Many many years ago, the first time I stepped foot in Cairo, I met someone called Ibrahim. He wore a suit and tie, had a shortly clipped beard and moustache and, with his precise enunciation of every English word, sounded more Indian than Egyptian. He was one of those people who had the ability to talk at length about any subject even if he knew next to nothing about it – a skill that is even more impressive in a language that is not your first. He would speak to anyone for hours on end about any number of things and his English, along with his grooming, was impeccable. On top of that, he was the only local I had met who was not a chain-smoker. He was well travelled, perceptive and had many things to say that were worth hearing.
And then there was his friend Medhat, who was like a roll of sticky tape whose end could never be found. Such a peculiar soul. So many different people rolled into one body.
The day I met Medhat, I had been sitting in Amira Coffee Shop (which no longer exists) deeply engrossed in conversation with Ibrahim who, although I had met him only the day before, already considered himself to be in my inner circle of friends. That’s what it’s like in Egypt… strangers in the morning, close friends by evening.
“Medhat,” said Ibrahim as he introduced us, “can read your palm.” So I shrugged and held out my hand. Medhat called over the waiter and asked for a pen, which he used to scrutinize my hand without having to touch it and possibly cause offence.
More than two hours passed before Medhat dropped his pen and declared he had finished. "You are an open book to me. You think you have secrets, but I see everything. I see thoughts you do not even realize you are having." Okay.
Talking about life and fate and choices, our conversation soon steered towards their religious beliefs. Medhat and Ibrahim wove their words together as though they were one person, finishing each other's sentences with ease, each picking up the other's explanations and elaborating on them.
The cornerstone of their life, they said, is their unquestioned belief in one God. For them this was not just a belief but an undeniable fact. Alternatives were never pondered. "Christians use the word God, Jews use the word Yahveh, Muslims use the word Allah," said Ibrahim. "They are just three different words for the same being."
Just as water is still water whether you call it water, maya, agua, eau or something else. It doesn’t change what it is. Water is water. And God is God.
“God,” said Ibrahim, “is still the same God, no matter what name you use, no matter what religion you follow."
I asked them many questions, and for each one they had a detailed and eloquent answer. “Islam,” Medhat stressed, “is not just a religion. It is a way of life. If you accept that you also accept that Allah controls the fate of the universe and everything in it.”
“So there’s no freedom of choice?” I asked. Maybe this helped explain the general laissez-faire attitude I had seen around me.
“Everything that will happen is already written,” said Ibrahim. “But people are still free to make their own choices.”
This reminds me of a conversation I had with my friend Adora a few days ago, about how difficult it is to marry these two concepts of pre-destiny and free choice together. We came to the conclusion that perhaps it could be that while the destination is already written, the journey you take to get there is your free will and depends on the choices and decisions you make along the way.
Growing up, Islam had always seemed so complicated and inaccessible; a strangely cultish religion that had no point of familiarity for me. Years later, when I met these people, I realized that the source of my impressions had been nothing more than a knowledge gap.
The more they told me, the more I understood the way my new friends lived their lives. When you see Paradise and Hell as tangible places and know to your core that the true rewards come after death, it’s not difficult to forfeit a little in this life. The promise of no earthly limitations for eternity makes any restrictions during the physical years seem a small price to pay. And yet around me I still witnessed a sense of general restlessness and frustration. The belief that fate is decided for you in advance by a force that surrounds you, watches you and, it seems, inhabits your very soul, seemed to often manifest as a lack of purpose and searching for anything else.
But obviously I was seeing them through my eyes - and it made me wonder how I was viewed through theirs.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Strong arms to steady him
“The spirit of a boy is too great for just a family to contain, and his horizons are wider than a family can provide for. By mid-teens, a boy wants to leap into his future – but there must be a place for him to leap to, and strong arms to steady him. This means building community links in order to help boys. In many ways, the women’s movement has dehumanized men, reduced them to stereotypical two-dimensional caricatures. If we want good men for the future, we must start with the boys." (Steve Biddulph, Raising Boys)
Another noteworthy day of dichotomous extremes for me in Cairo yesterday. It started with an interesting conversation with a taxi driver who randomly asked me if I got hassled a lot as a foreign woman in Cairo.
I had to laugh, and told him that this phenomenon is not exclusive to Cairo. Go to any city in the world and you’ll find a carbon copy of the same thing. That I actually feel safer in Cairo than any other city in the world that I’ve lived in or visited.
I told him that yes, sometimes I get hassled, but over the years you develop some sense of how to avoid it, such as wearing dark sunglasses, not catching people’s eye, not being too friendly (how sad is that?), looking like you have a destination to get to. He told me that men like to look at women, that it’s hard not to if they’re right in front of you, that it’s human nature, but that it becomes a problem when it goes beyond an automatic glance when someone or something inadvertently enters your field of vision. And he’s right. It is human nature, and women look at men just as men look at women. Just as one would glance at anything interesting or attractive or unusual that they come across. Unless people walk around with blindfolds on, it’s kind of hard to avoid. But as he said, a look and a leer are two entirely different things.
