Not your biggest fan of the pyramids

I took a great picture during my second visit to the pyramids yesterday. It was with a disposable camera (my digital camera was covertly taken back to the States by my father after his visit to Cairo, unintentionally—or so he claims). I’ve been fielding some demands for pictures over the past few weeks. Sadly, ya’ll have to wait until I return to NJ in late November to retrieve my camera and take a quick break from the madness of Cairo.

The picture I have captures the new and old of Egypt, and something that I detest in-between. In the background is a classic picture of the three pyramids at Giza; their sheer size and history is overwhelming, and (at least in my first two times visiting), has left me speechless and shaking my head. How did they ever build this? Was it really the work of Jewish and other slaves? And I think my work is a pain sometimes.

In the picture, the pyramids tower over a group of tour buses, full of tourists eager to get a firsthand view of one of the ancient wonders of the world! And standing between this blend of the new and old, of the wonder and the wonderers (William Safire would be proud?), is a group of Egyptian ‘tour guides,’ small in the picture, but all too real and present in my trips to the pyramids. They are a group of vultures, Machiavellian animals, biding their time before swooping in on their prey, teeth bearing and hands ready to clench—in case a tourist might not be taken with their words. They all swear they are government employees, (“look at my plastic, outdated card—I am with the government!”) and promise that you are only allowed to see the pyramids under their watchful eye. Their lies are as prevalent as the stones upon which the pyramids were built thousands of years ago, and they are the reason that I hate visiting the pyramids.

It seems strange that I should get so worked up over some tourist harassment. Malash (‘whatever’), as the Egyptian saying goes, right? I am a tourist in a foreign land, and with that title come certain consequences. I’ve been used and abused by taxi drivers and local restaurants in Cairo in my first five weeks, and that doesn’t bother me particularly. What really gets at me, though, is the way that they look at me at the pyramids. They hate me, they detest me and what I represent, and I know it. I can read it in their body language, in their snarls and glares of reproach when I tell them (for the hundredth time) that I would not like to ride on their horse, or that I am not made of money—and cannot give 60 Egyptian pounds after being manipulated into taking a ‘free’ picture on a camel.

I wonder if they even like the pyramids. They sure don’t seem to know very much about them. My father and I were coerced into riding a man’s horses when we first visited the pyramids for 100 pounds (and later 500 pounds). Some nuggets of knowledge: did you know that parts of the Nile dried up because the Egyptians had to use so much water to build the pyramids? Or that the Pharaohs workers are buried in smaller rooms next to the pyramids? Yep. Neither did I, and neither does any real tour-guide or history book.

I know I seem spiteful, and I’m sure it doesn’t wear well on me. I also know I have trouble letting go sometimes, and maybe I just need to take a deep breath and laugh it off. I just hate when people hate me for no reason, when they despise me for a wealth I don’t really have or for a way of life I’m trying to let go of during my year abroad. It’s the pyramids! I know it’s hot and dry outside, but can’t you at least put on a friendly face?

I’ve been talking a lot about simplifications and misconceptions in this blog. It’s a topic that I’m interested in, and a theme that I am continuously drawn to here in Egypt. I’ll try not to harp on it too much, but I think that the pyramids offer the worst of these fake, touristy interactions. They are an ugly depiction of Egyptians at their worst, and foreigners are their most foreign. So onwards and upwards! To better, less touristy attractions where I don’t feel quite as hated.

A cautionary note to friends and family interested in visiting me this year. (You might have seen this one coming): you should see the pyramids, but I don't think I'm going to join.

First month in Cairo!

Cairo! Dahab! I’ve been in Egypt for nearly a month now. Some low points and moments of puzzlement to be sure: (what am I doing here again??). But also some real high points. I find the diversity of people living or traveling in Egypt fascinating. Just this past week I spent time with a linguistics professor at AUC who grew up in the bustling Saudi Arabian oil business and was traveling to Sri Lanka this weekend to compete in an international tennis competition; I met a recent college graduate from Dutch University who has been traveling the world for the last year, and plans to continue traveling for the foreseeable future, and I caught up with National Geographic’s point-man in Egypt. And me? Well I’m just a lowly intern—although I am starting to teach English to Sudanese refugees next week through a program called Youth Lead. I haven’t posted in a while, so this will be a bit of a catch-up post. Below are some thoughts on my first month (did I mention I like lists?)

