Month: September 2012 (Page 1 of 2)

September Remembered: A Synopsis

 

 

  • “A guy named Tarek picked me up at the airport with a sign featuring the Fulbright logo and the name, Mr. Shawn Lent. He was embarrassed by the error. I was not at all. He also didn’t like my insistence on carrying my own things. But after a few minutes getting him to laugh, he was okay with me crouching down and lifting the luggage trolley over all the curbs in the parking lot. We became a team and all was good.”

 

  • “As a community-dance practitioner, I have to find a way not to be intimidated in an environment like this. Not to shrink from their technical prowess and knowledge. Remember that I am a good teacher and have merits. I have to find a fine balance between learning the Egyptian way and challenging their thinking.”

 

  • “I was enjoying my shrimp fajitas alone at TGIFriday’s on the Nile when a brilliant, nearly 14-yr-old girl from Aleppo, Syria came over and sat with me. Confidently and out of nowhere. Bright pink hijab and a bright smile. She and I chatted for nearly an hour. We had a blast.”

 

  • “After the panel, I walked around town in that pencil skirt, getting a few comments from strangers but nothing awful. Just one man blurted, F@#king American as I passed him. Several guys served some lame cat calls, but I paid no mind. In general, they just said things like, Welcome. You are welcome here.”

 

  • “As I thanked her and went to walk deeper into the heart of the male crowd [during the storming of the U.S. Embassy Cairo], she said, They will eat you alive… Surreal how gracious and welcoming the Egyptian people can be, even to an American who shows up for a minute at the anti-American event.”

 

  • ” I was just about to de-friend all of you posting images or using rhetoric calling for a bullied attack on Libya. But I will refrain and try to stomach the hate I am hearing. Instead, I will combat it with personal truth.”

 

  • “Despite the lack of President Morsi, Cairo cleaned up. Some lingering protestors were arrested. Cats came out to pick through all the garbage. And Tahrir Square was wiped bare. Cleaner than before the revolution, a woman told me. Trucks took away the beds, tents, chairs, and full set-ups people had arranged. Then today, Sunday the 16th, Cairo went back to school.”

 

  • “Marc J, Sievers, Deputy Chief of Mission, U.S. Embassy Cairo said that last week’s events felt manageable but also called on us to clear up this fog of fear and hostility that ways us down on both sides.”  — “The side effects of chemotherapy depend mainly on the drugs a woman receives. As with other types of treatment, side effects vary from person to person. In general, anticancer drugs affect rapidly dividing cells.”  —  ” If you haven’t been orientated to Donna’s story, I encourage to do so now. Even if you have read about her in past years, I encourage you to re-read, to get closer to her. An amazing gal.”

 

  • “So, I have access to see what Google search terms bring people to my blog. Most disturbingly, these terms include ‘sex web syrian girls’ and ‘syrian girls in cairo’… And now, I have this little peek into what may be happening here. It’s a very sad way to wake up.”

 

  • “Songs of peace were heard outside the synagogue, at the Peace Day festival, the mosques, the churches, the Cairo Opera House, in an online dialogue with young leaders, all around me… But I wonder, is it all just lip service? Peace from the neck up? I’m thinking we need to get all this cultural, racial and religious harmony in our full bodies.”

 

  • “There are plenty of other times where the friendliness is pure friendliness. Despite ‘the rage’ you might be seeing in the media.”

 

  • “Beyond just the joy of the patients, what I love about being here is that these parents at 57357 get it. Dance is so important for kids to get to know their bodies, to relate to other children, and to explore the freedom the revolution gave them, no matter what cancerous beast may be inside.”

 

Egyptian children playing in a park.

 

Dance and Cancer الرقص والسرطان

As alumni fellows of the UN Alliance of Civilizations International Fellowship program, me and my colleagues have recently made an official declaration that was delivered to the Heads of States and Governments during the 67th General Assembly of the United Nations.

I’m proud to have signed this declaration advocating dialogue of the #TrueMuslimWesternMajority, but understand my ongoing contribution to this dialogue will be less about religion and free speech, and more with dance and cancer.

I went to observe classes at the High Institute of Ballet in Cairo, where I will be co-teaching with grades 7, 8, 9 (ages 14-17) modern dance classes in addition to workshops on community arts with the undergraduates.

