiar with what constitutes as Cairo’s center or downtown area: Tahrir Square was long considered Cairo’s focal point before the 25 January Revolution ever occured, perhaps because it held several government buildings including the shunned National Democratic Party’s (NDP) headquarters as well as the British-founded Egyptian Museum.

Downtown Cairo, along with Zamalek, a leafy island in the middle of the Nile, were the areas of choice for the French, and then British, colonizers. Their legacy is witnessed still in the architecture of the buildings; the Starbucks I visited last night was housed in an attractive white building with balconies and the typical brown-slatted shutters. Although rich people still live in Zamalek, the area has taken on a faded glamour: after the British (and most of the international scene) up-and-left Cairo more than half a century ago, poor people moved into downtown and took over the once-classy establishments of Zamalek.

An example of a more old-fashioned building in Zamalek. Those curtains, most likely once a vibrant red, are so faded that they look as though they have been hanging there for more than half a century! Buildings like this often have fixed rent, where the families only pay 10 pounds rent a month! Unfortunately, moving in is impossible since no family wants to give up such a cheap flat in downtown.

This little shop, sitting next to a “Vienna Cafe” (that’s the little cafe tucked into the corner right there), would probably be described as a “junk shop” but i think that “antique shop” would be more appropriate! On a closer inspection of the photo, you can see a figurine of a ukulele, a “Choo Choo train” set, an old keyboard and fake-mustache costumes. What an odd hodgepodge of old-fashioned items!

The above sign advertised a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant. At first, it appears to be a scene from days past, when Cairo’s men still wore turbans, but on closer inspection, the man in the bottom-right corner appears to be putting a pizza into an open-air oven!

Shops like the one at right in the above photo are common throughout Cairo, not just in downtown. Those brightly-coloured bins in the front are piled high with different types of nuts (pistachio are popular here), and there’s always a ice box selling Pepsi (more popular here than Coca Cola, although the both do coexist).

Despite it’s faded glory, I would still trade living in the Soviet-style tasteless block apartments of Nasr City to the squalid and in dire need of refurbishment colonial buildings of downtown. Nasr City may be safer, but (and I know it’s probably politically incorrect of me to say) I am forever fascinated by the colonial eras in Africa and South America, and especially the architecture. The downtrodden downtown of Old Cairo, while a regrettable indication of Colonial Europe’s prejudice and pompous pride, is nevertheless a part of Cairo which I would urge any tourist to visit, as the streets of Cairo, in my opinion, are just as important to see as the pyramids.

S-L-M

Tahrir Square January 25 2012: A Year After

“To celebrate or to protest” seemed to be the question on people’s minds as they gather today, January 25th, in Tahrir Square to mark the 1-year anniversary of the Egyptian revolution and overthrow of Hosni Mubarak.  While some people find cause for celebration, others find reasons to be angry, as they accuse the military of not giving in to all their demands. As of now, 1 PM Cairo time, the protest has been peaceful, but I, like I’m sure many non-activist Egyptians, am holding my breath in wariness.

I drove through Tahrir Square on Sunday, 22 January after my husband’s visa interview at the American embassy (they approved him! To which I can only say, thank you God). It should be noted that the line of Egyptians waiting for an appointment for general visas snaked all the way down the avenue, which only proves that Egyptians are wary of their country’s future. Many of them, my husband said, were Copts, although I’m not sure how he could discern that just by looking at them.

Unlike the last time I saw Tahrir Square, back in July 2011, there was activity this time, and by activity I mean protesters. On one of the center circles of the square (surrounded by traffic) protesters had erected red tents and had gathered. It wasn’t crowded, but I was kind of happy to be in the car and not walking on the street. Apparently an activist was stabbed to death right outside  the justice building that day (see link below), which explained why there were several journalists gearing up in front of their cameras as people gathered to watch.

A man preparing food; after all, even Tahrir Square protesters need to eat.

Another man appearing to prepare food, which kills the stereotype that Arab men can’t cook for themselves (his “Boys Don’t Cry” shirt is amusing, I think).

Not sure what this tent was for., but there appears to be someone’s leg and boot coming out of the door. Perhaps it’s a bathroom? If only I could read the sign.

