Breaking the Cycle

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The imam’s words echoed through the Sultan Hassan mosque on a blistering hot Friday afternoon as I sat amongst hundreds of Egyptian men practicing the sujud (where one’s head touches the ground as he recites subhana rabbiyal a’alah [Glory be to my Lord, the Most High]). I had called Ustaaz Lo early in the morning to ask him if I would be allowed to attend the first Friday prayer of Ramadan with him, and to my delight, he agreed to take me. I was awestruck by the mosque; its beautiful, massive marble ceilings with intricate and colorful designs full of writings from the Qu’ran, the incredible sense of community amongst the Egyptian men around me, and the words of the imam’s salat (Friday prayer) ringing through the air. I was entranced as I bowed my head to the ground and chanted along with the salah (prayer). It was an out of body experience.

The imam giving the salat at Sultan Hassan mosque

The imam spoke on two points: 1) Ramadan and the principles of fasting and 2) Syrian refugees in Egypt. The imam discussed the lessons on fasting: learning patience, to restrain desire and self, and share experiences with those who have none (for instance, the poor in their daily struggle with food). Ustaaz Lo later told me a story that the imam had told during the salat. The imam explained that any man who sleeps with a full stomach while his/her neighbor is hungry is not a believer. This story drove home the point of the fasting teachings. Secondly, the imam insisted on Egypt’s obligation to shelter and feed the thousands of Syrian refugees who have sought haven in Egypt. The stories of these Syrian refugees’ suffering and leaving behind everything they have earned were meant to evoke compassion amongst the Egyptians. The imam asserted that Syrians without a place to stay or NGO to support them need help, and the Egyptians must provide that help.

It’s no secret that Americans are largely Islamophobic, and the horrific events of September 11, 2001 intensely propagated this fear. But the fear is largely skewed. The mesmerizing words of the Qu’ran were soothing, and as I bowed with those around me, I felt a connection to the people, the words, and the higher power that they all worship. Despite the heat and blaring imam’s voice in my ears, it was oddly peaceful. All religions offer their own problems, and Islam is not immune to this; for instance, Taylor, our site coordinator, went to the mosque with us, but was not allowed to pray in the same area we were. I am well aware of the extremists groups that have become the predominant connotation of Americans’ thoughts on Islam. But I stand firm in my belief that the Islamic religion is absolutely incredible, and no more frightening than any other religion. Christian and Jewish extremist groups are not immune to violence or sexism, but this often goes unsaid. Groups including the Irish Republic Army, the Orange Order, and the Jewish Defense League are all examples of extremists groups being just as dangerous as their Islamic counterparts.

The Al-Rifai'i Mosque

I am astonished at the Western media’s influence over the way this incredible belief has become tarnished, and that feeling hit me extremely hard when I felt such peace during the prayer. I wish I could explain how welcomed I felt into the mosque (we were invited to multiple Iftars during the prayer, the evening breaking of the fast during Ramadan), and what it meant to be a part of such a powerful experience (the fact that it was the first prayer of Ramadan made it even more special). But it’s something you can’t know until you feel it yourself. I will forever remember that moment.

The tension between the American perception of Islam and the Middle East’s insight into America’s views is a vicious cycle.  Throughout the trip, I have become more and more frustrated just thinking about how America feels about the Middle East as a region, and the exceedingly incorrect stereotypes and generalizations it has made. How could they believe that these people were dangerous and venomous? These people who have welcomed us with open arms, and opened our eyes to experiences none of us thought possible. But this week we visited Al-Azhar mosque, the oldest institute of higher learning in the world, and were greeted with some hostility. As we entered the mosque, a man confronted us, angrily shouting: “Israeli wa American akhrog!” (Israeli and American leave). I think we were frankly shell-shocked. This was our first experience being unwanted, and we were too stunned to respond. Ustaaz Lo eventually came to our rescue, and calmed the man down, ushering us inside. But some of us were pretty shaken up; how could a mosque, a place of worship and acceptance, attract such people?

We all pondered this thought as we left Al-Azhar to have a forum at the Arab African Research Institute, and couldn’t seem to find an answer. Dylan raised the question amongst the researchers there, and they struggled to answer our question. What they told us was now, more than ever, mosques are the place that incidents like that will happen. As the revolution and government have evolved, places of worship have become havens for Egyptians with these views. The doctors insisted that they were our allies against people who speak unjustly of America. They explained that mosques attract many uneducated people who are more likely to speak ill of Americans.

