Cultural Conflicts, and Economics 101

Everyone, I think, is adapting to life in Egypt pretty well, but there are still misunderstandings and conflicts. One of my favorite stories concerns a teacher who was convinced a shoe salesman had ripped him off because he was American. (He now tells everyone he’s Canadian.) He had chosen some shoes marked “90,” but when the time came to pay (and after he’d mentioned he was American), the salesman was demanding 95. The teacher argued a bit but then, deciding 5 L.E. was hardly worth the effort, gave in, though he resented it. Well, when he told me this story a light went on in my dark noggin, because I’d recently been studying Arabic numerals and knew exactly how this conflict had arisen. Because, you see, while the Arabic 9 looks almost exactly like our 9, the Arabic 5 is in fact a “0”! So, actually, the man was charging him the correct price, while the teacher was trying to get him to knock 5 pounds off! This is yet another reason I’ve been advising people not to assume anything negative unless they have no other possible explanation. You simply never know, especially when you’re dealing with a different culture and language. All in all, it’s probably best to assume the best unless something much more important is at stake.

Another, far more annoying (to me, anyway), issue is what I refer to as the Taxi Wars. A few teachers are a bit obsessed about not getting “ripped off” by taxi drivers, who will often try to charge foreigners more than natives. On the one hand, this is understandable: we are living in Egypt, are carrying Egyptian pounds, and are, in a certain limited sense, Egyptians. Also, no one likes to be treated differently. And yet, I hardly think this constitutes just cause for anger, confrontation, and even, in some cases, vitriol. What is more, I think it also is unfair on economic grounds. Some people are demanding to be charged no more than average Egyptians, and yet, we are quite profoundly NOT average Egyptians, being paid at least 10 times the average Egyptian’s wage. (The average Egyptian makes roughly $1,500 a year—but we should note that “average” is probably not an accurate measure, since there is a great division between rich and poor here. Thus most people, no doubt, have an income below $1,500, the average having been inflated upward because of the huge incomes of a relative few.) In short, it seems to me a bit unseemly to demand paying an average-Egyptian charge while having a 10+ times greater-than-Egyptian income. I do not suggest we should pay whatever is asked of us—but paying more than average every now and then should not be a big deal. We can easily afford paying $4 instead of $3 for a ride across half Cairo! If we were being charged relative to our income, that would be $40. I would even argue that, if anyone is getting “ripped off,” it is probably the taxi drivers, who know that, for us, a few pounds more or less is nothing, while for him it makes a far greater material difference. We as rich foreigners, in short, are taking advantage of them, not the other way around. Think of basic economics: precisely how is the price of something—a commodity or a service–fixed? It is fixed by the marketplace, which operates according to both the relative value of something as well as the amount of money in circulation. Taxi rides in Cairo are so cheap only because most people don’t have much money. If everyone had our incomes, however, the price would be far higher. So basically, we’re having our cake and eating it too: we get to have higher incomes without having to bear the burden of increased prices. The Egyptian cabbies who want to charge a little more are not gouging us—they’re adjusting their price upward on the basis of our ability to pay—but not nearly enough to be proportional to our income. We’re still getting a great deal.

That, anyway, is my argument. Again, I do not suggest we throw money at taxi drivers like it’s going out of style. We can bargain, haggle, etc., but I just think its inappropriate to make a big deal out of it. The Egyptian economy, furthermore, is not exactly a powerhouse, and can use whatever extra infusion of cash it can get. Why not just bear the (miniscule) extra burden and do your part?

Another note on Egypt and the Egyptian economy and how most things in Egypt just don’t run as smoothly and aren’t as well-maintained or modern as they are in the US. Sometimes these discrepancies can lead people to exasperation: “Just WHAT are these people thinking?” Well, I myself was recently pondering this subject and looked into some basic statistics. Egypt has roughly one-quarter the population of the US but only about 1/40 the economy. This means, in short, that Egypt is trying to do all the things the US does— military, medical, infrastructure, education, public works, etc.—with about 10% of the resources available in the US. Think about that: 10%. If every government agency at every level, and every one of us as well, suffered a 90% cut in resources, how would WE live? I’m sure we’d do what many Egyptians are forced to do: cut corners, throw nothing even remotely valuable away, and live in an often filthy city with concrete characterless apartment blocks stretching to the horizon. I have no doubt that Egypt could be run better and that there could be less, say, corruption. Reducing the gap between rich and poor would also be enormously beneficial. But a 90% cut. Maybe, when you think about it and take everything into account, they're not doing so bad at all....

(Of course, some would argue that the Egyptians have 10% of our resources because of something wrong (economically-speaking) with them and what they’ve done. There is probably SOMETHING to this, but we shouldn’t push the point too far. Your average Egyptian has as much interest in doing well economically as we do—probably more. The problems in Egypt, much like our successes in the US, are due to a great number of very complex factors that have roots decades, even centuries, deep. I don’t know enough economics to make a detailed argument, but suffice it to say I reject the notion that everyone gets what they deserve. We generally get what we’ve inherited—whether that’s a corrupt and backward system or a transparent system of rules and regulations that is more evenhanded. We should also note that Egypt’s public education system is utterly atrocious and that nearly 50% of Egyptians are illiterate. How do you pull yourself up on your feet when you can’t even successfully educate your people? How do you achieve those basic, foundational elements you need to develop your economy when your economy cannot successfully provide for those basic, foundational elements in the first place? It’s a kind of catch-22: you need development to get more resources, but you need more resources to get development.