I love this photo. It was taken, of course, as we drove along in the car, and it appears as though the man on the moped is about to drive straight at us! Here you can see a series of Egyptian flags that were staked in the ground, as well as the Cairo Tower ever so faintly in the background. Red, black and white (Egyptian flag colors) were everywhere, as were people selling Jan 25 tchotchke memorabilia and little food stalls.

There is a lot to be said about the 25 January Revolution. In the year since it happened, frustrations have run high, more people have been killed, honor and respect have been replaced with animalistic barbarism and, overall, not much in the way of change has occurred. For me, personally, the Revolution meant having my husband’s visa case delayed, which is not something that I take lightly. The Revolution meant not being able to go outside in Egypt because my husband feels that it is “unsafe.” Had the Revolution not happened, I possibly might be in Egypt to stay, but it is impossible for me to live in a country that at any moment could spark into intense unrest.

Although I disagreed with the methods of both sides of the Revolution, it is here to stay. Whether the demands of the protesters are fully met within a week, month, year or many years, the people will have to deal with what they created. After all, this was the greatest example of a people’s choice, a people’s work, and a people’s unity. Egyptians need to stand unified, forget their differences, let go of the past while still honoring those who died for the Revolution, and charge ahead for democracy.

S-L-M

Links:

1. Bikaya Masr: “Egyptian Activist Stabbed to Death in Cairo”  by Mohammad Abdel Salam, Jan 22., 2012 http://bikyamasr.com/54604/egyptian-activist-stabbed-to-death-in-cairo/?utm_source=Facebook&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=WordSocial

2. A very interesting wordpress.com site regarding the author’s personal take on the Revolution: http://legalrizk.wordpress.com/2012/01/25/january-25-revolution-a-year-in-review/#comment-3

Rubbish, It’s just Rubbish!

A few days ago, I was in our flat (big surprise; I never get out much in Egypt) when I saw billowing white smoke wafting through the air through the balcony doors. I went onto the balcony (I just love having one,; you get to spy on people without them knowing it) and saw that, along one of the low walls of the “courtyard” someone had lit a pile of rubbish on fire.

Really, I just sighed when I saw this. If I wanted to be cruel, I could easily call Egypt one big “rubbish dump,” to use the British term for ‘garbage’ which they also use here. Cairo is littered with litter: even on the poshest street corners say, in Zamalek near the American Embassy, one will find garbage strewn across the ground. For someone who loves nature as well as beauty and cleanliness (my mother might laugh at that one, but dirtiness does give me the heebee-jeebees!) the site of all this rubbish just makes me scream.

The Egyptians, it appears, don’t care. If they did, they wouldn’t litter in the first place. Litter is just an accessory to Cairo’s, er, great sandy boulevards and weathered, eroding sidewalks and dusty evergreen plants. Whilst sitting on my balcony, I’ve seen rubbish fly by me; usually scraps of paper or cigarette ash, but there also happens to be a black belt and a dirty sock hanging in the tree which stands eye-level with my balcony. On the ground, I can spot a lone hanger, Chipsy’s bright-coloured bags, styrofoam delivery cartons and of course cigarette boxes.

Whenever I lecture my husband and his friends on this, they just laugh. My husband has no qualms about tossing rubbish out the car window onto the street, and neither does anyone else I’ve met. On occasion, I’ve taken the empty Pepsi cans and put them in my purse to throw away in our garbage at home. I don’t see why anyone would want to live in rubbish; after all, they do have garbage collectors here, it’s not like they don’t! I suppose the many alley cats enjoy the rubbish heaps as do the pigeons, but overall, the lack of care over  the environment is pretty sad and non-existant here in Egypt.

Speaking of a lack of environmental concern, fireworks are also legal in Egypt. And although it was kind of nice one day last summer when people set them off in the courtyard, they pose a severe threat in a city that is parched and, well, a desert! They are also not cool when you can’t see them, as was the case the other night. I heard a series of huge booms, and when I stepped onto the balcony I noticed the sound of everyone clinging shut their doors. Perturbed, I went back inside, only to realize that a smell of rotting eggs-sulfur-had filled the apartment. I seriously thought that a bomb had gone off, or at the very least some type of nerve gas, which was only compounded with my fear that one, I don’t have a cellphone to call my husband, who was out and two, I started to have difficulty breathing. Later, I found out that they were only fireworks, but seriously, in Egypt you never know if it’s going to be fireworks, fire or just a burning pile of rubbish!

