Not a pretty sight

Edward Sapir and Benjamin Whorf’s hypothesis of linguistic relativism argues that the language we speak reflects our view of the world – for example, the Eskimos have dozens of words for snow.

The Arabic word for winter is shita. Seems about right!

Seven undergraduate and 4 graduate students are enrolled in the course. Yet, in a upper-lever seminar about democracy in the Middle East, not a single student is from Egypt or another Arab country. All of the undergraduate students are studying abroad and all of the graduate students did their undergraduate work at an American or British University. I can think of a couple of explanations for this phenomenon:

#1. The pragmatic justification — this course meet on Thursdays from 5:30-8 p.m. Since Egypt and AUC operate on a Sunday-Thursday week (with Friday being the Muslim holy day), this would be equivalent to a course in the West meeting on Friday from 5:30-8 p.m. The full-time Egyptian students might have the good sense not to take a course meeting at such hours.

#2. The ideological justification — If one has grown up under an authoritarian regime in Egypt or another Arab country, he or she would probably not see much reason to learn more about the conditions they have always lived under. Indeed, seeing as the prospects for democracy/meaningful change in the Middle East (and especially Egypt) look slim, taking a course on the topic could be quite irrelevant or disheartening. As critic of Egypt’s conservative culture note: Egypt revolts about once every 50 years (though if this was actually the case, Egypt is overdue, since the country’s last revolution was in 1954).

#3. The cynical justification – By and large, the Egyptian/Arab students attending the American University in Cairo are the ones who have benefitted from the current (authoritarian) system. Therefore, they do not wish to see the societal order changed. Moreover, they do not wish to take a course that takes a favorable position on reforms that could threaten their wealth or prestidge. These upper-crust students do not care about those who are poor/oppressed under the current system since neither they nor anybody they know is poor.

I think all three explanations are at least partially valid and, in varying combinations, served as rationale for Egyptian/Arab students not to take the course. Regardless, I wish I could hear the comments of Egyptian/Arab students on topics so vital to their region and find it disheartening yet telling that not a single person who could change society from within chose to enroll in the course.

A Typical Day in Downtown Cairo

Visitors often gain their first impression of a city during the airplane’s descent. Many planes flying into Reagan National Airport in Washington D.C. take the River Visual approach, during which passangers can be awed by terrific views of the Capitol, Washington Monument, Jefferson Memorial, National Mall, White House, CIA Headquarters, Arlington National Cemetery, the Pentagon, and the United States Air Force Memorial. Coming into LaGuardia Airport in Queens, passengers can often see Manhattan’s tall skyscrapers and symbols, such as the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island.

Alternatively, flights coming into Baghdad International Airport use the “corkscrew maneuver,” an uncomfortable, spiraling pattern of descent directly over the airport which avoids coming in range of small arms and missiles on the ground. This landing served as an ominous reminder of Baghdad’s precarious, albeit improving, security situation.

Even though my Lufthansa flight arrived just under one week ago at 4 p.m., as far as views are concerned, the flight might as well have come in at 4 a.m. Until we were hundreds of feet off the ground and less than a minute from landing, a massive haze prohibited any views of downtown Cairo. Although I first thought we were flying through clouds, the lack of bumps, differentation in color, and proximity to the ground soon make it clear we weren’t. Pollution and haze prevent the Cairo skyline from looking any more impressive than the picture above.

The pollution in Cairo would make any American city, even Los Angeles, blush out of shame. In fact, “haze” is a possible weather forecast for Cairo, which along with “sand,” are conditions unlikely to be predicted for virtually any other city. Only Dhaka, Bangladesh, Beijing, and Mexico City have multi-pollutant indeces rivalring Cairo. Authorities predict that 10,000-25,000 Cairo residents die every year due to air pollution-related diseases.

The causes of this pollution are several. First, 60 percent of the 2 million cars of the streets of Cairo are over 10 years old, and therefore lack  modern emission cutting features like catalytic converters. The toxins emitted by these cars pale in comparison to the old, inexpensive buses many poor residents  rely on for transportation around the city. These  buses,  which normally are so crowded that passengers hang out the sides of them, have a vintage 1970′s look, but have not aged gracefully. They belch out astonishing amounts of smoke  and grime, which hang in the air a couple of feet off the ground for a couple of minutes before the wind disperses of the particles. If you are walking along the street get caught behind these behemoths enough, you will end you breathing in the toxins, resulting in a rather nasty headache along with crunchy grit stuck in-between your teeth.

