Oh, So that’s what Culture Shock Feels Like

Holy Crap. You wanna know what a room full of yelling Egyptians feels like? Piss-ass scary, that’s what. Part of the reason that I love studying the Middle East is that there is so much passion and verve in life here.

 

It’s fantastic watching how taking group photos for the yearbook becomes a social excursion. In the States, we’d all put on our shirts, walk out to the photo area, take two minutes to arrange the photo, dither about the arrangement for another two minutes, and then take it, change the pose, take another, and take small group photos.

But here, oh, here there is none of that cold, sterile efficiency that you see back home. Here, we must take 45 minutes to distribute t-shirts. And did everyone pay? Did we know we were supposed to pay? Is there lunch provided? YaAlla! YaAlla! Let’s go! It’s our turn! 

Did you take your individual picture yet? No? Why not? What do you mean you didn’t understand the instructions? Oh, they were in Arabic? I didn’t even notice.

Our group’s up! No, wait, we aren’t all here! … Add forty-five minutes of awkward small talk with the kind people who come to make the new girl feel included. Which I appreciate more than I can say… 

OK! Outside! Line up! Oh, she said that we were going to take one picture facing the camera, one facing away from the camera, and one video singing and dancing. (Thanks for the translation. Singing? Really?)  snap! Meshee, now turn around! OK Everyone start singing on three! Wahed, itneen, talata! Singing ensues.

There is a good bit of feet shuffling. I still don’t speak the language. I still don’t understand the instructions. I still don’t know what’s going on. I still don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing. We shuffle around. Another group lines up for a photo. I don’t know what group they are or if I’m supposed to be with them. No one in my immediate vicinity knows either. 

Ask Omar! Hey, Omar, Laura ‘aindaha sou’al lik! No, no- Laura doesn’t need to trouble Omar (boss-man) with her question. I was just wondering if I was supposed to be doing something (other than standing awkwardly along the side). No, no, really, I’m fine. No I’m not in a hurry to go. I was just confused about what we were doing. Ok. I’ll wait for instructions.

More shuffling ensues. Hey, aren’t you DPC? You’re in this one! Shuffle. Shuffle. Am I in the next one too? Which group did she announce. No, don’t ask Omar. It’s fine, I’m good. No, sorry Omar, no I’m fine. I’ll wait here. Forty minutes pass while anonymous groups scamper to and from the steps with no apparent organization, but clearly enjoying yelling, laughing, and being with their friends. I observe with the other out-of-place looking freshmen around the edges. 

Are we still doing group photos, or should we be going? No! Don’t call Omar, no Laura mish ‘aindaha sou’al! I’m good. I’m good- don’t make me bother Omar again. Shit-weasels. No, Sorry Omar, I was just confused again. What are we doing? OK. I’ll see you next week. Phew. It was complete and utter chaos. I understood none of it. I was completely out of place the entire time. It’s precisely what I came here to experience, but even by my fairly even-keeled standards, that was a lot. 

I like to think I can integrate myself into a group. I like to think I can deal with uncomfortable situations with grace and flexibility. I like to think I can make it through this trip without the gut-wrenching homesickness that has been described to me by other study abroad kids. I like to think I’m enjoying my circumstances too much to wish I was in DC with my team, or home with my family enjoying pumpkin pie and football games. 

I know I’m happier here than I would be home, feeling like I wasn’t gaining anything, inside my little bubble. But Lord, do I miss being on familiar ground. I miss knowing what’s expected of me. I miss being surrounded with old friends. I miss my family. Apparently, having to start over with a blank page and the cultural comprehension of a four-year-old is really scary.

"Cairo Rain" Usually Means Air Conditioner Runoff

I just saw one of the coolest things I’ve seen since I came to Cairo- It’s Friday morning, which is the Muslim equivalent of the Sabbath. For me that means weekend.

I’m walking around the neighborhood looking for a cup of coffee and a place to work (which, in this case means read the book my mom just sent me, out of which I can’t get my nose.) And, as it turns out, Cinnabon, my planned destination is closing for Friday prayer. So I decide to be brave and try a new coffee shop. As I make tracks for Costa’s Coffee, I start noticing that it’s particularly overcast for Cairo. Mind you, Cairo is usually subject to absolutely unforgiving sunshine, so a little bit of cloud cover is always welcome. But then it actually started sprinkling. At first I thought I was getting hit by dribbles from an overly exuberant air conditioner, until I realized that the whole street was showing droplets. It was just that- a few droplets for about three minutes, but nonetheless I saw it rain in Egypt.

