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.
[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.
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