One of my favorite things about Egypt is how modernity and tradition blend so harmoniously... but sometimes this blend creates a very funny juxtaposition. Example du jour! You know the prewritten-texts on cellphones like 'meet you in ... minutes' or 'sorry i'm running late'? My Egyptian mobile lists the following 'quick notes', haha.

Call you later.
Urgent! Please call.
I'll be - minutes.
I'll meet you at --.
Meet you in --.
Be happy for --.
I'll wait for you at subway/bus/exit/platform number --.
Don't worry be happy --.
Have a nice day!
I love you forever.

Other highlights of the day... Sasha and I managed to get ourselves locked into her bedroom 9 stories up from the street and i mcGiver-ed us out with a plastic hanger, AUC coursebooklet, and a few rhythmic pounds on the door. I got lost in Cairo suburbia. And, alHamdulila, we finally moved into our new apartment! I've found that Cairo streets seem to have "districts"... I'll be walking down the street and only see shoestores for a few blocks, and then only scarf shops, and then only resteraunts, and then only clothing stores... well the first time i walked to my apartment alone i discovered which 'district' it is in. I was suprised that all the cars in the street weren't honking... and then I realized it was because they weren't on. Then I realized that very dirty men were lying on their backs underneath them or tucked inside their hoods. I preceeded to see a pattern in the shops, too: shisha, wrenches, shisha, fanbelts, shisha, tires, shisha, headlights, shisha, rearview mirrors, shisha, seatcovers.... we live in an automotive district. classic.

These photos are from a mosque in Old Islamic Cairo that is more than 1000 years old. One muezzin pointed me towards a sidechamber inside the mosque and invited me in. It turns out it was a tomb with beautiful caligraphy and marble flooring. He wanted five pounds. I thought this was absurd. Then he said "echo?". I thought this was odd. When I gave it to him the crumbled bill everything was clear:

He sang the adhan, call to prayer, and left. I stood in a 1000 year old chamber all by myself listening to the echo of his voice for nearly 15 seconds while tears pooled.

I really like…

How I don't have to sugar my tea here, because it already comes with an absurd amount.

How I can’t possibly lose my keys here because I have to leave them in the building when I leave.

How if one person in the room smokes they are informally obligated to offer everyone in the room a cigarette.

How taksi drivers use their horns for echolocation kind of like bats sending out ultrasonic signals.

How pyramid climbing is not permitted and yet I totally got this picture.

First stand up to live, then sit down to write. -emerson.

In&Out Burger has been replaced. I had heard a rumor that McDonald's here boasted a BigMac Chicken and its very own Kofta. My distain for McDonald's disipated instantly upon tasting the latter. Far from the best meal I've had here, my trip to McDonalds was still nothing short of amazing. I am kind of ashamed I already went into McDonald's, but since I've gotten to Egypt I've aquired this creepy pride in saying, "ana min Amerika"... what's more appropro than MickyD's?

Where can I possibly begin? I wrote tons while in Amsterdam, but it seems slighly blaisse' to post that stuff now when I could instead post the lastest from Cairo.

I believe I, by sheer happenstance, found the best way to arrive in Cairo: At 3am, when the city is quiet and cool. Driving past the beautiful al-Nour Mosque I was reassured that I am supposed to be here and that I will indeed be very, very happy.

The only way to describe my experience is as a sensational bombardment. Women's scarves create a wave of color along the streets, with endless shades of modesty and a variety of styles. The honking is the most intense, tho, a characteristic of Cairene streets every moment of the day. At 2.30a the jingle of honking seems to crescendo. The melody of car horns is different than I expected… there is a variety of reasons one may honk their horn, and each reason has an accompanying technique: There's the "I’m cutting you off honk", that is almost polite, similar to hand wave while merging in line at the grocery store. There’s the "better walk faster because I am not slowing down" honk that warns pedestrians 4 or 5 feet away.

The most popular honks of all are those directed at women. There’s the double-beep honk that simply complements you on your overall appearance, sometimes this honk comes with a complimentary yet derogatory “asl”, "helwa" or cat hish. There’s also the “woman get out of the street” honk that is longer and indicative of the Japanese landlord in BreakfastAtTiffany's.

