Evil Is the Water of the Sheikh

I'm back in Cairo after a relaxing two nights in Sharm El-Sheikh (the name of which apparently is an abbreviation of the phrase "evil is the water of the sheikh," coming from a story in Islamic folklore). I'm not really sure how good it is to be back (the traffic on the way back into town was exhausting, and as I write this I can hear the screeches of stray cats fighting in the stairwell), but I still have to say that Sharm is by far one of the stranger places I've been in Egypt. The city is located on the southern tip of the Sinai Peninsula in the Red Sea. The water is impossibly blue and the snorkeling is incredible, but still the beaches weren't what I was used to. There is no public beach, only small private ones. This wasn't a problem, as our hotel gave free vouchers for access to the beach across the road. Yet no one actually laid out on towels on the sand, instead on the thousands of lounge chairs that were available, but I guess this made sense since the sand wasn't fine at all, but a bit like kitty litter. Then there was the sea itself - no waves, and it wasn't deep enough to really swim. People either stood or sat in the water. The unfamiliar beach was not a big deal however; honestly, I was thrilled to be able to relax by some form of water and attempt to tan. The strangest thing was that the city seemed to lack a necessary ingredient of Egypt: Egyptians. The vast majority of the people in Sharm were tourists from Europe and especially Russia. Plus, the city lacks any kind of ancient history or cultural landmarks, but some have been constructed for the benefit of the tourists. Thus, the downtown area seemed to me like an Egypt Epcot, not Egypt itself. True, there was a camel walking around which you could pay to ride, and shop owners sold Nefertiti pendants, miniature pyramids, and scarab beetle beads, but there was no call to prayer, few hijabs and little modest dressing, and many languages other than Arabic being spoken - not like the Egypt I'm familiar with. Even the traffic was shockingly different. Every single time I went to cross the street, cars slowed down and allowed me to pass easily and without honking, something that would be unheard of in Cairo.

It may seem like I'm complaining about Sharm, but in truth I had a wonderful time. Two days of lying in the sun and reading was exactly what I needed before I struggle through a final week in Cairo. Regardless, I couldn't help but notice that Sharm El-Sheikh is about as Egyptian as Pizza Hut is Italian.

Something About September

I think I've said this before, but Egyptians are generally very excited to find out that I'm American (after they verify that I voted for Obama, of course). I literally walk down the streets every day to choruses of "Welcome to Egypt!" And it only gets better when they discover that I speak some Arabic. Even if they think it's hysterical that I talk like a book, they all nod excitedly and say, "Arabia kuwais!" (Good Arabic!) after only a sentence or two from me, and then want to know all about my studies, my work, every other detail of my life (which I generally can't provide in a way they would understand). Today however, I got the weirdest response when I told someone I was American. While I was in the elevator of my apartment building, I started talking to the other men there. After the initial excitement that I could say "salaam walekum," one of them started talking to me very quickly about America. I heard him say something about September, so I figured he was telling me that he was visiting the states in a few months. However, when I asked him to repeat what he'd said, I realized that he was actually talking about September 11, and how I shouldn't blame Islam for what happened. I was amazed that that was the first thing he would say when he saw an American... and maybe not the most chatty topic to bring up in an elevator. Mostly though I was confused as to why he was so urgent to get this point across to me - an American in Egypt. I think it would be obvious that if I (incorrectly) were to blame Islam for September 11, then I wouldn't choose to travel to an Islamic country. Maalesh.

I'm leaving bright and early tomorrow for Sharm Al-Sheikh, a beach on the Sinai peninsula. We'll be there for three days, and I'm looking forward to doing nothing but sleeping and reading and soaking up some sun. For now though, ma salama!

Surprises

So today I was looking over my posts from the past week, and I kind of felt the need to apologize for them being a tad unexciting. At first I thought the lack of entertainment value was due to the fact that nothing that insane happened, but I soon realized that the issue wasn't that Cairo had suddenly become less crazed (somehow I doubt that will ever happen), it's just that nothing here really surprises me anymore. The random people in the street, weaving through cars with huge trays of bread balanced on their heads - typical. The marriage proposals - to be expected. The calls of "Welcome to Egypt!" and "OBAMA!!" that follow me down the street - average. The taxis bedecked with Christmas lights, misspelled bumper stickers, and pastel-colored shag carpets - run of the mill. The hilariously incorrect and inappropriate English t-shirts that Egyptian men wear (ex: "Bite me" with a picture of a hot dog) - common. The complete and utter lack of organization or planning associated with everything - routine. The large number of cats in my creepy stairwell, eating my garbage and shrieking at each other in the middle of the night - ordinary. My roommate talking with shopkeepers, discussing how many camels she could trade me for - totally normal. As my dad would say, "usual, usual, followed by the usual."

As almost boring and run-of-the-mill as all those things seem, today I was truly surprised for the first time in a while, and by a question from one of the girls at Ana El-Masry. This twelve-year-old girl had asked sometime last week if a group of us were all Christian, and I told her that I was Jewish. Today she called me over to ask me a question via one of the staff members who was fluent in English. I knew the question would be mildly awkward from the moment she asked it; even though I didn't understand what she said, the look on the staffer's face was angry and ashamed, and at first he did not want to translate for her. Finally he apologized for having to repeat the question and said, "She wants to know why you're helping us if you're Jewish." I had no idea what to say. This is probably something I should have expected - I know the portrayal of Jews in the Arab media is not positive - but I still didn't have a good response. I ended up asking her why she thought I wouldn't want to help her, and she said something about Jews killing innocent Arabs in Israel. Not wanting to get into the Palestinian-Israeli conflict at all (I had no idea exactly what she'd heard, I didn't want to explain things through a translator, and I was supposed to be somewhere else in the center at that point), I just tried to explain that Jews and Israelis are not the same thing and that Israel is a country that does things for political purposes; its actions aren't driven by a hatred for Muslims. It turned out that I'm the first Jew she'd ever met, and she said that she loved me very much at the end of the conversation, so I guess I've made a good impression. However, I'm still unsure if what I said was right, or if I should have said more on the subject of Israel. I was so surprised at that moment, that I really didn't think my answer through enough. Hopefully my actions in helping her and the other kids in the center speak louder than my words and break down the stereotypes that are ingrained in her mind already.

Approval

This evening we had dinner with the Marie, the founder of Ana El-Masry (I just discovered that the anglicized spelling of that is different than I originally thought... oops), at her family's house in the "country" [read: desert]. Actually, "house" doesn't really describe the situation - palace or estate is somewhat better. This place was incredible. Not only was the house itself gorgeous, but the land was so green you would never have known that outside its walls there was only sand. The dinner was delicious - all cooked by a chef who we saw working as we talked - and the atmosphere was amazingly soothing away from the craziness of the city. Plus her dogs were adorable, although I was less than thrilled when the mastiff slobbered all over my knee. More important than the setting, however, was the discussion. I learned more about Ana El-Masry's origins and got to talk about my idea for the library/game room.

When Marie started working with street kids, her project was merely to go out at night and bring them clothing and food. This developed into organizing sporting events for those she saw most regularly, and finally renting an apartment where they lived with the staff. Now she is a member of a government board that deals with the issue of street kids and is constantly reforming the program and starting new initiatives to help them. It was exciting to hear about the planning and brainstorming behind the center, which I have never picked up on from being there and working directly with the kids. Even more exciting was her reaction to our project (she loved it and suggested ways to help us get started immediately) and that fact that she mentioned the impact we've already had on the place. I know I say this frequently, but it often feels like I'm not making any lasting changes at the center. However, Marie told us that after some reports that we wrote, where many of us mentioned that the children were bored, she organized a way to send some of the children out to take art and music classes. While I knew that some of the older girls and the center had started leaving the center for an art program once a week, I had no idea that our comments were the spark for this development. By the end of the night, I had the distinct impression that Marie was the kind of person who made things happen, and to hear her approval and enthusiasm for my idea made me even more excited to begin work. Inshaallah, tomorrow we will choose a room for the library in the center, and begin making decisions on what furniture we want, so the center can get estimates on cost.

Like a Zombie Movie

As we walked into Ana Al-Misri this afternoon, we were met with a strange scene... emptiness and silence. This is drastically different from the norm, which involves lots of screaming, jumping, biting children grabbing me by the hand and leading me to who knows where. The lack of people made us all a little apprehensive, and we each secretly started thinking that we had walked into a horror film. Within a few seconds, we heard a sound which only added to our fear - a steady drum beat coming from somewhere in the compound. We nervously headed towards it, and soon we heard clapping and that "Ie Ie Ie" sound that Arab women make. While walking up the stairs, I heard one of us say that it was probably dangerous to enter whatever was going on upstairs and kept walking, though I agreed. It turned out to be a birthday party - ostensibly a harmless event, but when it involves masses of insane children packed in a small room with balloons, it can become a pretty risky situation. I was greeted by my six-year-old friend Islam, who grabbed my hand and dragged me into the room. Ten seconds later I was greeted by my other six-year-old friend Imam (the one I'm secretly planning on taking home), who leaped from the table he had been dancing on like a spider monkey and clung to my back. Shortly thereafter, a circle formed and in the middle were two pint-sized dancers (boys of about nine or ten), who engaged in some dance-fighting, which was both adorable and hilarious. From then on the day was a typical one at Ana Al-Misri, including many fights to be broken up, many tears following the popping of all the balloons in sight, and me getting smacked and whacked by many children using whatever weapons they could find (although Islam valiantly defended me multiple times throughout the afternoon). I know I give that place a lot of flack, considering children try to wound me and each other on a daily basis, but honestly I will miss all of them very much, and I'm starting to become concerned over how to tell these six-year-olds in broken 'Amaia that I might never see them again (especially since they ask when I'm coming back every day).

