Author Archives: Ryan

About Ryan

Trinity Scholar. Duke '15. Libertarian. Politics junkie. Arranger and Bass for Duke's Speak of the Devil. A cappella aficionado. Composer. Music snob. Oldest of 10. Student of Arabic.

Telling Stories

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When I first arrived here, I immediately loved the beauty of Egyptian culture. The incredible kindness and insuppressible hope of the people. The level of political dedication and public engagement. The natural beauty of the pyramids, of the view of the Nile and Cairo Tower from our apartment, of the ancient mosques and institutes of learning. The relaxed, communal lifestyle of Garden City.

We’ve been disappointed by the media’s and Western culture’s negative portrayal of events on the ground over here. But over the last couple weeks, as we returned to work and class after our long house arrest, we’ve started to get a sense of just how much is truly going on behind the scenes – in Egypt, in Cairo, in Garden City, at our workplaces, and even within our own little group. The emotional and physical toll of such sustained, intense effort is certainly becoming a factor, for me at least. I’ve come to see that there are some real, non-trivial problems with the culture here.

How do we reconcile that negativity with the inherent beauty of Egypt?

I’ve always thought that the stories we tell, the songs we sing, the pictures we paint about the world shape, in turn, the way we approach it. Over the last couple weeks, I’ve been thinking a lot about stories. We’ve heard a lot of them in our time here. Some are tragic. All are hopeful. I’d like to share a few with you.

“I will not be driven into submission”

A couple weeks ago, journalist Natasha Smith was sexually assaulted near Tahrir in the frenzy following the announcement of the presidential election results.  Her blog post describing the horrific experience attracted widespread attention, particularly in the Western media. I’m fortunate enough to be isolated from this often violent, objectifying cultural attitude towards women, but it is a constant pressure on other members of our group.

Ms. Smith’s account describes a physical and emotional pain that I can’t even begin to wrap my mind around. But the language with which she ultimately chooses to characterize such unacceptable violence is that of hope, defiance, and assurance, not that of anger or weakness. She refuses to play the submissive, inferior role into which the mob tried to force her.

“My dad, my mom, and I”

One day this week at Ana el-Masry, our primary service partner, one of our little friends wandered into the English classroom, where I was relaxing with Amanda and MJ during a break in classes. I’m not quite sure where he was supposed to be at the time, but he was just drawing quietly, so we just enjoyed his company. After a while, he proudly showed us his creation. It was a simple crayon drawing echoing those produced by children all over the world – a house, a living room, and a family. He pointed out who all the people were: “Ana, wa baba, wa mama!” Him, his mother, and his father.

The staff at Ana el-Masry don’t know where his parents are. He may well be an orphan.

I told him “Gameel!” – beautiful – while trying to hold back tears. It was an incredibly poignant moment, one of the most powerful from a very emotionally moving trip.

We’ll never know this sweet child’s whole story, and it’s difficult to read too much into his mental state from an isolated incident. But it’s safe to say that his experience with family has been incredibly difficult at best. And yet, he knows what that loving relationship looks like, and wants that life for himself. It’s a tragic story, but one filled with longing for something better.

“We forgot everything”

Finally, and in a larger sense, I’ve been fascinated with how Egyptians have spoken of their experience of revolution in my conversations so far. They speak of the few months from last year when the Mubarak regime was overthrown as a time when the people forgot everything and turned out into the streets en masse. Their fear of the government was suddenly irrelevant. It’s an unparalleled tale of popular empowerment.

The promise of the revolution has been fulfilled, at least in part and certainly in the minds of many Egyptians, with the election of Mohammad Morsi as the country’s first ever democratically elected president. But when Egyptians tell this story, they often mention that they haven’t quite been able to recapture the same level of public engagement over the last several months. The military establishment still holds a significant amount of power over the current and future activities of the government, and the runoff election between two extreme candidates led to widespread disillusionment.

Despite all this, though, every time I’ve heard this story described, it’s told with extreme fondness, determination, and hope. No matter how much the extreme poles of the Muslim Brotherhood and the SCAF are criticized, that knowledge that the people can shape their nation for the better is always hovering just beneath the surface. And the more they remind themselves of that possibility, the more real it becomes.