Note: Although the environment and safety issues in Egypt disturb me at times, I still find the country a beautiful, intriguing place and I am not trying to insult anyone with this post!

S-L-M

Supermarket Treats in Egypt

Food in Egypt is intriguing. Although I have food phobias, I also have a strange obsession with reading about food, or looking at food: as a child, while reading the Laura Ingalls Wilder Little House books, my favorite parts were reading about the food they ate and how they made it (people don’t make their own butter nowadays, that’s for sure!) And when I bought new things for my doll house, it was always the exquisitely-crafted tiny turkeys and cakes. So, although i may not enjoy eating it, I enjoy reading and looking at it and now…writing about it.

One of the tastiest treats in Egypt has got to be Todo. Todo is like the Hostess brand of Egypt: they make all sorts of sweet little snacks just waiting for my sweet tooth to devour. I encountered Todo during my first trip to Egypt, but when we went to the supermarket last week it was the first time I saw the Todo cream-filled cupcakes. Of course, I had to get them!

Below is an example of the more traditional Todo, a little chocolate-covered chocolate cake with a layer of chocolate icing. Perhaps French bakeries would sniff at my Todo obsession–Hostess certainly isn’t gourmet–but Todo is a very good dessert, in my opinion.

Continuing on the sweet-tooth craze, my husband picked these treats up from the market one day after work. The Tempo was like a less-sweet version of the Oreo; the HoHo’s were, well, like Hostess Hoho’s (or maybe they look more like Yodels?) Either way, both were tasty, and an interesting fact is that the packaging on both was in French. Not a word of Arabic in sight!

Froot Loops aren’t an Egyptian brand (although I did try the Egyptian version, Temmy’s, which features a crocodile on the box, and they sorely lacked sugar of any nature) but they are one of the few American cereal brands I’ve encountered in the Egyptian supermarket. It’s also funny to see the box, which I’ve been familiar with since childhood, appear in Arabic.

No trip to the supermarket (in Egypt, I’ve gone to both the giant department-store Spinney’s at the CityStars Mall as well as Metro Market, which has a huge candy section and CinnaBon pop-up shop, as well as most recently Omar’s Supermarket) is complete without President cheese. But what I want to know is: is it Egyptian, or French? My aunt brought over President cheese for Christmas Dinner, which makes me want to assume that it is French. But apparently it’s very popular in Egypt too.

And what do I make with President cheddar cheese slices? Grilled cheese, of course! My husband had never had a grilled cheese until I made it for him (oh, the horror!) That’s perhaps because sliced bread is unpopular in Egypt and, also, rather expensive (they prefer their pita bread, baked in open-air bakeries). Rich Bake is the common go-to source for sliced bread (and other bread goods) and I find that I like it more than regular American white bread (of course, it has nothing on French baguettes, but c’est la vie).

When people ask me, “Can you find something normal to eat?” in Egypt, the answer is not only “yes, in the cafes” but also “yes, at the supermarket.” Metro Market would look identical to something like King Kullen, if only King Kullen had lime-and-pepper-flavored potato chips. Oh yes. More on that later.

S-L-M

Celebrating my Birthday in Egypt

I have decided to keep a sort of diary about my life in Cairo, where I will be spending the next month. For the sake of letting my subscribers know that I have posted something new, I will add these diary postings to my normal post list, but you can also find them in the page entitled “The Cairo Diary.” It’s kind of nice to do a more informal musing on Arab culture. 

Holidays are meant to be fun. They are meant to be times of joy, when people get together to eat, drink, remember and celebrate with their family and friends. For me, holidays do not have a high success rate; the expectations and hype, I feel, are too high, and I have spent many a holiday for this or that reason in tears. So the idea of spending holidays abroad–and thus away from the people who celebrate the holiday–appeals to me.

