University Life

I spent yesterday at Cairo University. I had a lunch date with my new friend from the metro who's a teaching assistant there, and was hoping to run into my other friend who was supposedly working there for the week. I walk over a couple bridges, and start down the long major street which ends with the main door of Gamaa al-Qahirah, the best University in Egypt.

As I start down the street, I notice about three of the armored police trucks. These trucks are slowly spitting out low-level police in black uniforms. As I continue down the street past this massive garden I think, geeze, maybe they're making the police clean up the garden because there's no other work, as I can see another legion or so meandering inside and outside the garden's fences.

As I continue farther down the street the trucks and the people inside the trucks are increasing in density. Its a little uncomfortable being the foreigner walking through what appears to be a military zone. However, I continue. I am about to cross the street to the University's main door and a block of police in full, black riot gear is right in front of me, and oh look, there's another. I walk between the two, find myself a place on a planter's wall, and wait.

I look up at the giant old archways and dome that is an institution of learning, I watch the colorfully clothed young people coming and going, laughing and scowling, alone and in groups, walking and in taxis and in minibuses. Ya there are probably 300 riot police across the street but hey, we're in college, and what do you expect in a police state.

My friend finds me (the only white person, and standing directly under a giant statue). The security demands of me "where are you going?" My escort says I'm her friend, we both smile, and we make it inside. I soak in the impressive architecture and the clean, paved paths and the groomed garden and the English and Arabic labeled direction signs This is a University. You can feel the newness of the school year in a little tiny crispness to the hot air, the eagerness of the students, and the beauty of the campus (evidently its not always this beautiful).

I ask my friend why all the police are here. She explains, "O there is a college here. All the men have what's the word again? (while motioning a pull on her chin) beards yes. And the women all cover themselves. They might make a problem."

I ask, "so the police are here every day?"

"No just at the beginning of the year. And they cannot come inside the University, absolutely not."

OK this seems strange even for Egypt. I learn later that the day before there had been a huge Muslim Brotherhood demonstration at the University. My other friend had been there that day, and booked it out of there ASAP.

So we make our way to the cafeteria, my friend is hungry. On the way, she points out all the booths for the student organizations who are recruiting for the new year. We make it to the cafeteria, order shistawook (chicken kabab) and batatas (potatoes), each of which come in a sandwich. I watch the old potato frier man joke around with some students. We get our food and sit on a bench in front of the tiny university mosque. My friend, I'll call her F, almost forgets to pray, again. Evidently I am a bad influence in the praying department, although this is the last thing I want.

We make our way up through the narrow hallways of the Faculty of Economics and Political Science, this is her faculty, and the best department in the best university in Egypt. We make it to her office, she prays, she helps some evidently very confused students (that actually weren't even studying her field), then we make our way to a meeting. This meeting is a panel discussion of the Financial Crisis in America, which is now evidently the Global Financial Crisis, in Arabic. F wishes I knew more about this, or economics in general. I sit through two and a half hours, listening to an Economics lecture, in Arabic, in a very comfortable chair, close to falling asleep several times, but never quite there. I am in a University. The intellectual vibes are just seeping out of the walls. All the bright, motivated students. Young women in beautifully coordinated higabs and outfits, young men in glasses and high-waisted pants. All the ideas and theories floating around. F laments the fact that for the question and answer session they must listen to all the questions and then pretend to answer some instead of doing 1 question, then 1 answer like in America. She asks her own question, which even I can tell is extremely well-informed, detailed, and brilliant, and is so excited that someone answers, although she thinks their answer doesn't help at all.

After the meeting she apologizes for it being so boring, she gets me some nescafe and bake rolls, and we talk a while longer. Eventually I must leave, she walks me to the door. Now even more students are out, most of them sitting on the lawn. I think about how we used to study people in groups on the lawn in high school and middle school. She tells me about how she used to sit on the grass eating kosheri with her friends but now that she's a teacher she absolutely cannot eat kosheri or sit on the grass, everything must be sophisticated and serious, usually she doesn't eat at all. I see the young man sitting cross-legged strumming the guitar that you must see at every University, surrounded by his circle of admirers. And the sun is going down over the giant dome of Cairo University, and I leave this island of academics and hopeful youth. The University seems to be a universal. This is not where I belong anymore though, although sometimes I can fool myself for a few hours. I walk out the gate and make my way home. The police seem to have dissipated.