All the mosques have loudspeakers so anyone outside can hear the sermon. I’m stumbling along, short by one cup of coffee, absolutely mystified with wonder at the rain, half listening to the imams give their sermons. And as I head towards Costa, I start noticing the sermons are growing louder. In my morning stupor, using all my remaining brainpower to make an attempt at decoding what was being said, I turn a corner and am confronted with the backs of rows upon rows of men in the streets, all facing Costa Coffee, which apparently lies between me and Mekka. They form neat, silent, barefoot ranks, all with heads bowed in prayer.

The imam speaks, and the congregation, for I suppose that’s the closest Western word for what it was, echoes back- a hundred solemn voices quietly professing their faith on an Astroturf carpet in the middle of an intersection, with cars lined up, engines off, patiently waiting for the end of prayer. Somehow the serenity and wonder of the scene fit with the last sprinkles of the inexplicable rain.

The imam and his congregation were all precisely facing the door of the shop. I went to EuroDeli instead. 

A Brief Commentary on Blogging

Courtesy of xkcd: 

Blogging

You're open until WHEN?!

As the holy moth of Ramadan draws to a close, I thought I might should make a few comments on what I’ve observed in my time here. But first, a disclaimer- I say all this with the utmost respect for, and no limit of ignorance about Islam. Whatever mistakes I make, and I’m sure they’re in here, please do correct me.

Assuming that the new moon is sighted tonight, (which it will be, but out of tradition, you aren’t allowed to say it will be until it actually is), Ramadan, the holy month of fasting, ends tonight. And let me tell you- Ramadan is a weird practice. It’s absolutely beautiful, but very weird. The way it goes is you aren’t allowed to eat or drink from sunup to sundown each day for a month. Additionally, Muslims are required to abstain from smoking, drinking, or any kind of sexual action or thought. This means that most places are closed from 2pm-8pm, when people are either hungry past the point of functioning, or breaking fast. Philosophically, there are several interesting points about all this.

The first is that there is, depending on whether you ask an Islamic scholar or a Muslim scholar (the first I mean to be someone who studies Islam from an analytical, secular standpoint, and the second from a religious), no real reason for the fasting. In theory, it is to commemorate the Night of Power- the night that Mohammed the Prophet received his revelation. But consider this: all the different schools have a different date, and it’s not specified in the Qur’an (or the Hadith, I think), so there’s no significance to Ramadan as a month in and of itself other than that somehow, mysteriously, it was tagged with this fasting gig. Go figure, right?

A second interesting theological standpoint is that the demons (ie Satan) are chained during this time, and cannot incite bad, forbidden, or unclean behavior in the people, making it a very pure, holy time. I don’t know enough about this to really say too much, but curiously enough, during Ramadan, it is also more acceptable for a single man and a single woman to go unchaperoned. All over the city, on bridges, in squares, you see men and women in their early twenties all mooney-eyed holding hands or sitting just a little closer than would normally be considered permissible. It’s odd. I really don’t have a reason for this, but it would be interesting if it were linked to the idea of the chained demons; that is to say, during Ramadan with all its purity and holiness these young people can be trusted to behave, whereas otherwise it would be forbidden.

Reason number three isn’t even particularly theological: many Muslims will tell you that the reason for the fasting is to experience the suffering of the poor. Then, at the end of the month, there is Zakat al-Iftar (I think- someone check my spelling), which is a charitable contribution to the poor. Similarly other holidays highlight the ideas of generosity and good morals.  For example, when sheep are sacrificed in the streets in November, practice dictates that a third of the meat should go to the family, a third to the neighbors, and a third to the poor. I’m told the whole city turns a particularly vivid shade of red. (Ewww. Or is it ewe?)  But nonetheless, generosity is a central theme in Ramadan, and in Islam in general.

I was sitting on the bus on the way home next to a young woman who was reading the Qur’an (the holy book) as we rode. I asked her, when she set it down, if the reading of the Qur’an was something particularly popular during Ramadan, or if I would see it with the same frequency during the rest of the year. This started up a conversation as to the nature of Ramadan, and I asked her casually if she was excited to be able to eat during the say again.  “No, no!” She said vehemently (although, fortunately for me, without offense- may people seem to be happy to end the fasting), “I am sad to see it go. Ramadan is such a beautiful time.”