In addition, 40 percent of the garbage produced in Cairo is not collected on a regular basis. Take a ride through the less affluent parts of Cairo around dusk, and you will find many residents burning their garbage in their yards or along the side of the road, releasing all kinds of unhealthy particles into the air. Recycling is a non-entity; I have not seen a single recycling bin or sign for recycling during my first two weeks in Cairo.

Spend most of the day outside in the central city, and you will feel the impact of pollution. I had almost constant headaches my first couple of days here and have found myself losing my voice more in two weeks here than I have during the past decade in America — though that might me also because of the dryness of the air. I certainly would not wish to exercise outside in Central Cairo and breathe in such dirty air. Venture to the AUC Campus in New Cairo, though, and smog and haze appear as sun and clouds.  It seems as if many of those who can afford it have left gray skies for blue skies, leaving the poor to breathe in dirty, unhealthy air.

And for those who say that man has not harmed the environment and that such concerns are the product of a vast left wing conspiracy, the conditions in Cairo would indicate otherwise. The pollution and air quickly should serve as a solemn warning to those in America about what our air could look like if we do not change our ways.

]]> http://blogs.haverford.edu/cairo/2009/02/05/night-14-descent-into-cairo/feed/ 1 http://blogs.haverford.edu/cairo/2009/01/29/night-7-on-the-sorrow-of-not-knowing-arabic/ http://blogs.haverford.edu/cairo/2009/01/29/night-7-on-the-sorrow-of-not-knowing-arabic/#comments Thu, 29 Jan 2009 22:26:49 +0000 Michael Novinson '10 http://blogs.haverford.edu/blogs/cairo/?p=35 The opportunities I’ve had to practice Arabic over the past two days have left me feeling dissapointed with myself. Unlike my first couple of days, when my time was occupied with tourist activities (visiting the pyramids, Bedouin Night, and a Nile Cruise), more recent days have brought more opportunities to interact with Egyptians.

On Tuesday, I walked with a friend through Downtown and Islamic Cairo from Tahrir Square (the city center) to Khan el Khalili, Cairo’s oldest bazaar, and spent several hours eating and window shopping with friends in Khan. On Wednesday, I walked around Zamalek and to the El Sawa Cultural Wheel to hear a poetry reading.

This experience produced my first feelings of embarassment and shame for studying in Egypt with virtually no knowledge of Arabic. My friend — who also knows no Arabic — wanted to buy some fabric at the extensive fabric district in Islamic Cairo and the cordial workers and children asked me questions in Arabic that I couldn’t respond to with more than a blank stare. In Khan el Khalili, I was able to ask the owner “how much is it” (bi khem da), but couldn’t understand his answer (45 pounds) because I only know 1-19 in Arabic. While walking alone in Zamalek, two people approached me with questions in Arabic, and I only had the presence of mind to tell one of the individuals that I didn’t understand what he was saying (mishfahim) — the other time, I walked away before remembering how to respond. I wasn’t able to apologize for my unhelpfulness because I didn’t even know how to say “I’m sorry” in Arabic (ehsef) until I asked my professor during today’s survival arabic course.

My dark appearance has been both a blessing and a curse. Locals and study-abroad students alike think that I look a fair-skinned Egyptian (in fact, a fellow study abroad student couldn’t believe that I didn’t have any Arab ancestry). Thus, especially when I’m alone, people usually address me on the street in Arabic, even in Zamalek where most passer-byes know English (and indeed, end up speaking it with me). My physical ability to blend in makes me more actuely aware of the extent of my language deficiency.

Traveling to, and especially studying in, a foreign country with no knowledge of the language necesitates a certain degree arrogance and sense of entitlement. I realize the dominant-submissive relationship in my own travels (where I expect people in another country to cater to my needs — in this case, linguistic needs — even though I am the visitor in their home) has been replicated many times over between Western and Arab peoples in political, social, and cultural spheres. Such privledged expectations have produced a backlash amongst Arabs (who understandably do not always wish to serve others in an asymetrical relationship), and are in part responsible for the profileration of anti-Western sentiment and jihadi groups in the region. It is upsetting to realize I am part of this vicious cycle.

This arrogance is accompanied by ignorance. Teenage and adult Egyptian men are able to converse in English with myself and other tourists: they extoll the virtues of America (“Obama, Obama,” “Yankee Doodle,” or “#1″ are the most common resplied by Egyptians when told that you’re from America) — albeit the ones who express such opinions are trying to sell you stuff; drive a hard bargian (they are none too shy to ask for baksheesh – tips); and flirt with American women (female study abroad peers have been told “I’d kill my wife my you,” ”I’ll make you my Sunday\Monday wife,” and “you look like Beyone.”) And although virtually all of these people have received less formal education than myself and many are younger than I, they have a far better command of my language than I have of theirs. This dynamic makes me feel guilty that I haven’t put my education to better use.

