Just when I thought my life was slowing into a tranquil, 40 hours-a-week and homemade cooking lifestyle... well, here's just a sample of how my night has gone.
A crazy fanny-pack wearing American woman wandered into my language center, raving about teaching Mark Twain in China and making racist comments about every nationality she knew of, and is now a new English teacher. Sigh.
A bomb exploded in a crowded, colorful market in Cairo where I often go, targeting the tourists who were drinking coffee and shopping for scarves next to the holiest mosque in Egypt. Still waiting for the full report, but there's at least one confirmed dead.
After reeling from this news, I was followed home by a creepy guy from the metro who was apparently a big fan of my "Made by Um Hani" body (which has gotten a little softer since my host mother has been feeding me lard and fried eggplant for the past 9 months). I was about to yell at him in front of a group of other guys and put the shame/honor culture at work, but these other guys decided they were also quite appreciative and decided to share their comments. Normally I don't get rattled by the come-on's, but maxed out by the news of the bombing, I wasn't really in the mood to suffer testosterone crazed idiots on the street.
Cursing loudly under my breath, I ducked into my favorite grocer's to lose the creepy guy. We had a long and heartfelt conversation about the bombing. He then sold me lots of canned beans to get me ready for my vegan fast and wished me a happy lent. I felt a lot better.
I was worried that my parents wouldn't come to Egypt anymore, but I got a quick call home, and it sounds like the trip is still on.
Now I'm eating couscous and drinking a beer I've been saving for just such an occasion, and life is on the up again. Welcome to Egypt!
Almost humorously, I started a blog post a few days ago talking all about how life here has become so normal; that when I returned from my travels in the Maghreb and Turkey, a subtle transformation had taken place. Perhaps those of you who have spent time abroad in unfamiliar environs can relate to this: for the first 9 months of my stay here, everything I saw in Cairo seemed oddly two-dimensional. And I don't mean that in a poetic, metaphorical sense.
As I went to and fro in this bulging, bustling city, I would look at the buildings and shops and see something like the facade of an old western town. The city itself was a kind of backdrop for my experimental social interactions with an abstract notion called "Egypt." These are Egyptian sandwich shops, I would think as I passed a plate of steaming falafel and beans from a street vendor. These are Egyptian subway stations, I thought, noting how the anarchical crowding of the metro ticket vendors and the crushing collision of bodies squeezing on and off of the metro cars seemed wholly different from my experiences on Chicago El's. (Well, ok, maybe not totally different...) And then, These are Egyptian clothing stores. These are Egyptian mothers. These are Egyptian taxis. And so on. When you are always starkly aware of being in a foreign environment, your vision seems flatter. Everything I see is a representative sample (This is an Egyptian restaurant), not a unique place to see and consider for what it is as an individual entity. No one will accuse me of understanding the physics of optics or anything about the human body, but I'll stand by this: my visual perceptions of Cairo were somehow less robust than they would be in a western environmet.
I also felt myself wobble under the cultural pressure. In America, I consider myself to have a long fuse (or at least be sufficiently passive aggressive not to get angry in the moment). So what if I got woken up every night in my old Seattle apartment by the lesbian DJ couple upstairs? Or if it cost $1500 to replace the wheel bearings on my trusty ol' Kia, knowing that the car was going to become my little sister's after one month anyway? Or so what if our clueless landlord forgot to sign us over to a new account, resulting in the gas company showing up at our door one day to shut off our utilities? Meh! say I. While I'll admit to being prone to a little anxiety from time to time, anger isn't really something in my emotional repertoire. Unless you bring up the subject of gender inequality at SPU or try to convince me how God has ordained men to be the head of the human race; those are fightin' words, my friends!
But for most of my time in Egypt, I've felt a little more unbalanced--flaring up over nothing, getting exasperated at the smallest misunderstanding. Since coming back from my travels three weeks ago, though? I once again feel myself. Sure, I get tense after bombs and irritated still with harassment, but I feel much steadier. What would set me off in America is setting me off here--but no more, no less. I am finally, truly at home.
But just when I was feeling like life was settling into something ordinary and tranquil--almost tediously slow--life once again take a turn for the bizarre.