In conclusion, please note the situation is not hopeless: Egypt IS pushing up—but, unfortunately, it’s very slow going.)

Blood and Shisha

Last Saturday we journeyed to downtown Cairo for our mandatory AIDS test. Egypt requires all foreign workers to give a blood sample as it is illegal to work here if you’re infected. The Health Ministry building we waited in was not the epitome of fashion, cleanliness, or comfort (only a few chairs were available for waiting, and the place was very crowded), and some in our party soon began to panic about how the actual vital-bodily-fluid-extraction would be done. Images of rusty needles passed from arm to arm invaded several minds, I think, though, I am pleased to report, not mine. Egypt doesn’t have the resources of the West, of course (see the following post), but many of their medical people are well-trained and knowledgeable, and I was confident they knew the basics of safe blood-collecting. And, in fact, this proved to be the case. The man who drew our blood used individual needles attached to little tubes and was so capable and efficient that the process was virtually painless. We had to wait a bit to get the blood taken, but once we stepped into his little room we were done in about ten seconds.

After this, some of us joined Amr, who is the school’s Human Resources person, for a drink of guava juice. We pulled up to the curb beside a fruit store and, a couple minutes later, two men came out with big mugs of dull-green-colored juice. It was quite good—good enough for me to finish off the remainder of another teacher’s mug. She couldn’t stand it, but was afraid of offending Amr, so we just switched mugs when I had finished off my first one. Yum!
(Fortunately we were seated way back in the van!)

Afterwards we went to Amr’s hangout—a cafe/shisha bar in his neighborhood. It was a delightful little nook. Because there was no wall facing the street, the cafe was flooded with natural light and the sound of passing cars on the nearby narrow street, while the fanlike leaves of mimosa trees danced close by. The cafe was narrow and maybe only 30 feet deep. Four men at a square table played a quick-moving game of cards involving slapping cards on the table and shouting out energetically. A TV hanging from the ceiling presented a continuous stream of videos—including ones by an Egyptian eroto-goddess named Ruby, who apparently has just come out with a movie we hope to see. She is very controversial in Egypt, but, judging by the fact her videos are everywhere and everyone knows who she is, she also must be popular with at least a sizable minority of people. (Amr at one point glanced up at the TV, nudged me, and said with a mischievous grin, “Sexy?” “Yes,” I answered: “Very impressive.” Needless to say, however, Ruby is pretty tame by American video standards. She gyrates, shows off her midriff, and looks about seductively, but that’s about it. One big difference between a good-girl image and a bad-girl image, apparently, is how much you move around while dancing. Apparently she moves around a great deal.)

As for food and drink, we ate spicy falafel sandwiches wrapped in a kind of pita that were truly wonderful, and drank both lemon-flavored and grape-flavored iced beverages that everyone found original, excellent, and refreshing. But then it was... shisha time!!! Amr suggested it, we all had talked about trying it previously, and so I jumped in and said, “Let’s do it!” Soon three shishas were out and we all were, as I like to call it, “taking a ride on the shisha camel.” Now, seriously: to look at these 3 foot tall water pipes, the average American would be appalled: they look like the hugest bongs imaginable and it’s almost impossible to look at them without believing they must be used to smoke some really heavy, nasty stuff. The opposite, however, is the case: there is, indeed, tobacco involved, but there is also apple flavor, molasses, and probably some other ingredients as well. You ARE smoking, but the smoke is very light and pleasant and not remotely as acrid as a cigarette. (It’s more like breathing incense than tobacco smoke.) Everyone, I’m sure, is familiar with what it feels like being in a crowded, smokey room. Well, here in this cafe there were at least half-a-dozen shisha pipes going and none of us experienced the slightest amount of discomfort. Having said this, there IS an effect since, if you inhale deeply enough, you get a bit lightheaded as your lungs constrict or fill up with smoke or whatever it is that they do. I’m sure it’s not particularly good for you—though I suspect some shisha puffing every month or two is much less worse for you than living in the pollution-heavy atmosphere of Cairo day in and day out. In any case, we don’t intend to make a habit of it, though it should be fun enough every now and then.