The Metro

The Metro and I have a love-hate relationship. It is my time to think and process what will happen and has happened during my day. 1 Egyptian pound to get to work every day, and almost anywhere else I need to go. It is my time to people watch, my window into Egyptian society. I can stand still and yet be speeding past palm trees and old buildings, open windows and marketplaces. It is an hour of being squished between sweaty, grumpy, shuffling fat women and sitting across from teenage girls who love to come up with oh so original ways to gossip and laugh about the foreigner. It is my time to relax in public in usually completely female company, reassured that most likely that hand that brushed up against my ass didn't mean anything, and if I accidentally am smiling it does not constitute a sexual invitation. And when a man does show up in the car, I get the satisfaction of seeing him publicly shamed by shouting, angry women defending their estrogen-saturated transportation. Ah the empowerment of women.

I now feel like I truly live in Cairo. This is in large part because I'm actually able to answer people's questions about the metro. I have now, in Arabic, successfully given a family directions to the metro and discussed with people the coming stops on the metro and when I and they are getting off.

I've met a new friend on the metro (she was reading a book in English and asked me about the meaning of some words). I've met a woman that had supposedly seen me before on the other side of town like two months ago, who kissed me and gave me a ring off her finger from her friends in Libya (which my roommate promptly made me return). I've been adopted by a massive family during the metro ride who shielded me with their bodies and then shoved me off the train.

I've given water to countless thirsty women and children who have no qualms about asking for water from a stranger. I've run into people I know in the metro, exchanging the customary kisses on the cheek (although I still haven't quite figured out when what number of kisses is appropriate, it seems to depend on the person). And now in shah Allah, this weekend I will have a metro pass! Good for unlimited rides for three months on the entire metro line that I ride. I am a local, it is settled, haha.

I love it and I hate it, but its the life blood of Cairo. The days when it breaks down, the commute triples in length, like that day that the I5 was shut down in San Diego. Anyone remember that? O the Metro.

The Church...continued

I am sitting outside the church with a baby in my arms. Her face is round, her eyes are closed now. She had been crying, I had been awkwardly trying to shift her and bounce her around like I’d seen mothers do, I think that was supposed to make them stop crying. But finally she cried herself out and now she lies in my arms, too tired and scared to be awake any longer.

And I pray with all my heart that somehow she is protected, that somehow that tiny round head won’t feel any more blows or shaking or fear, and won’t hear all the lies. That she will be safe enough to grow up and know truth. The power of innocence, moving us all to tears and utter desperation and deprivation. The power of innocence, breathing hiccupy breaths in her sleep, too small to struggle against my arms. And I love her with all my heart. I can’t help it, something this small is only made for love.

And this is the body of Christ. I, without even thinking about it, want to take this baby in my own arms so that her mother can take communion. Afterwards I think it’s because Gigi needs it and that’s what Christ would do right? look out for the spiritual well-being of his sister before his own. But at the time it wasn’t a thought, it wasn’t a need, it wasn’t my conscience, it was my arms thrusting out and grabbing this innocence. This innocence named Myrna that came from my sister, that is my sister. And this innocence was calm and beautiful, and then this innocence cried her little heart out in spasming sobs and my heart couldn’t help but spasm along with her.

And I try to cover her face, as I walk around the empty courtyard with small steps and small shifts of her position in my arms, as we make revolutions through darkness and garish orange and then soft white light. And as I step into another shadow, she can’t cry anymore. Her limp relaxing as her eyelids droop closed feels like a defeat, not a victory, and yet I rejoice that she can sleep in my arms, and that although she is scared, I couldn’t hurt her like her monster of a father, and that God cares for the oppressed and the fatherless. And this is my sister’s child, and my child also, there is no difference. For one of the few times in my life I can see the church, with this Egyptian baby, and it all seems clear, strangely because I am not taking communion.

Now silence. Then Gigi and Sara and Rebecca burst out of the church doors in the midst of the communion hymn, Gigi shuttles me in. Now I am kneeling before the altar with the body and blood of Christ dripping from my hands. Now I am sitting in the pew, in soft yellow light. Rebecca turns to me and says, “Gigi said she wants the numbers for the womens’ shelters.” Just like that. And one heart breaking smile grows across our faces.

Independence Day

So its the 6th of October. In 1973, Egypt pushed Israel and all its allies out of the Sinai, regaining it as their property. This is a national holiday, celebrating the strength of Israel. Last night, while being dragged around a friend of a friend of a friend's wedding by a friend of a friend who insisted on introducing me as his girlfriend, I observed a lovely wall statue of the Egyptian conquering soldier surrounded by fighter jets. Strong and pained and sacrificing. O Egypt, most important nation in the world with the best soldiers in the world as all Egyptians will tell you.

