Perception

As my Arabic has improved (a completely unforeseen byproduct of my stay here), I have become more adventurous in my idle conversation with Egyptians. Before I could understand anything anyone said, it seemed to me that Egyptians were helpful, nice, welcoming, and mostly apathetic people. This view is a contrast to how I feel that Arabs are portrayed: angry, narrow-minded, selfish, and rude. 

In my feeble attempts in conversation with good, hard-working everyday Egyptians, I have found that not only is the first view true and the latter view false, but I have found that a little Arabic goes a long way towards furthering the view. Often I will say one Arabic word, and have it be returned with a jolly "Welcome to Egypt!! Where from?" Yesterday, a cab driver called my Arabic "heiyla 'awee." I know about 100 words (I write them down), and that means "very beautiful." Wrong, but thanks! He then told me that I could pay him whatever I wanted, a welcome change from the guys trying to overcharge over the "khowaga." 

I will have other posts regarding the niceness and helpfulness of Egyptians, but I also wanted to point out another hilarious byproduct of this misperception of Egyptians. Right before I came here, I went around asking all my friends who knew all kinds of silly questions about security. Do people hate Americans? Do you get harrassed? Am I going to get deported? Am I going to get blown up? Will I get pickpocketed? Mugged? I lived in Cairo for three days before I saw that all of these questions are absolutely ridiculous. 

The funny part is this: every American coming here for the first time asks all of those questions, and then finds them laughable once they see it for themselves. Egypt may be right in the center of the most closed-minded and turbulent region in the World, from lunatic Pirates to the south to a heated war over existence to the north and unhinged racist political leaders and massive terrorist cells gripping a country on the brink of war to the northeast (both of those articles are from today, by the way), but Egyptians generally have little interest in involving themselves with this strife (and I didn't even mention Iraq, Afghanistan, Darfur, Hezbollah, or insane Emirati leaders who like to videotape their torture, among others). 

So, I can understand why these misperception of Egyptians exist, but they in truth are nothing like the people in this region making the news daily. Hopefully Ol' Barry can shine some light on this during his upcoming trip!

Friday

I was talking to my mother on the phone and she asked me how my conversion to Islam was going. While the odds of me picking up a faith while in Egypt are slim, I figured that, it being Friday and all, I would write a post about some of my more interesting experiences having to do with the heavy Muslim influence in Egypt. 

I was having a conversation with someone I met about the possibility of Barack Obama going to a major Muslim capital within the first 100 days of his administration, to make a speech to the Muslim world. It was quickly pointed out to me that the term "Muslim Country" is incorrect, and can actually make people mad. The man I was talking to said that even though a vast majority of Egyptians are Muslim, and law in Egypt is still based in Islamic scripture, they don't like to be identified as a "Muslim Country". OK. Arab Republic of Egypt. Apologies. 

I have written before about the call to prayer, and that however annoying it may be, it still rings with me as remarkable that there exists a 5-times-daily reminder that everyone here has something in common, a tying bind. But it is larger than that. Coming from America, you cannot imagine something, anything (let alone religion or faith), having this kind of effect on the daily life, routine and culture of an entire nation. 

For example, when I went to Ain Sokhna, Laura and I went to bus station midday on Friday to see the bus times (because heaven forbid they put them on the internet). It wasn't massively inconvenient, since we didn't intend on leaving until the evening, but when we got the station at 12:15 on Friday, it was absolutely deserted. We found a lone security guard, who informed us that the ticket takers were praying, and that we would have to wait. Until 1:10. At a bus station!!?!?! Good luck getting food or any kind of service.  

This sacred morning once a week is not the only influence on culture and society. There are many cultural oddities that I suspect are grounded in the scripture. Wearing shorts immediately labels you as a "khawaga," a somewhat affectionate term implying something along the lines of "silly foreigner." If a cafe serving drinks has an outdoor eating section, alcohol is strictly forbidden in that section. I have never seen a woman sitting in the front seat of a taxi (the normal place to sit for any male riding alone). And when my friends decided they were going to teach me some swear words in Arabic in a taxi one night, the driver nearly kicked us out of the cab. I have no idea what ties these cultural oddities have with the Muslim faith, but to me, the khawaga, random and strange they certainly are, and as I sit here starving on this Friday morning, I wonder what horrific faux pas I commit on a daily basis. 

Timothy

It was one of those weird things where something loud wakes you up, but it was part of a dream. As if you heard the sound, and in that split second your mind fabricates an elaborate and stressful backstory concerning the source of the sound, and then forces you to experience that stressful bcakstory. I sat straight upright as Theo hollered and bounded across the living room and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him (I sleep in the living room). It had to be around four am. My heart was still pounding when he timidly opened his door and said, "We have rats."

