As I sit here writing this in my favorite coffee shop along Aasra Ainee (the main street right next to the apartment), I feel I must write down my thoughts, at least as best I can. There are hundreds of thousands of people a few blocks down the street in a square (Tahrir) protesting their rights. And, there are millions of souls (around twenty million of them) surrounding me in this vast, cramped city of Cairo. I feel squelched. I have never been in a city this large for so long, and I am constantly aware of the fact that there are people everywhere in every nook and cranny. Even on a day like today when there are noticeably less people about I still feel cramped. An invisible fist grips me, and though I try to ignore it, I cannot shake this crushing feeling off. Maybe it’s because I come from a smaller town, a tiny private school (I had eighteen kids in my graduating class), and have lived in the same home in the same place for most of my life. But, I don’t think that is the problem. The problem is I know suffering surrounds me in this place. I see it on the crowded streets of cars, beggars, pedestrians, hagglers, and homeless children. I see it in the polluted air and overcrowded apartments, and in the eyes and faces of many I meet. And, I can’t do anything to fix it.

My Dad has always told me that “worse things could happen,” at least, ever since I can remember. I spill some milk, worse things could happen. I come home late, worse things could happen. I get in a car wreck, God forbid, and yet… worse things could happen. I have adopted my Dad’s saying to the utmost, and it has brought me much comfort in tough times. but, I am not sure if I can use this last line of defense here in Cairo. Usually, these four words disarm even the worst situations, making them miniscule in the grand scheme of things. But, here, it only brings bitter indifference.

For some in Cairo, the only worse thing that could happen is death. The worst things have already happened, and to a single mother of five young children who lives on the street, death may even seem a respite. Death can begin to appear to be a savior, an escape from this reality of suffering. And yet, these people keep on living, scrounging around to survive just the next day, let alone the next week. Their pride is broken, their human instinct to survive trumping any dignity that they hold so dear in the culture of Egypt and the whole Middle East. This is the reality that many in Cairo know. This is life.

I know that I cannot help everyone. But, even if I can help just a few, I know I am doing something worth while. If action truly speaks louder than words, than I need to be a man of action, for I have come to realize that “worse things could happen” is not always true. It has only worked thus far in my life because God has blessed me with more than I could ever deserve or fully appreciate. Now, I believe I have learned a little more about what I have, and how selfishly I have taken much of it for granted. The sheer magnitude of pain and suffering in Cairo has at least taught me that much, and I am forever grateful. I can only hope and pray that I will not ever take this life that I have been given for granted again.

In the end, I know that I need to and will come back Cairo someday, in sha Allah (God Willing). I have come to love this place, for it has taught me much about humanity, myself included. I know that I still have much to learn in this world, but I feel the fog of ignorance starting to thin in my mind, however slight this change may be. Cairo still has much more to teach me, and I am excited for the next (and last) three weeks here on this trip, and for the wealth of life lessons it will bring.

Before we came to Egypt, Professor Lo told us that at about this point in the trip we would fall in love with Cairo. And, he was wrong, at least for me. I don’t know exactly when it happened, but I fell in love with Cairo right around the end of the first week here. Since then, I have grown to appreciate this place all the more. Sure, there are some annoyances, but that’s to be expected with a whole new culture and lifestyle. I may expect food to be brought reasonably fast in top notch restaurants, but here I’m lucky if I get the right order (or close to it). I may want to cross the street in relative ease on a cross walk, but in Cairo, getting to the other side of a road is all about meandering in between fast moving cars (which speed up as they see you crossing). If you go at a consistent pace, thinking that they don’t want to hit you and will slow down… you will be hit. These are just a few of the many examples floating around in my brain. But, I still love Cairo.

I simply love this city of contradiction, inconsistency, and utter inefficiency. Sure, there are many cities that have these issues all over the world. But, there is something that rings true in the culture of Cairo for me, something that I relate to. Maybe it is the easy going nature of things here, simply letting things happen and taking them as they come. Maybe I just like the food and the people (not counting the “friendly” swindlers and obnoxious sellers… and there are quite a few of them). Maybe I like the history of the place and the diverse scenery of crowded streets, breathtaking buildings, and vast dessert. It could be any one of these aspects, but I think it is a combination of all of them. Plus, there is definitely something magical about Cairo that I cannot put my finger on. Though there are many oddities and issues (as there are in any city), Cairo is charming.

