What’s that smell, I wondered, as we drove in our customary van with the Duke Engage bunch happily moving on to another tourist site in Coptic Cairo. I just assumed it was like one of the many pungent smells wafting out of the Cairene streets, such as falafel, sweet pastries, automobile exhaust, and the occasional hint of rotten food mixed with garbage.

We had just finished visiting the biggest church in the Middle East, the Mokkatam, a Coptic Church dug into rock cliffs that can seat 20,000 to 30,000 people. It had carvings and bible verses etched into the rock by generations of Coptic Christians dating back hundreds of years to the 3rd or 4th Century AD.

Exiting the church area and entering the local village, we expected to find a typical Cairene village. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned here, it’s to never make assumptions about Cairo.

The smell filled our van and we suspected its origins came from the horse-drawn watermelon carriage, one of our bodies, or a skinned, bloody cow, but this time it was pure garbage. We were in what is called, “Garbage City.”

Coptic Christians in this area are Cairo’s garbage collectors. Collecting, gathering, sorting, organizing, reorganizing, packaging, and recycling trash is the economic lifeblood of this city. There is literally garbage everywhere; massive garbage bags line the streets and rooms are piled so high that the ground consists of 2 feet of waste. To deal with the non-recyclables and compost, this foul slop is given to pigs as food. During the swine flu epidemic 2 years ago, a state-wide scare led this village to kill all of their pigs and thus eliminated the only outlet by which the trash buildup is reduced.

Predictably, there are tremendous health implications for the women sorting recyclables, the men breathing in fumes, and the children playing in the heaps of litter. But what solutions exist for improving this town? Destroying the source of health problems destroys the only source of income and economic sustainability. And it doesn’t help that the inhabitants are a minority religious group that make up a mere 10% of the Egyptian population.

City wide recycling programs and preliminary trash sorting initiatives could allow for better trash management in Garbage City and reduce exposure to various types of harmful waste. However, this would require mandates from people in high government positions. In the midst of the restructuring of the Egyptian government and the political experiment known as democracy, it is doubtful that the focus is on improving one small, minority-held town of trash in the outskirts of the city.

There are a few social initiatives in the Caribbean that were started by American students that involve transforming recyclables into art, jewelry, and purses. These could be instrumental in gaining enough capital to only focus on recyclables, thereby limiting other rubbish from entering the city. Garbage City already has something very similar in a paper-recycling factory. Women craft brilliant paper products, refashioning envelopes, greeting cards, gift bags, stationary, and other beautiful objects with hand-drawn pictures and colorful dyes. Until politicians sort out the major government problems though, places like these that need aid might go unnoticed for too long.

They ran away. Last Sunday, I found out that Sayid and Alaa, two of my favorite boys at Ana El Masri, snuck out during the night and never came back. Marianna, one of the coordinators at Ana El Masri, explained to me that some of the boys miss the freedom on the streets of being able to do whatever they want. I understood, but at the same time, I was baffled. They get free food, free shelter, free education, and most importantly, love, at Ana El Masri: would the children really sacrifice all of this just for the “freedom” of the streets?

I kept asking Marianna whether Ana El Masri had people looking for the children, and she said that they did, but had no luck. Over the past week, I’ve been crossing my fingers that our DukeEngage bus will pull into Ana El Masri and I’ll see Alaa running up to the bus with open arms, greeting me with a big hug, and that I’ll see Sayid come into English class with his slightly spiked hair and smile that instantly curbs all of my frustrations. Instead, I am haunted by images of Sayid starving in the middle of the desert and boys beating up Alaa on the streets. I know that Ana El Masri does not have any legal rights to force the children to come back, and I know that I can’t do anything. But how can I just accept that these children are probably gone forever, and that they might not survive on the streets, let alone ever lead a stable life?

Ahmed, me and Alaa (on the right). I wish that I'd taken more photos with him.

It’s taken me a few days to figure out what I am feeling. Is it anger at Ana El Masri for not stopping the boys? Is it frustration that the boys didn’t realize that Ana El Masri was giving them an opportunity for a better future that they wouldn’t find by living on the streets? Or is it betrayal because they didn’t even say goodbye to me? I keep thinking back to all of the moments that could have warned me: all of the times that Alaa picked fights with other children or refuse to talk to anyone, and all of the times that Sayid would leave English class or not pay attention to the material. Could I have persuaded them to stay?

I am upset because this incident makes me feel helpless. I feel abandoned. But what most upsets me is that this Thursday, I will abandon all of the children at Ana El Masri. I will abandon talented Mohammed, who always eagerly recites, “My name is Mohammed and I am from Egypt.” I will abandon sweet Yusef, who always asks how many more days we have left. I will abandon adorable Mustafa, who asked me to take him back home with me. I will soon betray all of them when I leave and go back to the comforts of America: the comforts of having a family, food, shelter, and quality education.

