(18) Tell me something I don't know about Cairo that I haven't asked you yet!
Cairo is all about the people. Even though it has changed dramatically, even in just the last ten years, there will always be something indefinable about Egyptians. I’m not even sure what it is, because, well, it’s indefinable; it’s something you have to experience locally. There is a lot of unhappiness here these days, with the state of the government, the economy, the widespread suffering. And it’s noticeable in the people, who don’t have the same level of joie de vivre that they have had in the past. But even with all of this, there is still a certain level of fervour in the way life is lived that I haven’t experienced anywhere else. Egypt has been through a lot, but she always bounces back, and she will this time too.
(19) Are the boys speaking mainly Arabic or English?
They are definitely speaking more Arabic. They really only speak English at home with me and Arabic with everyone else, including their school friends, street friends, shopkeepers, grandparents and taxi drivers. I discourage them from speaking English whenever I can… it’s not like they need the practice. They frequently translate for me when people speak too quickly for me to catch the details of what they are saying. I often speak Arabic with the kids when we are out because I have found it makes things a little easier as a foreign woman if men know that you aren’t a ‘new arrival’ in the country and have some understanding of the culture.
(20) What is the standard of living there?
It is extremely varied. There are people living in abject poverty and others at the opposite end of the spectrum who are filthy rich. There is a lot of money in Egypt, but unfortunately it doesn’t get shared around fairly, for various reasons, well one major reason… but I won’t get into politics because I really don’t know much about it. But there is no balance at all. Sometimes I will be in the middle of negotiating with a taxi driver about my fare… Foreigners always get charged more (which seems fair enough), as do women (which is definitely not fair) …Anyway, there have been times when I have been in the midst of protesting if a taxi driver asks for more money (because that’s the habit one defaults to here), when I think, What are you doing? This is nothing to you, this five pounds. And it could be everything to him.
Because of the culture, there is also no welfare system in place to assist those with nothing, except bread subsidies, and even those have been under threat. The welfare system as we know it just doesn’t exist in Egypt, because it is expected that people will be taken care of by their families; there is a very intricate system outlined in Islam about this which is supposed to be followed here.
(21) What are the boys enjoying most about being back in Cairo?
Well, Nazar would say the overabundance of cats in the streets—he’s in cat heaven, even though he’s not allowed to touch them. Not that my prohibition is much of a deterrent for him. Ziad would say the Pyramids and going to Khan al-Khalili markets.
Some other things they enjoy: Having many other kids in the building to play with; going to the small grocery store right next door on their own to buy things; being able to walk to school; hailing taxis, saying where we want to go, and paying the fare at the end; the amazingly sweet oranges; aish baladi (Egyptian bread similar to whole wheat pita but much rougher and much tastier); ghazl banat (fairy floss bought from a man who walks the streets with his cart).
But really I think what they love the most is the interactive existence they have here. They fraternize with everyone, from the men in the shop next door, to the neighbours and bawab’s (doorman’s) kids.
(22) What is something new that you've experienced this trip?
Well, the joy of pomegranates, as evidenced by my previous post. And having the vegetable seller chopping up the vegetables for me into little cubes to make torli, which is a tomato-based vegetable casserole type of dish made with potato, carrot, onion, zucchini, and probably any other vegetable you happen to have on hand. That was a delightful, time-saving discovery for me that kept me happy for two days. And the other thing I have noticed—and perhaps the most satisfying for me—is that because my Arabic has improved, I am able to catch more of the local humour. Not all of it—there’s still a lot that flies straight over my heard—but definitely more of it!
(23) What is the thing they most want to do when they're not in school?
We really just hang out. They will often play with their new friends in the neighbourhood which I encourage because they can learn ‘street Arabic’. It’s great to see them with their little friends, slapping their hands and putting their arms around each other. Men and boys here are not afraid to show affection for each other and it’s usual for them to walk down the street holding hands or with their arms slung around each other, something that would obviously raise eyebrows in the West.
(24) Are you able to get out of Cairo for breaks and if so, how often can you do this?
In theory, yes, it is quite easy to get out of Cairo for the weekend or a few days. There are many places to go, depending what you like to do. There’s Alexandria just a couple of hours away by train, the North Coast, Suez, the Sinai... Geographically, Egypt is in the centre of the world, so many places are accessible outside the country as well, if one has the time, the money and the inclination to travel further, especially to Europe, Afria or the rest of the Middle East.