The ceiling of the Al-Rifai'i mosque

They assured us our frustration was not unfounded, but much of Egyptian’s angst stems from America’s perception of them, America’s unwavering support of Israel, and their view of the American government as constantly intervening in Middle Eastern affairs. Without overt American intervention in Middle Eastern affairs and Islamophobia, much of the Egyptian’s people’s uneasiness would not exist. Both parties are misunderstood, and the lack of large-scale dialogue will perpetuate the problem. The walls between these two regions that have so much to exchange–culturally, economically, and politically–must be shattered to end this damaging cycle. There is a saying that a circle is round and it has no end. I am anxiously waiting for this saying to be proven wrong.

June 24th, 2012: Reflections from DukeEngage Cairo

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Kishan Shah

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!

Sarah Haas

June 24th, 2012 is a day I will never forget. After anxiously awaiting the release of the presidential election results, the news that Morsi won had me running to my apartment window in Garden City and flinging it open to hear the roar of the crowd in Tahrir Sqaure. When I think of that day, my mind is enthralled by a film strip of images and an unceasing buzz of people, an almost rhythmic beat like one of my favorite poems being read aloud. I remember walking through the streets after the announcement of the results and finding my stride align with the melodic “Morsi! Morsi!” chants from the proud Egyptians filling the streets in celebration.

When I finally got to my destination, Arabesque Café, to meet with the rest of the DukeEngage team, I took time to reflect in writing about the thrilling moment I was soaking in:

“All of these people from so many different generations and walks of life coming together to celebrate the change they have been believing in for so long- what a wonderful reminder of how beautiful life is, of how connected we are as human beings. Part of me wonders that even though I am here in Cairo witnessing this pivotal moment, can I really be a part of it? I am happy for Egypt, sure, but imagine the elation the Egyptian people are feeling; as an American, this is something I will never be able to understand. This isn’t my country, my history, my struggles. However, humanity’s struggles and triumphs, though very different, are intertwined delicately. I’ve always been a naïve idealist, but at the end of the day, we’re all in this together.”

I stopped writing for a moment as the waiter at Arabisk, Mahmoud, brought me my tea. He motioned that I should be writing in Arabic (if only) and then asked me “Morsi or Shafik?” I looked him in the eyes and paused- is it really that simple? I replied “Morsi!” but still to this day I am unsure; however, what I do know is that I wanted to see a change for Egypt and its people. Mahmoud broke my sentimental mood by putting his hands over his face- motioning that I better cover up with a hijab or niqab. He laughed lightly and moved on to the next customer. For a moment, I was snapped back into the reality of the bigger picture and a surge of questions begin to arise in my mind: What will Egypt be like for women and religious minorities now? Will democracy be sustainable and what powers will Morsi have as president? Further, how will this country change? Because, for better or worse, change is coming.

Amber Watson

The most intensified feeling of patriotism I have ever felt was felt on this day, and I’m not even Egyptian. As I walked down the street with Ustaaz Lo and two other members of the group the following is some of what I saw and heard:

  • “Welcome! This is the new Egypt!”
  • Peace signs. Everywhere. And when I reciprocated the gesture people would smile even bigger than they were before.
  • A boy no older than 5 propped up on his father’s shoulder with his face painted with the colors of the Egyptian flag.
  • Cars only meant for 5 people stacked 10 people deep to chauffeur everyone to Tahrir, all honking to the exact same tune as they rode by.
  • The homeless woman I’ve seen so many times sleeping or begging on the street was up and striding. As we passed each other I noticed she’s sipping on a Pepsi and smiling to everyone for the first time since I’ve been here.
  • “Ahumdulellah!” (Praise be to God) was the response I received from Ahman (a young teenage boy who delivers water to us) when asked if he was happy.
  • An elderly man driving at 5 mph down the street in order to throw candy out of his window. “Sweets!” he said when he saw us foreigners and then continued with “Mabrook” (congratulations) as he continued on.