I feel abandoned, and I also feel replaceable. Five children, including Sayid and Alaa, ran away but Ana El Masri received six new boys to comprise their new class of “reception” children, the children who just came from the streets. Yes, Ana El Masri can’t take care of the five that are gone, but the staff have to move past that fact and focus on the children still in the organization. The children seem replaceable and I, as well as this DukeEngage group, are replaceable. Every year a different group comes back, and every year, the kids form new friendships with the Duke students. The kids do not need us. The kids have the staff, who dedicate their lives to them. They have the Egyptian college students who volunteer to play with the children, and who can actually speak their language and see them regularly. They have each other.

Our English class with Youth 2. Sayid is on the far right in the red stripes, copying down the alphabet.

This past week, I’ve harbored mixed, confusing emotions. But now, as we have three days left with the children, I think that I’m ready to move past these negative feelings and realize that despite the hardships and heartaches, I wouldn’t give up this experience at Ana El Masri for anything. My first blog post divulged my worries that this program would not help the kids substantially, and that Duke students would be the primary beneficiaries of this program. But now, I have to have faith that I, and this group, have had an impact: that our English lessons teaching “please” and “thank you” taught them good manners that will last a lifetime, that some of the kids felt inspired by us to stay in school, that they will remember us and this summer. These kids have inspired me to continue pursuing my passion for teaching and education, and I must have faith that we changed their lives just as much as they changed mine.

“Tonight we attended a lecture at Cairo University with Ustaaz Lo as the key note speaker. The topic was Arab- African relations in the aftermath of the Arab Spring and from what I saw on the sign-in sheet the majority of the Cairo students sitting in the room were from other African countries. I didn’t gather much since it was all in Arabic, but from what I did gather the conversation seemed to turn into a somewhat heated debate about nationality and identity; the use of the word “America” was a frequent occurrence. Oh what I would have done to be fluent in Arabic at that lecture, but the opportunity we were given afterwards was just as rewarding for me. Afterwards, we had a mini-forum between the Duke and Cairo students with Ustaaz as our translator. They asked us many questions in relation to US politics, culture and our perspective on Islam. However, the one that stood out to me the most was also the one I wanted to answer least. Through translation, it sounded something like this: “Taking into account the response that the US had to Obama’s presidential campaign and his possible Islamic faith, would you say that America is ready for a Muslim president anytime soon?”

I wasn’t the one to answer this question (Ryan and Desmond did), but I most certainly had a passionate opinion about the subject. As we felt obliged to represent America with honesty, you probably already know the answer we had to give to them: an immediate no. We had to stand up in front of a group of young intellectual students, all of whom were Muslim, and tell them that a presidential candidate would most certainly not be elected in America solely because of the fact that he/she might be Muslim. I am well aware that America has had some very tragic experiences with certain Muslim extremists (need I mention 9/11) but I really couldn’t stop thinking about the ignorance and fear of Islam that has been around for almost 11 years now in America. Desmond had to explain how people would immediately associate Islam with anti-feminism and anti-freedom ideals. What bothers me the most is that any group of people can be victims of the ignorance that so many Americans have. The fact that it’s so easy for us to form an assumption about an entire religion, race, or sexuality just because we have seen or heard about one negative extreme blows my mind. Maybe it’s not just a trait specific to America; In sha’Allah I hope it is not. I know ignorance exists all around the world I’m just not so sure if it’s as prominent in other countries as it is in the one that I call home.”

-July 10^th, 2012

I was never able to post this entry until now because it felt incomplete; the inner-debate that I was having within myself felt unresolved until today because my words solely displayed negativity.  Something has happened since then that has caused me to readjust my attitude. Yesterday there was an awful shooting in a movie theater in Colorado. It came up multiple times today as we grieved for our fellow Americans back at home. Being in Cairo while this horrific event occurred got me thinking- why is it that Cairo, one of the most populous metropolitan areas in the world (approx. 17 million inhabitants) rarely has such disasters occur? It has almost 11 million more people than NYC, yet the violent and residential crime rate is so much less. I was always told that the more populated the area was, the higher the crime rate would be. Or does that only apply to America? I couldn’t actually find any crime ratings for Cairo, but from what I’ve searched the most serious crimes you need to worry about here are sexual harassment (a very severe issue) pick pocketing, and some carjacking.  Not murders, manslaughter, burglary, or robbery. Why? Maybe it’s because they don’t have easy access to firearms (earlier today when we were mourning for the victims in Colorado Sarah voiced her opinion for stricter gun control when it comes to America’s “right to bear arms”). Maybe it’s because it’s a city run by religion. Or maybe it just has something to do with that strong Egyptian sense of community that Kishan so beautifully referred to in his most recent post.

I think the real reason I was so upset when writing this post at first was because, like Kishan said, “the tension between the American perception of Islam and the Middle East’s insight into America’s views is a vicious cycle”. It kills me to know that people think so poorly of this country and its people when I have met some of the most generous and welcoming people that I will probably ever meet in Cairo. I’m not saying that only the purest of good exists here. I’ve seen the aftermath and torture of sexual assault and I’ve seen the pure hatred of Americans (read about the incident that occurred this week in Kishan’s article). But I do know that the good has most certainly outweighed the bad for me on this trip and although I am left slightly conflicted in thought, I’ll be heading back on that plane to America in one week defending the Middle East and its culture more than I ever did before.