A song of hope

It’s very easy to look at all the personal and cultural weaknesses of Egypt and label the entire country as somehow backwards, violent, or underdeveloped. And there’s some truth to those characterizations. But to do so is to ignore the massive cultural complexity at work here. There is more than one Egypt – there’s hardship, injustice, and struggle of all kinds, just as in any nation.

The common thread in these stories isn’t just adversity – it’s hope. To me, that’s even more inspiring than the superficially apparent, beautiful aspects of the culture. Understanding this is more than just realizing the hidden beauty of Egypt – it’s the recognition of a theme that can be applied to all cultures, no matter how ostensibly disparate. People the world over are striving for something better, and we’ve witnessed that firsthand here in Egypt.

I hope that when I tell stories about struggle in my own life, I can sing a song of hope, craft a narrative of defiance, and paint a picture of a better future.

Unrealized Potential

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The Politics

When reading the election bulletins over this past weekend, two themes kept coming up more often than any others: apathy and depression. Under Western reasoning, recent events should have greatly engaged the Egyptian people. We have directly witnessed pivotal developments such as the sentencing of Mubarak and his sons, the dissolution of Parliament, and the first democratic presidential election in the country’s history, among many more. But nevertheless, the general mood has been one of indifference or even resigned acquiescence. I don’t mean to dismiss the Egyptian people’s incredible public awareness – everyone clearly knows where he or she stands, and there have been demonstrations of celebration or frustration far greater than those we could ever seen in America.

But the harsh reality of the situation is that in a non-trivial sense, very little has truly changed from the situation two or even ten years ago. A couple days ago, we had the privilege of meeting with Professor Abdallah Schleifer from the American University in Cairo. One of the most interesting points he made was that the real coup in Egypt, rather than the dissolution of the Parliament, occurred right after the revolution. Despite all the anti-establishment sentiment and raw strength of the revolution, the SCAF retained power and has been running daily public functions ever since. As such, the people got excited about the first several rounds of elections, but it has now become apparent, in Mr. Schleifer’s words, that there has been “no change in who is holding the power.” A shift from SCAF holding most of the authority to SCAF holding slightly more authority has very little impact on the lives of average Egyptians.

We’re still waiting for the final election results to be announced, but regardless of who wins, the political situation in Egypt remains the same as it has been for much of recent history – a constant struggle between the Muslim Brotherhood and the military establishment. We still haven’t seen the radical rebalancing of society associated with a true revolution. As of right now, the liberal revolutionaries simply cannot organize to match these formidable, long-standing institutions. And as a result, there is a vast sense of uncertainty and helplessness – no one knows what powers the President will have, what shape the eventual Constitution will take, what the power balance of the new Parliament will be, even whether Mubarak is currently alive or dead. The great promise of the ثورة (an Arabic word encompassing revolution, demonstrations, and a shift towards something new) seems to have been disappointed for the time being.

The Economy

Another incredibly insightful figure with whom we recently spoke – independent journalist Noel King – posed the DE Cairo group this question: “Where is Egypt’s economy going to be in 10 years?” It’s an important concern and, in the vein of the uncertainty mentioned above, no one quite has a definitive answer. Egypt has any number of incredible natural resources – it’s a beautiful place to visit, it’s experiencing tremendous growth in its population and intellectual talent, it has an unparalleled position of regional significance geographically and historically.

The Egyptian people could go any number of different grand strategy paths that could make their nation a regional economic power. They could revive their formidable manufacturing resources. They could continue to develop their tourism industry. Or, perhaps most promising, they could capitalize on their growing intellectual and R&D capital that has already begun to attract prominent Western investors.

The sad truth, however, is that none of these possibilities are being developed to their true potential. Given the confusion in government, the nation’s infrastructure simply isn’t keeping up with its rapid population growth, particularly in Cairo. I’m always struck by the fact that the vast majority of large buildings we see on any given day are high-density housing. Further, there is no stable intellectual and economic policy which could encourage corporate and individual risk-taking and development. On an international level, the same internal instability discourages foreign investment – no one knows what ideological position the government is about to take, especially with the Camp David accords at stake.