So today I feel free. I feel happy and I feel free, appropriately for this Independence Day. I woke up, I talked to this girl I met in the metro a few weeks ago. I walk to the zoo to meet her. I spend a lovely day with a huge chunk of the population of Cairo staring at animals and enjoying a national holiday. Being there with a very generous Egyptian girl was awesome. She bought my tickets, my water, even though she herself was fasting for the holiday, and discussed with me on any possible topic. She's an Economics TA so told me all about why America is having a financial crisis, she told me about her fellow TA that she is pining for and who she changed her higab style for but who is not giving her very good signals. She told me about how Muhammed the prophet says woman must wear a larger higab and skirts, but that she knows Christians can wear pants and what does the Bible say about this? She told me about Condoleeza Rice's report on religious freedom in Egypt, we talked about how we must remove the log from our own eye before removing the speck from our brother's. We talked about how Egyptians say "if God is willing" when they really mean no but don't want to be impolite. We talked about teaching, how easy and difficult it can be, and how I must visit one of her classes. How she was given a full scholarship for her masters at a top school in London but her mother made her turn it down because she won't let her travel even one night within Egypt, let alone abroad. And we took pictures with monkeys and bears and elephants and birds. We talked about peafowl. We talked about children and illiteracy and bad men.

Then she realized she forgot to pray, the zoo was closing, and so the day came to a close. I got 2 giant sweet potatoes from the sweet potato mobile oven cart (my favorite snack in the world), took them to the bridge and ate them while watching the sunset over the Nile: faint call to prayer from all sides, then lights coming on a few at a time, slight fog and fall breeze, and red green and white sail boats under me. Beautiful.

And I thought to myself, in the words of Keith Urban, "I'm young and I'm free, who wouldn't want to be." And I prayed and I realized, I am exactly the best place I could be, in the city I love, surrounded by great people in Cairo and back home and with my whole life ahead of me, in shah allah. I am free from whatever could hold me down (mainly myself), and not because I deserve it, but because I've been set free.

Things I wish you could see

So here are a few images from my last few days.

• Laying on cushions propped on the ground, being sprayed by the surf of the Red Sea, listening to Jack Johnson, looking across ridiculously clear turquoise water at Saudi Arabia, drinking iced coffee and eating a chocolate crepe.

• Defending the ongoing existence of my facial hair and chastity to my co-worker during an eight hour bus ride, in which my co-worker refused to believe that every American woman didn't have sex starting at age 14 with multiple people every night and that American woman were alright with having a little blond hair on their faces. As I've heard from a few people now in Egypt regarding my very blond, decidedly female sprinkling of hair on my upper lip, "Da wahish. Li ragala bas." / "this is ugly. For men only." But since last time I had it removed here (pulled out with a looped piece of thread), crying and wincing the whole while and afterwards feeling like my face's skin was grafted from a Seaworld manta ray, I will defend my ugly facial hair fiercely.

• watching the sunset over the mountains surrounding the Sinai peninsula

• being pinned down on a bed and force fed excessive amounts of thermus beans by a two year old and her grandmother, who thought my ability to have more and more of these in my mouth hilariously funny, while simultaneously feeling the need to yell habibti (beloved one) and slobber kiss me repetitively.
  

• making friends with random Korean girls. One who was making desperate gestures for me to trade seats with this man next to her and then when I obliged was very friendly out of some sort of deep gratitude and bond that came from saving us both from an overnight bus ride next to strange Egyptian men. The next, her friend, needed an English teacher and is coming to check out our school, its too bad I'm not paid on commission like the other guys. Unfortunately, these other guys, who were there, can't help but calling any Asian girl they see Eunice (in memory of our Korean American friend who was here earlier in the summer) or asking if she's related to Eunice or has the same last name. A little awkward.
  

• being chased by a galloping camel (that looks really funny) while shoved into the back of a jeep returning from our trip to the Blue Hole (one of the best snorkeling spots in the world) between four Egyptian men and my two roommates, conversing on the strangeness of camels' mouths in Arabic and American historical trivia in English.

• eating a Family Chicken Meal in Kentucky Fried Chicken in Cairo, commiserating as best as possible in Arabic with a sixteen year old Egyptian girl and her wishes and that her father would loosen up a little with this guy she likes, and can't help liking even though he's not quite the most respectable (i.e. he only calls her and leaves missed calls, never actually comes to talk to her parents or even talks to them on the phone AND his parents refused to let him get engaged).
  