Later in the night, a group of us headed out to Egypt's best and only American-style diner in Maadi. I thought that my nostalgia for Cairo had started to kick in, and that I would want to eat nothing but ful and tamaya for the next two weeks, but when I heard that there was a place nearby that served burgers and pancakes, I couldn't help but go and stuff my face. The place had actually been written up as having the country's/continent's/world's best burger (the story changes depending on who you talk to in Egypt, and I'm not sure of the truth since I haven't seen the article myself), and it was absolutely delicious. If only they had had some of the cherry pie advertised on the menu... I had to make due with cheesecake. Guess I'll have to wait to fill my pie craving when I'm home on the 30th.

Productivity? What?

Shocking turn of events today - I actually felt useful at my job at Ana Al-Misri. I don't mean to disparage what I've been doing over the past 6 weeks; I've formed strong relationships with some of the kids and given them some of the attention they all crave and need. Yet I've accomplished nothing that I can point to in three, six, or twelve months and say, "I did ________ to help street kids in Cairo." At least, until this morning's planning session. The seven of us who work at Ana Al-Misri have formulated a plan to start a game room and library for the kids, which would be implemented by the students on our program next summer. We're hoping that this will not only give the Ana Al-Misri kids something to do (their toys and games are very limited at this point; often I see kids playing jacks with pebbles) and instill in them a sense of responsibility, but also give future participants on our program a more concrete project to work on. We spent our morning at the center working out the logistics of our proposal, from a timeline to mission statement to required materials, and the accomplishment we all felt was incredibly uplifting. I'm very excited to get to work on the initial phases of the project, mainly writing grants and collecting games and CDs through various organizations at home, and I hope that this will be a success and we can have a lasting impact on the center (inshaallah).

The only other truly notable part of my day was the insane taxi ride I took home from a movie. The drive started off oddly: just after we'd gotten in the cab, someone in another car offered the driver a 50 pound note to do... something? But the driver replied, "No, I'm driving Americans." (We weren't really sure what that was about.) Then came the drive itself; I don't think I've ever been more scared for my life. He was speeding and swerving and honking, yelling at other taxi drivers who then flicked him off. At one point, he stopped the cab on the side of highway, saying he needed to get water. He retrieved either water or oil from the trunk, opened the hood, and poured some in, then got back in and started us up again. At this point, I was pretty sure that the cab was going to burst into flames within the next few minutes. We continued to zoom in and out of traffic, at one point passing a car bedecked with blinking Christmas lights, and finally arrived back at our apartment, in about half the time the drive should have taken. I was definitely happy to be out of a moving vehicle and ready to climb into bed. Masa al-khair!

Wedding Talk

A few days ago, I wrote about the marriage obsession of people in Egypt, and I mentioned that the topic hadn't come up with my English class. I spoke too soon. Today we talked about it not because they were curious about my marital status, but because one of them is getting married! One of our oldest students, a nineteen-year-old Eritrean girl, hasn't been in class for the past week (we were told that she had a tooth ache). Even at the beginning of class today, as we were waiting for everyone to arrive so we could leave for our faluka ride outing, another student reaffirmed that she was too sick to come to class. Later though, while we sailed on the Nile, the truth came out - she's been in the process of becoming engaged. The best part of this whole thing: my co-teacher and I are invited to the wedding! However, there is the typically crazy Egyptian twist... the date for the wedding is not yet set, though apparently there is a possibility that it will be within the next two weeks. Inshaallah, I'll still be in Cairo to attend this wedding, though at this point I have nothing to wear, and I'm not even sure what is the correct attire.

Contrasted to this future, another of my students, a sixteen-year-old Eritrean girl, told me today that she's interested in studying at Duke in the future. She talked to me for most of the walk to the faluka ride, because she's trying to improve her English so one day (inshaallah) she can study in the US. It's interesting that these two similar girls - both from the same culture and about the same age, and both very bright - are seeking two vastly different paths. One is marrying an Eritrean man who lives in Cairo and getting ready to settle down it seems, and one is dreaming of studying in a far away country. That's not to say that the future bride doesn't hope to leave Cairo (I don't think any of my students are particularly happy with their lives here), but the dichotomy in their plans is fascinating. I also don't think that one choice is necessarily better than the other; it's merely different. When I discussed this with my co-teacher, she said that timing played a huge role in these decisions, and our presence in the lives of our younger student made an impact on her dreams. Although I guess that's obvious (why else would she have heard about Duke?), it was certainly humbling to have evidence of the impact we've made on this girl and also touching to hear that they want us to be a part of their family's celebration. I'll keep you updated on the wedding date, but for now I really need to sleep. Masa el-khair!

The Things I'll Miss the Most

Today was the third to last Tuesday of our trip. As Tuesday is the most stressful day of the week for us here - homework due and homework to be done, a busy day behind us with work at both NGOs, plus lesson planning for today and tomorrow - I've been counting down the weeks until I get a full night's sleep back in the U.S. by Tuesdays, and only two remain. That totals up to 16 full days in Egypt, three of which will be spent at a beach called Sharm Al-Sheikh, a completely different atmosphere from Cairo. Additionally, we learned the Arabic for "I miss (something)" in class today: "aftaqad." It's about time to let the nostalgia begin, and I've come up with a list of the things I will miss the most about Egypt.

1. My Students - they are honestly a wonderful class. They are always so excited to learn, even if my lesson plans aren't stellar, and they bring the best questions to class (example: what does "BFF" mean?). Yesterday, my co-teacher and I were talking about our plans for when we get home, and our most talented and outgoing student kept asking us, "So you're leaving on July 30? ... I'll miss you!" Luckily we're facebook friends now, and hopefully we'll be able to stay in touch, but it is sad to think that I may never see her (or any of the others) again. I have no idea when I'll be back in Egypt or if she'll ever come to America, but I know that if our paths cross again (inshaallah) I'll make every effort to reconnect with her.

2. Teen Shoqi - in English, cactus fruit. I never thought this was something I would enjoy, and the first time I tried it, I was repulsed by the number of seeds, but it is actually incredibly delicious. I think the taste and texture are similar to a watermelon, and though there are a LOT of seeds, but as long as you don't chomp down on it, they really don't bother you. They're sold by men with wheelbarrows in the streets for 1 guinea each, and you can't pick it up yourself because of the needles in the skin. Instead, the seller peels it for you, and you pick the skinless fruit out yourself. I pass the same guy every day after Arabic class, and it's now become our tradition to each get one on the way to pick up sandwiches.

3. Juice - It just isn't cool to drink juice in the U.S. after age 10 (not like that ever stopped me), plus the juice just isn't that good. In Egypt, any place you go, you can get freshly squeezed juice of any type, and everyone orders it. When I went to a cafe with my English students, even the teenage boys trying to look cool ordered mango juice... which would never happen at home. I still need to try a few more types, including sobea (coconut juice), but it won't be a problem, because instead of Starbucks every block, Cairo has juice stands.

4. Twenty Cent Sandwiches - As I've said before, ful and tamaya sandwiches are a staple in the Egyptian diet, and I can't imagine going back to the U.S. and paying more than 10 times as much for something that won't be nearly as filling. I've decided that until I leave, I'm going to try a new kind of sandwich everyday from my favorite shop (never mind that I don't really understand the menu on the wall) ... hopefully I don't get anything too strange.

5. Faluka Rides - sailing on the Nile in the middle of the night is an irreplaceable experience. First of all, you're on the Nile, a river I've been reading about since first grade, but also, it's an incredibly calming escape from the rush of Cairo. In the dark on a faluka ride, watching the reflections of the lighted buildings on the water, it seems like time stands still (although that might be because the boatman spends 10 minutes at a time standing still in the middle of the river).

6. "Maalesh" - "Maalesh" means "whatever," but in the nicest sense of the word, and this idea encapsulates the mentality of the Egyptian people. Although sometimes this comes off negatively (it definitely doesn't seem nice when someone bumps into you and says "whatever" instead of "I'm sorry"), there is a carefree, laughing attitude about life that is difficult to come by in the West. While I'll miss this Hakuna Matata type vibe, I won't miss the chaos that it's born from, which at times makes me want to bang my head against the wall.

As I think I've told every single person from home that I've communicated with this summer, Cairo is a crazy, crazy place. I'm looking forward to having some order restored when I return to America, land of the free and home of people who obey traffic laws, but from all the insanity of the Egyptian capital have come some true gems, which will always have a place in my heart.

You Mean You Don't Dream About Your Husband?

Women in Egypt have an obsession with marriage. At least, that's what I've witnessed during my interactions with teachers and random passers-by over the last six weeks. I've already mentioned how unknown women in the street have prayed for me to find a good husband, and other girls from my program have been asked by their students if they were married (luckily the subject has not come up in my class). However, the most marriage-crazed Egyptian I know by far is my teacher at Arab Academy. Though she is sweet and funny, I don't think a single class has gone by without some mention of either the m- or h-word. The other students and I (five girls in total) first noticed her heavy interest in matrimony one day when we were discussing our dreams in class. We said fairly random things (limited by our vocabulary) - I dream about visiting Brazil, I dream about becoming a doctor, etc, and she was shocked that none of us mentioned our future marriages. Then came a few other subtle hints: we learned the word for "bride" and when one of us mispronounced it she laughed and reminded us not to forget such an important word; we were talking about words for different ages (youth versus man versus child, etc), and she was careful to point out the distinction between young woman and spinster, and assured us all that we were in the "young woman" category.

Today, however, was the candied flowers and statuette on the wedding cake, as our reading for the week (from a text book which the teacher did not even choose) was about marriage. The moment she walked into the room, she told us that she was so excited to discuss it with us, beaming the whole time. The text itself was about a family arguing over whether the youngest girl should be allowed to marry a boy that was not as wealthy as her and didn't have as high of an education. The majority of the students agreed that she should be allowed to marry for love, and that the grandmother who argued otherwise in the story was too controlling. For once, I wasn't sure if our opinions shocked and horrified our teacher or touched her more sensitive side. Often she seems scandalized by how liberal our opinions are and our lack of interest in traditional values like marriage (for example we watched the first 30 minutes of the teen comedy "10 Things I Hate About You," and she could not believe that the portrayal of some aspects of American high schools was accurate). I hope that today her sensitive side won out, and our support of true love made her realize that we as Western girls have some sense of femininity.