(25) Is there a lot of "Can so-and-so come over after school?" or is this not a cultural thing?
No, this doesn’t happen at all, at least not in my experience.
(26) What typically Australian thing are the boys missing?
They adapt fairly easily between Cairo and Sydney now, so aren’t missing much. They sometimes miss their Australian friends… and when we are in Australia they miss their Egyptian friends!
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
The joy of pomegranates
Pomegranates (romaan) are one of the joys of life. I really don’t know why I’d never tried them before. The juice, yes, but never the whole fruit. I guess they seemed a little difficult to navigate. But a couple of months ago I was at the fruit seller and spied a mound of pomegranates. I pointed to the box and asked the fruit seller if they were nice to eat. “Aaah, helw, helw,” he said (beautiful). So I picked one up, turned it between my hands, and asked him how to eat it.
He took it from me and split it open easily, ripping it apart with his bare hands, holding one half and handing me the other. He showed me how to bend the flesh back to make the seeds pop up so they could be effortlessly fished out and eaten. He brought the pomegranate up to his mouth and took a bite. I had expected a verbal explanation, not a theatrical demonstration. So I did as he had done, first bending back the flesh to expose the seeds and then, feeling a little self-conscious and awkward with him eagerly watching me, took a tentative bite. The seeds burst between my teeth as I slowly bit into them, and I thought I would die of pleasure. The sensation was exhilarating! How have I never experienced this before? I wondered. My God, this is amazing! All my bashfulness vanished and I took another bite, even better than the first, with the fruit seller standing by with a huge grin on his face.
Life just seems a little different with pomegranates in it.
He took it from me and split it open easily, ripping it apart with his bare hands, holding one half and handing me the other. He showed me how to bend the flesh back to make the seeds pop up so they could be effortlessly fished out and eaten. He brought the pomegranate up to his mouth and took a bite. I had expected a verbal explanation, not a theatrical demonstration. So I did as he had done, first bending back the flesh to expose the seeds and then, feeling a little self-conscious and awkward with him eagerly watching me, took a tentative bite. The seeds burst between my teeth as I slowly bit into them, and I thought I would die of pleasure. The sensation was exhilarating! How have I never experienced this before? I wondered. My God, this is amazing! All my bashfulness vanished and I took another bite, even better than the first, with the fruit seller standing by with a huge grin on his face.
Life just seems a little different with pomegranates in it.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
The Moments
El ganna taht akdam al omahat. Mish bi balash.
(Heaven lives under the feet of the mother. We don’t get it for nothing.)
A lot of the joy of Egypt for me is in the moments. They pass so quickly, but they are what stick in my mind, and over the years have become a beautiful, intricate tapestry filled with vibrant colours, words, sounds and, most strikingly, people.
A couple of months ago, I was waiting with my two small boys at a forn (bakery) on Sharia el Nozha in Masr Gedeeda for the mini pizzas I’d ordered for my son’s birthday party to come out of the oven. The boys were not in the mood to stand patiently that day and, after about fifteen minutes, all hell began to break loose. The mayhem began slowly, with the usual running around and inability to sit still, and soon led to them running through the restaurant next door and climbing the rickety staircase up into the eating area. With the restaurant owners laughing and saying “Siibhom, siibhom, masfish moshkila.” (Leave them, leave them, it’s no problem.) I knew that threatening the boys with the wrath of someone else’s authority wasn’t going to cut it this time. “La’a di moshkila kibeera,” I told them, as the boys ran towards the big open window that overlooked the street below. “Homma mish waladeen, homma erdeen.” (No, it’s a big problem, they are not boys, they are monkeys.) After much coaxing, I managed to drag them back downstairs to the forn, where I instructed them, in my most authoritative tone, to sit calmly until the pizzas were ready. Turning my back for a minute to go and check when my order would be ready, I heard shrieks of excitement coming from the boys, who had taken off their shoes and were using them as missiles to throw into the air at each other to catch. They coupled this with rolling in the street in an effort to make themselves as filthy as possible. I just closed my eyes for a moment, took a deep breath and said “Erhamooni ba’a” to myself (have mercy on me).