Anyway, while talking and eating and drinking and smoking and looking around it somehow came out that Amr was in the military for three years but then got out when it didn’t suit him. Military service in Egypt is mandatory, lasting from one to three years depending on an individual’s situation. University-bound young men need serve only 1 year. Those with nothing else in particular to do, it seems, get three whole years. I don’t know what Amr’s specific reasons for being in three years are, but I do know that his uncle is in the military and so it seems reasonable that he would have tried it on for size. Why it didn’t work for him was made more obvious when he showed us his picture: there he was, looking sharp, a bit younger, dressed neatly in a clean and dark pressed uniform with a white hat and—a big grin on his face! We all laughed and I told him how American soldiers all have tough expressions in their pictures, almost as if they’re worried their enemies might get hold of them and think they’re pushovers. I’m not saying you need to be mean to be in the military, but Amr was probably too sweet of a guy to make it. I’m glad he got out and is working now at the school.

One other funny thing: there are, naturally, many different levels of English-competence you encounter in this country. Some people are quite fluent, some moderately so, some barely so, some know only a few words. Amr is somewhere between barely fluent and moderately fluent. He seems to follow what you say much of the time, but his own communications can sometimes be uncertain or obscure. At one point during our cafe-time together, he said the funniest thing. He mentioned how one of the teachers with us, Elizabeth, was always very quiet. And so I said to him, “you know, Amr, there’s a saying: quiet waters run deep.” “Ah!” he answered, nodding with total comprehension: “she has an expensive head!” Now this, surely, must be one of the benefits of imperfect English: his intention was clear and made perfect sense in its way, but his phrasing was far more original than any fluent speaker would say.

Pretty fun.

Journey to the Red Sea—Almost....

Okay, so we didn’t actually go to the Red Sea: we went to a lake along the Suez Canal where, after being motor-boated out to a sandy island littered with little dead white crabs and a fair amount of garbage, we were able to sun and wade and swim with the giant cargo ships of the world for several hours. (Yes, I know, that’s not as inspiring as swimming with whales or dolphins, but you have to start somewhere and it was an experience nonetheless.) The part of the beach down by the water was clean, with plenty of shells, smooth-worn fragments of surprisingly light, colored rock, and even a few small live white clams with green fan-shaped patterns around their hinges. The water was very warm and salty and a bit greenish but pleasant.

But first things first. We departed in the morning aboard a large, air-conditioned bus, maneuvered out of town, then headed east about 100 km toward the Suez Canal. The landscape for most of the trip was very dry and and flat and townless, though we noticed inscrutable building complexes every now and then. Several of the places we passed had a military-feel to them (especially the barb-wire fence containing what looked like half-a-dozen howitzers), which is not uncommon here. Egypt is a highly militarized country with a nearly 500,000-man army and untold numbers of police and internal security forces. On our ride to and from school, for instance, we pass numerous military installations (or is it all just one huge one?) with guard towers manned by terribly bored, rifle-carrying young men. (Military service here is mandatory for all males for anywhere from 1 to 3 years.) Of course, we should also keep in mind that the Egyptian military budget is about 1% of the US’s. Egypt also does far less to keep its militarization out of sight, which adds a great deal to the sense of being in a heavily armed society. There are probably a couple reasons for their doing this, which I’ll leave aside for now.

In any case, after racing through the desert for an hour or so, things suddenly began to get much greener. Fields of bananas, mangoes, pineapples—even corn—became common, and by the time we neared the canal zone civilization had made a comeback with dusty streets lined with shops and houses sprouting all around us. We took a right (south) and drove along the canal to reach Ms. Nadia’s beach house. On our left there was an almost steady line of houses with the occasional crowded public beach facility wedged between them. On our right, there were occasional dilapidated structures with lots of trees and other vegetation filling in the landscape and limiting our vision.

Ms. Nadia’s place was a nice, three-story house with little decoration and irregularly flowing water. (Everyone was taking showers when the water went sketchy, so that may have had something to do with it.) Out back, there was a covered porch, a couple tables with umbrellas over them, and a good rectangular stretch of grass that ran down to the beach where a dock, a 9-passenger motorboat, and a pair of jet-skis waited. After having breakfast we evacuated to the island, where we lazed about till almost dusk, watching the almost otherworldly huge ships sailing by. Upon returning we enjoyed a bountiful dinner followed by the cutting of my birthday cakes, and I had the unique honor of being sung “Happy Birthday” in both American and Egyptian versions. The cake was a big hit, and the whole affair was quite enjoyable. While on the island an American asked me if I would ever have imagined a year ago I would be celebrating my birthday on an island in the Suez Canal. I had to admit that this particular locale would almost certainly have ranked low on my list of probabilities. (Can't life be so very strange?)

Our journey home began a couple hours after dark with the trip passing swiftly on what seemed, judging from everything I’d read, a surprisingly good road. But first, before signing off, one final note about our trip: when cars and trucks approach each other on the highway after dark, they take turns blinking their lights at each other--off and on and off and on--like giant speeding fireflies. I imagine these “conversations” as going something like this:

Vehicle 1: “I see you!”

Vehicle 2: “I see you, too!”

Vehicle 1: “I see you seeing me!”

Vehicle 2: “Me too!”

Vehicle 1: “I’m getting close now!”

Vehicle 2: “Yes, you are! We’re both going very fast!”

Vehicle 1: “You're right!”

Vehicle 2: “Hello!”

Vehicle 1: “How do you do?”