“Mabrook” was the most heard word of the day for me.  They weren’t saying congratulations to Morsi or to the Muslim Brotherhood; they were saying it to each other. Why? Because today as a united people under one nation called Egypt they succeeded together. This was and still remains to be the only day in Cairo that I was never once annoyed with the constant honking. I can still hear the rhythm in my head. I was never once afraid just because I was a foreigner. Seeing so many people so rejoiced and all towards one goal they have achieved, you can’t help but feel rejoiced with them. It’s a type of feeling I’m not sure I will ever experience again in my life.

Stephanie Egeler

As I walked down the streets after the Egyptian election results were announced, I couldn’t help but smile at the crowds of people holding up peace signs, singing, and cheering. It was an infectious atmosphere of celebration after a week of uncertainty and waiting, but in the back of my mind I was thinking about the future of Egypt. After countless conversations with Egyptians about the elections, Morsi still unnerves me. It isn’t his religious or political affiliation that makes me so nervous, but rather what Egyptians have claimed that he will do.

While it’s easy to write of the claims of Shafiq supporters that Morsi would make Egypt a country of xenophobes, the casual stance of many Morsi supporters that he would establish a military regime is astounding. One very active Morsi supporter said to me “Morsi will have a military regime and be very powerful, but at least he will be a change from Mubarak.” Another claimed, “Morsi will not leave after 4 or 8 years, he will make it so that he can stay no matter what Egyptians say; he will be there for a very long time.” I was shocked and had to actively keep my jaw from dropping at these words. I just kept thinking “you mean you’re actively voting for someone you think will become a dictator? Why?”

However, right now for me in Cairo, Morsi means peace and the chance to stay here for the next month, and I am absolutely thrilled for this opportunity! It was incredible to see an entire city explode with joy and to have heard the cheering in Tahrir from my window, but in the back of my mind, I still wonder about the bigger picture and what it will mean for the Egyptians in 4 to 8 years’ time.

Marianna Jordan

Reflections from June 24th, 2012:

“So I’m sitting in our favorite cafe right now on Qasr-El-Aini called Arabesque – and the Egyptian election results are supposedly (inshallah?) going to be released in 30 minutes. The excitement is palpable and I’m feeling the energy in a way that is indescribable and without precedent for me. It’s really just incredible and crazy that we are out right now and going to witness the reaction to the first democratic election in this country’s long and tumultuous history. The weight of this moment is overwhelming – Egypt has been at the crux of civilizations for centuries and is arguably the most important country in the Middle East, which I have been devoting my studies and personal interests to for the past three years. More than anything I wish I could be in Tahrir right now where all the action is happening (close to 1 million people must be there right now — unbelievable!) and obviously we aren’t allowed to go, but the thought of being in the place where the fate of this country (OK maybe a bit overdramatic, but that’s what it feels like!) is decided is indeed tempting.”

The new president of Egypt was announced after a long and anxiety-ridden speech. Every Egyptians eyes were glued to the TV in anticipation and I can say with all honesty that I’ve never felt so much nervousness resting on a single moment. People immediately started cheering and clapping when Sultan (the election commissioner) announced Morsi as the new president. Crowds of cheering Egyptians waving flags, chanting, and singing stormed past the cafe doors in excitement, en route to Tahrir of course. I couldn’t help but feel Egyptian as I shared in their joy – a new era of Egypt’s history has just begun!

 Dylan Peterson

In the modern history of Egypt, I don’t think the streets of Cairo had ever been that empty before. What used to be a chaotic stream of buses, cars, trucks, motorcycles, donkey-drawn watermelon carriages going in literally every direction and at their own speeds was replaced with the occasional taxi or family car quietly streaming along. No horns, no yelling, no people walking in the streets. Everyone was inside a café or shop, listening to the radio or watching the TV as Farouk Sultan gave a speech minutes before releasing the results of Egypt’s first democratic presidential election. He was slated to speak for about an hour and half, which seemed reasonable given his inch thick stack of papers that he rattled off one by one. Men in business suits, bloggers on laptops, and our group with hookahs and tea filled the smoke-filled café as we all waited in tense silence to see what would be the fate of Egypt: would the streets break out in riots if Shafik won? Had SCAF negotiated with Mursi to give him the presidency? After my Macbook refused to wirelessly connect with Arabesque’s wifi and thus prevented me from reading an English translation of the speech, I walked back to our apartment with Yohana to get my iPhone, which always worked in the café. On the way back to Arabesque as we crossed through a gas station, men cheered outside a small café. I knew Morsi had won. There wouldn’t have been such a large cheer for Shafik, especially in the area where we are staying. I also knew I had missed history in the making by trying to find a stupid iPhone.

