Category Archives: Week 3

Highs, Lows, and Highs Again

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Sitting in Arabesque with our whole crew, I was overcome with excitement, anticipation, and anxiety. The café was jam-packed with eager Egyptians awaiting the momentous announcement that would ensure one of two fates: angst and chaos among the hundreds of thousands of people in Tahrir Square, or elation and merriment. I could feel myself stirring, impatiently awaiting a name: Ahmed Shafiq or Mohammed Mursi, to be uttered from the lips of the head of the Supreme Court Farouk Sultan. As I tried to make sense of the Arabic swirling through the café, I was overcome by my emotions: with a Shafiq win, the country was sure to go up in flames with protests, violence, and pandemonium. Earlier in the day, Ustaad Lo and Taylor (our on-site coordinator), had attended evacuation training to ensure we were prepared for the worst. I certainly wasn’t ready to leave Egypt. My adventures and love affair with Cairo had just begun, and yet, I faced the incredibly real possibility of being on the next flight back to Indiana. I couldn’t come to terms with leaving Cairo so soon, but those thoughts clouded my mind as Sultan read page after page of voting results from each governorate.

Please, I thought, please let Mursi win. For my own selfish reasons, I couldn’t help but pray Mursi would come out on top; I thought we would stay in Cairo if this were the case.  Ustaad Lo had texted us right before the result-reading extravaganza had begun: “Mursi got it, no worries :).” I’m not sure how Ustaad always seems to know these things, but I was foolish to doubt him. When the final tally was read and Mursi was announced as the new rais (president in Arabic), clapping, cheering, and horn-honking ensued. Throngs of people filled the streets, flashing peace signs and Egyptian flags as the city erupted with joy. I, too, could not stop smiling. We were safe, I thought, we’re staying! It’s an interesting dichotomy to note, though, that Mursi’s winning and the Ikhwan (Arabic for Muslim Brotherhood) coming to power may mean peace now, but the future is uncertain. Will a so-called Islamist president coming to power result in Egyptian society moving backward? Or will Egypt continue its ascent to a fully functioning democracy?

The election results did ensure one thing; for the past week and a half we had been on lockdown in Garden City. There is only so much to do on Qasr Al Ayny, where we live, and to be frank, we were all a bit stir crazy. While we may have been upset about not being able to explore Cairo, it did mean a significant break in working with our NGO’s and attending Arabic classes. The next day we were shocked back into reality: 8:00 AM wake up call, hour and a half nauseating bus ride to Ana El-Masry, 6 hours of teaching, then an equally tolling bus ride back to our apartments, followed by a two-hour teaching session at our secondary NGO’s.

Pulling into Ana-El Masry the first day after the election, a strange feeling came over me. We had discussed at Duke Engage academy that the first few weeks would be the honeymoon period: enthrallment with the culture, kids, and people we encounter on a daily basis. But they had assured us this would wear off. I don’t know if I didn’t believe it, or if I thought I had beat the dip in morale, but climbing out of the microbus that morning, it hit me all at once. I wanted to go home. I wanted America. I wanted it all to be over. It was so strange to feel this way after such a contradictory experience less than 24 hours before.

My mood certainly improved upon seeing the children and how much they missed us. Hugs and kisses were bestowed upon us, but the day seemed to last forever. I’ve been teaching music to the kids with Ryan, but attempting to sing English songs and teach the kids basic musical notation has proved infinitely more difficult than I imagined. Picture the controlled chaos, mix in the language barrier with children and staff, and it’s a recipe for serious frustration.

Not only had I begun to realize this frustration, but one of the children I’m particularly fond of, Hassan, had been complaining of a serious sore throat. His eyes welled as he explained in Arabic to me that he felt so tired and his throat hurt so bad he couldn’t talk, swallow, or eat. My heart ached as he broke down to tears. I took him in my arms as my own tears had begun to form, watching him in pain. I immediately wanted to take him to the doctor and get him medicine. I held his feverish body in my arms and wanted to take all his pain as he muttered Ana buhibak, Kishan (I love you, Kishan). I kissed his forehead and went to find Taylor to ask if we could take him to the doctor. She was, of course, sympathetic, but explained we couldn’t just take him to the doctor without a fairly extensive release process. As we left to return home, I thought of my habibi (sweetheart) Hassan, and prayed he would recover. I didn’t expect to be overwhelmed with emotion seeing him cry, but I couldn’t help myself.

Hassan and I

Hassan

We arrived back at the apartment with just a few minutes before we had to mobilize ourselves and head to Al Kayan to teach our English class. At this point my frustration and longing for home had returned. I was mentally and physically drained. Before the election, I had gotten into the groove of the schedule. But the break had allowed me to relax, almost too much. After two hours of English class, I was so excited to go back to the apartment and finally stop sweating (I feel like there is almost no time where I’m not sweating in Egypt unless I’m sitting in the apartment). But just when I thought our day was over, Ustaad Lo and Taylor informed us we would be going to dinner as a group for a reflection session. The day that never ended was about to get even longer.