1. I’m reconsidering my career path. You know, the one where I work for a year or two in D.C after this year, head back to grad school for a masters or PhD in Middle East studies and become a renowned diplomat who (just might) bring peace to the Middle East. Think my doubts were first sparked by the leading headline in AUC’s student newspaper last week. “Student body agrees. Israel has no right to exist.” And I thought AUC was the elite 2%, moderate fringe of Egyptian society??

2. We truly live in an interconnected, global age where technology reigns supreme. Some examples: A friend of mine from Nigeria, after watching an episode of the (god-awful) ABC family show Greek asked me if college life was really like this in the States. (To which I replied, sadly but truthfully, that not everyone in college was really 23 or 24 and gorgeous). In a cab ride last week I rocked out to ‘Stairway to Heaven’ (the greatest song ever) with my Egyptian driver, who then offered me a Marlboro cigarette and some Egyptian candy. In Dahab this past weekend, (more on this trip in my next post), Dave Matthews and Jack Johnson tunes filled the local shops and restaurants and made me yearn for my long-lost collegiate years. In a club in Dahab, I played pool with a young Bedouin who let me win the first game, and then took my money in our second game. I was pleasantly surprised by the hustle—the Bedouin Tom Cruise? Guess the “Color of Money” is still green in Egypt. And then on the bus ride back from Dahab I watched Anaconda III, starring David Haselhoff and a giant snake that eats everything and everyone. All that was missing was Pamela Anderson and maybe a single foreigner on the bus who seemed pleased with the choice of movie!

The point I’m trying to make, I guess, is that the effects of globalization make for an interesting divide in the Egypt I’ve encountered over my first month. On the one hand, they mask differences between people and help establish a common ground. I remember feeling a real surge of excitement singing ‘Stairway to Heaven’ with my cab driver, and seeing him smile and laugh. I don’t think we’ll stay in touch, (no planned coffee date yet), but for those 5 minutes, we overcame a cultural and language barrier, and shared something that was produced more than three decades ago. I think that’s pretty cool.

On the other hand, I think these superficial similarities carry some negative connotations. It may not be the most ample example—but seeing pre-stocked frozen chicken cutlets filled with hotdog meat and cheese in my freezer made me wonder what perceptions Egyptians have of American eating-habits. All Americans love cheeseburgers and hotdogs, I guess the rationale goes. So why not mesh together Americans favorite ingredients in one delicious chicken cutlet? Or consider this political example. In the marketplace last week, Egyptian storeowners beckoned my black friend into their store by calling out to him “Brother Obama! Brother Obama, we love you!” I don’t think there was any racist undertone there—I just think that like the tasty chicken/hot-dog/cheese cutlets, this was another cultural simplification: “He’s American and black. Clearly he’s a supporter of Barack Obama—perhaps even a brother of sorts.”

I just find these generalities and oversimplifications fascinating. I’m not sure what to make of them yet—just trying to take it all in. I’m sure they’re inevitable—‘tis human nature to rush to judgments. But I think the onset of new technologies has made these generalities all the more present in our lives.
Anyway! I’m off to Alexandria on an intern trip in 10 minutes, then to the pyramids on Saturday! (Tough life!). I’ll write more soon.

Oh Right, I’m Living in Cairo

My first night in Cairo, a group of interns on my program, our surrogate mother and intern-coordinator extraordinaire Rowaida, my father, and I headed down to Cairo’s most popular bazaar, Khan al-Khalili, a market renowned for its crowds and vast displays of, well, everything: from ‘special’ intimacy products (knock-off Viagra anybody?), to shiny (and sometimes fake) jewelry, fruits, vegetables, and the appealing aromas of dead animals hanging from storefronts, Khan a-Khalili is alluring to be sure but also has an intimidating feel about it. “Don’t come here at night. It’s too crazy,” Rowaida warned me and my fellow interns as we entered the Bazaar.

It’s Ramadan now, which means a few things in Cairo. Muslims are forbidden to eat or drink during the month of Ramadan, (this year stretching from the 21st of August to the 19th of September), and wait anxiously for Iftar, the nightly break-fast around 6PM. At Iftar the city literally closes down; a usually bustling Cairo grows quiet, the constant beat of car-horns dissipate, and traffic pulls to a lull as families settle down to eat and shop-owners sit together outside, where they break the fast in unison.