We next witnessed uproar throughout Garden City and the streets returned to their usual jam-packed and treacherous selves. Sedans with people sitting in open trunks feet dragging on the road and motorcycles with families of 5 on them rushed to Tahrir to celebrate democracy. Fireworks rained down on us. In a way, the 4th of July came a few days early for us.

Ryan Gaylord

Waiting for the election results was stressful. A few of us arrived at the cafe early to make sure we weren’t on the streets when the announcement was made. Even once the speech started, though, we had to sit and wait through almost an hour of tedious details from the chair of the supreme court, Farouk Sultan. The atmosphere was already charged – as soon as the commission members took their seats, the entire city seemed to stop and take a deep breath. The cafe became perfectly silent. But the contents of the speech worried me even more. Sultan seemed to be preparing the people for an unpopular verdict – criticizing the Brotherhood for their many electioneering violations and continually deducting votes from Morsi. Still more troubling, we kept getting reports on Twitter of tanks moving towards Tahrir and helicopters flying above the city.  History hung in the balance for a short time, and many of us feared the worst.

As a result, the reaction was all the more jubilant when Morsi’s victory was announced. The people in our cafe jumped out of their seats and started shouting. We could hear the roar from down the road in Tahrir right away. My peers have discussed some of the images we were fortunate enough to witness. All the cars honking with one rhythm. Cars packed with people, crowds of Egyptians moving down the road. Everyone waving flags. It was bigger than just Morsi – I’ve spoken to many Shafiq supporters who celebrated in Tahrir just the same. Many people saw the results as a manifestation of the revolution. The SCAF (Supreme Council of the Armed Forces) could meddle with the Constitution but not, apparently, the votes. The last remnants of the old regime had seemingly been removed.

I think many Americans take democracy for granted. They should have been in Garden City that day. The joy was infectious. I couldn’t stop grinning. The people felt empowered, and it was a beautiful thing to see.

There’s still a lot of uncertainty in Egypt’s future. We don’t know what the new regime’s relationship to the rest of the middle east will be. We don’t even know what powers it will have. We don’t know what the composition of the new parliament will be. We don’t know how the SCAF will react to a Morsi presidency. The transition will continue, ان شاء الله, but I think June 24th was a pretty strong step in the right direction.

Dan O’Keefe

We were lucky enough to be here in Egypt as Morsi became the first democratically elected leader in Egypt’s history.  It’s been a while since that day, and I remember it mostly in a few images and feelings.

I remember sitting in a packed café with some friends intently waiting for the results on TV.  While it was the most crowded the café had ever been, it was also by far the quietest I had ever seen it.  I remember the frustration as the announcement was first pushed back half an hour, and could feel it grow as Sultan’s speech dragged on for over an hour.  I was scared of the results:  scared that people might be angry over them or that protests would break out all over Cairo and that we would have to go home.

Of course, more than anything, I remember the excitement and happiness after the announcement finally came.  People smiling, shaking hands and saying “الحمد الله” (thanks be to God).  The cars in the street all started heading to Tahrir to celebrate.  Pick-up trucks regularly had upwards of 8 people standing in the back.  Everybody was honking and chanting “Morsi! Morsi!”

It goes without saying that I had never witnessed a celebration like this before.  I had never seen millions of people all come together over one thing like that.  Even now a few weeks later I don’t know exactly what to make of it. The one thing that I do know is that it was a day I’ll never forget.