To date, I have celebrated most major holidays abroad. I spent Halloween in France (I did nothing) as well as Thanksgiving in France (I probably feasted on my glorious ham-and-cheese baguette, which in my opinion is a far better Thanksgiving feast than turkey and stuffing and cranberry sauce). I spent Christmas Eve in the Fiumicino Leonardo Da Vinci airport  and then in a hotel room at the Satellite Hotel outside Rome, eating a disgusting pasta dinner (the mineral water, the only thing to drink besides wine which I didn’t want, was awful) thanks to severe rain, and then Christmas Day trying not to fall asleep in Paris’ Charles De Gaulle Airport, with nothing but Pringles and a Pepsi and an endless game of Solitaire. I spent Memorial Day (don’t remember) and the Fourth of July in Cairo, the latter sitting in an American school in sweltering hot heat, where no one seemed to realize that it was July 4th despite being an “American” school.

This was all in 2011. Most recently, I spent New Years Eve/Day in Barcelona, Spain, with my twin sister and university friends as I recently reported. And now I can report that I have spent my birthday abroad here in Cairo, the first birthday I celebrated without my twin (!) or my cousin, who also shares the same day.

Although it was strange to celebrate my birthday without them, it was the first time I really celebrated it as “my day,” which I will never view it as. I spent the day fuming in our flat because there was no internet (again!), then went over with my husband to his parent’s flat where his family, including his older sister and her adorable children, had prepared a small celebration. They lit the chocolate and creme cake twice (as I requested; it’s a tradition in my family) and sang “Happy Birthday” to me, first in English and then in Arabic. We also had a plain cake which his mother had made, which was delicious. I played with the children and declared that I was turning 5 years old, not 23.

Afterward, my husband and I walked around Cairo’s huge CityStars Mall (5+ levels and more awing than any Long Island mall) with his friend before returning home. We were supposed to go to the Cairo Tower yesterday for dinner, but as of yet this hasn’t materialized. Despite the lack of  an “excitement” factor, I had a very lovely birthday with his family and hope that this year continues on it’s upward trend. Our visa interview is coming up in two days, and if I don’t get on here before then, please wish us luck!

S-L-M

It’s Arab Idol!

The “American Idol” brand has spawned countless spin-offs in the USA as well as abroad. The Arab world too has embraced the singing-contest format, both with “Star Academy” (which also exists in France) as well as a full-on copycat of it’s American predecessor, entitled—you guessed it—Arab Idol.

The judges of Arab Idol, from wikeez.com

Arab Idol even visually resembles it’s American counterpart. The contestants sing on a round stage awash in blue lights, with an audience watching them as well as the panel of judges. There are three judges, older singer Ahlam (with the requisite collagen lip implants), a dashing older man (Ragheb Alama, a music producer) with wavy hair and Hassan El Shafei, younger man who appeared to be sporting a bit of a faux-mohawk. Unlike original American Idol Hosts Simon Cowell and Paula Abdul, the judges keep their commentary short and sweet—and sweet, it appears, indeed: they don’t appear to put-down the contestants with callous and crude words, which is a relief. (Note: this writer only ever saw a brief glimpse of American Idol; for some reason, I never got into it, but I know enough about the dramatic antics of the judges to know that they probably only said what they said for shock value).

After every commercial break, the affable host with the light brown hair, definite salon-tan and nice blue eyes reminded viewers to log onto facebook.com/arabidol to either cast their votes or for more information. Along the bottom of the screen was the rolling list of numbers to text for your favorite contestant: Asiacell (for Iraq); Orange (a network also used in France), Zain (popular in Bahrain, I believe), Etisalat (covers Egypt), Oman mobile and many others.

The contestants were varied, but entirely male! The show, which is relatively new, includes male and female competitors; I think they preform on different episodes.  They gave short performances, but to my ear, they sounded no different than the Arabic artists I listen to on my ipod; in other words, these were actual, genuine singers, not like the contestants on American Idol who were most likely selected for their personal lives and shock value than actual talent. (OK, so Carrie Underwood is an admittedly decent singer, and she has had great success; Kelly Clarkson, although I wouldn’t say has the most amazing voice, certainly had more feminist, thought-provoking songs; but don’t get me started on the other winners of the show). The Arab Idol contestants didn’t stand there on stage bawling, or crying because the opportunity “was just so amazing;” they accepted their critique with a smile, graciously, and it was on to the next one.