WHOOSH!!!!

Both Vehicles’ Taillights simultaneously, with a suddenly falling whisper that soon settles into the deep dark desert silence: “Goodnight!”

(Goodnight.)

Our First Week at School

We have just completed our first full week at school. The kids aren’t there yet, so it’s not really “school” in the proper sense of the word, but we’re definitely getting a firmer grip on what we will be doing. I will be teaching 11th and 12th grade English (American Lit and British Lit respectively), while Faith will be working with Kindergartners. (Some as young as three!) The facilities here are, for the most part, very nice. All the rooms have air conditioning, the buildings are fairly new and quite clean, and it feels like a good place to work. On the downside, toilet paper is nonexistent (but there are bidets—see below), the rooms all have bare walls and floors and so are very echoey, and school supplies and resources—like access to the photocopier, working printers, printing paper, etc.—are in short supply. Many teachers didn’t get their textbooks till just today—our fifth day at the school. As you can tell, things are often rather disorganized, though I get the feeling that we’ll all muddle through.

Meanwhile, more American teachers have arrived and we are beginning to get to know our Egyptian colleagues. One of my favorite new friends is Reham Ali. She is getting her Masters Degree in English, is a big movie fan, and is quiet and reserved but very funny. Many of the other women here are very intelligent and outgoing. On our first day, we all introduced ourselves and described ourselves with an appropriate adjective. Maybe a dozen of the women referred to themselves as “active,” and a few even called themselves “loud,” or “loud but helpful,” or “active, loud, helpful, and opinionated.” (There was a great deal of laughing throughout much of this.) I simply said I was “punctual,” while admitting this may or may not be true. Faith’s adjective was “fabulous,” and now at least a few people actually refer to her as Fabulous! Faith, as those of you who know her well can probably imagine, is something of a marvel here. She is so friendly, smiling, and eager to talk to Egyptians that I think they often feel (pleasantly) overwhelmed. Now that there are over a dozen other Americans here, it would be fairly easy to fall in almost exclusively with them, but both Faith and I are making a concerted effort to develop real friendships outside the American circle. Actually, that’s not quite true: Faith doesn’t really need to try....

In any case, we are hacking our way through the jungle here, struggling to clear enough ground to teach on. This is going to be more challenging than we expected, but I believe that we can do it. The best thing is, we have so many good and friendly people around us to help out.

A NOTE on bidets: a bidet—pronounced “bee-day,” with emphasis on the “day”—is a gadget that often takes the form of a sink-like porcelain object set low to the floor in bathrooms. By turning a couple handles, you can generate a pleasing little fountain of water. This is used—in much of Egypt as well as Europe—in place of toilet paper. In our school, they have bidet-like sprayers built into the toilets. All you need to do is turn a little handle to get the water flowing up. Although I happen to find the bidet both adequate and refreshing, most Americans here don’t even know one when they see one. Culture-shock, anyone?

Finally, I should let you know that we leave tomorrow at 9:10 am for the Red Sea coast. Ms. Nadia Hafez, the school Chairperson (and owner), has invited the American teachers out for a day on the beach. We will visit one of her houses and be fed, we are told, an Oriental breakfast and an Egyptian lunch. It will also my birthday, so Faith, of course, spilled the beans and now we’re going to have a little birthday party, too. The school bus took us to a local bakery today and we bought two gorgeous cakes. (This bakery, by the way, was all pastries and the selection was so large and so mouthwatering it almost made us dizzy. Needless to say, we’re going back.)

I will be sure to provide a full report on our trip to the Red Sea as soon as I can.

Note to Self: It Could Always Be Worse

One thing to keep in mind in a situation like this is that, no matter what goes wrong, it could always be worse. We have had our share of problems thus far, but we would do well to remember the saga of Brian and Elsa, who recently arrived from the States. Not only were they given an apartment in a building far from everyone else, the apartment itself left a great deal to be desired. The kitchen was infested with insects, the washing machine had half its parts piled ON TOP of it, the toilet ran continuously with an almost roaring gush of water, and the place was, all in all, filthy. To add insult to injury, someone in the building called the police and said there were “foreigners” traipsing up and down the stairs. And so, one night, there’s a knock at the door and poor Brian and Elsa open it up to find three plainclothes policemen wishing to speak with them. They asked them many questions, examined their passports, and then finally left, having apparently determined the American couple and their cat were not endangering building, neighborhood, municipal, provincial, or national security. Thank-goodness, they have just today moved over to our building and are now safely installed in an apartment on the third floor. We haven’t spoken to them yet, but our American neighbor—Pam—tells us they are very, very relieved. It is isn’t big, but it’s clean, near many other Americans, and no one here will call the cops on them.