Feelings of arrogance coupled with ignorance lead to a sense of shame, which tempts me to further conceal the little knowledge I have. Too often I walk past Egyptians and nod my head or say “hello” even though I know how to say salaam aleichum (peace be upon you), sabah el cher (hello or good morning), and meseh el cher (good evening). When Egyptians are kind enough to do me a favor, I frequently say “thank you” although I am perfectly capable of saying shokran. I must resist the temptation to hide behind the shelter of cosmopolitan Zamalek or more Arabic-proficient AUC peers and continue exposing my Arabic, however little or poorly pronounced it might be, to the harsh judgment of the Cairo street. And I must defy the inevitable feelings of frustration and apply myself in my colloquial Arabic class so that my vocabulary expands and I am able to exchange whole sentences with locals instead of a few basic phrases. Only through diligent study and constant practice will I be able to escape the sorrow that accompanies not knowing any Arabic.

Kosheri is a popular Egyptian dish consisting of rice, spagetti noodles, macaroni noodles, brown lentils, chickpeas, Egyptian garlic, vinegar, and a spicy tomato sauce. It costs 5 Egyptian pounds — about 90 cents — for 1/4 pound and is incredibly tasty.

While waiting for dinner, the DJ played a partially Arabic-language remix of the 50 cent song “Candy Shop.” If you’re how aware of how sensual the lyrics are, the chorus goes “I’ll take you to the Candy Shop, I’ll let you lick the lollipop, Go ‘head girl don’t you stop, Keep going ’til you hit the spot, whoa.”

I realize that is certainly a trivial observation that might not having any greater purpose than provoking laughter amonst me and my friends (which it absolutely did). Yet at the same time, an Arab-language remix of such a lewd song is indicative of the complexities surroudning the practice of Islam in Egypt. 

Many Egyptians are certainly pious Muslims: most of the women I’ve passed on the street are wearing hijab or niqab — a veil covering the entire face except for the eyes — , although niqab are actually prohibited on the American University of Cairo campus for security reasons. But many women do so not out of religious motivation, but rather to reduce sexual advances by men – it is more conveniant for them to wear a piece of cloth over their head than to be constantly subjected to verbal harassment by men. Throughout many parts of Cairo, the Muslim call to prayer blares out of loudspeakers five times a day; my friend staying in a downtown hostel has been awoken every morning by the 5:15 a.m. call from the Mosque directly across the street. Yet in Zamalek, where many expatriates live, nobody I’ve spoken with has heard the call to prayer broadcast even once. And my roommate from Alexandria goes clubbing and drinks alcohol frequently (I have actually yet to see him sleeping in our room), yet considers himself a practicing Muslim.

I share this information to complicate Western perceptions about the practice of religion in the Arab World. Sure, Islam is the world’s fastest growing religion, and whether out of personal conviction or societal pressure, millions practice a very strict and orthodox version of their Muslim faith. But like Judaism and Christanity, the role that Islam plays within any individual’s life varies dramatically, and it would be foolish to attempt to understand the practice of Islam in a singular, unified fasion, even within a single nation such as Egypt. So while it can be tempting to idealize religious pratice by looking a scripture and assuming universal behavior by those of the Muslim faith within a given society, a deeper and more meaningful understanding can only be achieved by challenging the pervasive assumptions.

It is possible that the Arabic-language version of “Candy Shop” was produced by Arabic-speaking Christians, living perhaps in Lebanon, Syria, or Iraq. But if there was no Muslim audience for such a work, it is unlikely the remix would have ever been released.

For dinner Friday night, several study abroad students from Notre Dame and myself walked two blocks from our dormitory in the Zamalek section of Cairo to the Euro Deli — incidentially enough, there are no Euro Deli locations in Europe. While eating there, what came over the restaurant’s loudspeakers but “I Kissed a Girl” by Katy Perry. In case you didn’t know, homosexual acts are a felony in Egypt.

Amazinly, I have still not figured out a good answer to the question. Usually, I mutter a little hullabaloo about my interest in Middle Eastern politics and how studying in Cairo pertains to my academics interest, figuring that if I go on long enough, the person will lose interest and the conversation will progress in a differnt direction.