Desmond Lee

The following is an account of what I felt on June 24, 2012:

“The sounds, the sights, the emotions: it all seems so surreal to me. As I sit in my favorite café, I am overwhelmed by what feels like a wild cocktail of excitement, joy, and an all-too-common sense of uncertainty. With the blaring harangue of news networks streaming the latest updates over our heads, the pulse of Tahrir is palpable no matter where you are in the city. Muhammad Morsi is the first elected president of Egypt. Just typing that sentence sends indescribable emotions and sensations throughout my body. I am here. We are all here, encapsulated in this incredible moment in Egyptian history. I struggle to formulate in words and phrases what I feel right now: my happiness, my confusion, my fears. But as I remain in a daze, gripped by the images of youth wildly chanting “Morsi” as they zoom by, I begin to realize that what I feel can’t possibly compare to the emotions of the nearly 90 million native Egyptians surrounding me. I’ve only been in this country for four weeks and already I feel emotionally invested in today’s historic events.”

But what to me was a traveler’s “dream come true,” was a truly defining moment for the citizens of Egypt, one that will reverberate in their lives for the weeks, months, and years to come. For a nation gripped by a 16-month bout of instability, Morsi’s victory marks another chapter in the thrilling adventure that is Egypt’s revolution.  But today, our DukeEngage group is an eyewitness to a turning point in Egypt’s story, a plot twist with the potential to change everything. Many questions remain unanswered: what kind of president of will Muhammad Morsi be? What role will minorities and women play in the latest episode of political drama? How will the world respond to Egypt’s first truly Islamist leader? Pondering these uncertainties is both exhilarating and extremely frightening. For the first time in my life, I feel I am a part of “history-in-the making,” a chronicle of events that will be studied by future generations. But while they will benefit from history’s clarity, my present self is blind to what lies ahead. And yet with all of these unknowns and ambiguities, one thing remains crystal clear: I will never forget where I was and whom I was with on June 24, 2012.

Read Desmond’s full post here.

Amanda Young

Two weeks have passed since Egypt announced that Muhammed Morsi as the new president. Our group felt incredibly lucky to witness this moment: we all had the chance to watch parades of happy, cheering voters driving their trucks and motorcycles on Qasr el Aini street towards Tahrir Square, just a mere ten minute walk from our apartment. But for me, one of the most rewarding experiences of being in Cairo in the aftermath of the revolution is talking with Egyptians about the uncertain future and what they wish for Cairo to become. On Wednesday at Al Resala, one of our NGOs where we teach English to adults, our group engaged in a heated discussion about Morsi and what his government will accomplish. The discussion turned into a shouting match over whether Morsi can achieve their dreams of universal education, abundant jobs, and improved traffic, just to name a few. When I looked back on my journal, where I wrote all of my thoughts on the excitement of June 24th, I realized that I had been very naive in my reflections; while the celebrations on the streets did merit my own happiness for Egyptians, I did not fully realize that underneath the joy, much hesitation and disappointment is widespread amongst Egyptians, even those who support Morsi. What will define Egyptian history is not June 24, but how Morsi’s government serves the Egyptian people.

 Program Director: Mbaye Lo

An excerpt from “Egypt at crossroads” published on The Immanent Frame:

Mohamed Morsi was declared President of Egypt little more than two weeks ago. Challenger and former President Hosni Mubarak’s last prime minister, Ahmed Shafik, sent President Morsi a telegram congratulating him on his victory: “I am pleased to present to you my sincere congratulations for your victory in the presidential election, wishing you success in the difficult task that has been trusted to you by the great people of Egypt.”

As thousands celebrated the victory of the Freedom and Justice Party—part of the 84-year-old Muslim Brotherhood organization—in Tahrir Square, just a few blocks away a much more somber mood prevailed…

(Read the rest of the article here.)

America: Take Note

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Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours. That’s all I have left. That’s all I can think about. No matter what I’m doing; eating, sleeping, walking, playing with the kids, or sitting in a café, the constant voice in my head reminds me that the end of a trip I’ve barely started to process will come to an abrupt halt soon. Even as I write, images ingrained in my mind from the past 6 weeks are flashing through my head, and I can hardly find the words to say what this entire trip has meant to me.

When I came here, I expected to get very close to the children, and be extremely sad when we had to say our goodbyes to them in broken Arabic. I don’t know how I’ll explain to them why we’re leaving and what they mean to me now. They’re beautiful little faces full of hope hide pain that I cannot fathom. They have evoked so many emotions in me: frustration, sadness, joy, and love. But in two weeks time, I have to accept the fact that they may just become memories.