Our Neighborhood

We have yet to see a single house in Cairo. Everywhere—in all directions—there are apartment blocks. Our own building is five stories high, and from our balcony we can see two long lines of apartment towers running off into the distance, every one of them topped with 10-15 satellite dishes. Directly across from us is a huge military academy with a perimeter of 4-5 miles. Between the academy and us is El Aroucy street. The traffic flow is divided here by a wide boulevard planted with grass and trees. At night, when it is cooler, children often come to this green spot to play soccer. At almost all hours, day and night, we hear the cry of fruit-salesmen wheeling huge carts of fruit around the neighborhood. There is no minaret or mosque directly by us, so we don’t hear any of the Muslim calls to prayer that drench the air five times a day in other regions of the city. (This may change, however, when the military academy begins its fall term.) The cars in our neighborhood provide some interesting contrasts. There are nice, shiny new BMWs and smaller SUVs, but 1970s and 1980s vintage—and earlier—models are in evidence. Every fourth or fifth car is taxi—a small black and white rattling creature that tends to be some kind of old Peugeot. A block or so down our narrow, tree-shaded side-street (which runs from El Aroucy street just past our building’s front door and on and on to who knows where) there is an Internet Cafe. We have glanced around inside, but have yet to try it out. The cost is L.E. 4 per hour. (About 70 cents.) There are at least three grocery stores within fairly easy walking distance and one particularly good restaurant called the Farah. Faith and I and two fellow teachers had an excellent meal there the other night. We tried okra in a spicy red sauce with rice alongside three dishes of hummus, tabulla, and a kind of (non-lettuce-based) salad with mint, cucumber, yoghurt, and black olives in it. These last three dishes came with a big basket of excellent bread for dipping. Finally, we each enjoyed a glass of mango juice. This juice, by the way, defies description. When you think of juice in the states, you’re thinking basically of a certain type of flavored water. Mango juice here, on the other hand, is like a liquified mango, and it is so good you almost can’t believe you’re really tasting it. (I’ve probably said this before, but the food here has been absolutely excellent.) Aside from being wonderful, the food was (by our standards) very cheap: less than $10 per person, including an extra hefty tip. (The service, too, was excellent.) While eating we enjoyed the sight of Middle Eastern as well as American music videos playing on numerous strategically located television screens as well as the sweet scent of shisha smoke. (A shisha is a kind of huge water pipe—more on this later.) In short, a fine time was had by all, and we like our neighborhood very much.

Impressions of Egypt

The thing that has struck me most forcibly about Egypt is that, after everything else is said and done, it is basically a place much like any other. Everywhere you look there are people working, driving, chatting, resting, shopping, waiting, minding their children, looking bored or amused, indifferent or happy. Once you peer through the outer dissimilarities, the unity of human experience comes through. Most people in Heliopolis, for instance, do not seem to be mulling over the West’s cruelty to Iraqis or Palestinians or worrying about who controls the world’s oil. They may at times, surely, but most of the day they’re simply going about their business, pursuing and achieving what appear to be a hundred separate goals a day. They may not like Americans being in Iraq or Israel being in the West Bank, but they are more than happy to have Americans in their restaurants, shops, and taxis. So far, we have felt very welcomed. (In fact, we’ve heard “Welcome to Egypt!” from several “average” people already.)

[A NOTE on a previous post: I mentioned previously a young man from Upper Egypt who seemed taken aback when I told him I was American. I have lately realized that, being from Upper Egypt—which is less developed and far more isolated than Lower Egypt—he may simply have never met an American before, particularly if he was a recent immigrant to the North. This could very well help explain his reaction.]

Having said this, there are also great differences on the surface. (For the time-being I’ll leave aside the question of deeper lying differences, which in many cases are profound.) The first thing that makes an impression on you here is the traffic—both vehicular and pedestrian. There are very few streetlights—even at intersections—and the ones that do exist are almost universally ignored. Lanes are optional, horns omnipresent, blinkers rare, and headlights often turned off at night. Cars changing position regularly come within two or three inches of each other. Intersections, in particular, supply a stage for fascinating negotiated dances of give and take and waiting—but then seizing—your turn with a rapidity and efficiency that, to an American, is mind-boggling. Such steady streams of traffic converging from four directions in the US would lead to almost instant traffic jams. Traffic at our local intersection, however, runs surprisingly smoothly even at rush hour, and provides an entertaining spectacle for us as we drink tea on our balcony.

But really, this all is far less frightening than it sounds, in part because cars rarely get above 35 or 40 mph, and in part because the drivers here are incredibly skilled. (You would have to be to maneuver in heavy traffic with no signs, lights, or signals, right?) We have, so far, felt strangely safe.

A NOTE on honking: the honking here is constant, but not meaningless. One quick honk means “I’m here,” while several quick honks in succession mean “I’m here and I’m not stopping/slowing down.” In the US honking is often associated with aggression and/or annoyance. Here it’s just part of a normal day’s drive.

Walking, however, is another matter, and here, I think, we need to update our conception of what it means to “walk like an Egyptian.” It is not, in fact, to march forward with your arms and palms peculiarly angled, but rather to step out into heavy traffic and cross a street with cars whizzing by within a couple inches of you. There are, as you can probably guess by now, no functioning crosswalks or lights for pedestrians here. Because intersections—with so many cars turning and coming from several directions—are particularly bad points to cross a road, most people cross somewhere between them. To help out, the city has been kind enough to provide medians between opposing flows of traffic, allowing the crosser a momentary respite and good line of defense.