A woman dressed head-to-toe in black was sitting in the street with her teenage daughter, selling lettuce and other salad leaves. She had witnessed the pandemonium unfold and, smiling at me in solidarity, just said, “Malesh, malesh.” (Never mind)
But the pearl of this whole incident only came to me two days ago, two months to the day later. I was passing by the same forn again. The same woman was there, sitting in the same spot, selling her vegetables. She smiled at me and we exchanged greetings. She looked at the boys, who on this day were not rolling in the dirt, but were being unusually calm. She remembered them from that day two months earlier, and said, “El ganna taht akdam al omahat. Mish bi balash.” (Heaven lives under the feet of the mother. We don’t get it for nothing.) I’ve read those words many times before, at least the first part, and have always loved them. But hearing them said to me directly, in the flesh, from another mother, gave them a whole new meaning, a whole new depth. It was a feeling of solidarity, of unity, of sisterhood. “3andik inteen,” she added, “3andee tamanya!” (You have two. I have eight!) So I guess with eight children, her place in heaven is very secure.
I am grateful now that the boys were so naughty that day, grateful that they made me so crazy that I wanted to tear my hair out in despair. Because if they had been good, if they had behaved themselves, I wouldn’t have had the gift of this woman’s beautiful, touching words that will stay with me forever.
(Heaven lives under the feet of the mother. We don’t get it for nothing.)
A lot of the joy of Egypt for me is in the moments. They pass so quickly, but they are what stick in my mind, and over the years have become a beautiful, intricate tapestry filled with vibrant colours, words, sounds and, most strikingly, people.
A couple of months ago, I was waiting with my two small boys at a forn (bakery) on Sharia el Nozha in Masr Gedeeda for the mini pizzas I’d ordered for my son’s birthday party to come out of the oven. The boys were not in the mood to stand patiently that day and, after about fifteen minutes, all hell began to break loose. The mayhem began slowly, with the usual running around and inability to sit still, and soon led to them running through the restaurant next door and climbing the rickety staircase up into the eating area. With the restaurant owners laughing and saying “Siibhom, siibhom, masfish moshkila.” (Leave them, leave them, it’s no problem.) I knew that threatening the boys with the wrath of someone else’s authority wasn’t going to cut it this time. “La’a di moshkila kibeera,” I told them, as the boys ran towards the big open window that overlooked the street below. “Homma mish waladeen, homma erdeen.” (No, it’s a big problem, they are not boys, they are monkeys.) After much coaxing, I managed to drag them back downstairs to the forn, where I instructed them, in my most authoritative tone, to sit calmly until the pizzas were ready. Turning my back for a minute to go and check when my order would be ready, I heard shrieks of excitement coming from the boys, who had taken off their shoes and were using them as missiles to throw into the air at each other to catch. They coupled this with rolling in the street in an effort to make themselves as filthy as possible. I just closed my eyes for a moment, took a deep breath and said “Erhamooni ba’a” to myself (have mercy on me).
A woman dressed head-to-toe in black was sitting in the street with her teenage daughter, selling lettuce and other salad leaves. She had witnessed the pandemonium unfold and, smiling at me in solidarity, just said, “Malesh, malesh.” (Never mind)
But the pearl of this whole incident only came to me two days ago, two months to the day later. I was passing by the same forn again. The same woman was there, sitting in the same spot, selling her vegetables. She smiled at me and we exchanged greetings. She looked at the boys, who on this day were not rolling in the dirt, but were being unusually calm. She remembered them from that day two months earlier, and said, “El ganna taht akdam al omahat. Mish bi balash.” (Heaven lives under the feet of the mother. We don’t get it for nothing.) I’ve read those words many times before, at least the first part, and have always loved them. But hearing them said to me directly, in the flesh, from another mother, gave them a whole new meaning, a whole new depth. It was a feeling of solidarity, of unity, of sisterhood. “3andik inteen,” she added, “3andee tamanya!” (You have two. I have eight!) So I guess with eight children, her place in heaven is very secure.