There was 30’s-age man named Mahmoud who wore an interestingly-patterned turban and robe who sung a traditional song; a young man named Youssef who also sang a very traditional song (although apparently with some background vocals, as when he stopped the song kept going) who was an apparent crowd favorite; a young Saudi or Gulf man (he wore a red-and-white checkered headscarf) who smiled lot but whose performance was a little dull (which the judges did appear to remark on); a cute boy named Hassan who was either from Tunisia or who sung a traditional Tunisian song (the audience was in love with him, and he lapped up the attention, blowing kisses) as well as  several others who attempted to rock the stage.

Arab Idol was interesting primarily because I’d never watched an Idol, but there was something sorely lacking: the drama of elimination! At the end of the show, all the contestants came on stage and their names were read, but I’m not sure if they eliminated anyone! What’s up with that? Do they only eliminate people on certain shows, or did they announce the name but didn’t make a big deal of it, so as to lessen the blow to the loser? Either way, it makes me feel as though us Americans are bloodthirsty for winners and losers!

S-L-M

Arabian Music Through Music Videos, Pt. 1

Forget video killing the radio star: MTV has since killed the video star, what with the fact that it no longer plays anything remotely resembling, well, music! Music videos are still being made—and at high quality, if you take a gander at Lady Gaga’s over-the-top glamorous vids—but where are people watching them? Online? Singers may have gone “underground” with their music videos, but in the Arab world, there are countless channels that play music non-stop. And their music videos are anything but dull or cliché.

            Rotana Cinema is a huge media production company in Egypt, running several channels on TV and producing both films, television programs and music. Recently, I witnessed a “Top 20” countdown of music videos on Rotana, a concept that was born in America with MTV’s Total Request Live (TRL) program. The host was a woman with overlong extensions, a pleasant demeanor and definite collagen lip implants; like many other female personalities on TV, she could certainly use her lips as a life preserver if necessary. Myriam Fares and the never-dying Amr Diab were in the top 10, but the top 2 positions when to (2^nd) a sheikh with a white headscarf and sporting a long robe accompanied by drums and a backup male choir; at number 1, a relatively young man with dark hair singing infront of a full orchestra a sad-sounding ballad.

The Rotana Cinema Logo

            The differences, stylistically, between the artists on this Top Countdown highlights the varied tastes in Arab music. “Popular music” in the United States is solely relegated to any music aimed at teenagers and the younger generations; if you can still find a Top 20 countdown, most of the songs will be rap, r&b, hip-hop, pop, a watered-down version of techno or, more likely, dubstep; a few country songs and an occasional rock song or oddball (see: Adele). There are so many more genres of music in the United States, but this is what one usually hears on the radio and certainly on TV. In the Arab world, however, all musical tastes are admired in popular music.

Amr Diab in his Top-20 video for song "Benadeek", from ahlasoot.com

            Arabic music can first be divided into two main styles: traditional and modern. Traditional has all of the ethnic flavor you might expect to hear on a Putumayo CD; the songs use the same words, lyrical style and instrumental style as ones of the generations before them. I witnessed this type of music in action several times when I went to sit under the big circus-style tent at one of the military clubs here in Egypt; the singer was a older man who stood on stage accompanied by several men playing instruments, and he sung a very traditional-sounding music.

            Modern music can be divided into two groups: that which is more ‘Arabic’ flavored and that which is more Western. The ‘Arabic’ flavored songs are a mixture of old and new, perhaps pairing ballad-style singing with a more pop-ish instrumental or vice versa. The Western-style Arabic music is very poppy, with techno or trance undertones. Indeed, there are many trance/techno DJ’s that are cropping up in the Middle East. Rap and r&b-style music is mostly non-existant, save in countries like Morocco and Tunisia where artists combine Arabic lyrics with French lyrics to form what is dubbed “rai ‘n b” (a style I adore), although there are some underground rap preformers in Egypt. Rock is admittedly harder to come by, although if the Iranian film No one Knows about Persian Cats is any indication, rock music does exist, it is just underground.