What I didn’t expect when I came to Cairo was to meet Egyptian friends. I had no idea how close I would grow to the mid-20 year olds whom we teach English to at our secondary NGOs. My relationships with these incredibly hard-working and caring people have developed into friendships that I hope will continue well into the future. They work their butts off at jobs most of them are not happy with, and still dedicate 4 to 5 plus hours (travel time, classroom time, and after-class hang out time included) of their time to learning English in order to volunteer at Al-Kayan. They’re barely older than me, they act a lot like me, and yet, I feel as though they are miles ahead of me in maturity. I have a tremendous amount of respect for the way they live.

By befriending these Egyptians, I have gotten the opportunity to step into their shoes, and experience aspects of Egyptian culture the average tourist does not. Their generosity to us is astounding; and they’re genuine interest in helping us experience Egypt to the fullest has added so much to my experience here.

For example, one of my friends, Ahmed, invited Desmond, Dylan, and me to an Egyptian bachelor party of sorts. Now in America, this is completely unheard of; you don’t just take random tourists you meet to a friend’s wedding event. And to be honest, I don’t know if it’s that common in Egypt. But I had expressed interest in going to a wedding, and Ahmed made sure I was going to get that opportunity.

He helped us travel about 2 hours outside of our home in Cairo to a small town in Giza where his family and many, many, many cousins live. He introduced us to all his family: his brothers, cousins, father, and friends. They showered us with attention: endless bowls of meat, rice, bread, salad, fruits, and sweets were brought to us on command. They brought us perfectly sweetened chai, freshly pulped and chilled mango juice, shishas, and cigars. They “made” us (secretly we all wanted to) dance with the groom in a huge circle with music blaring, fireworks bursting through the air, and the crown chanting for the newlyweds. This was my first taste of Egyptian culture away from our Duke Engage bubble, and boy was it sweet.

Ahmed, Desmond, Dylan, and I

Dylan and the groom dancing

Ahmed and his family welcomed us with open arms, and I couldn’t help but think to myself, would I ever do this for someone I had known for a month? As much as I wanted to say yes, I knew the real answer. What is it about Egyptian culture that makes them so generous? In America, this generosity to strangers is quickly dwindling. Maybe, I thought, Ahmed is just an exception to the rule of normal Egyptians.

But the next afternoon, three of our friends from Kayan invited the volunteers to their home in Giza for “lunch” (yeah, more like a feast for the pharaohs). They came all the way to Garden City (about an hour away) to pick us up, and assure we got to their home safely. Upon arrival, we were given tea, juices, and snacks. I was frankly astonished at how kind their family was to absolute strangers. I noticed the Egyptian generosity again, and started to believe that the two experiences were far from a coincidence.

Our feast!

After stuffing our faces with delicious chicken, sambousek, rice, spiced potatoes, meat, and countless other delicious treats, all of us began dancing, laughing, and conversing in half-English, half-Arabic. As I sat and listened to their father and mother talk about how lucky and honored they were to have us in their home, something hit me.

Our whole group at the house

These people don’t have a lot. They work hard for everything they own, and, yet, they are so willing to give to others because it’s simply the way both their culture and religion are. They are in many ways similar to us: they want to find jobs they love, they want to get married, have children, raise families, and just achieve happiness. But in some ways they are so far from how I see myself and a majority of Americans: many of us work hard, but we see that hard work as ours to keep, not to share with strangers.

Egyptians seem to see a true value in spreading their infectiously happy and bighearted personas; something that America is badly lacking.  In an earlier post, I had written about how I saw a huge disconnect between Egypt and the U.S. where the U.S. has a clear edge. But this is a complete 180. The Egyptian people are living more fulfilling lives because they find joy in little things, like opening their homes and taking time out of their days to do things for others, more often than Americans do.

I will be depressed to leave both the children and my incredible Egyptian friends. I will be even more distraught that I probably will never have the opportunity to give them in America what they gave to me in Egypt. But to them, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that they gave me experiences I will never, ever forget. They gave me something much bigger than a tangible gift. For that, I will always remember them, and will constantly be reminded of them when I’m back home. I will strive to be more like Egyptians: to ignore the little inconveniences to me in order to give people memories and experiences they won’t forget. Americans: take note. The Egyptians got us beat on this one.

 

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.

The Egyptian Psyche

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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 4th 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.