But for most of my time in Egypt, I've felt a little more unbalanced--flaring up over nothing, getting exasperated at the smallest misunderstanding. Since coming back from my travels three weeks ago, though? I once again feel myself. Sure, I get tense after bombs and irritated still with harassment, but I feel much steadier. What would set me off in America is setting me off here--but no more, no less. I am finally, truly at home.
But just when I was feeling like life was settling into something ordinary and tranquil--almost tediously slow--life once again take a turn for the bizarre.
It began when a friend called me up to see if I would go with her to visit a mutual Egyptian friend of ours.
"Sure, I'd love to go with you to see Nesma."
"Great because, uh, have you heard about her romantic developments?"
"I know she met this 50+ year old Saudi-Canadian on BintHalal.com..."
[This translates into something like, "kosher girl." Online dating at its finest!]
"Well, turns out that this Saudi-Canadian guy is still really interested in marrying her."
"Wow, that's amazing that he's willing to come all the way to Egypt when they met on the internet and all that."
"Well, that's not all--he's already married. Nesma would be the second wife."
Ah yes, Bigamy- That time honored tradition! True, Islam technically allows a man to marry up to 4 wives, provided that he can treat them all the same. I know that Nesma is eager to get married, and this guy apparently has some nice qualities about him (at least, nice qualities posted on his online profile)...but c'mon, who really wants to be #2?
So we went, with a kilo of chocolate cookies in hand to bring as a hostess gift. One of the best parts about Nesma's family is that they have a huge sweet tooth and never overfeed you, like many Egyptians do out of hospitality. Not only did we polish off the cookies, but we were each served a huge tub of homemade rice pudding and some hot chocolate to wash it down. Nice.
Now, my friend and I were hoping to stage something of an intervention, but I hadn't seen Nesma in a long time and wasn't quite sure how to bring it up. So...Nesma, I hear that you're thinking about marrying a Bigamist? She didn't bring it up, so I just let it lie. Instead, we watched an Indian movie in Hindi with Arabic subtitles. It was fantastic; long live bollywood. Maybe we'll get a chance to try to talk some sense into her next time.
Next, I was asked to come into work a little early in order to help a girl with a visa application so that she could study in England. I don't know anything about visa applications, but I know what an important opportunity it is to get abroad. Anything to help, right? It turns out that she had actually applied once and been rejected, and the British embassy sent a long letter explaining all their reasons for rejecting her. No problem, we just need to address their concerns, and then we could hopefully get her off to the UK.
The girl came, accompanied by some kind of male relative. The conversation went something like this.
Me: "So, the application wants to know if you have any relatives in England who might sponsor you or who you might live with."
Girl: (after a long discussion and deliberation with some male relative accompanying her). no, I don't.
man: yes, you do, you have an uncle there.
girl: (more long discussion in Arabic). No, no, forget this. Don't say his name.
Me: okay then... So, why do you want to study English?
Girl: To study. I don't know. No reason.
Me: You're going to have to give me something else.
Girl: I already wrote it all on the first application.
Me: right. and they rejected it. So help me out here.
Girl: I don't know.
Me: Ok, I'm going to put down that you want to be a journalist, since that was your major in college. Now, the letter says that 68,000 LE suddenly appeared in your bank account with explanation, and the embassy would like a little clarification about where these funds came from.
Man: Why do they need to know?
Me: Well, she isn't employed, so they're a little curious how she got it.
Man: Do you think I can't financially support her? (getting a little insulted)
Me: No, I'm just trying to fill out this application for you.
Girl: (sighing loudly). I already wrote this all in the first application.
Me: Right, and they rejected it, so throw me a bone here! I'm trying to help! Now, what do you want to do after you finish your studies?
Man: She will continue to stay in England and work there.
Me: No, she won't.
Man: Why?
Me: It's explicitly prohibited on all the visa materials.
[Man and girl exchange glances.]
Me: You knew that, right? So we need to tell the embassy why you want to study English, and what you'll do with your language skills, and what you'll do when you finish.
Girl: [mumbles]
Me: What?
Girl: I don't know. I wrote it all in my first application.
Goodness knows why she actually wanted to get to England, but I have a feeling that despite my best, the British embassy isn't going to take the bait on this girl!