Mummies and Scarabs and Ankhs... Oh My!

This morning I headed to the Egyptian Museum, looking forward to seeing mummies and sarcophaguses and hieroglyphics. I saw all of those things and more; the difficult part was knowing exactly what I was looking at. I heard someone in the museum say that it wasn't just a museum full of Egyptian artifacts, it was an Egyptian museum - which is completely true. The place lacks any sort of organization or explanation. Most of the cards in the display cases are in handwritten Arabic or typed on a typewriter, when they're even there. In some cases, the cards identify an item that is no longer in the display. Of the exhibits, only two were truly organized and with some explanatory aids - the room of artifacts from King Tut's tomb and the royal mummy room. Tut's old things were amazing, especially the mask in which he was buried. This mask is a prominent symbol of ancient Egypt which I've seen through my entire life, and it was incredible to see it in person. The mummies were interesting, if really creepy. I couldn't get the idea that these were real bodies out of my head. Even creepier, I'm nearly positive some of the coffins in the main part of the museum still contain mummies - according to one card I read, a particular mummy was "within," which I think means in the case in front of me?

After the Egyptian museum, we went to Al-Azhar Park with the school that the majority of students in my program attend (I go to a different one, but was still invited). The trip was fun, except for some awkwardly nontraditional games we played for a while (seriously, where was duck-duck-goose). These games involved me getting bit by another student... again. I don't understand why I attract so much biting here: either from kids or mosquitoes or other students... it's ridiculous.

At night I went on yet another faluka ride, which was fun as always, and we met up with some friends we have who are interning at the U.S. Embassy. Talking to them was really interesting, and being able to share our stories truly made me appreciate how much I've experienced and grown in Cairo. It didn't seem like much until I had the opportunity today to talk to my peers, who haven't been in Cairo for as long and have a lifestyle that is somewhere between Egypt and America, and I realized how oddly comfortable I've become here. For example, all three of them seemed hesitant when I mentioned street food, which is what I eat at least once a day here. All in all a phenomenal day, but I'm exhausted and I have another test tomorrow.. yikes! Ma salaama!

Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous

Tonight our group went on an adventure to CityStars, a mall in Cairo. Actually, mall is an understatement - this place is a palace of consumerism. It truly put Mall of America to shame. It's at least 6 stories tall, with 2 movie theaters, an arcade and bowling alley, a roller coaster, and tons upon tons of stores... and they may still be expanding. Not having been to any place this fancy-schmancy and Western in a while, I was truly overwhelmed, and for the first time in a while I had an urge to really shop. Luckily for my wallet, our plan was to see Toy Story 3 and eat dinner, so I really didn't have any time to try on clothes. The theater was gorgeous (like the rest of the mall), but we discovered that one part about it was truly typical of Egyptian disorganization. We bought tickets for our movie, which were more expensive because it was in 3D, and then went to get dinner. When we returned later and entered the theater, we discovered that you had to buy your own 3D glasses at the front, which the theater employee hadn't told us. So we went back (fighting against the hordes of people trying to enter the theater along the way), bought our glasses (which I now have for all future 3D viewing experiences), and re-entered the theater. The movie was hysterical, but at one point the toys are played with by toddlers in a nursery who attack, hit, bit, and otherwise traumatize the toys... all we could think of was our work at Ana al-Misri. I've never felt more empathetic towards an animated piece of plastic.

Another oddity about the mall was that it was filled with these propaganda-ish signs, advertising the "new Egypt" and the "updated exotic" ... aka CityStars. Honestly, I've never felt less like I was in the Middle East than today (except maybe on the 4th of July). My view of Egypt is hot and dusty and crowded and crazy, full of people smoking and cars honking wildly, not this overly pristine smoke-free castle. In addition, the people I've met in Cairo (my students and the kids at Ana al-Misri), were nothing like the people pictured in these ads, who actually looked white. Not to mention that some of the clothes I looked at in a store were priced in Euros. Overall the experience was interesting and fun, but it was a bit of a shock to see things priced by western standards again. As much as I enjoyed tonight, it didn't feel like being in Egypt, and I think I prefer last night's outing - a faluka ride on the Nile with music (ranging from the popular, Amr Diab's hit "Habibi Ya Noor el-Ain," to the classic, "A Whole New World," to the ragingly politically incorrect, "Arab Money"). Much cheaper, much chiller, and much more genuine.

A Smack of Good Humor

The last week has certainly been a struggle - starting from witnessing discrimination against my students to being locked in the nursery with manic 6-year-olds. Just as I was about to sink into my frustrations, Cairo smacked the laughter back into me. Literally. As I was walking along one of the many narrow and crowded one-way streets in Garden City, I started thinking about how much I hated walking in the same direction as traffic, because it's impossible to see what's coming. A truck drove past me and SMACK - I was hit in the back of the head with some kind of dry grass/stalk thing that was sticking out of the sides of the bed. That whole moment was so typically Egyptian, so crazy and unpredictable, but that I somehow should have seen coming, that I couldn't help but burst out laughing. The two other girls I was with, who had also been whacked by the the plant, were just as hysterical as I was, and when the driver stuck his head out of the window to apologize, all we could say was "maalesh."

"Maalesh" is one of the typically Egyptian phrases that defines life here in Cairo. It means something like "whatever," but in the most positive sense of the word. When things go wrong in Cairo (which happens everyday), it's necessary to roll with the punches, adapt, and otherwise move on and not get upset - this is the idea of "maalesh." When bus drivers decide to go the wrong way down a one way street: maalesh. When the people who run your school decide not to show up and unlock the classroom: maalesh. When random plants sticking out of a moving vehicle hit you in the head: maalesh. And when small street boys run up to you and incessantly shout "Ashrub! Ashrub! Ashrub!" (I drink! I drink! I drink!) so that you have no choice but to give them your water: maalesh. (That also happened to me today. As much as I was annoyed to be without it for the rest of the day, it isn't an issue for me to buy another bottle, and every street kid I see now makes me think of the kids at Ana Al-Misri... and my heart melts).

The other critical phrase in Egypt is "in sha Allah," meaning "God willing." When I first came to Cairo, I thought in sha Allah was an easy way to escape commitments you don't want to go through with or invitations you don't want to outwardly decline. In a society as religious as Egypt, who can argue with an answer like, "yes - if God wills it"? The reality though is that for anything to go according to plan in this city, it takes an act of God. For example, the class I taught today was on nutrition, and since we introduced so many complicated ideas, we really needed our translator for the first time this summer. Of course, today was the one day that he was too sick to come to class. I guess while my small scale frustrations in previous weeks blew over quickly, sometimes things pile up, and everything and everyone seems to be conspiring against you. What you have to do to survive in Cairo is say "maalesh," laugh it off, and have a little faith.

Even the Cute Ones Can Be Monsters

Our professor told us at the start of the trip that the third week of our program was always the most exhausting and disheartening. I'm fairly certain he was wrong; this week has been the most difficult by far. Today's struggle centered around Ana Al-Misri. Organizationally, things there have been worse than ever. We still don't have a specific project or schedule worked out with their administration, and our primary contact has been M.I.A. after her driver's license was revoked last week (I think she got into a car accident with a cop?). Anyway, showing up at the building is always a little awkward now, since there often aren't any staff in sight; instead we just wander around til we find kids or someone who speaks English, and then we get started. The past few days, only the youngest kids (ages 2 - 9) have been at the center, so our group to entertain is much smaller. The last time, I had befriended a new kid, and he was very excited to see me when we walked in. For the first hour and a half of the morning, he was grabbing my hand and dragging me around the room to play at the different stations. (On a side note, there was a group of 6-year-old boys having a tea party for a while and playing with baby dolls... so not what I'm used to). Everything was great with my new friend (whose name I don't actually remember - probably Mohammed/Ahmed/Abdullah) until snack time, when he continually lifted one end of the table the kids were eating at so that the drinks almost spilled. I guess this wasn't that bad a thing to do, but a large part of the program at Ana Al-Misri is adjusting from life on the streets (e.g. always wearing shoes, not snatching food from each other, etc)... so tipping over tables where people are eating isn't really acceptable. I told him to stop, that it was not good behavior, etc, all to no avail. Finally I took his hands and held them until he said he was sorry. This totally demoralized him, and he looked sulky and wouldn't talk to me for about half an hour. In the meanwhile, he hadn't eaten his snack, so the others all tried to pounce on him and take it, and I ended up getting pulled to the ground (yes, by 6-year-olds - to be fair there were a lot of them) in the middle of trying to break up all the fights that ensued. Then came my efforts to make up with my friend: at first he wouldn't even listen to me, and once he did we ran into language barrier issues. Eventually I said, "I don't understand because I don't know a lot of Arabic words. I'm sorry. Are we friends again?" Not my most effective disciplinary tactic, but I was getting desperate. A lot of the really cute ones there don't even look ashamed or upset when you scold them. They just laugh adorably... and what else can I do but let them go when I barely speak their language? Once all the animosity and hurt feelings were gone, the whole group went up to the TV room, which always starts off wild (too many crazy kids in too small a space) but eventually results in nap time. The kids were going crazy as usual, tackling each other and jumping on me (all standard), but at one point this resulted in a dog pile on my lap. One kid bit me (again) and another started joking that I was a toilet that he was sitting on. At the same time, I happened to glance over toward the window, through which one of the other students from my program was climbing into the room - the door was jammed. I came pretty close to freaking out; there was no way I was going to stay trapped in this room with these adorable little monsters biting and pretending to poop on me until a locksmith drove out into the middle of the desert to set me free. However, my friend, noticing I was actually angry, said, "Miss, chalos (meaning "enough"), and they all calmed down. They started to fall asleep slowly, a few with their heads in my lap, and half an hour later I left them napping on the rug (the door was mercifully unjammed by one of the staff). As usual for Egypt, the end of the experience was oddly rewarding, but I wish there weren't so many bites along the way. Luckily I won't return to Ana Al-Misri until Saturday, and in sha Allah, (God willing) by then my attitude and their organizational skills will have improved slightly. Ma salama!