As a result, we have observed near-Western affluence in some areas and abject poverty in others. When the two are juxtaposed, the contrast is striking. You can buy a single glass of lemonade for 40 LE at the Four Seasons, then walk out the door and see the lower class begging for pocket change. This problem is a common one in developing countries worldwide, and there is enough possibility such that Egypt may well break out of this pattern in the near future. But currently, this raw economic potential of every kind is disappointingly underutilized.

The People

A common theme among our group discussions is the kindness and public engagement that characterize the Egyptian people. Both qualities generally surpass those found in America, as far as I am concerned. If you’ll pardon the generalization, the people here care about one another, and deeply hope to do the best they can in life. But their ability to actually effect change is ultimately limited – there is virtually no middle class and a distinct lack of social mobility. The sheer wealth disparity, as discussed above, forces the majority of Egyptians to stay where they are.

We often run into the same issue at Ana el-Masry. The children there, despite the many and intense challenges they’ve faced all their lives, are incredibly talented and bright. We’re consistently inspired by how much hope there is at that compound in the desert. But at the same time, we’ve grown more and more frustrated by the general organizational confusion out there – at times, even the staffers don’t seem to know what to do next. And although the children’s opportunity to learn and eventually work some service job or another basic career is a vast improvement over their earlier prospects, I can’t help but be disappointed given how beautiful and bright they are now.

The student

This all is meant to be neither overly depressing nor an indictment of Egyptian culture. I write it celebrating the potential, not grieving the loss per se. And “unrealized” necessarily means not knowing, a lack of awareness. The kindly fellow who sells us croissants every morning doesn’t understand national grand strategy, and doesn’t need to. The average Egyptian isn’t concerned with these macro political, economic, and social concerns.

But I do understand, I do know, I do realize how much potential there is here. What responsibility do I have to these people?

When we arrived at the compound this morning after a long break due to the elections, the kids were ecstatic to see us. One of my little friends kept telling me over and over again – اخي، اخي، اخي. I didn’t know what it meant at the time since he was pronouncing it with a heavy accent, so I asked Professor Lo. It means “my brother.”

That made me stop and reflect, more so than anything else so far. My 8-year-old brother reminds me so much of this particular child from Ana el-Masry. But my biological little brother in America will have infinitely more opportunity than my spiritual little brother here. He will grow up learning, in a stable home, and likely pursue a successful career after attending a prominent university. If he was born on the streets of Cairo, he probably wouldn’t. I honestly don’t think I could have surpassed such a massive institutional challenge myself.

I’ve been struggling with finding my place in society and the world for the last nine months. But now that I place my life in a global context, that quest suddenly assumes much greater significance. It can’t be just about me anymore. What can I do with my specific talents and historical narrative given my place in the global community? Or the more relevant question – what ought I to do? There is suddenly a new sense of responsibility and necessity, in an almost moral sense, to what I should do with my life. To waste what I’ve been given is to insult the constant efforts of Egyptians and other global peoples to do so much with so little.

I seem to have written you all another epistle instead of a blog post. Thanks so much for keeping up with my thoughts from our crazy last couple weeks. I’ll close with this – I’m not sure I have an answer to how to realize my own potential in a global context, but perhaps realizing the necessity thereof is the beginnings of an answer in itself.

Ordinary and Extraordinary

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In my first post, I was concerned about the familiar and the unfamiliar of this trip, largely in the context of my expectations (or lack thereof). Now my problem is the opposite one – I seem to have acquired too many competing issues, duties, activities, lessons, and relationships to possibly deal with and reflect on. My apologies in advance for the very long post – it represents my best attempt to make sense of the hectic five days we’ve spent here.

The Unfamiliar

Easily the first thing that comes to mind when considering my time in Cairo so far is my rapid and dramatic deterioration in health. The first day or two was fine, but after that briefly glorious honeymoon period, my body apparently realized just what a foreign environment in which it had arrived. Since then, I’ve been dealing with traveler’s diarrhea, a host of bizarre cold symptoms (likely a recurrence of a recent minor illness), and constricted breathing (as a result of the smog, sand, and secondhand smoke in the city). Everything, even walking, is exhausting – and the 12-15 hour days we’ve been spending out in the city haven’t helped either.