And then, as quickly and suddenly as the city closes down, it explodes again. Storefronts reopen and stay open until 3 or 4 in the morning, people burst out into the street with newfound energy, traffic reemerges, and Cairo becomes Cairo again.

It was in this atmosphere, around 7:00 P.M, that we entered the bazaar—weary from a long flight but also excited to experience some real Egyptian culture on our first night in a new city and country.

And we did, but not in a way that I was really prepared for. My first image of Egypt, and one that still creeps into my memory a week later, is of a girl—no older than my 15 year-old sister—being smacked in the face and dragged across a street by her hair by none other than a police officer.

The whole scene was pretty shocking, and one that I couldn’t take my eyes off, despite Rowaida’s best efforts to distract us and keep us moving in the right direction. Perhaps the most striking image was watching the girl’s mother come to her defense, putting herself between the girl and officer and begging him to stop—only to be smacked in the face herself! And the people beside the girl, quietly watching or going about their business, either too scared or too used to watching this type of display. When I later asked Rowaida about the incident, she told me that from what she could infer, the girl had stolen something from a store-owner and was being reprimanded for her heinous crimes. Quite a punishment! A stern warning, or even a trip down to the police-station might suffice. But a public beating, with a bloody nose and a stream of tears to show? Perhaps the girl did steal. And perhaps she learned her lesson. But for a sheltered kid from east-coast suburbia, this was something new and entirely shocking.

Welcome to Cairo, I guess. Here’s to hoping the next new experience is a bit less troubling.

Two Egypt's

I was never really a fan of John Edwards. But I did like his ‘two-America’ speech, at least the first or second time I heard it during election season in 2004. It was a populist speech, one common throughout American history, but new to a 17-year old kid who knew little about red and blue states, who had never really considered the complex interplays between upper-class and middle America.

John Edwards political career is over now. He has a cancerous affair and expensive haircut to thank for that. But his speech lives on, and my first week in Cairo, Egypt brought it back into my memory with force. I am worried that my year abroad is going to be defined in large part by the ‘two-Egypt’s:’ the top tier of society—the elitist, richest 2% of Egypt, on full display at the American University’s beautiful new campus in New Cairo, where popped collars and American designer clothing abound, and the main library and administrative buildings rival Ivy League institutions in the States. And the other side of Egypt—the poorer, third-world class society, the Egypt without blackberries, health insurance plans, or even a decent meal to eat, where children and adults live in dirty shacks and small apartments, have limited access to education, and little hope for a better future. The Egypt that I saw with my father on a back-road tour of the pyramids with our sketchy tour-guide who was more interested in bringing us to his friends’ stores than giving us a real tour of the pyramids. Sure, the sphinx and pyramids are stunning to look at, but for someone more interested in people and culture then physical beauty, it was the piles of garbage lining the fences that lead to the pyramids, and the pregnant dog and little child searching helplessly for some scraps of food that really made my heart beat. It is a part of Egyptian society that I am mostly interested in getting to know peripherally, and on occasion more directly—perhaps through some form of community service—but I still want to see it and learn more about it. And at the new AUC, an oasis of riches in the middle of the desert, that other Egypt could not be farther from face or mind.

In Zamalek, as well, there is a sense of separation. Zamalek is an island in the middle of Cairo, where the streets are busy and cab horns and Arabic music fill the nightly air. But it is also a well-off community, full with expats, known for its embassies, and until the 1952 Egyptian revolution—exclusively home to British citizens and the most elite Egyptians. For me, as I complete my first week in Cairo, living in the Zamalek and AUC communities has been an easier transition. I feel as comfortable at AUC as an American Jew probably can feel in Egypt. But comfort is not something that I want this entire year to be marked by. I want to be shocked; I want to be thrilled, depressed, and angry at the same time. I want to really get some idea of what it’s like for 95% of the population to live in Egypt.

Maybe this is all fanciful talk. When’s the last time I visited Harlem or spent some quality time in the projects? But at least I know they exist. At least I’ve worked nearby, or know some people from some of the poorer neighborhoods in the States. At the new American University in Cairo, you wouldn’t even know you were in Egypt.