The faculty are contemporary dancers with well-established performing credits. Much more so than I. Their teaching methods are also very different than mine. One is laid back, sits back, calls out the warm ups and lets the students go home early. Yet, I understand this was the first class back after two months summer/Ramadan vacation. Another teacher is a man I am going to have to work harder to understand. He smokes during class in the hall, he is extremely hands-on forcing students into stretches and slapping kids alongside the head, and he indulges an elitist approach. But he is an exquisite dancer and cares a lot about his students. So I’ll start with those assets.

All the students are Egyptian, but a few are from Russia here because of the Institute’s deep history and continued connection to the Bolshoi. Most faculty slip between Arabic, Russian, French and English during their instruction. The head ballet master for the boys’ classes is extremely polished and I admire his teaching style. I asked how often he changed-up his barre exercises. He replied, “Oh, it’s not about time. It’s about progress. When I see the results in the students’ technique, either positive or negative, then I change as necessary.”

Yesterday, the two male modern dance teachers sort of challenged me to teach a few minutes. I had the students stand in a circle (rather than the standard lines) so that their would be more equality between the teachers’ pets and the slackers, between boys and girls; so that there would be more self-critique and peer support rather than dictatorial direction; and so that we could see each other’s faces when laughter broke out. Accidentally, my portion of the class went over 8 minutes. It was unclear if any of the students or faculty enjoyed it. Few emotional cues. One female student later requested to add me on Facebook, so there’s that.

In any case, these are dance trainees working every weekday from age 8-20 at this Academy in order to make it into the Cairo Opera Ballet or international companies. And yes, the school has grades with nearly twice as many boys as girls.

Grades 7 and 8 (Ages 14-16) at the High Institute of Ballet, Cairo

 

After class, I walked around and picked up the few scraps of paper, left-behind ballet slippers, and a used tea cup. I took the tea cup up to the main office and asked where I should put it. The Dean got a bit upset and asked why I was cleaning. “That’s not your job!” He then demanded to know which studio was dirty so that he could have a word with the janitorial staff. I felt awful and explained that I believe everyone should lend a hand, that I enjoy cleaning, that the studio wasn’t very dirty at all, and that it was all ok.

There is definitely a thing here in Egypt about everyone having a job. Yes there is an unbelievable high rate of employment, but almost everyone has “a job to do.” As I was walking home, looking around, it came to me that protest & graffiti tagging is some people’s role here, as is the policing & the painting it over.

Graffiti on Kasr Al Aini Street

Back to the dancing in Cairo.

Today was a very different experience… the first dancing session at Children’s Cancer Hospital 57357 and it went beautifully. As expected, there was a bit of a nervous start but then many children jumped in and started dancing. After we convinced them to turn off the TVs and Play Stations, we found lots of joy.

We boogied, we balanced, we stretched, we sat still, we leapt in the outpatient playroom with different groups of patients awaiting their treatment. The staff offered me the much larger lounge with extra space but that is a peaceful area with sofa chairs where kids are getting their chemo; would feel weird to dance and play in front of them.

Many of the parents took pictures the whole time from the playroom doorway and watched with smiles on their faces. After the session, a woman with full niqab and abaya came up to me and asked my name and where I was from. She held her 1-year old daughter in her ams. Too young to dance with us, the baby girl watched transfixed. She had a lovely, layered pink dress, bald head, gold earrings, cancerous tumor somewhere near her brain, and the biggest smile I’ve come across in quite awhile. Her mother thanked me much more than I deserved. There were plenty of thanks to go around.

The Communications team at the hospital plan to do a feature on the dancing sessions, so I will be sure to share that with you. I’m also excited that some of the older students and faculty at the Ballet Institute are interested in coming to the dance sessions at the hospital.

Beyond just the joy of the patients, what I love about being here is that these parents at 57357 get it. Dance is so important for kids to get to know their bodies, to relate to other children, and to explore the freedom the revolution gave them, no matter what cancerous beast may be inside.

In Egypt, everyone has a job to do. I think this is mine. Well, ours. Me and the kids. Our job is to dance.

Patients/Siblings/Dancers at Children’s Cancer Hospital Egypt 57357

***The views and information presented in my blog are my own and do not represent the U.S. Department of State or the Fulbright Scholar Program.

Hot, Fresh and Friendly

In Cairo, everything is available via home delivery. From pillows, to a couple cans of beer, to McDonald’s. Yes, Mickey D’s comes right to your door by way of a young guy on a bright red motorcycle.