So I was in Dahab this weekend where relaxing is everything, laying on cushions and the beach, dress code anything you want. Now I am back in Cairo and it is impossible to fathom these two places are in the same country. Relaxing is not really possible here, and so everyone has to be laid back just to stay at a tolerable level of sanity. Cairo Habibi. (my beloved). We have such a love hate relationship, but she's pretty deeply imbedded in my soul now it seems.

The Function of Bodily Functions

As it turns out, we have a little garden club at work that consists of four of us young people. Discussion involves: "Why does Israel kill children?" "How can you think that Jesus drank wine?" "Music is the sound of Satan." "If you steal my brother's land I must defend him" And various other weird political and religious and personal topics.

So you have these intense topics of discussion and moments of political and religious tension, but that is not why I'm here. I am chilling in the Middle East for awhile mostly to work on humanizing the demonized. I lose a little hope in this endeavor when I hear my friend say that he was happy 9-11 happened because it wasn't people who died, but Americans, however much he says he's joking, or when my Muslim Egyptian co-workers all think its hilarious to pull a knife out of the kitchen and ululate while mock slitting the throat of my co-teacher. At these points I kinda can't help but laugh, but I also can't help but be a little concerned for the future of this world. I am once again reminded that while everyone seems to value peace, it doesn't just happen, the practice of it requires intense mental and spiritual strength, and some very personal need to see peace, there must be people and relationships and love involved for it to be pursued. And when these personal bonds are in place, the pursuit is still a very long, rocky, risky road to travel with your enemies.

But why I am here is to look at similarities, to look at humanity across the supposedly insurmountable divides of culture and religion, and to see something and to show something universal. I see this in humor, and the way that everyone laughs at a joke. I see this in the way that mothers carry around their babies and kiss them on the head, the way that fathers proudly walk their daughters around from age 3 - 23. I see this in the way that women are almost sleeping on their feet in the metro after a long day of work. I see it in the school girls giggling together about some new music, about the strange foreigner on the train, or about a cute boy. However, there is one way of humanizing others that never fails.

Have you ever wondered why exactly God created farts? or burps? or hiccups? What function could they possibly serve besides smelliness, discomfort, and embarrassment? I can tell you that I have never been more aware of the common bonds of the human race as when I hear an Egyptian woman fart, then see her subtly look around hoping that no one heard. Or when a burp bubbles up from an Egyptian man's stomach after a hastily consumed Iftar, only to be released right in your ear. Or perhaps when trying to explain what the word hiccups means to a Level 7 grammar class by demonstrating, resulting in the entire class of young Egyptian women in headscarves, a teenage boy, and an older man, crying from laughing so hard. Or when an Egyptian co-worker asks if you can smell what he did in the bathroom, with a mischevious little grin. In light of this, bodily functions like this, while usually thought of as unseemly, in my opinion are some of the most ingenious and beautiful parts of creation.

You who know me will find this hilarious I'm sure.

Oh and P.S. I have a new job / internship. I will be working for the Arab West Foundation

http://www.arabwestfoundation.com/

doing copy-editing and setting up an NGO in the US for this Dutch organization working on promoting understanding between Western and Arab and Muslim and Non-Muslim societies. O I can't get away from the Dutch mafia, however much I try. But I am super excited. I start after Aied.

Disappointment, Frustration, Conflict, Honesty, Belonging

So this week has been pretty major. I've been balancing out the parts of my personality and trying to get to a life that I feel is truly mine. This week I decided to stop being friends with my friends from work because of their sketchiness and damage to my reputation and not exactly trustworthiness. So I had this talk with my co-worker about how I wanted to live my life in a straight line, he lived his life in a crazy curvy zig zag pattern so we couldn't really be good friends. I finally got this slightly self-righteous point across when he broke it all down by saying, "ok no problem, you are the metro (going straight), I am a minibus (going all over the city), I will meet you at Ramses (square downtown where all the minibuses and the metro go)." Hahaha!

So I got a new job, working as a copy-editor and setting up an NGO in the U.S. I cut down my hours at my teaching job. I reconciled with my friends from work again, realizing that we loved each other too much, my issues with them had something to do with what time of the month it was and other people's judgments, not my own, and since when do I get rid of friends or decide to avoid someone based on my reputation or their sketchiness in the eyes of society? As Alissa indirectly reminded me, "that's un-Biblical." I would even say, anti-Biblical. Luckily they easily forgave me without me even asking.