Despite the existence (at least in Heliopolis) of sidewalks in many places, it is not uncommon to see people walking in the streets, cars seeming to almost flick their shirtsleeves. We have also witnessed, on several occasions, what almost seems a kind of game in which a driver and pedestrian time their approaches to come as close to each other as possible without touching. (This, despite the fact the pedestrian in these cases could have easily sped up or the driver easily slowed down.) Again, this may be far less dangerous than it looks due to the experience and skill of walkers and drivers. This means, of course, that were WE to “walk like an Egyptian,” we would be in far more danger as we are not so skilled. But forturnately we have the aids of patience, looking both ways several times, relatively slow traffic, teamwork, and extra all-around caution on our side. Suffice it to say, when crossing streets we’re VERY careful!!!

(By the way, there ARE seat belts in most vehicles here—but only in the front seat. I am not certain, but I suspect there is even a law about wearing them.)

Another obvious difference here is that everybody speaks Arabic and most of the signs are in Arabic, though signs in English are not uncommon. At least some English proficiency is evident among the people, but it is not something to count on. People here are also a bit swarthier than they tend to be in, say, South Dakota, but even they come in many shades. As white folk, we are basically near one end of a complex continuum of skin types, and it is interesting being a “minority.” But as I have said before, we have not—so far at least—felt particularly singled out in any negative way.

Dress can also be very different. It can, however, be also quite familiar. Blue jeans, blouses, t-shirts, uncovered hair (sometimes with fancy hairstyles), even shorts (but not on women!) will be encountered on any walk outside of our apartment building. Also in evidence will be female heads covered in scarves or hoods, jalabiyyas (a kind of dress-like garment worn by men), and, at the furthest extreme, the black, loose, full-body covering that reveals only the eyes that is worn by the most conservative-minded women. (We should probably avoid assuming these women all are prudes with no image of self-worth: I have seen women swathed from head-to-toe shopping for lingerie. I also witnessed a similarly attired woman, headset on and music blaring, power-walking around the military academy across our street.) Just glancing out our window, we can see it all.

As for air, water, and body odor, we have no complaints—except maybe the air. On a recent expedition to downtown Heliopolis, I was nearly sickened by the oily emissions of passing trucks. The water, meanwhile, is highly chlorinated, but we have finally become used to it. The people here smell great so far, and I can only hope we smell as nice to them.

New Arrivals!

After 5 days of being the only Americans--so far as we knew--in all of Egypt, we have had the pleasure of meeting two new arrivals: Pamela and Kyle. (Who did not know each other before today.) Pamela got in last night and called us this afternoon. We immediately invited her up (she has moved into our old apartment) and the three of us chatted for several hours. She is from Kansas, taught for 3 years in Columbia (!), and would like to start a Christian school in Azerbaijan (!!!), which she recently visited for two weeks. Later on we were joined by Kyle, who is a strapping twenty-three year old from Minneapolis. (Where Faith and I lived for five years and where we still have many friends.) We have had a very nice time together comparing travel notes and are already planning an expedition soon--maybe tomorrow and maybe to the Giza pyramids. (The really big ones you see in all the photos.) It is nice to be around fellow Americans again, not that we were experiencing culture shock or anything, but now we feel a bit less isolated and a bit more supported. We have very positive feelings toward the Egyptian people connected to our school, but we see them rarely. Now we have two new friends in the exact same position as we in the exact same building. Should be fun.

The Battle of the Time-Zones

Yes! This morning we have won a major victory, having had our first “normal” night’s sleep (from around 11 pm to 9 am) since our arrival in Egypt. We are in a time-zone 9 hours ahead of our old one in western South Dakota, and before now we were staying up too late and waking up in the middle of the night—or way too early in the morning—or way too late in the day. The result was feeling tired, grumpy, and disturbingly out-of-joint. Neither the world nor yourself appear entirely real at such times, which is probably the worst feeling of all. (Unless it’s feeling real but being mired in misery.) In any case, it took us six nights to pull this off, and we hope we’ve finally made the shift. The Egyptian world around me feels more real than ever, and this morning we’re stepping out for a walk around the wide-sidewalk-bounded walls of the nearby military academy. (!) Wish us luck!

Five Days in Heliopolis

The Sleep of the Dead (Tired)
(Thursday, August 5)

We sleep in till 2pm, getting a full 12 hours of deep, deep sleep. We wake up, unpack a bit, then dare an expedition to the local Metro grocery, which is a couple blocks from our apartment building. On the way, we cannot help but notice that pretty much no-one gives us a second—mostly not even a first—glance. Maybe they’re all distracted by the caravan of honking cars with a groom and bride in the front vehicle that circles the area for the next half hour?