I have been to this city briefly twice before, and have been here for three weeks so far on this trip, but I have not yet once picked up the phone to order anything by delivery. I’m not a phone person. Plus, when you’re a dancer, you gesture a lot. And being that I don’t speak the language, I was scared to communicate without my crutch of non-verbal communication.

Been going out a lot for dinner, or eating my own poorly-made pasta with tuna. On repeat. I asked my friend to go out to eat with me tonight and he declined because he’s not feeling well. So, I realized it might be time to dive in to the world of Cairo delivery. I dialed a place called Zooba, which is in a neighborhood about 10-15 minutes NW from here.

A man answered. In broken English and what sounded like a friendly smile.

He asked my name. Then my phone number. I panicked and forgot. Actually had to go look it up to confirm I had it right. Oops. It’s only been my number for a couple weeks. We finally get that cleared up and he proceeds to ask me something but keeps slipping between English and Arabic. I ask, “What? I do not understand.” This repeats. Sigh. He skips whatever he was trying to communicate and moves on to ask my address. He kindly requests that I repeat it. One more time. One digit at a time. Near an embassy. He confirms the address but makes a reference to me living IN the embassy rather than NEAR. But then we go over the order and we hang up.

I had a feeling I would get a call from a wandering delivery guy. Or that it would take forever. Or never arrive at all.

But within 30 minutes, my doorbell buzzes. I open the door to a handsome and happy man with a nicely designed paper bag which contains exactly what I ordered. Everything is the right temperature. Just the way you would want it. The meal costs $8.20 USD including sales tax, delivery charge, and an overly generous tip. $8.20 gets you enough homegrown, organic, vegetarian goodness for at least 3 meals. Containers are larger than they appear.

Zooba Home Delivery

  • Koshari (lentils, roti or macaroni pasta, spaghetti, fried onion, chickpeas, rice, and tomato sauce all layered in one big tub I will definitely reuse)
  • A fresh oriental salad
  • Baladi bread
  • Rice pudding with sweet potato and cinnamon – In a jar. How awesome is that?

I am a very happy gal.

Putting away the paper bag, I see the receipt and delivery order slip are stapled to it. The food order is written in English; the address in Arabic. The phone number is scratched out a few times. And the customer name says HANNA.

The point of this story is two-fold: to document a very important Cairo first for me, and to discuss this idea of friendliness.

In a post a couple days ago, I explained the feeling that many of the people here were only being nice to me because they’re either wanting sex or money. Especially when an unveiled American lady is involved. While there are days that certainly feels so, there are plenty of other times where the friendliness is pure friendliness. Despite “the rage” you might be seeing in the media.

Newstand in Giza

Yes, I have received a few rude comments, but I have not once been touched inappropriately by someone here, unlike last year in Cairo. I am often the only lady in the Metro train car, wearing yoga pants, reading my Kindle; and the guys have certainly been kind. They will offer me a seat, and when I decline, don’t make a big of it. They just sit down themselves and sometimes we have a nive conversation as I stand over them in the breeze coming in from the train car window.

Some people are simply really nice people. Like the Zooba delivery guy. And the lady who helped me when I slipped and fell down a flight the stairs at Saad Zaghloul station this afternoon. And like the policeman I spoke to this morning. Even knowing that the police are considered the enemy by many in this city (F@#k the Police is the second-most popular graffiti slogan after F@#k SCAF), I found this policeman to be extremely friendly in a purely friendly way. He was my age. And dare I say, my type. We chatted for a quick minute about sand in our shoes. I walked on with a bit of a linger. Maybe I’ll see him again sometime. Maybe not. No matter.

In any case. I love a friendly city. And I’ll be calling for Zooba Delivery again for sure.

Seeing Aida in Egypt

After this week of  dangerously divisive us-them dialogue, as well as the brilliant #MuslimRage Tweeting, I could not think of a better way to celebrate International Peace Day than by attending a #PeaceOneDay festival at Darb 1718 contemporary arts center in Cairo. Culture as a gathering place, a common ground, offline.

#PeaceOneDay celebration in Cairo @Darb1718

 

The event included a packed children’s concert, contemporary jewelry designers, traditional pottery artists, local culinary treats, popular bands playing into the night, NGO booths, and an exhibition of children’s scribbles and artworks.