So anyway, sitting in our lighted garden at work during Iftar break after downing my pomegranate seed juice with the guys at work, I confessed the fact that I took a new job and was cutting down my hours at our center. An awkward silence settled, you could hear the wind in the small trees behind us. One understood my reasons, the other was being passive aggressive, "whatever you like Miss Kristin" and called me out on being selfish while pretending I'm not. And then it comes out, one is leaving at the end of the month, the other will leave then too. Then my co-teacher comes outside and makes his own personal confession. So then we all of a sudden know that this is over soon. All of a sudden honesty and affection and disappointment and impending change are all out floating around us, and savoring this moment, sitting in this garden together, becomes very important, and the humid air seems thicker. My co-worker gets the Qur'an and recites to us the Sura of Mariam (Mary, mother of Jesus). I could sit and listen for hours to the sound of the Qur'an being recited (which is a good thing because I hear it several hours of the day here, from our neighborhood mosque, from radios in every store, home, and taxi, and from the pious Muslims around me). I make some after Iftar tea. The guys "drink" a couple cigarettes (that's how it translates from Arabic), we breath in the heavy air.

Last night the guys, my co-teacher, and I got to have restaurant Iftar because our resident cook went home to eat with his wife. We take a taxi to Mo'men (an American style fast food restaurant, the name means "very good Muslim," which is why me and my co-teacher couldn't work there, haha) We order our food right before sunset and the crowd kept amassing. We get our food about 15 minutes after Iftar and eat out on a planter outside. Mmmm. My first fast food Iftar, thoroughly satisfying, and thoroughly strange culture clash. Came back to the center and I went out shopping. One of the guys went looking for me because I was gone so long he thought I was lost. I bought everyone some sweet potatoes.

Later last night I make my way to Masaara to see my family. I brought them some figs and I finally got to hear what is up with their sister in law. The father told us never to go upstairs where the sister-in-law lives. I found out why from the women. She doesn't like us being around for various reasons having to do with reputation, time, envy, and money. She was also bribed by a cousin to convince her sister-in-law to marry him, at age 16. I knew at some point that we must be a burden to this family, but it saddened me to hear this. On the bright side I heard about the family's approval of Alissa's friend as her husband and the story of the father and mother in the beginning. I also got to hear about how the family thought I was very shy and quiet and slightly unfriendly at first but now I am much much better. This morning Julianna, Gigi and I went to church at this church / monastery on the Nile. I successfully handled money changing in the mini-bus since I was next to the driver even though Gigi was convinced I couldn't.

Tonight my host family couldn't have me over for Iftar because the Mom and middle brother were involved in some kind of extended duel with their uncle in their village so Rebecca and I headed out for a nice dinner. On the way back on the metro, we must have hit the last train of the night because the thing was packed to the people bouncing off point. Luckily I was squished in the corner in the middle of this very funny, very happy, very big Muslim family. I asked them where they were getting off, we struck up a little conversation, they said I must live here because my arabic accent was so good (haha, very funny, but much appreciated), and then when my stop came up they successfully shoved me through the crowd to the door on the other side. Rebecca and I finally pretty much fell out of the metro as if we were coming home from a long night of drinking because of the sheer pressure built up inside that metro car. I get to the exit turnstile, put my ticket in and it won't let me through. Now this happens to me ALL THE TIME and I am no longer amused. I start mildly cursing / hitting the machine and jump over the turnstile. This is a pretty common Egyptian way to get away with not paying for the metro. The metro guy comes out of his office and yells at me. I throw up my hands, Rebecca's ticket in one, my ticket in the other in exasperation and yell, "feeh itneen!" (there are two!) "maksoor!" (its broken!) He smiles and waves me on. I walk out the door and all of a sudden I can't believe I just did that, cavalierly yelled at the Metro monitor man in Arabic after jumping over the turnstile. I'm toughening up and my temper is shortening.

So I have started to feel that I belong here, I have roots here. People are being more honest with me, I'm being more honest with people. This honesty is often the painful kind involving hurt and disappointment, but this seems to be necessary to be part of life and to have any kind of real relationship. You can't be part of life anywhere without experiencing a large share of hurt and disappointment it seems. The pain and frustration almost makes it real. It hurts to hear that our sister-in-law doesn't like us around. I hurt others by saying that I'm leaving and their life is not correct. Others hurt me by not following through on their promises and not meeting my expectations. So we have the point in life that conflict arises and then we have the point in life that the opportunity for honesty arises, and then the point where we move past it all together. Laazim (we must).