At the grocery store we buy a few simple items—some towels, soap, etc.—and I get a chance to talk to a young man from Upper Egypt (meaning Southern Egypt; Cairo is in Lower Egypt) who says he’s taking a class at the nearby military Academy to learn Arabic. I say I’d like to learn, too. He asks me where I’m from, and when I tell him “the United States,” he looks a bit taken aback, though not angry or hostile. We depart with awkward smiles exchanged between us. We spend 54 Egyptian Pounds (L.E.)--about $9 for two sizable sacks of stuff.

Expedition of Conspicuous Consumption
(Friday, August 6)

Sharifa Mohammed sends a van with a non-English-speaking driver to pick us up at 4:30 pm. We make what seem to be far too many turns through downtown Heliopolis to actually get anywhere before arriving, at long last, in front of what turns out to be her apartment building. Until she actually comes out and gets in with us, we aren’t sure whether our driver is lost or not. (He seemed to be asking a nearby policeman a lot of questions as we waited.)Then it was off to what I affectionately call the Egyptian-Super-WalMart. This is a mall in the desert south of Cairo which has a Cinnebon, a Radio Shack, clothing stores, a furniture store, numerous other stores, and a huge rectangular space containing food, clothes, electronics, toys, etc. Once again, we attract no special notice as we load up on food. (I also buy a nice hard-bound copy of Naguib Mahfouz’s Cairo Trilogy. Mahfouz won the Nobel Prize for literature and The Cairo Trilogy is supposedly his best work.) Finally, we have the best cinnamon rolls in the world at Cinnebon, then head home. We take the scenic route, driving along the Sharia Salah Salem (“sharia” meaning road or way), and catching sight of seemingly countless mosques, part of the City of the Dead, what looked like an ancient Christian monastery, the mosque of Mohammed Ali (not the boxer!) and the massive Citadel of which it is a part, and a smog-enriched beautiful deep red sunset. We also, far, far in the distance, spy what must be the great pyramids of Giza pointing skyward through the haze. We see so much, it is impossible to drink it all in. It is both dizzying and exhilarating all at once.

But now, it’s dinner time. Instead of taking us straight home, Sharifa brings us to a mostly vegetarian restaurant in downtown Heliopolis where we enjoy bread, olives, French fries (Sharifa makes a reference to “freedom fries,” which we all laugh at), hummus, fool, and falafel, and maybe a half-a-dozen other items. (I’ll try to get Faith to explain the food in a later post, perhaps.) We have a very nice time talking to her, our conversation revolving for a time around migraine headaches. Her father, she told us, has had these terrible headaches for 30 years and sometimes stays in a dark room for two or three days straight. Sharifa herself (who does not suffer from headaches), is very pleasant. She is about our age, has been married 12 years, and has three children. She does not cover her hair, is soft-spoken and a little shy, and said that although her husband and children preferred hamburgers to our present fare, she herself could eat at this restaurant all the time. Her patience and aid were invaluable in our first major expedition out into the titanic world of Cairo. Like many Egyptians we have encountered, she is quick to smile and laugh.

A NOTE on drivers: Drivers in Egypt do a lot of waiting. Our driver waited in the parking lot with the van for maybe 3 whole hours while we shopped (though Sharifa gave him some shopping money, too), then another hour while we ate. On our travels, however, he and Sharifa spoke quite freely, and apparently he was very funny for she laughed often as they spoke. He helped Faith and I take our groceries up to our apartment and, with a huge smile, declined my offer of a tip.

Our Apartment
(Saturday, August 7)

On this day we mainly settle in, finishing our unpacking and getting used to our apartment. It is a one-bedroom flat with a balcony facing another apartment building across the narrow side-street onto which our apartment building’s front door opens. The kitchen is small, there is air conditioning in the bedroom only, and a small fridge is set in our small dining room. The technology and decor is nothing a time-traveler from 1960 would look twice at. A painting of the Last Supper on one wall gives us pause. (It turns out our landlady, Ms. Samira, is a Christian.) We are unpleasantly surprised by a pair of the largest cockroaches we’ve ever seen—creatures Faith describes as “the size of all the lower 48 states put together.” They also, apparently, have wings, but we are fortunate enough not to encounter them in flight. Soon, however, both are dead: one having been crushed by Sharifa, the other poisoned by some special powder we put down on the floor. Since then, we’ve been safe.

Ms. Samira, meanwhile, was utterly horrified we found cockroaches in our apartment. Apparently it hadn’t been cleaned recently as she was told no teachers would be arriving until the following week. We assured her it was no big deal, that the roaches were gone, and that confusion about our arrival date was understandable since we actually did arrive much earlier than everyone else. Wanting to show us a really clean flat, Ms. Samira took us upstairs to apartment #10—a palace with three bedrooms, a large kitchen, a sizable living room and dining room, two balconies with a much better view than ours, two bathrooms, and two air conditioners. We were quite impressed, then returned to our suddenly even smaller flat, half-wishing we could move.