 

Darb 1718’s “Shakhabeet (Scribbles) Children’s Exhibition” – along with one photo of mine of children playing in a Cairo park

 

My culture fix continued after the festival as I had tickets to Aida, conducted by Nayer Nagui. 3rd Row Center for a beloved classic at the exquisite Cairo Opera House inside the National Cultural Centre. In the same spot where Verdi premiered this masterpiece on the 24th of December, 1871.

Seeing Aida in Egypt. Surreal. The singing in French, the supertitle translations in Arabic, and strong Egyptian themes commissioned during the time of the Suez Canal project.

The program book had English starting on one cover, Arabic starting on the other. I was struck by how beautiful it was when those two sides met in the center fold. I was also reminded that there wouldn’t be any pages listing sponsors. No logos or patrons but for one, the Egyptian Ministry of Culture.

The opera ran 3 1/2 hours and was well performed and quite traditional. Costumes and movements for the Ethiopian characters verged on racist: afro wigs, darker face makeup, and animal print. I am not opera-saavy enough to know if this is common; all the productions of Aida I am familiar are more modern in their approach, using abstractions to show differences in race. So what I saw on stage made me wince.

But I was honored to be there seeing Aida in Egypt, to see how intergenerational the crowd was, to hear their familiarity with the opera and graceful applause right on cue, to hear the powerful voices and technically strong dancing. To see the students and children onstage with the professionals. Aida is performed in Cairo as often as we in Chicago are offered the Nutcracker. Aida is an Egyptian source of pride.

Final Bows – Aida – Cairo Opera House

 

As a great conclusion to my weekend culture fix,  I took a walking tour today.

Tour Agenda:

  • The Hanging Church
  • Abu Serga Church
  • Ben-Ezra Synagogue
  • Amr ibn el-Aas Mosque
  • Mosque and Madrasa of Sultan Hassan
  • Rafaie Mosque
  • El Muizz Street

The cultures of Cairo are very much intertwined with its religious traditions, primarily those of the three Abrahamic faiths.  A history so historic it is difficult for an American to fathom.

Cairo is where the Holy Family (Joseph, Mary, and Baby Jesus) sought refuge for years at the end of their journey into Egypt, where a Coptic church now stands. Egyptians created the Coptic denomination as a defined split from Greek Orthodox; the former putting emphasis on Christ’s divinity rather than His divinity/humanity. The artistic aesthetic is an expression of this. Eyes and mouths of the icons are exaggerated. The feel is more two-dimensional, beautifully open and direct.

Cairo is also where young and old pray in enormous mosques where not a single icon can be found. A place where today I saw the peace of Islam in the gaze of a woman peering out from her niqab, the stride of a gal who just finished her prayers in her jeggings, the open ear of a teen man wanting to know more about agnosticism, and the free sprint of a young boy and girl let loose to play in the mosque.

Cairo is where the Jewish citizenry declined in numbers to a point where now there is only one synagogue holding services. Cairo is where you will find a synagogue built on the spot where baby Moses was found and where thousands of sacred manuscripts were discovered in 1864. The tour guide explained her belief that, “conflict [especially with Israel and the Jewish community] is not religious, it is political, all political.”

 

Sites from Islamic and Coptic Cairo

 

Concluding Thought: Songs of peace were heard outside the synagogue, at the Peace Day festival, the mosques, the churches, the Cairo Opera House, in an online dialogue with young leaders, all around me…

But I wonder, is it all just lip service? Peace from the neck up? I’m thinking we need to get all this cultural, racial and religious harmony in our full bodies.

Peace may be in the air, but we need it in our bones, and in our ballets.

 

 

***The views and information presented in my blog are my own and do not represent the U.S. Department of State  or the Fulbright Scholar Program.

 

 

 

 

Money, Girls, Profit and Prophets

So, I have access to see what Google search terms bring people to my blog. Most disturbingly, these terms include “sex web syrian girls” and “syrian girls in cairo” as well as “strangers in cairo for sex and friendship” and oddly, “my wife touches my...”

Now that makes me sick.

Literally. Gutturally. Sick.

Men preying on vulnerable girls in areas reeling with crises. I know of these types of stories in Iraq, Kenya, and Rwanda. And I have heard many first accounts from women in Bosnia tortured and attacked by American and European military and peacekeepers. And now, I have this little peek into what may be happening here. It’s a very sad way to wake up.