Next. I have a slightly sociopathic Kurdish Iraqi student at my language center. Understandably anti-social, he worked as a translator for the American army in Iraq until his friend got his head shot off by a sniper. He's been a pain as a student, though--sitting through most of my class with a sort of "So what?" sneer on his face and refusing to give me more than two words answers (this being in a conversation class, too. C'mon! Help a girl out here!). His English level is really high, too, so I have to work hard to actually offer his class anything worth his time. The combination was giving me so much anxiety that I was having trouble sleeping at night.
Finally, one night I decided to screw it and just go with my usual chintzy antics that I use with all my other happy-go-lucky students.
"So," I ask the class, "what causes us stress?" I wrote the words in big bubble letters on the board.
I started to write out some new vocabulary on the white board that we'd use for discussion when Shamel suddenly piped up.
"Homesickness."
"I'm sorry?"
"Homesickness stresses me out."
Ah, the boy speaks. And he's homesick! He suddenly became much more human in my mind. Understandably homesick, too--he has 10 brothers and sisters all from the same town in the Kurdish area of Iraq, and a fiancee back home, too. After this moment, he began to loosen up considerably in class. Whew. I've been able to sleep at night since that moment, too.
Now that he's talking more, though, he turns out to be just as sinister a personality as it first appeared.
"So, tell me something interesting about what you did last weekend, Shamel."
"Everything about my life is interesting."
"ok....why don't you tell me something boring about your life, then?"
"Nothing's boring."
"Right. Well, tell me what you did on Friday, then."
"I slept. I played games."
"Games? like soccer?"
"No, computer games." He then rattles off now less than 20 different games that he has on hand.
"And when I get bored of those games? I make viruses. I send them to people I think deserve it."
"Remind me never to give you my email address."
Enter English conversation lesson on Karma.
But in between episodes of bizarre interactions (more stories from the fanny-packed racist to come in the next few days, i'm sure), however, there have been some truly beautiful and homey moments.
Last night, for example, I went to Maasara to spend the evening with Um Hani and Sara, the sixteen year old. I brought my Arabic homework with. Um and Abu Hani were in the other room, helping to arrange a new marriage for a widower from their church. They came in, very exasperated and rubbing their temples from the hours of haggling over how much gold this guy should buy the bride and such.
Sara and I cuddled up under the blankets as she helped me with my Arabic homework and we both teased Um Hani lovingly. Um Hani finally relaxed from her earlier conversation and joined us. Um Hani is illiterate--she got married at 16, and despite wanting to take English classes at one point from her church, never actually learned how to read. I showed her my little alphabet grid. Alif, bey, tey, they I started reciting the names of the letters to her. Sara grabbed a pencil.
"Here, Mama, let me show you how to write. Every day, you'll learn 4 letters." Um Hani's face sort of grinned and grimaced at the same time. She spent the next hour working on the letter "Alif," which looks like a long stick with a little tiny "s" perched on top like a hat. Little Alifs went off in every each direction on a sheet of scrap paper, with some very bizarre permutations. But after a while, she got the hang of it. On to "bey", which is a flat half circle with one dot beneath is. "Bey is for 'Bint'" she repeated again and again, trying to memorize words in association with the letter.
Teaching a grown woman to write may have been one of the more heart warming experiences of my time here. In the morning, Um Hani cooked me scrambled eggs in about a pound of butter, which kept me full until about 4pm.
Even as I feel more and more comfortable in Egypt--no, life is never dull.
The girl came, accompanied by some kind of male relative. The conversation went something like this.
Me: "So, the application wants to know if you have any relatives in England who might sponsor you or who you might live with."
Girl: (after a long discussion and deliberation with some male relative accompanying her). no, I don't.
man: yes, you do, you have an uncle there.
girl: (more long discussion in Arabic). No, no, forget this. Don't say his name.
Me: okay then... So, why do you want to study English?
Girl: To study. I don't know. No reason.
Me: You're going to have to give me something else.
Girl: I already wrote it all on the first application.
Me: right. and they rejected it. So help me out here.
Girl: I don't know.
Me: Ok, I'm going to put down that you want to be a journalist, since that was your major in college. Now, the letter says that 68,000 LE suddenly appeared in your bank account with explanation, and the embassy would like a little clarification about where these funds came from.
Man: Why do they need to know?
Me: Well, she isn't employed, so they're a little curious how she got it.