I am grateful now that the boys were so naughty that day, grateful that they made me so crazy that I wanted to tear my hair out in despair. Because if they had been good, if they had behaved themselves, I wouldn’t have had the gift of this woman’s beautiful, touching words that will stay with me forever.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Meat comes from a cow! (Or a sheep)
With the Islamic feast of Eid al Adha (the Festival of Sacrifice) upon us, there has been a lot of talk in the media and comments about the practice of slaughtering animals, with some people erroneously calling it “barbaric”, “inhumane” and “cruel”. The animals are slaughtered to celebrate God's substitution of a ram for Ibrahim’s (Abraham's) son, and the meat distributed between family, friends and the poor. Despite common misconceptions by many people, the animals are not just killed for the sake of it and then left to rot. In fact it is haram (forbidden) in Islam to wantonly waste food.
We, like many people in Cairo, had animals on the ground floor of our apartment block for several days leading up to the first day of Eid, when they are traditionally slaughtered. Just a few sheep and a couple of cows. My two boys, aged four and seven, spent a couple of days patting them, feeding them, even giving one or two of them names. So as the time when they would be killed grew ever nearer, I wondered how the scene would unfold. Of course the boys were a little sad and tried to convince the neighbors who had bought the animals not to kill them. Then, on the morning of the first day of the Eid, when the gazzar (butcher) came to do his task, a long discussion unfolded because he considered one of the lambs too young for slaughtering. The boys were thrilled with this unexpected development, especially as the lamb in question had been named ‘Blackie’ and had somehow maneuvered a special place into their hearts. ‘Blackie’ was finally taken away and replaced with a larger lamb.
When the time came for the animals to be killed, I took the boys inside our flat, very reluctantly on their part. Despite these lambs and cows being their “pets”, they still wanted to watch the ritual killing, the youngest one saying, “I want to watch them go up to God.” But no, I didn’t think it was something they should see at such a young age. However…
…after all the animals had been killed (a mistaken assumption on my part) and the boys were again playing outside, apparently another cow was produced. I don’t know if I overlooked it or if it was a late addition, but either way, the boys witnessed the slitting of its throat, and whatever followed, at the back of our building. My oldest was a little sad and cried for a few minutes because he had considered it his ‘pet’, while my youngest was not perturbed at all, merely fascinated by the whole procedure, which he related it to me in all its gory detail after it was over. Now, the next day, they are completely unruffled by the experience and talk about it quite matter-of-factly.
The people who speak with abhorrence about the practice of slaughtering animals for Eid al Adha need to remember that they are killed to be eaten, just as animals in other countries are killed in abattoirs, and just as thousands of turkeys are killed for Thanksgiving and Christmas celebrations – the only difference is that here, it is done out in the open and not behind closed doors. And the children know where their meat comes from - and it’s not a Styrofoam tray in the supermarket.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Questions about Egypt: part 2
(10) How do Egyptian kids spend their free time?
Kids here have a LOT of homework, as I am discovering on a personal level. A lot of homework, a lot of books, a lot of notebooks, a lot of tests. And very heavy school bags. So they spend a lot of time studying and revising for tests! The national education system here in Egypt is not geared towards instilling children with a love of learning, but more towards learning by rote and passing exams. Not my cup of tea, but my kids are in school here primarily to solidify their Arabic, so fortunately it’s not something I need to take into account in the long term.But I digress… kids and free time. From my own observations they play football (as in soccer, not rugby) in the local gardens, visit family, go to their sports club if they belong to one (very expensive to join so only the middle classes and up can afford them). Older kids will go to the malls and hang out with their friends. My kids like to ride their scooters, play football with the local kids and watch Tom and Jerry on TV (very exciting as we don’t have it in Australia, at least not that I’ve seen).
(11) Do Egyptians play sport and if so what?
They do, but not with the reckless abandon with which we throw ourselves into it in Australia. Although sport does seem to be increasing somewhat in popularity, it is difficult here because the culture is not geared towards exercise at all so you really have to make an effort.
There are a couple of cycling clubs and a running club that I know of here in Cairo that I had good intentions of participating in… but now realize that I was being foolishly over-ambitious.
As I mentioned, the middle-and-higher classes will often belong to a 'club' where they can play sports like tennis, squash, swimming, football and martial arts. But they are pretty exclusive and the average Egyptian would not be able to afford to join. There are also some youth clubs called markez shabab that are more affordable, maybe around 50 Egyptian pounds a year (about AU$10) but I don't know anything about the quality of them.