Later in the day, I took a stroll down the street with my kids to celebrate Egypt’s nail-biting victory in the African Cup. They wanted to wave flags and shout “Masr!” (Egypt) at the top of their lungs. So we bought flags, waved them, felt the excitement, said “mabrook” (congratulations) to a few people and then headed home. Crossing the street, we passed by a group of mostly teenage boys, a few older, and they slapped the kids’ hands happily. It was all fine until one of them grabbed me and I swung around and shouted, but there was no way of knowing which one of them it was. I snatched the kids’ hands and kept walking, with one or two of the group saying to me, “We’re sorry, we’re really sorry” and “Who did that? Who touched her?” I guess in the end it doesn’t matter—it generally only takes one person to brand a group. I got home, incensed, infuriated, ropeable. But appreciative of those who had stood up for me and apologized.
And I thought, That’s going to be my boys. They’re going to be among the ones who protect women and show them respect and know right from wrong. The ones who don’t follow the pack mentality and think that disrespecting any women is okay. Because the people in their lives will make sure of it.
Some fortunate boys learn through osmosis, from being around good men who treat women as they should be treated. Some are just lucky to be born with an ingrained sense of what is right. But either way, boys need to be taught right from wrong when it comes to how to treat people, especially girls and women. Parents, and anyone else who is around boys, need to take every opportunity to reinforce this and bolster boys’ integrity and self-pride so they don’t feel the urge to verbally or physically take their frustrations out on the first unsuspecting female who crosses their path.
Boys the world over have, in many ways, been kind of overlooked. They are often expected to be ‘men’ too early, before they are ready for it, and when they are ready for it, they don’t know how; they are often conditioned to repress their emotions, to hold back their tears when they feel sad. But little boys are just as delicate a creature as little girls, and they need just as much nurturing.
It can be a fine line between growing into a good man and growing into one of the others, and all boys walk this tightrope. There are lots of good men out there, and they are what little boys need as role models and mentors to make sure they become one of the good ones.
Another noteworthy day of dichotomous extremes for me in Cairo yesterday. It started with an interesting conversation with a taxi driver who randomly asked me if I got hassled a lot as a foreign woman in Cairo.
I had to laugh, and told him that this phenomenon is not exclusive to Cairo. Go to any city in the world and you’ll find a carbon copy of the same thing. That I actually feel safer in Cairo than any other city in the world that I’ve lived in or visited.
I told him that yes, sometimes I get hassled, but over the years you develop some sense of how to avoid it, such as wearing dark sunglasses, not catching people’s eye, not being too friendly (how sad is that?), looking like you have a destination to get to. He told me that men like to look at women, that it’s hard not to if they’re right in front of you, that it’s human nature, but that it becomes a problem when it goes beyond an automatic glance when someone or something inadvertently enters your field of vision. And he’s right. It is human nature, and women look at men just as men look at women. Just as one would glance at anything interesting or attractive or unusual that they come across. Unless people walk around with blindfolds on, it’s kind of hard to avoid. But as he said, a look and a leer are two entirely different things.
Later in the day, I took a stroll down the street with my kids to celebrate Egypt’s nail-biting victory in the African Cup. They wanted to wave flags and shout “Masr!” (Egypt) at the top of their lungs. So we bought flags, waved them, felt the excitement, said “mabrook” (congratulations) to a few people and then headed home. Crossing the street, we passed by a group of mostly teenage boys, a few older, and they slapped the kids’ hands happily. It was all fine until one of them grabbed me and I swung around and shouted, but there was no way of knowing which one of them it was. I snatched the kids’ hands and kept walking, with one or two of the group saying to me, “We’re sorry, we’re really sorry” and “Who did that? Who touched her?” I guess in the end it doesn’t matter—it generally only takes one person to brand a group. I got home, incensed, infuriated, ropeable. But appreciative of those who had stood up for me and apologized.
And I thought, That’s going to be my boys. They’re going to be among the ones who protect women and show them respect and know right from wrong. The ones who don’t follow the pack mentality and think that disrespecting any women is okay. Because the people in their lives will make sure of it.
Some fortunate boys learn through osmosis, from being around good men who treat women as they should be treated. Some are just lucky to be born with an ingrained sense of what is right. But either way, boys need to be taught right from wrong when it comes to how to treat people, especially girls and women. Parents, and anyone else who is around boys, need to take every opportunity to reinforce this and bolster boys’ integrity and self-pride so they don’t feel the urge to verbally or physically take their frustrations out on the first unsuspecting female who crosses their path.
Boys the world over have, in many ways, been kind of overlooked. They are often expected to be ‘men’ too early, before they are ready for it, and when they are ready for it, they don’t know how; they are often conditioned to repress their emotions, to hold back their tears when they feel sad. But little boys are just as delicate a creature as little girls, and they need just as much nurturing.
It can be a fine line between growing into a good man and growing into one of the others, and all boys walk this tightrope. There are lots of good men out there, and they are what little boys need as role models and mentors to make sure they become one of the good ones.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Questions about Egypt: Part 3
(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!
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!
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