Since my last post, there have been too many stories to count. It would take multiple books to describe what I have seen and thought during these past two weeks in Cairo. But, there is a certain story that comes to mind which I have to share. I would generally consider myself a reasonably nice person, and Cairo has taught me that it is definitely possible to be too nice and accepting. One evening, Veronica, Madeline, and I decided to get some Koshary ( a rather delicious combination of noodles, rice, onions, tomato sauce, garlic, and other spices/pure goodness). It was a beautiful night, and we were quite tired from a lengthy day of working with the street children from Ana Al Misree. So, we decided to sit down in Tahrir Square (the huge bustling center of Cairo – full of American fast food restaurants, persistent hagglers, and honking cars). We were enjoying ourselves as we people watched and calmly ate our delicious meals, but then things took a turn for the worse.

Some street children walked up, and asked us for our food/drink. Now, apart from the fact that they were street children, I was quite taken aback by how pitiful they seemed, and I yearned to help them in some way, even as small as giving them some form of sustenance. But, I knew I was not supposed to engage street kids, especially being a pasty white freckled American in the middle of Cairo. Suffice it to say, I am quite an easy target to pick out of a crowd. So, I didn’t really want to say anything and just ignore them. This didn’t seem to work, so I said a slur of Arabic (ish) words that I don’t really remember now. Basically, I said “that’s enough and that they should leave.” They began to leave, or so we thought. One of the kids came up from behind, and took Madeline’s Pepsi (or bebsi in the Egyptian dialect).

The victorious child sprinted away with the pop (or soda… I’m from the west coast… so I use pop…), a triumphant smile on his face as he slurped down Madeline’s drink. In all honesty, I was mostly amused by this, and actually I felt pretty sorry for the poor kid that has to steal tourists’ pop to get a drink. I had been thinking for a while about the homeless kids in Cairo, especially after witnessing the small children sleeping on the cement sidewalks and curbs around Cairo. So, I empathized with the kid, but then another one popped out. And, he stole my soda from behind me, spilling most of it as he tried to drink it all in one gulp on the run.

I was now slightly more perturbed, but still amused with their rather humorous actions. They were cute kids after all, and our group was only out about a buck in U.S. dollars… but then the kids started to try and take Madeline’s food as well. One of them even rushed by in an attempt to grab her food on the go out of her hands as she sat and ate. By this time, I was tired of it, so I was about to get up and talk to the kids. But, we were defended by an Egyptian family who had been eating their meal near us and wanted to help. This family started to yell at the kids, and though my Egyptian Dialect of Arabic is still pretty poor, anybody could get the gist of a raised voice, pointing fingers, and angry eyes. The Egyptians rushed to protect us poor Americans from the poor street children. We dumb tourists decided to leave a little after the guilt trip started to take affect, and I’ll admit that I felt guilty as we left, even though it is the kids that were being scolded. They were just hungry and thirsty after all, desperate for some basic necessities that most (if not all) Americans often take for granted.

I obviously still processing this experience, and even as I type I am not sure how I feel about all that happened that night. These were kids that live on the street, and I can’t feel anything but pity for their circumstance and desperation. Was I too passive? Should I have done something to stop the kids, tripping them as they took our drinks? Should I have said thanks to the Egyptians that defended us with harsh words and anger, or consoled the kids? These are all questions that I have asked myself, and I can honestly say I don’t know. Sure, we got some stuff snatched, but so what. Worse things could happen.

Upon arrival, the group of us eager Americans had to wait about another hour to get our baggage (of course mine was the last bag…figures). Then, we walked out to meet Ustath Lo in hustle bustle of the Cairo Airport. It took a little while to find our ride, but eventually we began the 25 minute drive towards the center of Cairo and where we would be staying in Garden City. The ride over was fun for all of us, seeing as it was our first experience of the city, and it was quite enjoyable to observe the Egyptian driving from our relatively safe perch in the bus.

Egyptian driving has an ordered craziness to it, much like an anthill. Thousands of people in tiny whizzing cars and mopeds traverse the vast expanse of Cairo with practically no rules, and we were in a bus in the middle of it all. Traffic was thick and busy; everyone had places to go. As we went farther along the road there formed on both sides of us a magical lane, one that would never exist in any western society. But, in Egypt, this middle lane between two lanes became a reality.

Cars followed the middle of the dotted line and snuck there way through traffic, barely missing scraping along the side of our bus. Somehow, through remedial honking and no signaling, the traffic was able to flow pretty regularly. We really did not need to stop all that much, and only slowed down in a couple places.

We made it to our destination, passing honking cars, yelling people, armored transports, guards wielding AK-47′s, beautiful embassies, towering mosques, regal churches, shining new buildings, and old rundown apartments. Even riding the bus was an incredible experience, with many more yet to come on this adventure that has only just begun.