Walking is—while I would hesitate to use the word ‘popular’—certainly something that I have seen people, including many women, do.
Whether they play or not, most Egyptians are mad for football (soccer). And I mean MAD. It was actually suggested to me that I not have my son’s birthday party as planned, because there will be a big football match on that day and nobody will want to come to the party (but I am forging on with it regardless).
(12) Are there sports grounds for the boys to play on?
Not really, no. There are often gardens (or small parks) in the centre of the streets in residential areas where they can kick a ball around or climb a tree. But in terms of actual playing fields, you would have to go to a sports club. Egypt has not yet caught on to the concept of providing free community sports grounds.
(13) Do you play backgammon? Is that one of the common sights in Cairo? (I have this vision of little old men sitting outside their shops/houses playing.)
Backgammon here is called tawla and yes, I do play. Or, more correctly, I used to play. And very well, I might add. My very first visit to Cairo I learnt to play tawla really well. But playing with Egyptians can be a little annoying because if you don’t move your pieces fast enough, they will move them for you!
Backgammon here is called tawla and yes, I do play. Or, more correctly, I used to play. And very well, I might add. My very first visit to Cairo I learnt to play tawla really well. But playing with Egyptians can be a little annoying because if you don’t move your pieces fast enough, they will move them for you!
And you are right, it is a common sight to see men sitting in local coffee shops smoking shisha, drinking ahwa (strong Turkish-style coffee) and playing tawla. It’s one of the quintessential sights and smells of Egypt.
(14) What's the best time of day for you? And why?
It depends on the day. I like the evenings when I am at home with the door closed to the world. Which I know sounds a little contradictory, given that I have just said that I love Cairo… but anyone who has been here will understand what I mean. Cairo is amazing, and yet also requires (at least for a foreigner) 100% engagement just to get through the day, in terms of dealing with everything in another language, negotiating every little thing, battling the 'system' (and I use this term very loosely); even crossing the street. So, while maneuvering through the joys of Cairo, I also encounter many frustrations along the way — frustrations on which it is a relief to close my door at the end of the day.
(15) How much coffee are you drinking?
About the same as I would drink in Australia; just in the morning to rev up my engine. I don’t generally drink ahwa unless I am out in a coffee shop.
(16) Will you travel outside Egypt for holidays seeing as you're so close to so many other places?
There are so many places I want to visit that are so close to Egypt… and yet so far. Morocco is probably at the top of my list, along with Tunisia, Libya, Lebanon… I could go on, but am just frustrating myself. Unfortunately I may not be able to travel much as I have the boys in school here. But you never know, with swine flu mania at a peak, there is talk of the schools closing for December and January.
(17) What is something you will HAVE to bring home with you (apart from the boys of course!)
Alas, the things I want to bring back with me are the things I can’t bring back, and the things that keep my heart in Egypt. It’s the intangible things, like the sound of the call to prayer five times a day; practicing my Arabic with taxi drivers; watching my kids play and speak street Arabic with the local kids; the energy and atmosphere of Cairo; the incessant beeping of car horns (well, maybe not); the feeling of being completely alive.
(14) What's the best time of day for you? And why?
It depends on the day. I like the evenings when I am at home with the door closed to the world. Which I know sounds a little contradictory, given that I have just said that I love Cairo… but anyone who has been here will understand what I mean. Cairo is amazing, and yet also requires (at least for a foreigner) 100% engagement just to get through the day, in terms of dealing with everything in another language, negotiating every little thing, battling the 'system' (and I use this term very loosely); even crossing the street. So, while maneuvering through the joys of Cairo, I also encounter many frustrations along the way — frustrations on which it is a relief to close my door at the end of the day.
(15) How much coffee are you drinking?
About the same as I would drink in Australia; just in the morning to rev up my engine. I don’t generally drink ahwa unless I am out in a coffee shop.
(16) Will you travel outside Egypt for holidays seeing as you're so close to so many other places?
There are so many places I want to visit that are so close to Egypt… and yet so far. Morocco is probably at the top of my list, along with Tunisia, Libya, Lebanon… I could go on, but am just frustrating myself. Unfortunately I may not be able to travel much as I have the boys in school here. But you never know, with swine flu mania at a peak, there is talk of the schools closing for December and January.