There are days in Cairo when I feel my only worth here as an American woman is sex and money. It’s as if the Cairenes are overtly nice to me only because they think I come with sex and/or money. If that’s the thinking, I am a sad disappointment. I am nervous to date a man here just yet, due to some past experiences and a recent break up sort of thing. Plus, for many guys here, my short hair seems to be a turn off. So there’s that. And I’m extremely frugal; might need to squeeze this salary out for the months to follow. I am not sex and money. No one wants to feel that way. Maybe this is how life feels in a golddigger marriage. Yuck.

But the Syrian girls that these men (of any race, nationality, or religion) are searching for on the internet. They are who I fear for today.

Perfumed Spray for Kids – at Metro Market in Zamalek

This frightening glimpse I had into potential sex trafficking is in the context of a country where women’s rights and protections are teetering on an edge. My acquaintance Mahmoud Salem reported in his latest article for Foreign Policy, as an Egyptian addressing America, “Just this week, we had a Salafi member of the Constituent Assembly (the people who are writing our new constitution) talking about efforts to remove or change the law to lower the legal marriage age for girls to the moment they reach puberty and have their first period, even if they are as young as 9 years old. Yes: We might end up having a constitution that grants us child marriages. And you thought you had a culture war.”

I am calling on my friends, Egyptian and American alike, to look stand up against these threats. To thwart this nast when it first appears. To build an alternative. Egypt needs revenue, profit. Desperately reaching out to revive tourism. To revive trade. I hope beyond hope that sex trafficking is not in that mix.

Quick side note: I hold up this beautiful moment when a group of Libyan citizens took to the streets to give their condolences.

Image from ThinkProgress.org

As beautiful as Islam is. As amazing as Judaism is, and Christianity, Hinduism, Sikhism, Agnoticism… As religious people, non-religious people, or military people, or liberal people, or revolutionary people, Let us help each other to stick closer to our prophets than our profits. Not making fun of the sign-maker’s simple error. It’s just a reminder to not lose our goodness if thing’s become about the Benjamin’s.

 

My way of helping the local economy, more felluca rides.

Felluca ride on the Nile

Back to the Google search terms we started this post off with, you should also know that people find this blog through more positive searches, such as “how can i volunteer to help kids with cancer in chicago?” and “egypt america fellowship.” That’s the direction I prefer to steer this ship.

 

An Orientation

Orientation 1: Welcome to Cairo

All day, I was attending the official Fulbright In-Country Orientation. The Fulbright program between Egypt and the United States was launched in 1949; it is the largest and oldest program in the Arab World.

Marc J, Sievers, Deputy Chief of Mission, U.S. Embassy Cairo told us that this year here has been the most difficult in his diplomatic career. He said that last week’s events felt manageable but also called on us to “clear up this fog of fear and hostility that ways us down on both sides.”

A Foreign Service Health Practitioner, gave us the numbers for the ambulances and hospitals then reminded to us to wash our hands for 45 seconds every time, paying special attention to our thumbs and finger tips. Research shows that the thumbs and finger tips are the most neglected. He also suggested that when we get Mummy Tummy aka The Pharaoh’s Revenge, to buy some Rehydrant packets from the pharmacy.

A Special Agent from the U.S. Department of State Bureau of Diplomatic Security recommended the buddy system, reminded us how volatile large crowds can be, and told us to follow our own level of comfort with this society.

We were told of opportunities to speak at an embassy event or with the Consulate in Alexandria, join the Egyptian Artists Circle of the Fulbright Alumni, attend cultural events. Most exciting, we were invited to a reception with Ambassador Patterson at the residence inside the U.S. Embassy. Date to be determined.

Then a former Fulbrighter told us about HarassMap and reminded us of the joys of living here.

We watched a video which has enough inspiration to overcome its cheese, Sout Al Horeya.

And the day concluded with a delicious traditional dinner at Al Azhar Park, one of the world’s top public spaces, built on a former garbage dump about 8 years ago as a charitable act of the Aga Khan.

AL Azhar Park

 

Orientation 2: Welcome to Chemo 

Last night, I got the news that someone very close to me has breast cancer. In both breasts. I cannot tell you who she is because she is not ready to tell the world just yet. But as she begins the 16 weeks of chemotherapy then double mastectomy then radiation, I thought I should spend some hours online getting orientated with the disease.