He claimed to have seen two, both sitting on the edge of the bathtub as he stumbled into the bathroom in the middle of the night. Now going to the bathroom was even more of an adventure than it already was, and I was terrified of even shutting the door. 

We didn't encounter any more rats until a little over 24 hours later. It was 8:30 am this time, and I was dozing, so I was not going to be startled this time. I grunted as Laura made her way towards the shower. The split second the door shut I heard a scream, and the door flew open as Laura backed out into the living room. "It landed on my head!!!!" I rolled my eyes to myself and pretended not to be awake, but after 30 seconds, it was clear she was going to need some help. "I'll let you know if it scurries under my door!!" Theo called out from inside his bedroom. Thanks. 

So there we were, in a standoff with Tim the Rat (we had decided that he needed a name). He was sitting on the window sill, staring nonchalantly at us, as we stood there terrified, me in boxers and a t-shirt holding a pot and a lid, and Laura in her towel holding a ladle. We approached him, and he leapt, climbing the glass panes to the top of the curtain, like a flying squirrel across the bathroom into the sink (ricocheting off of Laura, again), and then onto the floor, out the door, and behind the washing machine. Grover Cleveland, our surly (and insane) tabby cat, who is apparently an awful and/or disinterested hunter, sat incredulously watching from on top of the sideboard. "OK, enjoy your shower," I said as I climbed back into bed, and as Laura stood there in post-traumatic shock. 

Twelve hours later we were having an enjoyable evening, when Grover started acting strange (stranger than usual anyways). Loping around the apartment like an idiot, we figured he was finally showing interest in Tim. Investigating, I walked into the kitchen and he was sitting, stock still, staring at the ceiling. This was weird for three reasons: he never goes in the kitchen, he never sits still, and he never stares. I turned and looked up, and there sat Tim, on a pipe running along the upper corner of the kitchen. 

Figuring Grover had Tim trapped for at least a few minutes, I ran downstairs to get our bowab, which is in Egypt, a sort of doorman/super/handyman/resident of the crappy tiny ground floor apartment. His name is Mohammad, and not only does he not speak a word of English, but he has a hard time communicating in Egyptian arabic. We are not sure where he is from. "Andee farr," I said. I have a rat. "Ariff," he said. I know. Thanks a lot, Moh. (I call him BoMo, short for Bowab Mohammad) Trying to stumble and gesticulate through some awful arabic sentence, his wife appeared next to him with a wooden spoon and a plastic bag. As he said the word for "you want?" he pounded his closed fist against the front knuckles of his other closed fist. "Aiwa," I said, and we marched up the stairs together. 

We got back into the apartment, and Grover and Tim were still in their staring match in the kitchen. It wasn't an angry stare, but more mutual expressions of bemusement. BoMo picked up Grover and handed him to me. Not really wanting a front row seat to the battle, I carried him back into the living room where Theo and Laura sat, interested to see how I had handled this. Without any sort of commotion or delay, BoMo walked out of the kitchen with a moonfaced grin. Proud as hell, he held Tim up by the tail, so we could all take in his deadness. Never losing his ear-to-ear smile, he walked over to the balcony, and tossed Tim's dead body into the garden, five floors below. He must have just bopped him on the head. How on earth did he do that? 

Thus ends the tragic story of Tim the Rat, Grover the Cat, and Moh the Boh. And so it goes.   

Zahi

On Sunday morning, I attended what I like to call the Zahi show. Dr. Zahi Hawass is a renowned Egyptian Archaeologist who, for the past decade or so has held the title of "Secretary General of the Supreme Council on Antiquities." Egypt's claim to fame, crown jewels, and staple of the economy have been running through Dr. Hawass, and he has not disappointed. The New York Times Saturday Profile by Michael Slackman last weekend offers a glimpse of the character of this renegade gunslinging cowboy, but seeing it with my own eyes made it whole different story.  

By now, most people have probably heard that they believe they have discovered the tomb of Marc Antony and Cleopatra. The fated couple, an Egyptian Queen and a Greek General, committed suicide together in 31 BC, and their final resting place has remained a mystery ever since. Their story has captivated people from Shakespeare to Elizabeth Taylor, and in reality, the new discovery at an already well-known site is a story that will sell itself. But ol' Zahi has to play this one up. 

So I had a friend at Reuters who was covering the story, and we tagged along in his car. Since it was a video press conference at an outdoor site, the light had to be right, so the conference began at 8 AM. Being three hours away, we woke up at 5 and hit the desert road. We got to the temple just as the press conference had started, and Zahi was just as advertised.

Impressing upon the cameras the significance of the discovery, as well as the personal ingenuity (speculation) that it took to make these predictions of the location of the tombs, the man was in his element. Granting every personal interview with a smile and a dramatic phrase, and even granting several requests for videos of him simply walking away from the camera, across the rocky and jagged floor of the temple, he did his best to sell this as not only an historic find, but as a massive asset for Egypt and its massive antiquities collection. 