(17) What is something you will HAVE to bring home with you (apart from the boys of course!)
Alas, the things I want to bring back with me are the things I can’t bring back, and the things that keep my heart in Egypt. It’s the intangible things, like the sound of the call to prayer five times a day; practicing my Arabic with taxi drivers; watching my kids play and speak street Arabic with the local kids; the energy and atmosphere of Cairo; the incessant beeping of car horns (well, maybe not); the feeling of being completely alive.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Don't assume; just ask! Questions about Egypt: part 1
How much we assume about people... the positive and the negative, the big and the small, the unusual and the mundane. When we only have a portion of the truth it is often easier to fill in the gaps with assumptions. It's the easy way out, the lazy way, the way that requires no real observation, no real enquiry, and no real thought. We've all been guilty of it. You believe what you choose to believe, what other people (media or otherwise) would have you believe, or what is easiest for you to believe. It is the path of least resistance, the path of assumption that results in a kind of typecasting... of individuals, of countries, of cultures. But things are not always as they appear.
And so... my point being... I wish more people would take the time to ask questions, whatever the subject, and whoever is on the other end of them. It would clear up so many misconceptions. A friend of mine in Australia has been sending me questions to answer about Egypt and, while my answers may not be the same as the next person's, here are a few of my answers to her "Fifty questions for Emily". I'm just happy someone is asking:
(1) Are there camels where you are?
There are no camels where I live, but at the Pyramids there are plenty! They are about 45 mins away, on the other side of Cairo to us. (I guess that would be the sister question to "Are there kangaroos hopping down Sydney streets? ")
(2) I saw a story the other day about Egypt banning the veil in women-only areas. So... do you have to wear the burqa/veil while outside?
From what I read, that story was taken out of context and misquoted. My understanding was that Sheikh Tantawi was saying that women don't need to wear niqab (the full veil with only the eyes showing, which is not that common here in Egypt) if they are in a women-only class at university without any men present. I think he suggested that in residential areas of universities, women wearing niqab be required to show their faces for identification purposes if asked, as apparently there have been instances of men wearing it to sneak inside.
I don't have to wear any kind of head covering at all in Egypt. But I do dress modestly and respect the culture... most of the time I dress the same way I would in Australia: jeans and a t-shirt. You can pretty much wear what you like in Cairo, but if you show your legs above the knee or cleavage or shoulders you will get hassled by men. A lot of tourists dress inappropriately for the culture here, which irritates me as it is disrespectful and, in my opinion, rather boorish.
(3) If "yes" to question 2, how do you feel about that?
Personally, the niqab is not a concept that I am comfortable with. But I also feel that it is a woman's right to choose to wear it if she believes it is the right thing to do - and if she has chosen it for herself in the absence of pressure from anyone else. Most Muslim women here only hear a headscarf, and the younger generations often wear that with jeans and tight-fitting clothes. Each to their own. I would find niqab very restrictive, although there are times when the anonymity would be nice! I don't know if I would choose to live in a place where I was legally required to wear a particular piece of clothing, no matter what it was. But in Egypt, covering your head - or your whole body - is an option and not a governmental requirement.
(4) Do you and the boys celebrate Christmas there?
Yes, we do celebrate Christmas. But it's not a religious celebration for us so much as just fun for the kids and a chance to get together with friends. Although I guess it is religious in the sense that it is Jesus's birthday; but for Muslims, Jesus is a prophet and not the son of God. The Coptic Christians here actually celebrate Christmas on 7 January, but we stick to 25 December. I think Santa Claus comes on both days.
(5) Is there anything you can't get in Egypt that you're missing?
These days you can buy most things in Cairo. I do miss the convenience of things that allow me to be lazy and cut corners, like buying pre-packaged salad! But that is probably a good thing. You can't buy Vegemite (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vegemite) here, as far as I know, but I brought a good supply with me. Also, cheap paints and canvases for the kids to create their masterpieces on. And I really miss not having my car. It's exhausting getting around Cairo with small kids without one.
(6) Do they have big shopping centres like Westfields?