The best answer I can come up with is that I know my time in Cairo will be significantly different than any experience I’ve had in my life up to this point. If the purpose of study abroad is to broaden horizons — which I certainly think it is –, it simply doesn’t make sense to me to go to another first-world country in Europe or Austalia where the only difference between there and here is the language (if that).

Will be I frustrated at times in Cairo? Of course, especially since I barely know any Arabic. Will I falter or feel lonely? I’m sure I will. Yet I couldn’t possibly be more excited for the jouney. Why? Because only through frustration and failure will I grow to become a more complete person. I could have chosen a different, more risk-adverse experience that would have enabled me to remain within my comfort zone, yet I did not. Because if I had taken that path, I know I would have regrets and I refuse to let fear control me.

After five semesters at Haverford, I really need a change in scenery. There are many things I love about Haverford, but after spending so much time in a bubble with only 1,100 other people, I was becoming stir crazy. Worst of all, I could feel myself becoming bored and numb over the past semester with the routines I had grown too accustomed to. Therefore, I am ready to savor every emotional peak and valley that will accompany my upcoming adventure.

Because after all, 70 years from now, my grandson Taj Novinson Jr. (named after Stanford basketball great Taj Finger) will be sitting on my lap and he will say, “Grandpa, what do you remember most from being young? What experiences really stick out in your head?” And I want to be able to answer that question without hesitation and without regrets. I realize my memories from Haverford will blur together, and many will fade to dust, and I doubt my sixth semester at the school would fundamentally shape who I am. But I can say with absolute confidence (this promise does not apply if I’m dead of have that I will alzhiemers) that I will remember my time in Cairo and will have some great stories to tell Taj. And it is precisely for that reason that I’m so excited.

At times like this, I think of the 1960′s John Denver song “Leaving on a Jetplane,” perhaps because it is one of my good friend’s favorite songs:

“All my bags are packed, I’m ready to go…cause I’m leavin on a jetplane.”

And even though I know exactly when I’ll be back again — May 30, — don’t forget to kiss me and smile for me!

Scenario #1 (occurs most often with fellow Haverford students, and the occasional relative):

Other Person: “So where are you studying abroad?” 

Me: “Cairo.”

Other Person: “Cairo! Are you serious? That’s so awesome! Oh my god, you’re going to Cairo! Make sure you get to the pyramids, and I’ve heard Luxor is incredible, and you’re got to get to Mt. Sinai … you’re going to have such a great time. I’m SO jealous*”

*Note: The person professing their jealousy often chose to study abroad in a vanilla locale such as London or Sydney, or nowhere at all.

usually, though, it will look a little more like this…

Scenario #2 (occurs with many family members and friends, including Haverford President Steve Emerson): 

Other Person: “So where are you studying abroad?” 

Me: “Cairo.”

Other Person: *2-3 second pause while their eyes scan my face for signs of mental derangement*“Cairo?”

(I never know why they put the city name in the form of a question. Perhaps they think I forogt to complete my sentence and actually meant that I’ll be studying in Cairo, Illinois.)

Me: “Yes, I’ll be studying abroad at the American University in Cairo for the semester.”

Other Person: *Another 2-3 second pause. This time, their eyes scan my face for ticks or other visual indicators of insanity. After determining that I’m really not kidding and unable to confirm that I’m crazy, the conversation proceeds* “Huh. I see. Well, stay safe then.*”

Me: At this point, I attempt to comfort the concerned individual by informing them that petty or violent crime is much lower in Cairo than in virtually every major American city. Therefore, the only threat I face is a terrorist attack, which are actually quite rare. This almost always fails to reassure them. 

*Alternative #1: Since Israel began it’s air and ground campaign againist Gaza one month ago, the conversation often takes a different turn at this point. It will look more like this…

Other Person: “Isn’t it dangerous in Cairo right now?”

Me: At this point, I’ll usually note that the violence is occuring hundreds of miles away in southern Israel, Gaza and the northern Sinai pennisula, and therefore shouldn’t affect me, especially since I’ve cancelled my spring break trip to Gaza City. I’ll continue by pointing out that Israel and Egypt have been at peace for 30 years, and therefore, Egypt will not be a target for Israeli attack. Thus, the only thing I need to be cautious for are rallies in downtown Cairo, and I do plan to abide by the first rule of study abroad and avoid such demonstrations of political unrest, no matter how interesting they might be. Again, this almost always fails to reassure the concerned individual.

As crazy as it sounds, I find such conversations immensly enjoyable — albeit predictable — and will greatly miss having them.