About Yohana Zecarias

Born and raised in DC (the suburbs, actually - Virginia), but I currently reside in hell. The best kind though - Blue Devil Hell. I'm studying English, Visual Arts and Markets & Management in hopes of merging creativity with productivity. I want to be George Lois, but a woman. Aside from being a Devil, I'm brown and proud, the product of immigrant parents from Eritrea (look it up). I think I'm funny (so does my 7th grade class who voted me class comic - should've won best hair, still bitter) and I know 100% that I love baked goods and good music.

Noel King & Other Awesome Girls

First impressions are often wrong. First voices are seemingly wrong too. Noel King’s blue-teetering-on-green eyes against her soft tan pigment are an archetype of the Egyptian woman. Accordingly, we expected a voice punctuated with an Egyptian accent. What we all heard instead was someone who could’ve been our pediatrician. But even her surprise voice couldn’t shake me out my slumber state. My mood was sterile – I couldn’t find the mental strength to formulate words into a sentence. One day of house arrest (which is a week in American time) can do that to you. I stepped on to the felucca, blank mind in tote, unprepared for the woman I was about to discover.

Noel King pictured in the bottom right hand corner

The sun setting, our felucca sailing, and the Nile being the Nile, we all embraced the first comforting breeze that came from somewhere other than our apartment’s A/C. I sat next to Noel, not really knowing what to expect from the ambiguous teacher-figure.

Noel King is a radio journalist, but to confine her description to those two words is criminal. First off, she cursed. Not many adults are willing to let one slip in fear of political correctness. Secondly, she casually let parts of her life slip that she portrayed as almost trivial, but with further explanation, were actually super freaking awesome. Sitting next to her gave Dylan and I access to her life story – one that included the threat of mauling grizzly bears, sleeping on strangers’ couches, and returning from Guatemala – shoeless.

Remember what I said about first impressions? Noel King threw mine out the window and let it burn with the rest of Cairo’s trash. Leaving Brown University to travel, she took an unconventional route and conquered the forests and highways of the coast instead of boarding a plane. She backpacked along the West Coast and ventured into the Yukon Valley for safety (safety is a euphemism, the obscure forests of Canada were merely a step up from the areas of California that were still inflicted with the post-Charlie Manson fear of wandering travelers). With $400 dollars in her pocket and a loaf of bread and peanut butter, she did something that is foreign to our generation. We’re taught that hitchhikers don’t get picked up and served a nice home-cooked meal. They get kidnapped and locked in a trunk.

The Yukon Valley and Guatemala weren’t enough for our resident badass. After returning to Brown and earning her degree, she went to Sudan to start her career as a reporter. Only thing was that she actually had no form of reporter training. From Sudan to South Africa (and still broke), she got her required training and returned to Sudan on a teaching visa and taught classes in the day while writing pieces at night.

Speaking to us about her reporting in Cairo during the elections and her previous work in the Democratic Republic of Congo, she proved to be articulate, strong and confident. Every question was answered with a dignified answer – even if it was contrary to Professor Lo’s opinion. She was able to carry a running dialogue with Ryan, the political heavyweight of our group, with relative ease (this is no easy task – 97% of the time I have no idea what government policy or law Ryan is referencing). By the end of the discussion, we were all entranced.

Noel King is a shining example of powerful women in the Middle East. Although not Egyptian, she shares similarities with other individuals we have met that have expelled our notions of stifled women in Muslim society. The women at Kayan are bright, inquisitive, and hopeful. The singer featured below showed that Egyptian women could still be as every bit as seductive as the next, albeit fully clothed and fabulous.

While women make up a majority of the student population at American University of Cairo and other universities throughout the city, they are still subjugated to harassment and limited presence in the public social sphere. While the increased presence of women in the education system shows trends towards progressive female rights and new career paths, the conflicting pressures of the traditional patriarchal society and the desire to excel in both the home and the school are serving to be a complex battle for the women of Egypt. However, the struggle of the Egyptian woman cannot be extradited from the struggle of the Egyptian. In a society where one’s socioeconomic status predestines one’s future, upward mobility being somewhat of a romanticized dream, the education system must be restructured to provide more individuals – not just the affluent and the top 1% of a graduating class – with opportunities to lift their country out of its current state.

The women that I have met in Cairo, whether members of the upper class or volunteers at one of our NGO’s, are willing and able to join the fight for freedom. The Western perception of Muslim women convolutes the idea that Egyptian women, just like the women of the States, are acutely aware of their ability and potential to revitalize Egypt. The power is in every Egyptian, whether in Tahrir or not, who has vowed to make a concerted effort to make a change for their country.

 

Twisted Tongues

I’ve welcomed chaos into my life whole-heartedly over the past few years. Car breaks down, casual. Lose a couple hundred bucks, casual. Miss my flight to Cairo because I think we’re leaving the next day, CASUAL.

Now, now, don’t worry – I’m typing this in our apartment in Garden City (which will most likely be nicer than any apartment I will live in the US), so I only almost royally shattered my summer. But looking back on the last 24 hours, I must say, missing my flight was probably the best thing that could’ve happened to a linguistically-challenged person such as myself.

People assume I can speak Arabic. Well. This is one of the more funnier things I have heard because not only do I struggle with my household language, Tigrinya (spoken in Eritrea – I’ll give you time to look it up), I sometimes find it difficult to coherently speak English. I can read and write in Arabic, don’t get me wrong, but there’s something about letting myself sound like a ferrel child raised by wolves that really just turns me off from speaking in public.

I’ve always thought Fate works in strange and great ways, and she started to do her thang by seating me next to an elderly woman on my flight from Washington, DC to New York.  The woman spoke zero english. She mobilized only through a wheel chair and was travelling alone. Her clothing and appearance told me one thing – this woman is Eritrean. And if you know anything about Eritreans, it’s that we all know each other and every person is either your cousin/aunt/grandma. Within seconds, I became her translator. Yohana, who has failed to say a word in Tigrinya for the last 5 years, is suddenly fluent. Yeah, I had to use numerous hand gestures and she giggled at my noun choice a couple times, but the point was that I was communicating with another individual in another language. The fear and embarrassment that usually strangled my vocal chords decided to let go. And guess what, she was going to Cairo too! It was only a connection, but I stayed with her and guided her throughout the airport, translating her needs and relaying vital information. She says it was her lucky day to be sitting next to me, but I think it was mine.

This new found ability to conquer my fear of speaking foreign languages comes at the most opportune time. If I want some shawrma, I’m gonna need to be able to say I want some shawrma in Arabic. I’ve realized in the very short time that I’ve been here that without Arabic, I will be the 2 legged version of Bambi. I may not be able to hold a conversation with the water delivery boy, but at least I can ask, ما اسمك؟ – what’s your name? “Aman.”

Hello Aman, you are my new friend.