Bud Light and A1 Steak Sauce

Fourth of July in Cairo. I never really thought Independence Day this year would be terribly patriotic, after all there isn't really barbecue sauce in Egypt (actually their version of BBQ flavored chips is kabob... gross). However, today fulfilled my craving for Americana and then some. We all went to a house in Maadi called the American Club, and it was like stepping out of Cairo and into the American suburbs. The American Club had a pool and a playground, plus a buffet dinner, carnival games, an ice cream stand, and a DJ. As we got in line for dinner (hot dogs, burgers, ribs... the works), we saw that the table we passed was set with bottles of Bud Light and A1 Steak Sauce. We were really home. Of course with all the things we missed from America (freeze pops, pork, Tom Petty, grassy lawns), there were some stereotypes so American that they were nearly painful. Example: one of the guys sitting at a table near us had a poorly drawn tattoo of his son on his arm, which was very visible beneath his cut-off tee. Not only was his son's name (Tanner) tattooed underneath the picture, but Tanner was pictured sporting a mullet. Seriously, how redneck can you get? And what is this man doing in Cairo??

As much as we enjoyed the American aspects of the day - soaking up the sun and chlorinated water and eating far too much mayonnaise in our potato salad and cole slaw - there were a few typically Egyptian quirks about the place. For one, we had spotted a moon bounce when we came in and were all extremely excited. However, said moon bounce turned out just to be an inflatable exterior; inside was a popcorn machine and cotton candy maker... cool but not as bouncy and wonderful as what we'd hoped for. The lifeguard at the pool was also Egyptian and typically lacking in political correctness. At one point an Asian boy walked by us at the pool, and the lifeguard commented, "Samurai!" All in all, this Fourth of July was fantastically American (considering we were in Cairo), and I even got a cherry coke. If only there had been fireworks (apparently not legal in Cairo) and apple pie.

Whirling Dervishes

Tonight, after a long day of class and work, I went to a demonstration of the dancing of the whirling dervishes. I knew that whirling dervishes were a Sufi (Islamic mystic) dance ritual and that, similar to meditation, it was a way for the soul to become united with God. I also knew that the dance had to do with spinning (hence the name whirling). So I figured that going to this show would be a spiritual, meditative, and relaxing experience... I was wrong.

The dance itself is a way to attain this out of body state, and it's just what you would imagine when you hear the phrase "whirling dervish" - a guy spinning around unstoppably until he becomes so dizzy that he feels separated from his body. I knew all this going in, but I somehow still was not prepared for what I was about to witness. During the first part of the performance, one dancer literally spun around for 40 minutes without stopping. He was wearing many multicolored skirts which flared up and around as he spun, and there were other dancers moving in a circle in the opposite direction from which he was spinning. I was dizzy from just looking at him. Literally I had to put my head down and close my eyes for a few seconds, which was difficult because the whole scene was so entrancing that I couldn't look away. The spinning dancers did a number of tricks, including removing these large oversized skirts they wore as they spun and flying them above their heads. The experience was very interesting, and the dance obviously takes a lot of practice and skill, but the show was not what I'd call 'pleasant.' First of all, I was a tad sick to my stomach from watching all the spinning (I know that sounds kind of lame and weak, but this was unlike any dizzying demonstration I'd ever seen), plus the sound of the horns that accompanied the whirlers was not to my musical taste - it sounded kind of like really screechy bagpipes.

At Last

Over the past month, every single Egyptian I've chatted with in the streets has asked me one question: "Have you seen the pyramids?" My answer: "Well I drive by them on my way to work..." until today. This morning we finally made our obligatory visit, for once not caring that we all looked like tourists (though we by far weren't the most obnoxiously obvious ones there - we actually saw one woman wearing a pink and white pharonic headdress). There isn't really much to do at the pyramids except look at them and take pictures and think, "Omg. These are the pyramids," but we all had a great time doing that all morning. After we took pictures at the base of the two biggest ones and climbed a little ways up (to take more pictures), we headed up a sand dune where there's an amazing panoramic view... and we took more pictures. Then came the camel ride. I've actually ridden a camel before, but the sensation is kind of weird, so I wasn't used to it. Probably the strangest thing is the standing up part - a camel's legs are long and it straightens its back knees first, so you go from sitting straight up to pitching 60 degrees forward and then straightening again. We rode down the dune, all the while taking more pictures of ourselves on camels with the pyramids in the background. Finally, we traveled over to the last pyramid and the sphinx (by bus, not camel) to take even more pictures. Here instead of taking pictures ourselves, we were accosted by small Egyptian children who helped us take pictures. I have to say this was really annoying at first, and I freaked out when one kid took my friend's camera out of my hand to help, but they were amazingly skilled at setting up the kind of cheesy/touristy pictures that are appropriate to take by the sphinx (e.g. kissing the sphinx, petting the sphinx, putting your sunglasses on the sphinx). By 1 o'clock, we were all exhausted (that much smiling really takes it out of you), plus we'd been standing in the sun in the middle of the desert all morning, so we went back to our apartment to relax.

Later in the afternoon, we headed out to shop (not in touristy places, but in normal Egyptian book and clothing stores). Though I didn't by any clothes, going into the store was an adventure in and of itself - people were ridiculously pushy, and the sales lady who was helping us got in an argument with some other people about a fitting room at one point. All in all, I was way to overwhelmed to try anything on. Besides, almost everything in Egyptian is bedazzled with rhinestones or beads - not really my thing. I did make one quality purchase however - Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone in Arabic (aka Harry Botter wa Hajr al-Philosof). I'm pretty excited to start reading, though I'm not sure how much success I'll have.

Coloring in the Lines

I think an overarching theme from my posts so far is that for every frustration in Cairo, there is an absurdity to make me laugh. Yesterday, this was not the case. Yesterday, I found myself furious and disgusted for the first time since I landed in Egypt. Last night, I went to see a movie with my English class as our weekly outing. The film was called "Limby 8 Giga," and as it was all in rapid Egyptian Arabic, I understood little to none of the dialogue - though at one point at the beginning of the film they had a conversation about 20 seconds about lentils (we learned the word for lentil in my Arabic class). Anyway my anger and disgust certainly weren't rooted in the lentil discussion or anything from the film itself, but rather from the attitudes of people around us and their treatment of our group. At the moment we arrived at the theater, we were forced into chairs and told that we had to order some food, and all that we wanted was apparently not a high enough fee. The waitress then hovered around looking menacing as we figured out what to order. This alone wouldn't have made me angry; I think it's just a part of the culture that I'm not used to. What started to get under my skin was the way the waitress literally reached onto the top of my co-teacher's purse to retrieve the 30 guinea we'd put aside to pay, rather than wait for it to be handed to her. As obnoxious as this was, I had yet to pick up on the situation as discrimination; I just thought it was rudeness. Then we were directed to the theater and were told to sit halfway back on the upper balcony, despite the fact that we were the first ones in the theater. Finally, the situation hit me - this was happening because we were with a large group of refugees - and I was furious. I wanted nothing more than to argue and have things set right. My co-teacher and I were discussing the situation when one of our students came over and told us that it was fine, they were happy to sit here. It's not that these kids have an ingrained sense of inferiority; they know that this behavior is unjust, but choose to act with patience in the face of a situation they cannot change rather than cause a fuss. We ended up quietly sitting in those seats, and by the time the movie started we had been joined by a number of Arab Egyptians, which diminished my fury. By the end of the event, I was still angry, but also embarrassed to have almost lost my cool in front of my students. I'm still digesting the whole encounter, but I can certainly say that this was the first real world challenge I've faced since coming to Cairo.

Unfortunately, today wasn't much easier - when I arrived at Ana Al-Misri, one of the staff told me that a bunch of the girls I've become close with tried to jump over the wall and leave the organization two days ago. He then asked me to talk to them about why this behavior was bad. I think I did a decent job (I mainly talked about the importance of home and having responsibility to it even when you don't like it), but honestly I felt completely unqualified to relate to these kids about their situations. When I asked what they thought about it now, they promised they wouldn't try again because they knew it felt wrong, and that they all wanted to see me again. As touching as this was, I have to admit I panicked a little (they do know that I'm leaving right?!), but they also promised that they wouldn't run away even after I'm home in America. I think I succeeded (kind of?) in lightening the mood, but it still put a damper on my morning.

Later in the afternoon at Ana Al-Misri, I was coloring with some of the youngest kids, and I noticed that all of the teachers were instructing the kids specifically to color in the lines, and actually criticizing when the students colored trees red instead of green. Maybe this is an attitude I picked up long after preschool, but I was totally shocked - it seemed like such a restraint on the kids creativity! Don't get me wrong: I love Ana Al-Misri, and the program does great things for the kids involved, but this forced coloring in the lines seemed very different from what I'm used to. (Although to be honest, I was always the kid who colored in the lines.) I also got to spend some more time with Imam, the little boy who loves me and cried when I left last Saturday. Seriously he might be the most adorable creature on the face of the planet. I wouldn't be surprised if he made it back to America in my suitcase.