People in Egypt have plenty of bad things to say about Dr. Hawass. His Indiana Jones persona and know-it-all demeanor grate politicians, archaeologists, and the public alike. Without repeating Slackman's largely tongue-in-cheeck profile, I saw for myself how he can hog the spotlight and trample on other arghaeologists findings. But the man has a plan. 

Few people here might agree with me on this, but Dr. Hawass is good at what he does. Recognizing antiquities as an enormous asset to Egyptian tourism (a large chunk of the Egyptian economy), he is working tirelessly to mark the Egyptian Antiquities as a brand. He does his best to play up archaeological finds, postures for the camera, and has hatched a master plan to improve the antiquities museum (which I haven't written on yet, but really needs a serious revamping). I witnessed this branding in person, and let me tell you, it could certainly come off as annoying. But I was refreshing to see a man with a plan and a vision, especially one who could have serious influence on the economy and well-being of his country. 

Environment?!?

Our neighbor came over the other night to make us some Om Aly, a traditional Egyptian dessert. She is a jolly and maternal 25 year-old Egyptian studying law at Cairo University. I asked her what kind of law she was studying, and she said "business law." She knew that I was planning on going to law school next year, and she asked me what kind of law I wanted to study. 

"Well I think, at this point, that I kind of want to study environmental law."

"Environment?!?" She laughed and laughed and couldn't believe it. She would control herself, then look at me, and as if the sight of me was too funny to handle, would completely lose herself into more hysterics. After a few minutes of this, and some awkward sideways glances to my roommates trying to say "Should I be insulted by this?" she calmed down and realized that I was serious. Like a concerned mother, she asked me why I would choose to pursue something so ridiculous. 

In a classic case of "I blame the system," I quickly realized that I was fighting a losing battle by trying to explain such things to her. And she is a very smart girl! "We don't have environment in Egypt," she would say. Fair enough, I suppose. Because how can you evaluate the harm done to a bunch of sand? 

Pirates

The most adventurous people I know--those who have relished the opportunity to report from Gaza or the front lines of Hamas, recommended vacations in Yemen, and got detained roaming around Hezbollah territory in Lebanon for no other reason than to see it--have said that they would never, ever go to Somalia. The result of no government for 17 years in a poor and ideologically divided country is ruling warlords, widespread violence, and masses of people fleeing to Kenya and Ethiopia. Can you imagine a situation so bad, that you would leave everything and flee to Kenya? 

Civil Wars and attempts at peace talks and international aid have been fringe news items for the better part of two decades; since Somalis seem to keep to themselves, we don't seem to care too much. We concern ourselves with situations that affect us. But now, the instability has reached international waters, and we aren't happy. We have been inundated with the details of the harrowing story of the Maersk Alabama, we celebrated when we heard the end result, and now we have some follow-up questions. What are we going to do about this?

First, I ask, seriously, what is going on that we allowed this to happen? These people control (or at least have strategic proximity to) some of the most valuable shipping lanes in the world, and clearly have no authority to answer to, whatsoever. Because of pollution and overfishing, fishermen make $50 a month--put in this situation, wouldn't anybody try and go steal an enormous floating barge of easy cash? The shipping companies don't want blood on their hands, so they will pay ransoms on top of the cash for the commodities. In a lawless country, why wouldn't anyone do exactly what these pirates are doing? 

Clearly, an international response is unnecessary for this scrap in which three punk-ass Somali fishermen (who are horrible negotiators, by the way) were shot. But shouldn't something be done for these cargo ship captains, who are risking their lives just by driving a boat? Are there laws that can be written, or patrol ships to be dispatched? We don't need to descend an army onto a bunch of rogue fishermen, but lets make these American working men safe.

I see in Cairo all the time the motivation to take a bribe or a handout in exchange for letting things slide in a job. It makes good business sense for a cage cleaner at the zoo to take 10 pounds and allow a customer to play with a baby monkey. He's making zilch! And, it makes good business sense for the manager at the zoo to turn a blind eye, since he is paying that guy nothing to do a disgusting job. And if the owner of the zoo doesn't really care that its rating and prestige will fall slightly, then this kind of thing is going to happen. 

My point is this, and it never really occurred to me until I lived outside of America. The only way things like corruption, blackmail, kidnapping, stealing, and bribery aren't going to take place is either if you make it worth people's while to do their job honestly, or you give them a great enough penalty for doing it dishonestly. Incentives and accountability. They seem so simple, and yet, it remains to be seen what can be done to protect these Americans. 

Golf

A five-iron's distance from the Pyramids at Giza lies the Mena House golf course. The grass is brown and short, the greens are minefields, and stray dogs roam free, but the bunkers are filled with this incredibly soft, fine Saharan sand. I guess this is all to be expected. You gotta do something well.