Yes, there are big Western-style malls here just like in Australia... glitzy, glamorous, and overpriced, with escalators that make me feel ill due to the low side rails. I don't really tend to go to them much though, unless there is something specific that I need. Last time I went to City Stars, a gargantuan mall here, the boys went a little crazy after drinking 7Up and tried to jump in the water fountain, so I generally try to avoid enclosed spaces as much as I can.
(7) Have you got any good lentil recipes I can have?
You have to try koshari, which is lentils, macaroni and rice with a tomato-based sauce. Koshari is Egyptian fast food and so tasty. Try this recipe: http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2009/mar/03/traditional-koshari
(8) In light of traffic in Cairo, how do you get around?
I walk or take taxis. I would like to drive here, but I don't have a car. The best time to get anywhere quickly is Friday mornings before pray time, when the streets are virtually empty.
(9) Tell me about the areas you like going to.
I like going to the markets, and Old Cairo. And I love going to some of the beautiful mosques such as Al Azhar and Ibn Tulun, where you can just be still for a while. The pyramids amaze me every time I go, and are most beautiful at sunset when most of the people have left. If you speak a bit of Arabic to the security guards, if you are lucky they let you stay a bit longer past closing time. But one of the best places to be in Cairo is just at home after you've been out battling the bedlam for hours... a little sanctuary in the midst of all the chaos.
And so... my point being... I wish more people would take the time to ask questions, whatever the subject, and whoever is on the other end of them. It would clear up so many misconceptions. A friend of mine in Australia has been sending me questions to answer about Egypt and, while my answers may not be the same as the next person's, here are a few of my answers to her "Fifty questions for Emily". I'm just happy someone is asking:
(1) Are there camels where you are?
There are no camels where I live, but at the Pyramids there are plenty! They are about 45 mins away, on the other side of Cairo to us. (I guess that would be the sister question to "Are there kangaroos hopping down Sydney streets? ")
(2) I saw a story the other day about Egypt banning the veil in women-only areas. So... do you have to wear the burqa/veil while outside?
From what I read, that story was taken out of context and misquoted. My understanding was that Sheikh Tantawi was saying that women don't need to wear niqab (the full veil with only the eyes showing, which is not that common here in Egypt) if they are in a women-only class at university without any men present. I think he suggested that in residential areas of universities, women wearing niqab be required to show their faces for identification purposes if asked, as apparently there have been instances of men wearing it to sneak inside.
I don't have to wear any kind of head covering at all in Egypt. But I do dress modestly and respect the culture... most of the time I dress the same way I would in Australia: jeans and a t-shirt. You can pretty much wear what you like in Cairo, but if you show your legs above the knee or cleavage or shoulders you will get hassled by men. A lot of tourists dress inappropriately for the culture here, which irritates me as it is disrespectful and, in my opinion, rather boorish.
(3) If "yes" to question 2, how do you feel about that?
Personally, the niqab is not a concept that I am comfortable with. But I also feel that it is a woman's right to choose to wear it if she believes it is the right thing to do - and if she has chosen it for herself in the absence of pressure from anyone else. Most Muslim women here only hear a headscarf, and the younger generations often wear that with jeans and tight-fitting clothes. Each to their own. I would find niqab very restrictive, although there are times when the anonymity would be nice! I don't know if I would choose to live in a place where I was legally required to wear a particular piece of clothing, no matter what it was. But in Egypt, covering your head - or your whole body - is an option and not a governmental requirement.
(4) Do you and the boys celebrate Christmas there?
Yes, we do celebrate Christmas. But it's not a religious celebration for us so much as just fun for the kids and a chance to get together with friends. Although I guess it is religious in the sense that it is Jesus's birthday; but for Muslims, Jesus is a prophet and not the son of God. The Coptic Christians here actually celebrate Christmas on 7 January, but we stick to 25 December. I think Santa Claus comes on both days.
(5) Is there anything you can't get in Egypt that you're missing?
These days you can buy most things in Cairo. I do miss the convenience of things that allow me to be lazy and cut corners, like buying pre-packaged salad! But that is probably a good thing. You can't buy Vegemite (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vegemite) here, as far as I know, but I brought a good supply with me. Also, cheap paints and canvases for the kids to create their masterpieces on. And I really miss not having my car. It's exhausting getting around Cairo with small kids without one.