Never to Full for Ful

Today my Arabic class took a trip to Cairo's beautiful Al-Azhar Park. This place is honestly incredible - it's the greenest spot in the city, and it sits high enough that you have a view of all of Islamic Cairo. Apparently the area used to be a complete dump (as in literally filled with trash), but it has been utterly transformed. The juxtaposition between the garden and the rest of the city is also interesting - from the lush and manicured lawns of Al-Azhar, you can see only dusty yellowish-tan into the distance. The area immediately around the park is a mix of crumbling apartment buildings and historic sites, with minarets popping up every so often. In the distance, you can make out the skyscrapers and hotels downtown through the pollution and dust. I realize that "dusty yellowish-tan" and "crumbling apartment buildings" don't seem all that pretty, but somehow the combination of these with the palm trees and the shine of the Nile at night and the 1920s style buildings create Cairo's appeal and charm. Our time at the park itself was fun, and we got to meet other American students at Arab Academy. Most were very friendly, but as they were from other ACC schools, they weren't necessarily thrilled to meet a group of Duke students... I guess sports rivalries extend across continents also. Our teachers had brought us ful and tamaya sandwiches, which they of course offered us nonstop for the entire morning (typical Egyptian hospitality - "I'm full" is not an acceptable answer).

Tonight in my English class, we had a speaker who taught about the UNHCR and refugee determination procedures. It was heart-wrenching to hear about some of the negative experiences my students had had in Cairo, and most of the time I felt almost like an intruder on their struggle. I won't get into too many details here, but I wrote another post on the main DukeEngage blog (link to the right) that talks more about my impressions.

Another completely unrelated thing: I was thinking today about Arabic slang, and I realized that they have an absurd number of idioms that involve types of fruit. (I swear this was kind of relevant... I taught the phrase "apple of my eye" to my English class, which started the thought process). For example, Egyptians refer to a pretty girl as a "mouza," meaning "banana." I can't really go anywhere with my group from Duke without hearing "mouzas mouzas" muttered at least once. They also use the phrase "fi mishmish," meaning "in the apricot," to say "in your dreams" ... I'm not really sure what that's about. I also remember learning from a former TA at Duke that in Syria they use the word for watermelon ("bawtikh") to mean "stuff" ... again, not sure why. As crazy as these sound, I know English has odd expressions, some of which I've tried to explain to my students to varying degrees of success.

Throwbacks

This morning seemed doomed for failure. I woke up only twenty minutes before our bus was supposed to arrive to take us to Ana Al-Misri, the bus was then late (even though I managed to be downstairs on time), the bus driver didn’t know the directions (and not speaking much ‘Amia, we couldn’t help him), and when we arrived (finally) we found out that the organization was extremely understaffed – all fantastic. However, as is typical of Egypt, for all the frustrations, there is a equal or greater amount of humor to be found. For example, the van that finally came to pick us up had electric blue shag seat covers with teddy bears embroidered on them. And for some odd reason, the bus driver picked up a number of people whom we had stopped to ask directions, drove them each about 50 feet before dropping them to pick up someone else.

Then there was Ana Al-Misri itself. Though it’s lack of organization still drives me crazy, the kids' excitement completely balances it out. Recently we've started teaching them the clapping game "Miss Mary Mac," which was very popular when I was in about third grade - talk about a throwback. Everyone loves this game, but none more than the eight-year-old boys. One in particular, named Mustafa, gets such an excited expression on his face when we play that he almost looks frenzied. This image is multiplied immensely by the fact that he is missing his upper front teeth, and his tongue pokes out a little through his grin. When combined with his mild bouncing as he starts to get into the game and the fact that his eyes start to bug out of his head, he looks a tad bit insane, but also adorable. I spent the second half of my morning at Ana Al-Misri french-braiding the hair of the girls who live there. As fun as it was, I have the feeling that I will not be doing anything else for a while - like with Miss Mary Mac, the kids tend to get hooked on one particular game or thing that we entertain them with.

Another throwback of today came with the second song we played to our English class: Miley Cyrus's "See You Again." Although it's a tad annoying that I still have it stuck in my head, it was wonderful to see all of our students pouring over the lyrics and humming the tune as they leave the classroom.

A Taste of Home

Though I've been loving my time in Cairo and am excited to spend the next month here, today I found myself talking about home quite a bit. It started off this morning in class, where we were reviewing our new vocabulary. One word was "architecture," and my teacher mentioned that she liked the architecture in America. Immediately all the students began talking about how beautiful the architecture is at our university, and we pulled up pictures online to show the teacher. She was floored at how gorgeous it was and kept saying that she couldn't believe she really went to school there. We told her that she should come visit us, and we would give her a tour (she replied "in sha allah," meaning "God willing" - it accompanies almost any statement set in the future here). For the first time, I really missed my life in America and felt anxious to return. The mentions of America continued later in the class, when one girl asked an obvious question, then said "Fi Amreeka naqool 'DUH'" ("In America we say 'DUH'"), and we all erupted into laughter. This type of thing happens often in class, when one of us struggles to express something funny in Arabic and can't find the words, but the others all understand the joke and begin laughing while our teacher looks on confusedly. We realized after class today that our one teacher has the same expression and phrase (Hasalan, meaning OK) for when he agrees with us and when he has no clue what we are saying. These moments are decreasing in frequency as our Arabic improves and the cultural divide between students and teacher lessens, but today's class included an especially bad bout of giggles for all of us.

The timing of this homesickness was perfect as I actually returned to the US today... sort of. For our weekly lecture, we visited the American embassy and attended what was essentially a recruiting session for the foreign service. I think for some people this was a little boring, since they aren't interested in the State Department at all, but for me it was good to hear the insights of these Americans working at an embassy in the Middle East. I even found out that one of the women grew up in the same area as I did and attended a high school where many of my friends went. The talk was helpful and exciting for me, even if it didn't have that much to do with our program itself. I thought that the only disappointing thing about the embassy visit was that we saw them setting up for their 4th of July celebration, but did not succeed in attaining an invite.

The Accident

It was only a matter of time before I witnessed a car accident on the streets of Cairo. After all, I think I mention the horrors of Egyptian driving in every other post. However, I never expected to be part of said accident. As I was riding with the rest of the group on a microbus to work at Ana Al-Misri, which is out in the suburbs and an hour long drive, the streets were packed as usual. There were about six lanes of traffic going on a road marked for four (standard), and as we inched along past the pyramids into the desert, I started thinking how claustrophobic driving in Cairo can make you since the other cars are so close. All of the sudden, we felt a lurch, and all seven of us looked at each other; we had obviously been hit from behind and were all unsure of the protocol for crashes in Cairo. Would the cops be called? Would insurance information be exchanged? Does auto insurance even exist in Egypt? We got our answer about half a second later, as yelling erupted from behind the van; apparently this would be solved the Egyptian way – via heated argument. I think a small car tried to squeeze in behind us and in front of a large truck, and the car ended up scrunched between the two larger vehicles. As the truck driver and car owner screamed at each other on the middle of the highway, our bus driver calmly got out, assessed the damage to his van (basically none), then got back in the bus and drove us away, leaving the other two to sort it out.

When we got to Ana Al-Misri, our main contact was late due to a traffic accident (probably the one we were involved in). As usual, our two hours there were semi-organized chaos. What distinguished today was the outpouring of love I received from all of the kids I’ve gotten to know. One of the staff told me that a fifteen-year-old girl named Khulud hadn’t left her room all day until I arrived (at least I think that’s what he said… he doesn’t speak any English), and as I was leaving, one three- or four-year-old boy named Imam, who I just met today, sobbed uncontrollably as I was leaving (my attempts at telling him that I would be back on Monday were fruitless). I spent most of my time there today playing “Miss Mary Mac,” which makes every child from 15-year-old Khulud to the youngest boys amazingly happy. Although before I left, Khulud did mention that the song she really wants to learn is “What Money,” which is not a song I know – unless she means “Got Money?” Seriously what is it with these Egyptians and Lil Wayne?

Pimpinos and the Bussy Cat Cafe

Hey everyone, sorry for the shortage of posts recently. I would have written last night, but last night we were taking a little vacation in Alexandria, or in Arabic, Al-Iskandria. Our professor said as we were departing Cairo that the trip was just intended for us to relax and escape the city, which was exactly what all of us needed. Upon arriving in Alexandria, however, we found out that the seaside city is actually very similar to Cairo. Both are busy and crowded, with the same faded early 1900s architecture, and in both, foreigners attract a lot of attention. As we were walking out to get a good view of the Mediterranean (such views aren't hard to come by, the entire coastal edge of the city is gorgeous, but we were heading towards a particularly choice area with much crashing and splashing of the waves), a man came up to me and asked me 5 times if I would pose for a picture with his children - really awkward. The major difference between the two cities is weather - the sea air makes Alexandria much cooler and cleaner than Cairo. It was actually a bit chilly in the wind last night as we walked along the coast. Another difference: in Alexandria, there was a road that we were advised not to attempt to cross under any circumstances. I've written about this before, but as a reminder: there aren't really crosswalks in Egypt; people just cross the street wherever they can/want, a la Frogger. However, as we drove on the main highway that borders the sea, called the Corniche, our project adviser told us that people get in accidents and die every day on the Corniche, so we should just use the tunnels that run underneath the road. All driving/street-crossing/traffic interactions in Cairo kind of scare me, so when I heard that this road was forbidden to cross, I was slightly terrified. Of course, when we actually tried to find a tunnel, we were told that there were none for long ways down the road. Luckily (like in Cairo), we found a police man to stop traffic for us so we could make it across.

One thing that holds true for all of Egypt is their confusion over the English letters "b" and "p." In Arabic, there is no "p" sound ("Egypt" isn't actually the name of the country in Arabic, it's "Misr"), so the letter "b" is substituted into any English words written in Arabic characters. However, this can lead to some confusion when the word is re-translated into English. For example, last Wednesday I watched a soccer game with my class at the "Bussy Cat Cafe" in Cairo, and today as we were walking around Alexandria, we spotted a children's clothing store called "Pimpino" (no, I'm not making this up), instead of "bambino," meaning baby in Italian. As if the name weren't ridiculous enough, most children's stores in Egypt use oversized versions of those creepy blinky-eye dolls as mannequins, so the combined effect made me laugh so hard I couldn't walk for about five minutes.