            As I do not understand Arabic, I cannot give a critique on the lyrics in Arabic songs, and therefore my critique shall be on the style of Arabic music videos. The music video is an interesting medium of art because it manages to mix music with visuals in a unique interpretation. Music videos in the United States are often extremely fast-paced, exhilarating rides in which we are barraged with a thousand and one mini-clips and still shots, usually of very attractive people. Whereas Michael Jackson, the high auteur of music videos, got purposefully “ugly” in Thriller, the music video of today usually centers on very, very attractive people, usually dancing the night away in a club. The more enterprenuring ones feature some high-stakes car chase a la Hollywood films, or mini-dramas enacted, but one thing is clear: there always has to be plenty of close-ups of young, flawless people, their perfect bodies, bare skin, and sexual tension, if not outright sex.

            There are two main differences between American music videos and Arabic music videos. The first is that the overall editing pace of the videos in Arabic is slower: the storyline is much more important in Arabic music videos, and as a result we don’t have as many mini-clips and shots. The second difference is that there is no kissing or sex in Arabic music videos: whereas American music videos are rife with sex, the most anyone will do in an Arabic music video is give a hug, or touch each other’s face.

            That is not to say that Arabic music videos are devoid of sexual tension or all of the “flawless, pretty” people that fill American music videos. Au contraire, in Arabic music videos it is perhaps even worse. The women—whether they are the artist or simply models in the video—are constantly seen primping, preening, and basically luxuriating in their general loveliness. The amount of loveliness in this videos is almost disgusting to watch; after watching an hour of Arabic music videos, I feel like ugliness would be more than welcome. Everyone is perfect looking, male and female; everything is perfect-looking. Arabic music videos are like fairy tales  in which everything appears to be wonderful, and even if the heroine sheds a tear, the ending is always  happy.

Coming next: Part II: Unrealistic Representation in Arabic Music Videos

Ma tigi Nor’os–An Egyptian-Style Dance Film

  There are more inspirational dancing films in Hollywood than you can shake a stick at. For one reason or another, the idea of a film where people use dancing to get through tough times is just one cliché that directors love to use over and over again. Don’t get me wrong—I love to dance, I just think that the films could be a little more original.

            Last night I watched another dancing film, only this time it was via the Egyptian Film backlots, not Hollywood. The film, Ma Tigi Norqos, was a sort of cross between J.Lo’s Shall We Dance? and Antonio Banderas’ Take the Lead (or any other dance film, for that matter): it centered around a dance studio full of your atypical dancer types who are prepping up for a big public performance in none other than the City Stars Mall in Heliopolis. You’ve got the meathead-but-oddly-charming hottie dance instructor (Tamer Hagras) who everyone swoons over; the outlandish and brass female dance instructor with what appears to be purple ribbons (or hair dye) streaking her hair; two lumpy and cluelessly-dressed oddballs who just want to get with her; an officer-worker who can dance surprisingly well and a bunch of young hijab-wearing girls who get “down and dirty” in the r&b sessions.

Actor Tamer Hagras

            The focus, however, is mostly on one older woman (actress Yousra) who looks not unlike some American mother. She wears glasses, arrives in her frumpy office clothes and is generally timid and clueless; however, she is not too timid, as even this non-Arabic speaker could figure out that she was bored with her life (and her inattentive, boring, strict husband) and had decided to take a leap and do something exciting. The catch is that neither her husband nor her teenage son know that she’s taking dance lessons, so she has to sneak around and hide, which eventually leads her husband to believe that she is having an affair.

Ma Tigi Norqos

            If the film had been American, would I have liked it, despite the typical dance cliché? I would say yes: there were many comedic moments (American dance films are usually so much more serious, with the pep talks and you-can-do-it! Speeches) such as the scene where the crazy dance instructor gets poked in the derriere with a pole (the klutzy lumpy guys are balancing them on their shoulders as they dance) and the front-desk lady gives her a block off ice to sit on. (What I wouldn’t give to have known what they were saying in this scene!) Although our protagonist argues with her husband, there is none of the stereotypical “down-and-out” scenes where you feel like all is going to go to pot. Even when he catches her tangoing in her office with her fellow co-worker she’s not, like, locked in a closet or something. And even when she lives out her fantasy of tangoing with Mr. Macho Muscles Dance Instructor in private, there’s no hard feelings afterward.