Every and every day  in America, an estimated 628 women and men are told they a cancerous mass in their breast. Two of my aunts, and many of my friends’ mothers have faced this certain beast. But I needed to more information. I’m going to be monitoring a cancer battle via Skype from Cairo.

I am also limiting my own level of worry as well as hers. The research for this type of cancer is well funded. The doctors are ready. So is she. The only concerns are that the chemo may effect any heart condition and, even though we know the cancer has not metastasized to the colon or lymph nodes, the word is still out about other areas.

An Orientation to Chemotherapy: The side effects of chemotherapy depend mainly on the drugs a woman receives. As with other types of treatment, side effects vary from person to person. In general, anticancer drugs affect rapidly dividing cells. These include blood cells, which fight infection, cause the blood to clot, and carry oxygen to all parts of the body. When blood cells are affected by anticancer drugs, patients are more likely to get infections and bruise or bleed easily, and may have less energy during treatment and for some time afterward. Cells in hair follicles and cells that line the digestive tract also divide rapidly. As a result of chemotherapy, patients may lose their hair and may have other side effects, such as loss of appetite, vomiting, diarrhea, or mouth sores. [National Cancer Institute]

Please send her some bouncy good positive hopeful prayerful vibes her way.

 

Orientation 3: Welcome to Miss D

Today on Huffington Post, Donna’s mother describes the part of the story where she walked into my dance classroom and into my life. If you haven’t been orientated to Donna’s story, I encourage to do so now. Even if you have read about her in past years, I encourage you to re-read, to get closer to her. An amazing gal. How lucky I was that her parents trusted me with 45 minutes of their daughter’s time every week. How lucky I was that she and I got each other. How lucky I was to have her as both a student and teacher. Sheesh. It is still amazing. Always.

September is Childhood Cancer Awareness Month. Please be aware. And please check out my post on this subject.

Donna Quirke Hornik and I at Performing Arts Limited studio in Chicago, IL. 2009.

Back to School, to Calm, to 5773

Yesterday, Cairo woke up to clearer air and birds chirping.

A calm, enforced.

P.S. My suggestion for Egypt for the next flare up… more female police officers on the beat.

While chaos erupted this week, I believe Morsi made one public speech, maybe two. But he never returned from his trip in order to stand here. He stayed in Italy and was pretty much AWOL. That seemed quite odd to me. Despite the lack of President Morsi, Cairo cleaned up. Some lingering protestors were arrested. Cats came out to pick through all the garbage. And Tahrir Square was wiped bare. “Cleaner than before the revolution,” a woman told me. Trucks took away the beds, tents, chairs, and full set-ups people had arranged.

Then today, Sunday the 16th, Cairo went back to school. With a population this massive, you can imagine the impact that would have on the squashed cars on the street and buzz in the air. Today is also the start of the Jewish Near Year. To all my friends celebrating, I wish you a peaceful and joyful year 5773. Shana Tova. Actually, I’m hoping for a peaceful 5773 for us all.

This morning, I took the train out to the dance academy in Cairo where I will be teaching. This school is a little bit special, runs through the Ministry of Culture, and starts next week. I do not know the religion of my soon-to-be-students, but can guess that they will be of mixed faiths. Some of the young teen students were already on campus today, rehearsing for their brief moment in the spotlight in Aida at the Cairo Opera Ballet next week.

The Institute was being scrubbed down by the custodial staff. And no matter what they did, the space seemed to be resolutely dreary. No colors or posters. No repair, because a new building will eventually be erected after the music conservatory is completed. As the daughter of a public school custodian, I’m trying with difficultly to hold off judgement. I am opening myself up to the wonders of this place that so many students desire to get into. This is the first school in Cairo that I have seen. I have no idea how it compares. In Morocco where I visited a school last year, the poverty was less intense than here; the biggest flaw I saw was that they were teaching Feminism in history class.

Back in Chicago where I come from, teachers are on strike. They are demanding more resources and better conditions for their students, with less standardized testing. As a person who worked in Chicago Public Schools and Saginaw Township Schools and read Kozol’s “Shame of the Nation” twice, my knowledge of educational reform in America is recognizably greater than that in Egypt. Cannot wait to learn more.