Moving on Up!
(Sunday and Monday, August 8-9)

A miracle! Ms. Samira, Amr, and a couple other men show up to tell us we can move up to the flat we had seen the day before and had come to call “the Palace” and “the Taj Mahal.” We have now completed the move and are enjoying it very much. (Attention all potential visitors: this means we have a full-fledged guest room!) The third bedroom is being used for storage—which is fine since we have more room than we know what to do with as it is. As for how we got here, it seems there was some confusion about who should be where, and a single man was put down to take the Palace. Ms. Samira and the school apparently agreed this was unfair, and so they moved us up. In short: we’re living large!

Tonight Faith and I sat on our balcony overlooking our little piece of Heliopolis. Next up: Impressions of Egypt thus far, our Battle of the Time Zones, and a description of our neighborhood.

Until then, farewell, and thanks for reading.

Arrived!

We landed at Cairo International Airport at 10:30 pm local time (on a MUCH more comfortable flight by the way) and were met by a smiling middle-aged man carrying a sign reading “Li Hawad.” I’m not sure who he was (and he wasn’t sure who we were), but he negotiated our way through customs, getting us into the baggage claim area within a half hour. He first said we needed $40 for our visa, then, after he had spoken with a tall, thin, unsmiling man a few times, came back and told us the cost was $30. I’m not sure what happened to the $10 left over, but I assume it went to a good cause. At the baggage claim we were joined by a second, less jovial man who helped us retrieve our two suitcases. They then took us outside and past a crowd of people, among whom were two younger looking Egyptians, one of whom was holding a sign saying “Heliopolis American International School, Group A.” Fortunately I noticed them, and, figuring they HAD to be there for us, we made a u-turn and introduced ourselves. It turned out they worked for the school and were, in fact, wishing to retrieve us. Their names are Amr Barakat (the Human Resources person at our school), and Sharifa Mohammed (who works with the school’s finances). A short time later (and after our new guides had a couple conversations with the two men we encountered before) we were in Heliopolis (which is not far from the airport) and in our new apartment. On the way, we experienced our first taste of Egyptian-style driving, and though it met many of our expectations, it was not nearly as scary as we had anticipated. (But more on that later.)

Flight from JFK to Paris

The flight was horrendous. We thought we would be able to sleep on this overnight flight, but our 747 was crowded and uncomfortable. The leg room was paltry, the chairs stiff, and the headrests like concrete. Charles De Gaulle Airport was smokey, crowded, narrow, utterly lacking in beauty or comfort, and had far too few seats in the waiting area. And yet, even in the midst of horror and despair....

"A funny thing happened on our way over here from France (the worst airport we have ever been to I might add.) I met this young lady in the bathroom who was flying to Cairo to visit her fiancé and she informed me that she is originally from Egypt but 8 years ago she and her family went to the U.S. And where do you think they went? Sioux Falls! Her father is a doctor and he practiced in Sioux Falls for a year and then they moved to Indiana and eventually to Virginia where her parents now reside. Isn't that funny. So Lee and I talked to her and another young Egyptian man for a long time before we all flew to Egypt."

—Faith

The young lady’s name was Ranya and the young man’s Meena. Ranya is getting her Phd in Cellular Biology, while Meena is just finishing his degree in Architecture. Both were very smart, humorous, friendly people. They absolutely saved us from Charles De Gaulle, where we were condemned to spend five hours.

A NOTE on long-distance air travel: you expect to be excited to go out and see the world, but then exhaustion dims the senses, blunts the passions (except, of course, anger), and shrinks the world into a zone as cramped and claustrophobic as your aching legs. Instead of breathing the crisp, new air of other lands, you’re sitting in a cramped metal chair in France surrounded by smoking French stewards and stewardesses who seem at least mildly annoyed. Our world changed, but not for the better. But we still need to get to Cairo....

Visiting New York City

I was born in Brooklyn, but my parents left when I was two. Now Faith and I are at the John F. Kennedy airport having just finished visiting friends in, yes, Brooklyn. Our stay was very pleasant. We saw a production of Shakespeare in Central Park (“Much Ado About Nothing”), beheld a ball-game on Coney Island, and ate at many EXTREMELY good restaurants. We were both surprised how quickly we took to the city, and agreed that we could easily live here someday. The food, theater, variety of people, public transportation, museums, the New York Public Library (a veritable church for books and those who love them)—the list of plusses is almost endless. The expected negatives—the crowding, concerns about personal safety, the difficulty of using the subway—turned out to be very weak negatives indeed. The streets were less crowded than expected, we never felt even remotely unsafe, and the subway is thoroughly manageable. (Also, people are more than happy to help out.) A “specific” terrorism warning reminded us that we still live in an unpredictable world, but the warning had no impact on us or our activities. (Nor did it have any appreciable impact on most New Yorkers, it seems.)

We are extremely relieved we came here. Besides simply enjoying the city, this extended layover was our chance to become at least partly acclimated to a very large city. On visiting the site of the World Trade Center, we found a sign that read: “If you can survive in New York City you can survive anywhere.” Given that we did survive, we took these words to heart.

As I write this, we are a couple hours away from boarding a 747 to Paris. The flight is only about seven hours long and we will arrive in France tomorrow morning. I will try to write again from there.