But for every moment of sheer exhaustion, there has been one of incredible, transcendent beauty. The sunset on the Nile river. Catching a first brief glimpse of the seemingly endless sprawl of khaki buildings as our plane descended over Cairo. Seeing the peace and learning at the oldest institute of higher education in the entire world, Al-Azhar. Noticing some unbelievably massive pyramids peek over the skyline on our way to Ana al-Masry for the first time. Grinning at the antics of hyper kids in Garden City.

Whether for good or ill, this all constitutes the extraordinary as far as I’m concerned. The  language (my first local dialect lesson is tomorrow), the food, the cultural attitude towards personal interaction; it’s all brand new. I envy people like Ustazth Lo, who can effortlessly navigate the streets and reliably predict the behavior of the people. It’s difficult to fully engage while both struggling with the physical unfamiliarity of the situation and gawking tourist-like at the beautiful landmarks.

The Familiar

Over the last two days, though, I’ve encountered two distinct situations that took me out of this “uncomfort zone.” They made me stop and think that this country might not be so alien after all, when it comes to the things that matter in the deepest sense.

A couple days ago, I had my first Modern Standard Arabic lesson at al-Diwan, a local language institute. The first two hours or so of the class went much as expected – going through a textbook, reviewing grammar, and picking up some vocab. At the end, though, we shifted from linguistics to more practical conversational skills. The four of us discussed the Egyptian Revolution and upcoming election with the teacher in entirely Arabic for over an hour.

Our professor was a typical, soft-spoken Egyptian man with a stable family and nice home in Cairo. But when it came to the welfare of his country, he was all passion and insuperable energy. He encouraged us to visit Tahrir and spoke of its beauty. He taught us some new Arabic words to describe Mubarak, since the ones we knew weren’t strong enough insults (سارق = thief, ظالم = a nasty cross between tryant and racist). He argued in favor of Mohamed Morsi until he felt we were convinced. His specific political views aren’t the main point – I was moved by his restless determination to make his country the best it could be. That kind of fire is what kicked off the Arab Spring.

An entirely different, but equally powerful, brand of focus was displayed today during our first day at Ana al-Masry, our primary service partner in Egypt (Stephanie posted a great summary of their work the other day). From the minute we showed up at the compound, we were surrounded by children of all ages who wanted nothing more than to be our best friends. The center boasts a fantastic staff of talented teachers, musicians, and psychologists who give up their lives to help these kids. We did our best to meet in the middle of our broken Arabic and their broken English, but I don’t need words to communicate the sheer goodness, the basic humanity of these children and the adults who hold them so dear.

It was lots of fun to be around such hyper good-naturedness, but I was expecting that from my crazy little brothers at home. It is truly inspiring how the children maintain such overwhelmingly positive energy despite all the hardship and pain they have experienced. Their lives have been turned around, and I wish I could replicate in everyone their willingness to learn. The same inspiration can be drawn from the willingness of the institute’s employees to carry on despite the intense difficulty they face every day. A key principle of the program is that human development and societal integration are central to a sustainable future for Egypt. One of the leaders at the center told us, “Each child is his own story.” They believe that, and it shows in the passion, personal attention, and dedication with which they try to secure a better future for their nation’s youth.

In closing

Despite how vehemently my body might disagree with me, I know this place; I know all these people. They’re the ones from my family, from Duke, and from around the world who  can bounce back from any tragedy and aren’t afraid to put themselves at risk to pursue a greater cause.

It has long been said that our greatest heroes are ordinary people doing extraordinary things. Now that’s a cultural language that I feel I can navigate as effortlessly as a native Egyptian crosses the crazy streets. I just hope I can live up to it, by finding their familiar example among the unfamiliar sights of Cairo.

Photo credit: Kishan Shah, Stephanie Egeler, Sarah Haas, and Ryan Gaylord