I will now share will you photos of the school here in Cairo. Without comment and without much knowledge of the place. What I do know is that the students and faculty all seem quite proud to be here.

Laughter fills the halls and studios already.

Classroom for academics or music theory.

Classroom for academics or music theory.

“The Principal’s Office”

 

Floor damage.

 

***The views and information presented in my blog are my own and do not represent the U.S. Department of State or the Fulbright Scholar Program.

Standing Up for the National Anthem on AlJazeera

Today is Friday. A day when I would describe it feels like the world is on fire. It is a sadly familiar fire.

Last night, I went to Cairo Jazz Club with an Egyptian friend, his new flatmate and a charismatic French mother. We all boogied to 90s Night. Beck, Dave Mathews Band covers. Discussed the protests. Felt a bit of the burn of tear gas wafting in the air. But were happy, even knowing the MB was calling for a large demonstration after Friday morning prayers. The dancing in the club was certain, in a very uncertain region.

Today is Friday. And I knew things would/could get pretty bad. So as the Fulbright Commission suggested I do, I had a “safe and happy weekend away from the Tahrir square and the U.S. embassy area.” Well, the second part was more difficult to do because my apartment is in the embassy area. Today, I took the long taxi journey to Maadi to attend a yoga open house at The Breathing Room, a clean and studio surrounded by green and smelling of peaceful essences. The classes were difficult and demanded a Zen-like focus. It felt great to sweat, to breathe cleaner air, to get back into my body.

The Breathing Room. Photo by Mohamed Abdel Wahab.

—————————————

Tonight, I barely get off the couch.

I post the following on Facebook:  I was just about to de-friend all of you posting images or using rhetoric calling for a bullied attack on Libya. But I will refrain and try to stomach the hate I am hearing. Instead, I will combat it with personal truth. I will just tell you that I have good friends in Libya, which is just over the border from here. They are awesome. Businessmen, poets, and people fighting for civil rights including for women and the LGBT community. Yesterday, Libyans took to the streets to apologize. I don’t remember Americans ever taking to the streets to apologize for a war in Iraq or drone casualties. And for all the protesters here in Cairo with anti-Obama signs and chants, I must say thanks (with a whole lot of sarcasm): http://youtu.be/O7VdrtFAuyA

I read as my Muslim friends (American, Libyan, Egyptian, French, Tunisian, and Dutch) step up as responsible voices and explain, defend their beautiful faith. Then I turn on TV and see extremists and passionate idiots burning pictures of Marilyn Monroe, attacking a Hardees, and reviling some character named Obama Bin Laden. So I write to an Egyptian friend: I am going to show my ignorance here but I am confused. Are all these anti-Obama signs and chants here in Cairo actually pro-Romney? Pro-Bush? Hasn’t Obama been the one to open up new communications and trust? The use of drones where civilian casualties at risk is certainly wrong. But before Obama was a time of preemptive war with an anti-Muslim spin.  He responds: LOL .. I have the same ignorance too .grin I’m not interested in politics but I know that the most of those protesters don’t know the deference between Obama and Romney .. They just follow the fanatic clerics .. They believe in destroying buildings the best way to expression.. !!

I sit on my couch and watch the live streaming from Tahrir Square (blocks away) just as I watch live streaming from Washington D.C., as four patriot bodies are welcomed home. Secretary Clinton steps up to the microphone and speaks right to my heart. In a way, she is my boss. As a Fulbright Scholar with an Egyptian work permit and residency visa, I am here with the U.S. Department of State and the Binational (Egyptian/American) Commission.As a kid, I said I wanted to be a dancer and politician when I grew up. When I was 7 or 8, I even dressed as a politician for Halloween. Campaigning to be the first woman president; as Hilary would later do. When I went out trick-or-treating that year, I gave out flyers and refused to take candy. And I have to say, that being a Fulbright Scholar, teaching community arts and dance in Cairo, Egypt right now feels like a step in that journey. Dreams coming true. A journey where I get the honor of being friends with amazing people of all different faiths and races and nations.

Back on AlJazeera tonight, Secretary Clinton says that as a civilians representing America abroad are “a force of peace, progress and dignity.” I keep saying those words to myself for a half hour after her speech. A force for peace, progress, and dignity. Those concepts will help us all in the days to come. I have a feeling. Then President Obama speaks of the four amazing men we lost. Amazing. This is followed by the National Anthem.