Don’t get me wrong; I love the kids at Ana-El Masry and have absolutely loved being in Egypt. I would not trade anything for the experiences I’ve had thus far, and will always remember the work I’ve done, the people I’ve met, and the events I’ve witnessed. But this day…

We sat in a Yemeni restaurant and had great conversation over delicious food. I cannot praise Ustaad Lo enough. He always knows how I am feeling, even if I cannot put those feelings into words. I remember him telling me that what I was feeling was completely natural. He reassured me, and encouraged me. Spending just ten minutes with the man, I saw the day in a whole new light. The rollercoaster of emotions had returned to a peak.

Ustaad Lo always says that the cure to human interaction is human interaction. When I first heard these words, I believed them, but didn’t understand them. But talking to Ustaad, just having him to listen to how I was feeling and his reassurance and belief in what we are doing here in Egypt put everything back in perspective. Frustration is growth, longing for home fosters appreciation, and exhaustion means hard work and intense engagement in the tasks at hand. The never-ending day I then saw as a blessing. Everything I felt was exactly what I believe the personal growth that comes with Duke Engage is about.

We arrived home from the restaurant around midnight, and I was completely drained. You would think this would be the end of the story; but no, there was yet another mushkila (problem) that we encountered. Our flats are on the tenth floor of our apartment building, and there is just one functioning elevator. It was not working when we got home. With bags full of groceries in each of our arms and our first full day since lockdown behind us, this was the last thing we needed. But, oh well, what’s ten flights of stairs to work off dinner?

As we climbed the pitch-blacked, creepy staircase filled with bats, cats, and who knows what else, my legs and head began to ache. I needed sleep, badly. As we approached the tenth floor, we saw the door from the stairwell was locked. We tried our room keys to no avail. Now with heavy bags and heavy legs, we sat dejected in the dark stairwell. I wasn’t sure whether to scream, cry, or laugh. There was no way into our apartments short of breaking down the door, and no one to help us open it. To make a long story short, we sat and waited for help for around two hours (we were told it would be ten minutes, Arab Standard Time at its finest). When the bawab (door keeper) was finally able to jiggle open the locked door, and we entered our apartment, I burst into laughter. Was today a dream or real?

As I write this blog post, I am smiling to myself. I have made it so far; it hasn’t been easy, but I’m learning, growing, adapting, and definitely laughing along the way. I may be changing the lives of children, but my life is changing too. I see things like I have never seen them before. My appreciation for the world around me has grown immensely, and I don’t foresee this changing. Being in Cairo presents a new experience and opportunity every day, but it’s up to me to seize those opportunities. I still wake up some days and think, am I really here, during this historic time and with these incredible people? There are moments when I think khalas (enough), but I think without those days, the experience would be far too surreal. Before this day, I had only skimmed the surface of what Duke Engage and Cairo have to offer. But with each passing moment, I am digging deeper. By the end of the trip I expect to find whatever it is that is buried deep within this incredible place.

Hospital of Neglected Beauty

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I don’t really consider myself an unhealthy person and I usually treat sickness with the nonchalance that sleep and ibuprofen can cure almost anything.  However, after unbearable abdominal pains, dizziness and fainting, and weakness and chills sent me home from Ana El-Masry early Wednesday, I decided a visit to the doctor may be in order.  I called Professor Lo and Taylor, our site coordinator, and was whisked off to Anglo-American Hospital in Zamalek.

When we arrived, I expected to see a large building, lots of vehicles, sliding automatic doors, sterile tile halls and florescent lighting. However, we pulled up to the typical cast-iron fence which frames many of the prominent buildings in Cairo. An old metal sign above the gate, rusted around the edges, had the name of the hospital in both English and Arabic, and we walked past an old guard house towards a 3-story building with large windows and beautiful scroll work. The marble steps lead to an arched wooden doorway and inside the reception desk, instead of being the sterile plastic or stainless steel, was carved dark wood.  We walked down a tiled floor to a wood door with a sign beside which says “Emergency Room.” Professor Lo knocks on the door and a nurse opened it and asked us to wait a moment. The waiting area was two wooden and cast-iron park benches in the hallway.

Entrance to Anglo-American Hospital

The entire hospital had a look of dilapidated glamour. The wooden trim, the fireplace in the corner of the examination/emergency room, the marble sink in the same room all hold the same lavish appeal of forgotten ages. As we walked in the doors, Professor Lo said, “yeah, this was the best hospital in Egypt in the 50’s,” but I couldn’t help thinking, ‘Professor, we aren’t in the 50’s.’ I’ve noticed that so many of the buildings here hold a beauty that has fallen in disrepair. The buildings are proud sentinels of a long forgotten past, rimmed with cast iron fences and intricate gates. Their cement walls are in varying shades of sand and greying white with carved balcony ledges and marble steps. They are so beautiful and so old and proud and decaying. Their decrepit state breaks my heart, but I love them all the same. They are like old men and women of a long-forgotten age full of finery and prosperity looking sadly over a changing world around them.

Fireplace in the Emergency Room

As I drive away from the hospital, clutching my receipt for the 137 Egyptian pounds (about 32 American Dollars) that I spent on the examination and medicine for an acute Urinary Tract Infection, I observe the city in a new light.  The graffiti on the walls near the Cairo Opera House fill me with a mixture of hope and sadness, hope for the messages of change and revolution they display and sadness for the neglected beauty hidden underneath.

An old building near our apartment

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.

Noel King & Other Awesome Girls

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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.