(6) Do they have big shopping centres like Westfields?
Yes, there are big Western-style malls here just like in Australia... glitzy, glamorous, and overpriced, with escalators that make me feel ill due to the low side rails. I don't really tend to go to them much though, unless there is something specific that I need. Last time I went to City Stars, a gargantuan mall here, the boys went a little crazy after drinking 7Up and tried to jump in the water fountain, so I generally try to avoid enclosed spaces as much as I can.
(7) Have you got any good lentil recipes I can have?
You have to try koshari, which is lentils, macaroni and rice with a tomato-based sauce. Koshari is Egyptian fast food and so tasty. Try this recipe: http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2009/mar/03/traditional-koshari
(8) In light of traffic in Cairo, how do you get around?
I walk or take taxis. I would like to drive here, but I don't have a car. The best time to get anywhere quickly is Friday mornings before pray time, when the streets are virtually empty.
(9) Tell me about the areas you like going to.
I like going to the markets, and Old Cairo. And I love going to some of the beautiful mosques such as Al Azhar and Ibn Tulun, where you can just be still for a while. The pyramids amaze me every time I go, and are most beautiful at sunset when most of the people have left. If you speak a bit of Arabic to the security guards, if you are lucky they let you stay a bit longer past closing time. But one of the best places to be in Cairo is just at home after you've been out battling the bedlam for hours... a little sanctuary in the midst of all the chaos.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Little terrorists
When you go grocery shopping you might expect to buy things you hadn’t planned for. Or perhaps to bump into someone who you haven’t seen in a while and have a chat. Maybe sit and have a coffee. You don’t, as a general rule, expect to have your small children called terrorists. Call me crazy, but that’s just me.
A while ago I was in the grocery store with my two boys, in a fairly multicultural area of Sydney, and said something to them in Arabic (which, when small people are involved, seems to be so much more commanding and imperative than English). The man behind us in the checkout line then asked me a question. The exchange went something like this:
Man: What language are you speaking?
Me: Arabic.
Man: Oh… (knowingly) …they’re little terrorists!
Me: No, but you’re a half-witted imbecile. (That is, in fact, what I didn’t say but wished I had said in retrospect.)
So the question here is: Does speaking Arabic (or being Muslim, for that matter) make you a terrorist? If it does, then by the same logic, and using erroneous but widely spread stereotypes, the following must also be true:
Speaking French makes you romantic.
Speaking German makes you a Nazi.
Speaking Hindi makes you of sub-par intelligence.
Speaking Italian makes you a good lover.
Speaking Australian makes you laidback.
Today I met a French woman and a German man on the beach and we got talking. My first thought wasn’t that she must be a fabulous cordon bleu chef, or that he may quite possibly be a white supremacist. No, we were focused on the life-sized crocodile sand sculpture they were creating, with no thought of casting each other with suspicion because of our accents or the swarthy hue of my child’s skin. That’s how normal, informed people interact.
I think.
A while ago I was in the grocery store with my two boys, in a fairly multicultural area of Sydney, and said something to them in Arabic (which, when small people are involved, seems to be so much more commanding and imperative than English). The man behind us in the checkout line then asked me a question. The exchange went something like this:
Man: What language are you speaking?
Me: Arabic.
Man: Oh… (knowingly) …they’re little terrorists!
Me: No, but you’re a half-witted imbecile. (That is, in fact, what I didn’t say but wished I had said in retrospect.)
So the question here is: Does speaking Arabic (or being Muslim, for that matter) make you a terrorist? If it does, then by the same logic, and using erroneous but widely spread stereotypes, the following must also be true:
Speaking French makes you romantic.
Speaking German makes you a Nazi.
Speaking Hindi makes you of sub-par intelligence.
Speaking Italian makes you a good lover.
Speaking Australian makes you laidback.
Today I met a French woman and a German man on the beach and we got talking. My first thought wasn’t that she must be a fabulous cordon bleu chef, or that he may quite possibly be a white supremacist. No, we were focused on the life-sized crocodile sand sculpture they were creating, with no thought of casting each other with suspicion because of our accents or the swarthy hue of my child’s skin. That’s how normal, informed people interact.
I think.
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