My relationships with those around me—our DukeEngage group and the many Egyptians I have talked to, both young and old—have really been at the heart of this trip for me.

Being in Egypt has only reminded me of how American I truly am, even though I have always liked to think of myself as being globally minded and a “chameleon” of sorts who is able to easily find my way in foreign environments. In my interactions here with Egyptians and my American peers, I feel something tangibly different than I do with most Americans in the United States. I have been interested in figuring out what exactly this difference is and why it exists.

A few nights ago I was at a café with Amanda and Dan and we were talking about the incredible sense of calm and serenity that pervades this city and most of the interactions that occur. Why is it that we are able to sit outside at a café for upwards of 3 to 4 hours, even with the city bustling noisily around us, and barely notice the time passing at all? In observing all the young adults sitting around us and chatting the evening away, it feels obvious and rather stupid to even note that this simply doesn’t happen in America.

I rarely ever “hang out” in the same capacity with my friends at home, even with those who I have known for years and feel comfortable talking about nearly anything with. Yet my fellow DukeEngagers and I, some of whom I didn’t know before this trip, can sit back and talk about politics and the world around us, or talk about nothing of significance, for hours without it feeling like any time is passing at all.  I am convinced that the “Egyptian psyche” has taken hold of all of us. In America, we always feel the need to fill our time with planned activities and rarely take a step back to appreciate the moments when enjoying someone’s company is all that matters.

On Wednesday night, which was the 4^th of July, Amber and I had an adventure that we didn’t bargain for. Ahmed, one of the staff members who we work with at our secondary NGO, Al-Risalah, instructed our cab driver to take us to Talaat Harb Square, a supposedly bustling and fun area of Cairo that we had yet to explore. We arrived and were immediately overcome by the excitement and energy in the streets. Huge buildings lined the sides of the roads and stores were crowded even though it was past 7pm. (Except for restaurants, nearly everything in my hometown is closed by 6pm so I’m still loving the fact that Egyptians are out and about at all hours of the day).

Earlier in the night we had ordered cupcakes to celebrate American Independence Day with Al-Risalah. There were several leftover so we decided to bring the box downtown with us. At each street vendor that we stopped at long enough to look around, we ended up giving the shopkeeper a cupcake. What started out as mindless shopping turned into an evening filled with interesting conversations because we had taken the time to engage with those around us. I’m convinced that in America I wouldn’t walk into a mall and give food to random strangers – it’s something that people in Egypt do, and something that we’ve adapted to in the most positive way possible.

The Egyptians that I have met have all seem genuinely excited to welcome me into their country. Though the language barrier can make it tough sometimes, I have gotten into countless discussions with random Egyptians on the street. (As I wrote about in my last post, we have a natural capacity to overcome these barriers). I’m trying to think of encounters I’ve had with foreigners when I’ve been in American cities and can’t come up with any. Why is it that I am so closed off to the idea of meeting new people when I am in my home environment, but here I can’t wipe the smile off my face when someone welcomes me with a resounding “Welcome to Egypt!!” and is interested in talking to me?

Speaking with Egyptians on the street and in taxis, even in our broken conversations, has been rewarding in more ways than one. Though the lack of efficiency that I have noticed in the workplace in Cairo is frustrating at times, Egyptians have really mastered the art of human interaction and how important it is to cultivate the relationships around you. “You never waste time by talking to people” is one of my favorite things that Ustaz Lo has said to our group. I am going to miss the communal aspect of this city, but I’m hoping I can take a piece of it back home with me.

I knew my perspective would change about Egyptians after my DukeEngage experience. I knew my perspective would change about the Middle East. I knew my perspective would change about America and I knew my perspective would change about the world as I thought I knew it. What I didn’t know or expect to change was how I perceived myself. When I say this I don’t mean in reference to realizing how privileged I am like in my most recent blog post; I mean I have made more realizations about why I am who I am here than I have during any other period of time in my life.

Before embarking on this journey, I would fill out those “describe who you are” surveys (whether they were for a class or for an extra-curricular) and most of the time what I wrote down was a list of the standard “good” characteristics that I’m sure 90% of people put down about themselves: “outgoing, friendly, caring”…etc. In reality I just wrote those words down because it’s what I’ve been writing down since elementary school. Yet, due to the lifestyle changes and transitions I have undergone since then, these words no longer encompass everything about me. Here I’ve been able to pin-point certain qualities I never realized before. I’ve analyzed the past more than ever even though nothing in this country reminds me of it; it’s just constantly on my mind. I have come to see how certain events in my life have caused these qualities to form and ultimately define me. I won’t go into details because most of it is personal and I’d rather not post about it on the most public place of the 21^st century: the World Wide Web. But I will tell you that some of those qualities I like and some of them I now want to change. Regardless, the point is that this place has done more for me than I could have ever imagined.

Maybe this is happening to me because I have finally removed myself for an extended period of time (2 months is the longest I have ever been away) from the place that I call home. Or maybe it’s this city-something about Cairo is having this effect on me. Yes, it is the dirtiest city I’ve ever been in, filled with soot and smog and low hygiene, but at the same time, as Dan said, it’s one of the most magical and beautiful cities I’ve ever seen.