The protagonist (Yousra) with her dance instructor (Tamer Hagras)

            Because the film is Egyptian, you tend to view it’s American storyline in a different light. I personally found the protagonist riveting: here she is, this older lady, going behind her husband’s back to dance. To the over-protective, stuffy Egyptian male of today, having your wife dance—especially to an intimate dance like the tango—with another man would be an absolute no-no. It would be unthinkable. But here she is, dancing with a man probably only a few years older than her teenage son, laughing conspiratorially with her unlikely bedfellows over this and that. The music is modern, the dance sexy, and although she wears a modest billowy leggings-pantsuit for her public performance at the City Stars Mall, the characters and film would not be out of place in a more Westernized setting.

            Music, they say, is the international language. Other people say love is the international language; yet others say food or dance. I say, why not all four? No matter where you go, people are going to be eating, dancing, listening to music and, well, loving! No matter what country you find yourself in, the core of life will be the same; deep down, we all share the same aspirations and passions. If the abundance of dance films like Ma Tigy Naqros are any indication, let’s just dance through life together!

S-L-M

 Links:

http://www.rotana.net/movie/ma+tigi+nor%E2%80%99os+/605/detail

Jealousy and Respect in a Cairo Cafe

            What do we do when we meet someone new? Depending on our culture, the norm may be to shake hands or give a small wave; it may be to give a sort of “fist pump;” we might give one or two kisses on the cheek, or a small hug, or even rub noses, as is the norm in some Asian cultures. This simple-seeming tradition is one of the most important that the global traveler must manage in order to respect local tradition.

            Nevertheless, I found myself offended the other day when meeting some of my husband’s friends at a café the other day. In Egypt, it is common for people to shake hands with each other upon greeting, even if they’re friends; girls often give a kiss on the cheek or a hug, not unlike European and Latin cultures. My husband introduced me to some of his co-workers who were already seated in the café, and I proferred my hand to say hello. One by one they shook my hand, albeit reluctantly and with a shake like a flopping dead fish. Remembering my sister’s remarks about how she hated a person with a limp handshake, I mentioned this to my husband after we had sat down.

            “It’s a sign of respect,” he said. “Because you are my wife, they don’t want to touch your hand.” They can’t touch my hand? I looked down at my hand. I was wearing woolen fingerless gloves. Was it really such a turn-on for a guy to touch a married woman’s hand? Although I had not insulted their culture—they might have felt uncomfortable shaking my hand, but when I offered it they weren’t about to refuse—I myself almost felt insulted. I wasn’t some precious cargo, meant to be hidden away behind a purdah curtain, and I disliked the fact that my married status meant that guys were afraid to even shake my hand.

            However, whereas the guys in our group seemed to be concerned with respect and propriety, the females were most certainly not. The two stylishly-dressed (and, with their blonde and red coifs, decidedly European-style) women who also happened to be my husband’s bosses barely greeted me or even gave me the time of day, even though the one was a native of Berlin, Germany, and knew perfect English. Except for the few times my husband tried to draw up a conversation between us, they basically pretended that I did not exist. I was prepared to dismiss this as a nervousness to communicate in English, or a preoccupation with the Munich vs. Ali team football match, until my husband himself brought it up to me.

            “They’re jealous of you because you’re pretty. They act like that towards the pretty employees in our store,” he explained, which in fact explained nothing. The two of them were way more stylishly dressed, and themselves pretty. I had had experience before with the petty jealousy of Egyptian girls, especially concerning those who were enamored with my husband, but it still made me shake my head. I don’t care what country or culture you’re from: wearing your jealousy on your sleeve and displaying it is disgusting. We can’t help but feel jealous at times, it’s just human nature unfortunately, but to obviously show your jealousy is just rude and classless.

            Like many of my other café-going experiences here in Egypt, this one thus came with a lesson in human interaction that did not go unnoticed. I spent most of my time willing myself not to think about the absurdity of not being able to shake hands, or female jealousy, and instead tried to concentrate on people watching through the plate-glass windows, eating my arguably-decent pizza and watching the football game (even though I am no great fan of sports.) The highlight of the night was being introduced to one of the co-workers, a man who had spent 7 years living in Queens, New York, not far from where I lived. He loved Queens, loved the people and thought the weather was fine, and had even been to my hometown! It’s a curious window that seems to open up when you meet someone who intimately knows your hometown when you’re so far from home, as though you instantly have a bond with this person that transcends niceties or cordial remarks.