Despite this entertaining find, the highlights of Alexandria for me were the sea views and the library. Although the collection at the Great Library of Alexandria is still in the building phase (I think they have around 1 million volumes now), there was something incredible about standing in the library of Alexandria. The building itself is very modern and gorgeous, with incredible technology that keeps the huge reading room quiet. The main building is meant to represent the sun, while the spherical planetarium represents the earth. We took a tour of the exhibits, but to me the best part by far was just walking up and down the aisles of books, and occasionally reading a few pages. Alexandria was truly a wonderful vacation and getaway from the grind of our lives in Cairo, but I feel energized and ready to get back to it (at least I will after some more sleep). Masa al-khair!

Mayhem at the Metro Mini Mall

Another thing I've been meaning to write about: the Cairo metro system. On the surface, the metro here seems surprisingly clean and simple; it is so lacking in craziness and confusion that it's almost un-Egyptian. Tickets are 1 guinea to go anywhere in the city, the line system is straightforward, and the whole facility is very clean. I generally ride in one of the two women-only cars on every train, which are quiet and less crowded than the other cars, so I frequently get a seat. However, there is an underlying insanity to the Cairo metro which makes it distinct from the ones that I am used to. The main drawback of the metro is its reach - there are plenty of places within in Cairo you can't reach by metro, and the system can't be expanded because of the density of historical remains in the city. Apparently, every time they try to drill to clear out more tunnels, they unearth some historical artifact, and construction must stop while the archaeologists take over. Our group actually was having an argument recently about whether you could ride the metro to a particular area of Cairo, only to discover that the place marked on the map as a metro stop did not exist - that line had been under construction for the past fifteen years. Then there's the cars themselves (some of which have logos reading "A Gift from the People of Japan" ... I have no idea what that is about). As nice and spacious as the women's car is, I find that there's always a strange kind of tension, like every single person there is inspecting me. Because I'm surrounded by women all wearing similar clothing and almost all with their hair covered, I feel as though I stand out most when I'm on a metro car. Additionally, the fact that we're standing in a small metal box and not passing each other allows a much greater opportunity to stare for an extended period of time, rather than just glancing at the oddly dressed foreigner as we walk by each other. It's not like anyone has ever been anything but polite openly to me and the rest of our group, but their over-interest in my appearance is palpable in the humid air of the train, which makes me feel at least a tad awkward. The craziest part by far of the metro experience is the people who sell things outside the stations. Their goods range from fresh vegetables to sunglasses to clothing to toys to books to roasted corn. One particular man sells these little robotic yelping cats/dogs (I'm not actually sure which; they look more like dogs, but they sound like cats) which walk around his little area of the plaza creepily. At some stops they spread their wares on blankets on the ground, while at others (such as the one by the place I teach) they have large wooden panels which hold everything. One time as I was walking by, every single salesman stood up, balanced his panel (complete with items for sale) on his head, and suddenly started hurrying in another direction. I have no idea why - they aren't doing anything illegal as far as I know - but I wound up trapped between some of them and ducking to avoid the wooden corners flying through the air. I somehow managed to escape, but not before I received a big bump on the head.

A Sandwich Wrapped in Homework

This morning at Ana Al-Misri we finally had a frank(ish) talk about our role at the organization, disciplinary procedures, etc. There was something of a language barrier, and not even between English and Arabic, but Portuguese (remember that a lot of the staff are Brazilian), which definitely hindered us at some points in the discussion. For example, one girl from our group asked, "I know that we should never find ourselves without a social worker around to sort out any problems, but what if that happens? What should we do?" and her response was, "You will never be left alone with the children." Clearly on some points the discussion wasn't very helpful, but it was good to hear some more about their expectations for us (we're here to provide programming plans, not disciplinary support). More importantly, it was nice to hear them admit that we are their first group in their volunteer program, and thus their guinea pigs in a way. If anything, it makes me feel more confident that not all of the mistakes and mishaps that occur are our fault, but more of a communication problem on both sides. I am also hopeful that this untested volunteer structure will give us some room to shape it for ourselves, and help to make the process of volunteering at Ana Al-Misri smoother and clearer.

After work, I went to get a sandwich, but at a different shop than the usual one I discussed yesterday. (On a side note, I stopped by the usual restaurant after teaching tonight, and the man working there asked both me and my friend if we would be interested in marrying him and moving to America together.... awkward.) I got a different kind of sandwich with both ful AND tamaya called "Sandwich Meshakal," which I think means "problem sandwich." The sandwich itself was delicious and not at all problematic, except for one oddity - I'm almost positive it was wrapped in someone's homework paper. At least, it was a piece of white paper with Arabic typed on it, and there were red marks and words circled on it, so I'm assuming it was at one point someone's homework. How it ended up in a sandwich shop covered in grease though, I couldn't tell you.

In the evening, I had my second true English class, where we taught numbers and telling time. I'm actually very proud of how our lesson plan worked out. We started with numbers, which some needed a bit of review on, then progressed onto telling time from an analog clock. Again I think most people knew this, but they needed practice saying the times out loud. By the end of the class, we had introduced phrases like "half past" and "quarter til" which I don't think anyone knew, so we touched on all skill levels - success! However good that success felt, the best part of the class didn't have anything to do with time or numbers. My teaching partner and I decided that we would try to work in some song lyrics and American slang, following the students' requests for Lil Wayne and Miley Cyrus. We kicked off this tradition by learning the chorus to "Down" by Jay Sean and teaching the slang use of "down" to mean "I agree" (as Jay Sean asks, "Baby, are you down, down, down, etc...?") Not only did the kids catch on to the slang meaning "I am down" and the difference between "lonely" and "only," they even sang along to the chorus when we listened to the music. We didn't get to bring full lyrics sheets to all the students - the copy machine was broken, so they each got a slip of paper with the chorus handwritten - but one particularly precocious student followed along with the whole song (including Lil Wayne's rap) on our one print out. It was truly heartwarming and exciting to see him so eager to learn, and to me, his enthusiasm was the true success of the evening. So my lovely readers, I actually have a request for you tonight: please help me brainstorm other popular songs with some type of tame slang in the chorus that doesn't have any swear words or bad grammar in it. My other idea at this point is "See You Again" by Miley Cyrus, and we can teach the phrase "freak out" (as in "the last time I freaked out"), but after that I'm clueless. Any ideas you have would be greatly appreciated... thanks so much, and have a good night!

Be Aggressive. Be-e Aggressive.

After Arabic class this morning, I walked to this phenomenal sandwich shop a few blocks away from our apartment with another girl from my program. This place is legit - they serve tamaya (falafel), ful (beans), and potato sandwiches (it's literally a pita stuffed with fries and salad... simple but amazing), and the prices are ridiculous. 1 Egyptian pound for tamaya or ful and 1.5 for potato. For those unfamiliar with the current exchange rate between Egypt and the US, that is less than 20 (or 30) cents per sandwich. Unbelievable. There is a bit of a catch though - you have to be fairly aggressive to actually place your order. After you pay, you get a little slip of paper that says how much money you paid, then you have to fight your way up to a counter which is only a few inches shorter than me, attract the attention of the guy behind it, and yell your order over the noise of the huge pot where falafel is frying 6 inches to the right. To be honest, it isn't all that difficult for me to get the guy's attention - I stand out as generally the only white girl in the cramped shop, but the whole pushing and shoving and line-cutting is a bit different than the orderly and chill lines that I'm used to at Subway.

Yet another thing I'm not used to - sandstorms. This evening I headed out to a coffee shop called Cilantro to use their WiFi and do some work (I technically don't have internet in the apartment yet; we sketchily borrow from some of our neighbors), and on the way the wind picked up, blowing dust everywhere. I was wearing my gigantic sunglasses (even though the sun was setting) and had my hands cupped around them, and I still ended up with dust in my eyes and everywhere else. When I got out of the shower I found a bit in my ears that I had missed... gross. This wasn't my first sandstorm in Cairo; we actually flew into the city during one. It was really strange, I was looking out the window, trying to find the pyramids, and everything was really cloudy, so I figured we were descending through some huge clouds (colored funny because of pollution)... and then we landed. The whole city was in a kind of haze, and it made me feel dirty just to stand outside and wait for the bus. According to a few people we know in Cairo, that day was the worst dust storm they could remember, and it hasn't been nearly as disgusting since then (seriously today wasn't even close, though it was still bad). Hopefully tomorrow will be sandstorm free, since I'll be spending the morning truly out in the desert (i.e. not on the fertile banks of the Nile) at Ana Al-Misri. Masa al-khair!

Stick Fencing and Some Sketchy Stairwells

In my Arabic class, our lessons cover a wide variety of political and cultural topics: poverty and extravagance, traditional art forms, and - today - stick fencing. Stick fencing (called al-tahteeb in Arabic) is kind of like fighting with sticks (shocker) but more like a dance than an actual battle... think Latin American capoeira, or breakdance-fighting a la Zoolander. In addition to talking about it and watching clips on YouTube (one of which was prefaced by many rounds of gun shots fired into the air; I think the instructor was trying to show us the aggression involved, but it was just really weird and kind of awkward), we actually did a little stick fighting in our tiny classroom. I was not terribly successful, in case you were wondering, but the mini tournament we had was entertaining, ending with one student fighting our teacher. Earlier in class, we had taken a break to make papaya juice, just because the same instructor happened to have a papaya tree in his back yard and decided to bring one in for us. All in all, I had a very entertaining and energizing morning before heading to Ana Al-Misri. For once, the kids were kind of relaxed there. Instead of chasing down little children and breaking up fights (although I did have to confiscate a few big pieces of wood and some rocks when I got there... one boy kept looking as though he was going to throw something), I spent the afternoon painting the nails of a few girls in their room upstairs. After I had to painstakingly redo the hearts that I'd added to one's nails over and over again, it made me realize that what these kids want more than anything else is attention - luckily something that isn't too difficult to give, as long as you don't just direct it at the troublemakers. After this visit, I am starting to feel a little better about my role at Ana Al-Misri. I've realized that even if things don't go as planned, or if no planned things happened at all, my presence and attention to these kids isn't useless. One girl actually asked me today (through a translator), "Who are you? What are you doing here?" It's weird for me to think that these kids don't understand that I'm volunteering my time to help them or view me as some kind of service provider at all, rather just some random girl who shows up and plays for a few hours a couple times a week. Then again, as I'm not entirely sure what my official role at the organization is, maybe her confusion is understandable.