And so it is, whether it be for devout theological reasons, or simply the empathy and communion that is formed by going hungry with the poor, or as a time to break fast each day with family and friends, it is an absolutely beautiful occasion. Now if we could just do that and keep the stores open during normal business hours…

Anything but the Khalijis!

Matt is a goofball. He does goofy things, makes goofy comments, and asks goofy questions. So imagine my surprise when he asked what turned out, in retrospect, to be a very interesting question. Specifically he asked whether Egypt is in Africa or the Middle East. If you tweak that just a bit, it becomes what is a surprisingly controversial topic in Egypt.

Ask the question: “Who are the Egyptians? Are they Arabs? Pharonic descendants? North Africans?” You’re liable to get some interesting answers.  I spoke with a particularly well-versed poli sci student, a native Egyptian, and she gave me something to think on. “Yes,” she said “I believe I am an Arab.” Her response was simple enough until she went on to add “But that is not a common opinion among Egyptians my age.”

I was baffled. Ya’ani- Egypt is the most populous of the Arab States. It is the seat of the Arab League. It is (or until recently, has been, depending on who you ask and whether or not there is a tape recorder in the room) the political leader of the Arab World. So how is it that most students do not  consider themselves to be Arabs?

The sentiment of being an Arab, she explained, is a fairly new idea, mostly the product of one Gamal Abdel Nasser. Prior to the early 20^th century, or more specifically, the fall of the Ottoman Empire as of WWI, the Middle East had been a conglomeration of areas united by nothing more than a shared religion (which was not exclusive to the Middle East; take for example Turkey or Persia), a series of loosely related dialects, and a shared status as a former Ottoman territory. But there was, at that point, no real image of an ‘Arab,’ and even less so, an idea of Arab political solidarity. More than anything, what incited their unification was that they were the states that were not Ottoman and not Persian and not European. And so it was that Nasser found a receptive audience for his Pan-Arab politics. However, much as we would assume that ‘Arab’ is a Primordial identity, imbued with centuries of shared religious tradition and millennia of shared culture, it is (also) very much an intentionally engineered political identity to bring about solidarity, and thus political power, in the Middle East.

Understand that this is a single opinion, and one based on primarily anecdotal evidence from uncited sources, but still, it is a telling statement on the self-identification of the Egyptian youth. And it is a generational discussion, as I am told. Grandparents, those that remember Egypt as it was when it could exert regional power, when Nasser’s Pan-Arabism was in full swing, and Egypt was in the lead, are Arabs. My peers’ parents identified with the Westernizing influence of America, the wealthy, influential, successful benefactor that represented modernization and progress. Now this generation is in a position to make that determination. They know what they are not- they are still not in support of Israel. Nor are they particularly in support of America (“We love Americans, but the government? Blehh,” was how it was phrased, to be precise).  But they are also not aligned as Arabs, instead leaving that title for the Khalijiun (the Gulf-ies). 

So where does that leave them? “We are lost,” was her answer, “we are lost. “

صور من القاهرة

Vignettes from Cairo (Actually the subject line says “Pictures from Cairo.” I don’t know how to say “vignettes” in Arabic. I’ll work on that) :

So, I continue to believe that I can’t really explain what Cairo is like, but I am hoping I can explain what some parts are like with a few of the images and tidbits of information and general stories from Cairo.

The University campus is not near the dorms. In fact, it’s anywhere from fifty minutes to two hours away, depending on the traffic. So it’s a long bus ride. Personally, I’m really coming to like it because I do one of three things; either I chat with the people around me, producing invariably interesting conversations that will, one day be in Arabic, inshallah, or I read and do homework, or I zone out and stare out the window. For our purposes, this last one is the point of discussion, because one can see many an interesting thing in an hour on a bus in Cairo.

As far as the city itself, at first glance, it looks like it’s all made out of nasty old concrete with seventies-era satellite dishes and air conditioners (two things that everyone has) sprouting of every surface like barnacles on the side of a boat. But after a while it starts to be natural; the buildings, new and old, are all the same color because of the sand and dust. Since there is no rain to wash them off, the spring sandstorms color all the walls a sort of reddish beige. Once you get a feel for it, it seems almost more like the buildings have always been here, maybe just buried under a sand dune until the wind could dust away the sand, leaving the buildings like pillars of sculpted stone. 

