Thursday, November 20, 2008

evening thoughts from Cairo.

I'm sitting at my favorite coffee shop in cairo--a locals' spot, where the only things on the menu are tea and sheesha. From when I pass by on my way to work at 8:45, until I walk home again at 11pm, Egyptians are slouching in the standard wooden chairs around a low glass-top table, reading newspapers, smoking, warming themselves during these cool autumn days and nights. It's one of the rare local cafes where you see women puffing on water pipes as well. Clasically Cairene, it bridges the epochs as well, offering wi-fi along with your mint tea and apple scented hookah. 

For no reason in particular, I haven't been here in a few months, even though it's only 3 blocks from my apartment. I came tonight to break out of the seductive stupor of my cozy apartment, which has succeeded in keeping me in most nights--but has definitely contributed to my cagey feelings lately. I brought my applications, The Life of Pi, and a small notebook. I wasn't sure how long I would last tonight. If the cafe is quiet, you can't find a better ambiance-- the ceilings are tall and the walls are a soft amber color. Fake ivy hangs from wooden rafter beams, sparse enough to avoid tackiness while quietly suggesting-in this city of dust and desert-that the color green does still exist somewhere in the world. When darkness envelops the city after sunset, the lights feel warm, and the couples and colleagues talking animatedly or serenly smoking create a sense of security and community.

When it's loud, it's garrish. Three unfortunate tv screens hang from the ceiling, and are known to blare Arabic pop videos or 1970s Egyptian cinematic favorites at mind-numbing levels. You can tell how bad the collective hearing loss is in Egypt just by how loudly they insist on keeping the music in cafes. I suppose it is a self-perpetuating cycle at that point.

Tonight was even better than I could have presupposed. An hour ago, a musician came in with an Oud--a quintessentially Middle Eastern stringed instrument, something like a guitar or a mandolin. Listening to him, you cannot help but hear the deep Middle Eastern roots of flamenco and the heartbreaking wail of Portuguese fado. The servers are adding their own percussion by using the hookah tongs like castanets. This is the Arab music, brought to Andalucia, that textured the rich culture of Spain. As an American sitting in a cafe in Egypt, it's a globally rich moment.

I put away my applications and pulled out my colloquial Egyptian Arabic dictionary. 3 members of our host family from Maasara miraculously received American visas. They were approved on November 2nd--they hope to fly to their new home next week. It's an impossibly quick transition for them, but then again--I'm not sure they will ever be prepared to start their life again in the green hills of Tennessee, no matter how much we help them first here in Cairo.

I've been in the process of creating my own emergency dictionary for them, transliterating English phrases using Arabic script. I wonder if it's possible that, even with my bouts of culture shock, if I have made a full circle. Having been welcomed and acclimated to life in Egypt by my host family, I'm now ready and able to do the same for them. 

I worry about their transition, though. Not only do they not know English, but this is precisely the worst time to search for jobs in the U.S. Then again, immigrants have succeeded in America time and time again. I'm just praying that our reputation as a welcome land for immigrants once again proves true. This is one time in particular that I couldn't bear to watch that promise fail.

Breathing in the scent of sheesha smoke one last time, I think it's time to bring this post to a close. Just a little note from a warm little cafe in Cairo. 


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