Stoplights are irrelevent. People rarely walk on the sidewalks, instead they wade among cars in the street. Crossing the street is basically taking your life into your own hands, but always with nonchalance. Overall, the city is very easy to traverse with dirt cheap metro, affordable taksi, and streets that are safe nearly anytime. It is by the grace of God that I get anywere I need to go tho...I never genuinely know exactly where I am.

The only downer is how beautiful the city is and yet how awkward it is to take photographs. It's not a matter of looking like a tourist, whiping out a camera seems to put everyone off. But I'm not sure if photographs could accurately capture Cairo's beauty anway.

The Arabic placement exam was the least pleasurable moment of the trip thus far. I walked into a hallway where an assortment of other international students scanned thru pages of metriculously written notes, one boy casually browsed al-Haram, Egypt’s daily paper. Neat. *grumble* As if the road signs and mangled conversation en route to this exam was not Arabic placement enough for me...nearly 20 pages without one word of English reassured me I would be returning to Arabic One. It's accelerated tho with a sadistic 10-hours of lecture a week and I am excited to start fresh .

My other classes are promising, but I have heard mixed reviews. AUC has a richy-rich reputation that even out-does AU in DC, but laughable academic expectations. We'll see... I'm taking Introduction to Economic Development, Muslim Political Thought, and Third World Anthrpological Development. But on to more interesting things...

To the left is the Nile at night. Locals and tourists alike flood onto the Corniche and other streets at night to enjoy the cool weather and cheap entertainment. A boat ride on the Nile is 2 pounds - like 50 cents - and it comes with blarring Arabic music, tacky colored lights, and all the children on board dancing. Priceless.

I am also already a regular at a shisha place in Tahrir, where they call me "Aminah min Amirka" and bring out tea and bahrainy shisha before I can even sit down. Beautiful.

Honestly, I can't express how gratful I am, alHamdulila. It might just be the rosy-colored-post-arrival goggles blinding me, but I can't envision myself leaving in only 5 short months....

To the right is a photo of rashaSasha and I with another AUC student from Chicago. The entire point of the photograph was to capture the disrepair of the building they live in. I chuckle knowing that the building I will soon call my cozy Cairene home would be considered condemed by American standards. pish posh.

Girl-y sidenote: In my dreams I imagined that one day I would be able to buy sleeves to make those borderline shirts as halal as can be, and apparently the hijab souks are where my dreams come true! Note the red sleeves in the photo are sleeves and not long sleeve shirt.

rashaSasha also took to wearing a scarf after realizing it made the frequency and potency of the catcalls and vulgar comments decrease exponentially. I haven't had anything but respect from Egytpians, mashaAllah, and count my blessings.

More to come, including highlights from Amsterdam and - inshaAllah - my new apartment. I get free in-coming calls on my Egyptian cell phone, so pick up a phone card and feel free to wake me up whenever you'd like instead of calculating the time change: (002)0101488401.

cheers!

I’m slightly obsessive-compulsive, so I’m entirely packed for my rapidly-approaching departure and have made the requisite mock-airport skit in which I fool myself into believing that my bags will actually feel just as light upon arrival in Cairo and that they will fit as comfortably in a taxi as my mother's trunk.

Things I have packed that might be superfluous include: patchouli incense, a tall stack of books, and enough tampons to supply an entire army of menstruating women.

The incense are coming because although I consider myself a nomad, I still like to exist in a familiar-scented state no matter my whereabouts. It was worse than pulling teeth to narrow myself to 8 books, so those 8 books will be toted with pleasure. And the 180 OBs seemed essential because I’m not sure if the Arab Aunt Flow is still working with traditional virility ideals or Rita-the-Riveter rhetoric. Either way, I’m just hoping the x-rays at customs don’t mistake them for rolls of illicit powdery-substances.

The guitar is mine but I’m not bringing it for me. I’m bringing it for Sasha, below, who actually has musical abilities. For the record, Sasha has recently been coined Raja due to her suspiciously-Egyptian-seeming features. Ahmed, also below, gave Sasha the moniker and a kickin' tour of Giza on camel and horseback this week. I'm still deciding if Ahmed is an example of Egyptian hospitality or the universal drive of men towards women's pants.