But not everything is dusty high rises. There are other scenes. One of my favorites is an island in the Nile that we cross over each day on the way home from school. The entire thing is emerald green dotted with little grass or wood huts. It looks like something out of a documentary on agriculture in ancient Egypt. I asked about it, and apparently the island, and others like it, are protected by the government because the land is so fertile from silt that, even in the human pressure cooker that is Cairo, it’s actually more productive as a farm than it would be even as housing. And housing can be found other places. Another view very different from the high-rises and apartment complexes is the cemeteries. Most Muslims bury their dead above ground, in crypts or waist-high stone fixtures. These, and the fact that cemeteries aren’t nearly so grim in Arab culture as they are in ours, make it an ideal place for what we would politely call ‘informal housing.’ But it’s not a squatters’ camp either. In fact, they tend to be bustling residential centers, just with a different look to them. Understanding this explains a lot of the constant hum that can be heard within miles of the “Cities of the Dead,” the prodigious expanses of crypts, coffins, and communities at the foot of the Citadel of Salah Ad-Din and Al-Azhar park.

As you’d guess, you can see some rather odd things running between these backgrounds. Just yesterday, we were motoring along to campus around 9am or so, so the streets were full of people heading out to work, or to the store, or what have you. And amidst this urban bustle, I glanced between two buildings only to find a woman with a flock of sheep ringing her, staring at her intently. My hand to God- apartments, taxis, policemen directing traffic, and an alley full of furry little sheep butts staring back at me. I have no explanation for this, but I can explain a significantly more common sight: cars with their wipers set up off the window. Now, coming from Colorado, the only reason I know of to do this is to prevent the wiper blades freezing to the windshield if you have a little snowmelt followed by a hard freeze. So I was originally a bit confounded at this one. I asked around, and apparently it’s how you know if your car has been cleaned. Lower class men around the neighborhood will progress up and down the street dusting off and washing off the more expensive-looking cars, and setting up the wipers to indicate the service. When their owner returns, the man makes an appearance and receives a pound or two for his troubles. If you don’t pay him, next time your car won’t get washed, and if you pay him a lot, your car will get washed well, rather than simply dusted off. Go figure.

Another common sight that had to be explained to me was the darker spot of skin that many men have in the center of their forehead. In Islam, one prays on their knees with their head bowed to the ground. So this spot, apparently, is a callus obtained over years of regular prayer. I’ve only ever seen it on men, but that may be because the more traditionally pious women have most of their forehead and hair covered by a scarf (that, as an aside, is either a demure black, or matches the outfit in a stunning display of color coordination that still has me in awe). 

Some of the most traditional women wear the niqab, the full black head-to-toe veil, which, in most Egyptian incarnations involves a slit across the eyes to see, which is usually connected by a short black thread that runs up the bridge of the nose just between they eyes to prevent the lower half of the veil from sagging and revealing more of the face (the picture at left, shamelessly jacked from BBC, doesn't have that part). Also, it tends to display some really stunning skill at eye-makeup, ironically. Personally, what caught my eye was seeing women wear them and glasses at the same time. I mean, there’s something you wouldn’t think of. We’ve all heard about the burkahs and the niqabs and whatnot, but there’s a question I never asked myself: how do you wear that and glasses. Well there you go. The glasses go outside of the veil, and the earpieces run behind the veil at the very corners of the slit. The nosepieces fit neatly on either side of the black thread connecting the top to the bottom.

My other whodathunkit-style question, prior to leaving the US, largely from a practical standpoint, was where and how do they sell underwear in Egypt. In a country where it is immodest to wear a low-necked T-shirt, how on earth do they advertise underwear? I mean, you would hardly expect them to have a mannequin scantily clad in silk and lace in the storefront window, right? Well, shocker. That’s what they do. There’s a mix; you’d see bras and panties displayed in a street bazaar too, if you looked in the right places, and there are also the same sorts of department stores that you’d see in the States that sell your standard collection without any fanfare or display. But Maddie and I were at City Stars, the colossal mall that far outshines anything I’ve ever entered before now (Exhibit a:

), and they definitely have scantily clad, dolled up mannequins in the underwear store windows. It bears mentioning that it is a decidedly westernized place in a relatively westernized city, but nonetheless, there you have it. Lace.