Total side note: but I've been meaning for a while to talk about the extremely sketchy stairwells in my apartment building. There are two, one that is actually used to get from one floor to another (which we call the just plain "sketchy stairs") and one where we put our trash which is eventually collected (which is the "absolutely and utterly terrifying stairwell"). The absolutely and utterly terrifying stairwell I go into as little as possible, only when it is necessary to empty our trash into the cans on the stair landing on our floor, and it also happens to be inhabited by cats (much like the rest of Cairo) which rummage around loose garbage for food. The sketchy stairwell we actually use to go downstairs, though you can't go up because the door to our floor is locked from the stairwell side. Often, this stairwell is completely dark, even though there are windows (most of which are eerily broken)... I'm not really sure what they're supposed to look out at; I avoid glancing out of them at all costs. Luckily my basic phone that I picked up here has a flashlight built-in, so I can normally make out a few feet ahead of me and not trip. Then there are the walls, which have chalk marks and scratchings in them, almost like someone tried to claw their way out at certain points. The weirdest part of all is that as you walk down them, you can see onto every floor - none of which are alike. There are a few floors of businesses (including a construction firm and a bank), one floor with a bunch of prayer mats lined up, one floor that is completely under construction so it looks like nothing, one floor that looks like you're walking through a sitting area, etc etc. So... that's my apartment building! There is also an elevator, but it's tiny and has a habit of getting stuck on occasion, so it's not necessarily the safer option. Sketchy as all this sounds, my apartment building is really wonderful, and we have the sweetest bawab (doorman), who always chats with us about soccer and let's us watch with him as we wait for the elevator. That's all I've got for now... ma salama!

Close Enough to Touch

Friday mornings in Cairo are truly blissful - as it is the holy day for Muslims, few people are on the roads and traffic (and thus honking) is at a minimum, and I have no class or work, so I can wake up leisurely late in the morning to the sound of the call to prayer. Though I eventually had to get down to laundry and homework (like any weekend day in college), in the afternoon I set off with the group to explore Coptic Cairo. As I said earlier, Copts are Christian Egyptians, and the majority of churches and Christian cemeteries are located in a particular part of town. We spent the afternoon walking around the shops and churches, particularly that of St. George, where people leave prayers and charity money in his crypt. The most interesting part of the trip to me, however, was the Coptic museum. While the ruins and artifacts were beautiful, the part of the museum that caught my attention was the structure of the museum itself. The building was overwhelmed with artifacts - pieces of paintings, pieces of tapestries, the capitals of columns, old books, pipes, lanterns, everything. A large portion of this historical stuff wasn't even encased behind glass or behind a velvet rope... it was just chilling in the middle of a big room. This utterly blew my mind - what was stopping me from touching this really ancient piece of stonework: absolutely nothing. I'm sure if someone saw me do it, I would have gotten in trouble, but that would have been after the fact. It would have been really easy to reach out and poke a Corinthian style column from the early monastic period. (And no, I didn't touch anything... let's be serious: I'm kind of a goody two-shoes when it comes to museum etiquette). Aside from the ease of touching things in the museum, there was little to no description of anything in the rooms. Not only were the plaques on individual pieces small and not very helpful, there were little to no signs of an overlapping theme for the room or an explanation of Coptic history. Of the few signs I saw, about half of them had exactly the same blurb (in English, Arabic, and French) about Coptic textile-production (mildly fascinating the first time, barely attention-grabbing the second, and it kept going down hill). As we left, thoroughly overwhelmed by the shear volume of stuff in the museum, we were chased down by a security guard who insisted on giving us a tour of one last room and then reminded us about 10 times that we had to tip security on our way out. To put the icing on the cake, later in the day I met some friends of our program director, one of whom knows an Egyptologist and informed me that all of the plaques in the Coptic museum are blatantly historically incorrect. Typical Cairo - so much to offer that in the end you wind up a bit confused.

Frustrations

Tonight we had our weekly reflection dinner, where we get together as a group to discuss how our week was, our progress in all our projects, what we still have to accomplish, etc. However, tonight's discussion was more like an airing of our grievances with the program itself. The main problem we are all facing is that no one except for the 13 students and our 2 advisers truly understands the scope of all that we are doing. Our program has three separate segments: taking intensive Arabic language classes, teaching English to refugees, and then our additional NGO work (street kids at Ana Al-Misri for me). Our contacts at each of these sites behave as though theirs is the only responsibility we have while in Egypt, and any one segment could make for a fulfilling study/work abroad experience on its own. Yet as we stand now, none of us have time to do 3 hours of Arabic homework and go to a church to interview Coptics (Christian Egyptians) and extensively plan lessons, including going downtown to check out library resources and make photocopies, and devise games and art projects on the side. The result is the feeling that all of our responsibilities suffer, and that we can never do our best at one thing because we are being pulled in so many directions. And this leads to another question - if we can't provide the best English classes (or whatever) possible, then why are we here? Why am I bothering to do (or try to do) so much, when inevitably I can't succeed in all three? Part of the answer, at least as I see it now, is my own exposure to the system present in the Middle East and the creation of new bonds and bridges between communities. However all that seems to be in the distant future, and the practical stresses of this life have left all of us a little frustrated.

Lil Wayne Is Not Allowed to Teach English

So today was my first day of class... hooray! I know, it was supposed to be yesterday, however a massive power outage made my classroom unusable, so I had to postpone. Actually the process of spreading the word about the cancellation taught me an interesting lesson about Egypt: the infrastructure and information spreading mechanism is essentially non-existent. The whole question of whether we had class and whether our students knew was up in the air for an extended period of time. At one point I was on the phone with our community facilitator, who hadn't heard about the power outage, while my friend was on the phone with the program director, who said that the community facilitator was calling all the students. I think that this lack of structure and over organization that exists in my life at home is actually very descriptive of Egypt as a whole - the way that there is never one definite process of how to solve a problem (for example, why don't we have our own WiFi, even though we've called the company everyday), and the way that people always run late, and the fact that there aren't really crosswalks... the people and the cars just kind of flow together. Which sounds horrifyingly dangerous to my American view point, and it might be, but somehow it all just fits in Egypt - I think that living here in the Cairo heat without that kind of lax attitude would be miserable. But back to my teaching experience...

I was more than a tad nervous to start teaching these kids; although they all seem very sweet, making lesson plans is far more overwhelming than I had imagined. The class started out a little depressing - 15 minutes into the period only 4 students had shown up. However within the next 15, we had a full classroom. We got the kids started on some basic introductions ("Hi, my name is" and "Nice to meet you.") Even though I think most kids already knew these phrases, what they really need is practice and a chance to build confidence in their English speaking ability. We drilled these phrases again and again, and by the end I think most of the kids were a little bored with the subject matter, even if the activities were enjoyable. However there is one student who speaks almost no English, and he is one of the few students not from Eritrea in our group. That makes the class dynamic a little awkward - the students generally understand what we say, and then our community facilitator can translate the more complicated instructions into Tigrinya (their native language), but then he must explain the instructions again in Arabic to the one Sudanese student. However I think it'll all work out, and having one day of teaching under my belt makes me more comfortable planning lessons for the future. At the end of the class, we asked the students for their suggestions - anything they wanted to talk about in particular, places we could go on class trips, songs or TV shows that want to watch or understand better. The responses we got in regard to song requests were the following (in the order they were told to us): Eminem, Eminem, Eminem, Lil Wayne, Miley Cyrus, Hannah Montana (who is the same person as Miley Cyrus, but whatever), and Bryan Adams. Personally, I'm all for teaching pop culture to these kids, but under no circumstances will Lil Wayne teach anyone English - the hard-ass grammarian in me will not allow it. Maybe, just maybe, I will find a heavily edited version that lacks egregious grammatical mistakes, and we can sing a few lines, but I think that might be pushing it. "Summer of '69" it is... gotta run for now, I have to be up early and head to Ana Al-Misri. Masa al-khair!

Blood, Sweat, and Tears

Day Two of work at Ana Al-Misri. Though today was slightly more structured, it was still a bit of mayhem. I started the morning working in the computer lab, which honestly made me feel useless. There were only about 5 kids in there and far too many staff with me and another girl from my program, and most of the kids knew how to get to the games they wanted to play anyway. Then a bit of time in the art room, also not doing much with the kids but brainstorming possible projects we could do with them. Then came the true insanity - helping out in the nursery. They are almost finished constructing the room that will be their kindergarten, so until then the littlest children are stuck in one small room with almost nothing to do. I didn't really blame them for their rambunctious behavior, but most of it included them trying to escape the room, and unfortunately they usually succeeded. There was a door and a window accessible to them, neither of which locked, and they skillfully planned their jailbreaks to confuse the short-staffed room. There simply weren't enough people to guard the door and the window and go after the escapees all at once. I should mention that during all of this the kids would spontaneously beat up on each other at random, requiring some adult intervention to make them stop. Eventually we gave up keeping them in the room and took them out to the courtyard area, where each of us would be in charge of keeping our eyes on a few of the children. As soon as we got out there, I noticed that one boy had run out to a soccer field and through a door that turned out to lead out of the building entirely. I chased him down and carried him back, but of course he didn't give up that easily. He came back to try another escape multiple times, finally biting me in the leg (and, I noticed later, drawing blood through my pants) in his frustration. I was helped by another staff member, one of the many Brazilians working there, who took the child away for a stern talking to. Let me explain the Brazilian involvement - Ana AL-Misri's program is the first of its kind in Egypt, and therefore the organizers of the NGO were uncertain how to run a successful center for street children. However, they were able to contact an organization in Brazil with a similar mission, so these Brazilians all worked at this sister center and are here to develop the Egyptian model further. However, they are as of now unsure of exactly how to structure everything to fit into Egyptian culture, most noticeably when it comes to discipline. Once I understood that the organization lacked a specific disciplinary procedure, everything made much more sense, and I didn't feel so bad about not having real (or any) control over the kids. Hopefully I'll adjust as the organization itself grows and becomes more developed, and hopefully (or as they say in Egypt, "in sha Allah," by the grace of God) in the future not all of the blood, sweat, and tears from any given day will be mine (although there were no tears from me today, just from some of the kids; and sadly sweat is kind of unavoidable in the Egyptian heat).