First stop, Amsterdam…

I think my travelogue starts here, more than 10,000 miles away from my ultimate destination and two weeks prior to departure*, in Quepos, Costa Rica.

Because it this trip that i have convinced myself, perhaps incorrectly, that I will be more comfortable in the Arab world than anywhere Westward. I can't exactly explain why yet, but I reached this conclusion somewhere between my parents advising me "not to wear a scarf in the airport" and a conversation with a Rastafarian guy selling braclets on the beach.

Buenos.
Hola, como esta?
Bien, gracias, y tu?
Pura vida...followed something indecipherable in spanish.
oh, lo siento, yo habla poquito, poquito espanol...
oh, engles?
si
you're the smartest white person i've seen.
hah, maashAllah, porque?
Because you won't be red. (he points to my long sleve dress and cotton pants)
I guess not, hah.
Where are you from?
America.
Me too. Central America.
Ah, I mean, the United States. Are you CostaRican?
No, I come from Nicaragua, but my family is African.
Yea? Where in Africa?
Central Africa.
A bit more specifically?
Nigeria.
Are you Yoruban?
wow.
que?
no, I mean, it’s just most white people don’t even know where Nigeria, never the tribes within it.
Do you mean most white people or most Americans?
I guess most Americans, mi amiga.
Si. (smiles) I'll take that one.
6 dollars.
Collones?
Can't you be a tourist and give me dollars?
3000 collones. Gracias senior.
Con mucho gusto, gringa.
Pura vida.

Perhaps I'm wrong to expect comfort from North Africa, a habitat characterized by its harsh and unforgiving climate, but even misconceptions are not bad travelling companions. I am willing to bid them farewell at a moment's warning and I await their dispersal with pleasure; ultimately their initial presence makes retrospect sweeter.

I'm 20. It's easy to think the world is falling apart. It seems to me that there is less love in the world than there once was. That something is happening to the human condition, simultaneously on an interpersonal micro-level and a global macro-level that justifies hatred, rationalizes intolerance, and undermines hope. What I'm realizing, though, is that the world doesn't fall apart. It slowly crumbles, like clumps of sand between careless hands. It fades where it has been blinded. It shrivels were it has been abandoned. It cracks where it has been attacked. But it only falls apart when the souls that hold it together have nothing left to grasp.


* written August 11th

the resilient flame of the candlestick resting beneath glass on a chunk of palm wood flickers while mist from the massive evening downpour mists me over the banister. having spent the week in CostaRica i can appreciate the word Rainforest much better. also, Pura Vida is no longer the name of some wannabe-nature-loving-hippie-coffeeshop in the Tavern at AU, but rather a modus operandi of an entire population of centralAmerican people.

On vacation, I am reminded again that I am not a tourist but a traveller. One difference, the tourist "accepts his own civilization without question; not the traveller, who compares it with the others, and rejects those elements he finds not to his liking."

When people ask me where I am from, I struggle. California? Washington, DC? I won't be living in either of those locations for the next year, but can I actuall responde with "Egypt"? Wanderer, nomad, or simply drifting seems appropriate for the time being. "The traveller, belonging no more to one place than to the next, moves slowly, over periods of years, from one part of the earth to another."


quotes from Paul Bowles' Sheltering Sky.

You know that jittery feeling of anticipation that crawls up your throat when you catch glances with a beautiful stranger? That's exactly how I felt about two months ago. I was in love with the idea of going abroad. It's blissful. But everyone knows that being in love with ideas is dangerous and bliss can be fleeting. The concept of going abroad is settling into my mind in a very different way now. I see my time abroad almost as an escape.

Life, whether it be because of DC or just the anstyness of the twenties, is moving quicker than I'd like. It is not moving in a bad direction or in fashion I'm not happy about - it's just going too bloody quicky. Egypt, I think, will be a brief moment away from my life as I know it. Ideally, I'll rediscover what I've lost in the fast-paced blur I've been in. I'm trying to remain realistic: Cairo will not be the tranquil, stress-free antithesis of modernity i'm hoping for. Arabic will not come easily. Things will not be as cheap as I'd like nor classes as easy.

Nevertheless, a toast to departure.