Man: Do you think I can't financially support her? (getting a little insulted)
Me: No, I'm just trying to fill out this application for you.
Girl: (sighing loudly). I already wrote this all in the first application.
Me: Right, and they rejected it, so throw me a bone here! I'm trying to help! Now, what do you want to do after you finish your studies?
Man: She will continue to stay in England and work there.
Me: No, she won't.
Man: Why?
Me: It's explicitly prohibited on all the visa materials.
[Man and girl exchange glances.]
Me: You knew that, right? So we need to tell the embassy why you want to study English, and what you'll do with your language skills, and what you'll do when you finish.
Girl: [mumbles]
Me: What?
Girl: I don't know. I wrote it all in my first application.
Goodness knows why she actually wanted to get to England, but I have a feeling that despite my best, the British embassy isn't going to take the bait on this girl!
Next. I have a slightly sociopathic Kurdish Iraqi student at my language center. Understandably anti-social, he worked as a translator for the American army in Iraq until his friend got his head shot off by a sniper. He's been a pain as a student, though--sitting through most of my class with a sort of "So what?" sneer on his face and refusing to give me more than two words answers (this being in a conversation class, too. C'mon! Help a girl out here!). His English level is really high, too, so I have to work hard to actually offer his class anything worth his time. The combination was giving me so much anxiety that I was having trouble sleeping at night.
Finally, one night I decided to screw it and just go with my usual chintzy antics that I use with all my other happy-go-lucky students.
"So," I ask the class, "what causes us stress?" I wrote the words in big bubble letters on the board.
I started to write out some new vocabulary on the white board that we'd use for discussion when Shamel suddenly piped up.
"Homesickness."
"I'm sorry?"
"Homesickness stresses me out."
Ah, the boy speaks. And he's homesick! He suddenly became much more human in my mind. Understandably homesick, too--he has 10 brothers and sisters all from the same town in the Kurdish area of Iraq, and a fiancee back home, too. After this moment, he began to loosen up considerably in class. Whew. I've been able to sleep at night since that moment, too.
Now that he's talking more, though, he turns out to be just as sinister a personality as it first appeared.
"So, tell me something interesting about what you did last weekend, Shamel."
"Everything about my life is interesting."
"ok....why don't you tell me something boring about your life, then?"
"Nothing's boring."
"Right. Well, tell me what you did on Friday, then."
"I slept. I played games."
"Games? like soccer?"
"No, computer games." He then rattles off now less than 20 different games that he has on hand.
"And when I get bored of those games? I make viruses. I send them to people I think deserve it."
"Remind me never to give you my email address."
Enter English conversation lesson on Karma.
But in between episodes of bizarre interactions (more stories from the fanny-packed racist to come in the next few days, i'm sure), however, there have been some truly beautiful and homey moments.
Last night, for example, I went to Maasara to spend the evening with Um Hani and Sara, the sixteen year old. I brought my Arabic homework with. Um and Abu Hani were in the other room, helping to arrange a new marriage for a widower from their church. They came in, very exasperated and rubbing their temples from the hours of haggling over how much gold this guy should buy the bride and such.
Sara and I cuddled up under the blankets as she helped me with my Arabic homework and we both teased Um Hani lovingly. Um Hani finally relaxed from her earlier conversation and joined us. Um Hani is illiterate--she got married at 16, and despite wanting to take English classes at one point from her church, never actually learned how to read. I showed her my little alphabet grid. Alif, bey, tey, they I started reciting the names of the letters to her. Sara grabbed a pencil.
"Here, Mama, let me show you how to write. Every day, you'll learn 4 letters." Um Hani's face sort of grinned and grimaced at the same time. She spent the next hour working on the letter "Alif," which looks like a long stick with a little tiny "s" perched on top like a hat. Little Alifs went off in every each direction on a sheet of scrap paper, with some very bizarre permutations. But after a while, she got the hang of it. On to "bey", which is a flat half circle with one dot beneath is. "Bey is for 'Bint'" she repeated again and again, trying to memorize words in association with the letter.
Teaching a grown woman to write may have been one of the more heart warming experiences of my time here. In the morning, Um Hani cooked me scrambled eggs in about a pound of butter, which kept me full until about 4pm.
Even as I feel more and more comfortable in Egypt--no, life is never dull.
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