Later in the afternoon, we had our registration session for our English class, which starts tomorrow. We had ten students come in today, who we successfully interviewed. It turns out that the Iraqi students won't be coming to our center after all, but I'm sure it will still be a very interesting and thought provoking experience. After registration, one of the other girls in our group, my teaching partner, and I met two other teachers at St. Andrews. These two women teach French, and were ecstatic to hear that we were from America, and immediately asked if we could meet and practice our English. Our community facilitator Jamal, who is always quick to recommend my Arabic abilities, said that we would meet with them only if we can practice our Arabic as well. I'm looking forward to setting up that meeting and getting to know some other people in Cairo.

On our way home, I stopped to get a sandwich, and the cook preparing my food asked me where I was from. When I said the US, he got very excited and started praising Obama, then looked at me very seriously and asked, "Bush or Obama?" When I told him I voted for Obama, he immediately perked up again and continued to talk about Obama and his quest for peace. Other students in my program have had similar experiences. One girl told some Egyptians she was working with that she was from Texas, and they immediately got suspicious and said, "You're from Bush country?!" They conferred quietly among themselves while she sat dumbfounded, until they turned back to her and one said, "Don't worry. You're with friends." I knew that Egyptians (as well as many Africans) love our president, but I didn't realize that these concerns about Bush would continue so far past the 2008 election!

Always Smile At a Man With a Gun

Today was slightly more relaxing than the past few have been, but I still had an Arabic lesson in the morning and attended a lecture at night. During the discussion part of our class, we got onto the topics of political correctness and swine flu. It was nearly impossible to describe political correctness in Arabic - it is so foreign to all other cultures and my Arabic vocabulary did not include words like "offend," so I'm not sure our teacher understood. Even Google Translate couldn't save us on this one, although our teacher tried looking up the term. Then we somehow got on the topic of swine flu. For those of you who don't know, following the swine flu epidemic of last winter, the Egyptian government chose to slaughter all of the pigs in Cairo in order to prevent spread of the disease. However, it is not possible to contract swine flu from pigs; the human disease is merely a mutation of a disease that used to affect pigs. Our teacher, who is neither uneducated nor unintelligent, did not actually believe us when we told her that you couldn't get swine flu from eating pork. Then we started (or attempted) a long biological explanation, which was less than successful.

Later in the afternoon, we drove an hour out of the city to the American University of Cairo for a lecture by Prof. Abdullah Schleifer, formerly a conflict reporter for various print and television media. He was self-admittedly a little crazy, but his lecture about the challenges of reporting on catastrophes was very interesting. He gave many anecdotes about shady meetings in Beirut, barely escaping death, and his many other life experiences. Even more intriguing were his allusions to an earlier stage of his life, when he may have been (if I read between the lines correctly) in the Cuban military fighting for the Communists. He told us that he only had one rule which had kept him alive all these years: "always smile at a man with a gun." Prof. Shleifer was by far one of the craziest individuals I've ever met, and his lecture certainly inspired me to pursue more adventures in my life.

Two Sides of a City

Over the last 24 hours, I've witnessed the two extreme living situations that exist in Cairo - the very wealthy and the very poor. The dichotomy is striking and actually a little scary. Don't get me wrong - I love Cairo for all its frustrations. Although sometimes the heat, the dust, the crowdedness, and the nonstop honking of the cars can get to me, I love this city: the friendliness of its people, its weirdly twisting and broken sidewalks, the breeze as you walk the bridge across the Nile, and the way the call to prayer echoes tinnily through the streets everyday. Regardless, I can't help but acknowledge the huge disparity in the circumstances of Cairo's people.

Last night, I went with the rest of the group to the Four Seasons Hotel located right on the Nile to watch the Uruguay-France soccer game. This place was incredible - we watched the game outside on a deck overlooking their pool (I think we were about 6 stories up) on two of at least 10 TVs lined up in the same area. We watched the game and ate their delicious food and drank fancy drinks on plush sofas. The whole experience was amazing in its luxury (although the game could have been better... it ended up a 0-0 draw).

Today was packed - 4 hours of class in the morning (actually discussing poverty and extravagance in Cairo, fittingly enough for the purposes of this post), then we left almost immediately for Ana Al-Misri (an NGO that I volunteer at). This was our first day of work there, where we will be playing with and interacting with children who used to live on the streets of Cairo. The place was about to explode with enthusiasm for our presence. As soon as I walked into the introduction/reception room where the kids were waiting, one bold girl named Khalud came up, took my hand, and led me to a seat next to her. As we walked to the arts and crafts room 20 minutes later, not only did Khalud have me by the hand, but so did another girl and a third was clutching my waist and steering me through the halls from behind. Though we were only at Ana Al-Misri for a few hours, we certainly felt as much love as we could take from these kids and left both exhausted and exhilarated. Afterward however, we started to realize the sadness of the situations that many of these children had come from as we shared stories from the day. We all received notes from the staff about children we shouldn't touch or carry because they had had negative experiences in the past with abuse, and we saw some children (new to the center) who grabbed 10 pieces of cake to hoard, because they were so used to the concept of meals being few and far between. The experience was certainly fun and exciting, but also very thought provoking, especially when compared to the lavish way I'd spent my evening yesterday. At this point, I certainly haven't come to any conclusions or insights about the intense class stratification in Cairo, and such probably won't come until later in the trip (or at least until I have caught up on sleep some).

The night ended with a few of us watching the US-England soccer game in a koosheri restaurant near our apartment, which was fun if a little awkward - the workers in the restaurant thought our cheering was hysterical and actually recorded us watching the game at one point. Most Egyptians root against America, but there is one country that all Egyptians are united against in terms of soccer - Algeria, so it will be very interesting to see who they support when the US plays Algeria in a few weeks!

All That Beef - Wrapped in Culture

Sorry about yesterday's lack of post! I had a bit of a late night, and I was just not up to the task. But as today will be spent lounging around the apartment doing laundry and homework (just like a Sunday back at school), I have plenty of time to fill you all in.

Yesterday morning we returned to St. Andrew's to observe some classes and work more on our lesson plans. The class I went to was absolutely adorable - they were studying parts of speech and doing an activity to sort words into their different categories. They argued animatedly over where each word went, and each possessed an enthusiasm for learning not found in the typical classroom. At one point, one student turned to me and said, "Excuse me what does SOOR (sour) mean?" I attempted to explain by talking about lemons and making a face. By the end of the class, all three of us observing were caught between a glowing kind of happiness and the urge to cry - these precious, excited kids don't have an easy road to travel, and many waste away their lives in Cairo dreaming of a resettlement that will never come. Realizing the state of these kids' lives hammered in the gravity of our task over the next 7 weeks and didn't really help with my anxiety over starting classes. However, a pep talk from Fiona, the director of our program at St. Andrew's, did much to calm my nerves - she told us that even if they don't learn a lick of English or Arabic, what we are bringing to them is a safe space where they can feel at home and form a community, which could radically change their lives in Cairo for the better. Though this task is just as huge, this emphasis certainly takes the pressure off my ability to write lesson plans.

After St. Andrew's, we stopped to grab lunch, and while looking at the menu an old woman in the street started talking to me in Arabic, patting my back, and gesturing to the sky. She was talking too fast for me to understand, and I immediately started panicking that I was doing something wrong - was my shirt too tight? Should I not be walking around with other guys from the program? Was she unhappy that my hair was uncovered? However, it turns out she was merely praying for me to find a good husband.

Later that night, I went out with two other girls from my program to grab dinner, and then meet an Egyptian friend of ours. We went to eat at McDonald's, which is pretty classy in comparison to Mickey D's back home. Their signature dish is the McArabia - 2 hamburger patties in a pita with some kind of yogurt sauce, lettuce, and tomato - which bears the slogan "all that beef wrapped in culture." It's alright (although some people on my program rave about it), but honestly I'd much rather stick to Egyptian street food - far more authentic and far cheaper. As we walked around waiting for our friend, we got an uncommon amount of stares. It is typical for men to call out to women here, but this amount of ogling and muttered discussion was out of the norm. We eventually realized that their interest was sparked from the diversity of our little group: one Arab girl who might or might not have been Egyptian (she's not, but most people couldn't tell), one black Muslim wearing a hijab, and me - obviously very white and western. The people we passed were all trying to figure us out: "How did they find each other? Is she Egyptian? But that one's definitely a foreigner..." etc. When we finally met our friend, we drove up to the Moatam, a mountain that overlooks the whole city. The view was spectacular, though unfortunately we couldn't make out the pyramids through the pollution. We spent the night chatting and laughing around a little plastic table in the breeze. We made it home as the sun was rising, and I slept all morning before waking up to work on my homework. Tonight, we're getting together as a group to watch some of the World Cup.. if only I can get my work done before then!