And on that note, I’m going to call it a night. Tomorrow I’m tagging along with a Cairene woman to pray at the mosque and break fast with her and her friends. Should be interesting! Stay tuned for more travel-related revelations from Cairo. 

"Just Go Up and Say Hi!" - A Slightly Emo Rant

I take back what I said about the organization of Egypt- that it was the most likely thing to drive me crazy during my time here. It’s not. That’s easy to deal with.  Heading into my fourth week here, I’m starting to develop the opinion that I can deal with anything this country can throw at me. I can take whatever problems come up and work them out and keep putting one foot in front of the other. At the moment, I’m less concerned about culture shock. I can deal with that. I know how to find my classes and order food and work an ATM. I can be functional here. And it’s a relief knowing that.

I can survive in this environment using English and spending time with Americans. The dorms, the university, the district where I live, they are all designed for Westerners. I could spend the whole next year here and know very little more about Egypt than what I knew when I arrived. It is only by my own determination that I will learn Arabic or to function within a genuinely foreign environment. So, the current bet on what is the most likely to drive me nuts: myself.

I know what I need to do to learn these things. When I was in Germany, I learned far more about German culture than I had expected because I had such ample access to Germans (and pseudo-German Americans that have gone native. Yeah, that’s you, Kelly.) In that situation, it’s easy to ask questions or translations, and all this lovely language immersion that they talk about actually happens. So easy answer, right? Just make friends with the Egyptians that live next door? Or the gaggle of girls in the lobby? Right, easy? Wrong. Very, very wrong.  Because if there is a gaggle of girls in the lobby breaking fast and watching an Egyptian movie and chatting Arabic, the instinct of every American is going to be to turn tail and run. (And whoever is sitting there smoothly in your apartment saying, “Oh that’s easy. I’m sure they’re all nice, welcoming people. Just go and say hi!” Enjoy your smug comfort now ‘cause you have no idea. And if anyone comments on this post “Oh, you just have to get up the courage to do it!” I will fly back there and smack you.) In no circumstance is it more apparent that you are the outsider, and it is intimidating as all hell.

The Egyptians I’ve rubbed elbows with here are very kind people. I have not had a single bad experience with anyone. Not one. However, this is also an exceptionally intimidating group. This is not a culture where people sit quietly discussing issues where one might be able to slide in a smooth “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing…” No, this is a culture where people gather in large groups and talk to people they’ve known for years, joking easily in Arabic, and incomprehensibly, both in linguistic terms, and (my terrified brain assumes) in terms of subject matter. Also, there is a very notable air of money in this place. Nothing is more intimidating than being the least sharply dressed person in a group. I’m naked without my Gucci handbag. So yes, I should integrate myself among Egyptian friends. But when you can approach a group of raucously laughing Egyptian women, lounging gracefully in their silken hijabs and Prada sunglasses and air of long-familiar comfort and integrate yourself into a conversation held in a dialect in which you can barely count, then you can tell me that I just ‘need to go up and join them.”

Aaand you can tell I feel antagonized by this point. So who, you might ask, is telling you to “just go up and say hi?” That would be me. Hi. Yeah, yours truly. I want so badly to make this work, to squeeze every drop of knowledge and experience from this adventure, that you can be I’m after myself around every corner to step up and do what it takes to learn. Every time I settle down to read a book or to check my e-mail, or do anything, really, that is not working towards that end, I feel like I’m slacking on making progress. And I am- when I spend the weekend lazing around the dorm, I’m really not learning anything. However, nagging myself that I shouldn’t be reading on the bus on the way home hen I could be eavesdropping on conversations, I shouldn’t be doing these things that give me comfort and make me feel at home when I could be doing all these things that would expand my cultural horizons, is going to drive me slowly mad. So that’s why I amend my belief that some aspect of Egypt is most likely to be my most difficult thing to overcome. It’s going to be striking that balance of pushing myself and being comfortable, and not driving myself to muttering angrily at my other personalities that also reside in my psyche in the process that will be the trick.

Well, I’m going to go eavesdrop on conversations. But before I do, let me solemnly swear that I plan on doing EVERYTHING possible in the future to try and make study abroad students visiting CU more at home. I shall never let another foreigner go un-smiled-at.