            And guess what? When we said good-bye, he  shook my hand, firmly, which made me remember that no matter how far you roam, you can always find a little bit of home!

S-L-M

An Orphanage and Silver Linings

I have decided to keep a sort of diary about my life in Cairo, where I will be spending the next month. For the sake of letting my subscribers know that I have posted something new, I will add these diary postings to my normal post list, but you can also find them in the page entitled “The Cairo Diary.” It’s kind of nice to do a more informal musing on Arab culture.

“You’ll have many hassanahs because you did this,” my sister-in-law, whom I’ll call “Re,” told me as we watched her older brother and mother load bags of oranges, clementines and bananas into the back of the car. It was my first full day back in Egypt, and I had found myself volunteering  to go with some of my in-laws to bring fruit and sweets to a local orphanage.

Hassanahs are like freckles, she explained: to Egyptians (or Muslims, for that matter) hassanah’s are marks of good deeds. I don’t really believe that freckles mean that one has done good deeds, otherwise a girl like Re would be covered in them (then again, how do I know; she wears a hijab, so maybe she is).

The orphanage was located just a few blocks away, in the masjid (mosque) complex that we passed all the time. At night, the small minaret is lit up in green. We climbed all the way up with our bags of  fruit to one of the many floors, where we were let in by one of the boys. The house mother–what would you call her?–greeted us and took stock of our gifts while we sat on a pair of aging yellow couches and were greeted by the boys. There were about 13 or 14 of them, all between the ages of 7-9yrs old, and most of them had been there together as babies, as the photograph on  the wall witnessed. They were running about and watching TV, as they had finished studying for their exam, and they came up and shook our hands. I tried to utter a “salam alaykoum”–perhaps a bit too formal for a bunch of elementary-age children–and I’m sure they thought I was crazy because I didn’t speak any Arabic to them, since I don’t think anyone explained that I was, in fact, American.

Thus, as my mother- and sister-in-law chatted with the house mother, and young hijab-wearing aid girls bustled around moving a huge washing machine, I was able to observe with my usual silence. The boys lost interest in us, except for in my brother-in-law, whom they gathered around and sat in his lap. There were two common rooms with the bedrooms grouped around; to me, it didn’t look much different than the sparse flat my husband and I are staying in. A couple of the boys started playing a form of soccer with a pink balloon, and in a gesture of friendliness I would hit the balloon back to them when it came my way. We stayed for maybe an hour, and then it was time to go.

“Tell me, was it really sad? Did you feel sad?” My husband asked me when I met up with him and we went out with one of his friends to a Cinnabon (yes, that staple of every American mall exists in Cairo, and like all American brands is considered ‘expensive.’ Interesting note: I had yet to ever eat in a Cinnabon until Cairo). I looked at him and said, “Yes it was sad, of course.” I couldn’t imagine having no parents, and especially no family who would want to look after you.

But yet, at the same time, it wasn’t really that sad. Sure, those boys had no family and had to rely on donations to live. But there they were, (presumably) healthy and taken care of, getting their education and having fun. They didn’t seem sad or constantly preoccupied by their situation. In fact, I bet they mostly gave it thought when people like us came with donations and sympathetic smiles. My husband’s question got me thinking  about what I would call “set” or “stale” emotions. Set/stale emotions are those emotions that we feel that we are obligated to feel during a certain situation, like when someone dies or something seemingly bad happens. But I think that sometimes these set/stale emotions prevent us from seeing the bigger picture, and especially from seeing the good in a perhaps unfortunate situation.

If a person dies, it is certainly saddening; but what if that person was in extreme pain, with a disease like cancer? At least when they die they are at peace, and no longer suffering. Or if you lose your job: as long as you have enough money to survive until you find a new job, perhaps losing the job is a blessing because you have the opportunity to reevaluate your life and what to do. In retrospect, this is what “every cloud has a silver lining” is all about.

The boys at the orphanage were being taken care of, and they have probably learned two of the best lessons a person can learn: humility and gratitude. Those lessons alone are enough to merit a person, in my person, a hundred hassanahs.

S-L-M