And out of respect for this whole worldy situation, alone in my apartment and yoga gear, I stand.

Watching the world.

 

P.S. I have no idea what I will be for Halloween this year in Cairo. Maybe I’ll just be myself.

Playing with hats in a Cairo grocery store.

 

***The views and information presented in my blog are my own and do not represent the U.S. Department of State or the Fulbright Scholar Program.

Storms: A Personal Account from the U.S. Embassy

Yesterday was September 11th. I blogged about a seemingly everyday sort of experience. And people responded.

But the day turned an incredible corner.

As the evening settled in, there was a buzz in my new neighborhood, Garden City, which is the home of many embassies.

A weirdness.

Around 7pm, I was home watching CNN when they reported there were thousands of protesters around the U.S. Embassy Cairo, which is just up the street from my apartment. I put on a simple black t-shirt and black jeans, smoothing my pixie cut, so somehow to look more self assured. The promise I made to myself and to my friends was that I would leave as soon as I felt any vibe of things being unsafe.

Well, me with my 5’1″ frame walked right into the heart of a massive anti-American protest and the storming of an embassy. Not because I’m naive or a risk-hunter, but because I was compelled that this is where there are the conversations that need to be had. This is the type of diplomacy I’m good at.

The men were chanting, screaming. Some were sitting along the embassy wall. Some were perched on the entranceway chiseling away the U.S. seal and lettering, replacing them with Bin Laden and the United States of Muslim, to the applause of the crowd below. I was the only American lady there in that main section at that time, that I know of. But people were quite calm and nice, oddly.

Many Egyptian women were in the back of the crowd, in full abaya and niqab. I went up to one of the young women and asked her to translate her sign. Our conversation was brilliant as we realized that we had the same opinion on hate crimes. And when I said I also consider attacks on Sikhs, women, homosexuals, Americans, and transgender people hate crimes, she genuinely agreed and translated for her sister and mother.

As I thanked her and went to walk deeper into the heart of the male crowd, she said, “They will eat you alive.”

 

U.S. Embassy in Cairo, September 11, 2012

The wall of the embassy was spray painted with “F@#k Off U.S.A.” and the old slogan “khaibar khaibar oh Jews the army of Muhammed is coming.” The US flag inside the embassy walls had been replaced with a black flag that was very similar to that of Al Qaeda. There were flags burning in the crowd, but in general, the atmosphere was calm. I got a few men looking at me with a confused glaze, but was treated very well.

Surreal how gracious and welcoming the Egyptian people can be, even to an American who shows up for a minute at the anti-American event.

As I watched a few Salafi men destroy the entranceway, I felt a deep saddening and walked stunned right up to the front. I asked a young man why such actions were necessary in reaction to a wack’s homemade film. What did the U.S. diplomats in Cairo have to do with it? He couldn’t really explain but was kind. He handed me a cup of tea. He kept saying I didn’t know anything of Islam or Arab culture. When I proved him very wrong, his respect was evident and we continued on to a poignant conversation of religious understanding and tolerance on this very poignant day.

I felt very safe. But after another chat or two, decided it best to leave before things got out of hand. Walked home alone just fine as a beautiful breeze blew along the Nile.

My mood was actually charged from those important conversations.

This morning, the news is nothing but saddening. A similar storming happened in nearby Benghazi with looting, damage inside the interior buildings, a massive fire, and the death of 3-5 people, including the U.S. Ambassador, J. Christopher Stevens.

May they rest in a loving peace.

And may we all live in a loving peace.

I woke up to the following messages from my Egyptian friends, “I am so sorry. But many of Egyptian people are ignorant. They don’t know why and where they are going. Just following the wave. I wanted u to know that not all Muslims think this way. I support Obama and have read that what happened increased Romney supporters.unsure Plus the director or the producer of that film is Egyptian, so USA did nothing. And most Egyptians aren’t that religious.”

Interesting times, my friends.

Choosing hope.

 

***The views and information presented in my blog are my own and do not represent the U.S. Department of State or the Fulbright Scholar Program.

An American’s Walk of Shame

Today is the 11th of September.

The tragedies of 9/11 will always be remembered for those who were killed and those who suffer.

MOMENT OF SILENCE

 

National September 11 Memorial & Museum at the World Trade Center, Lower Manhattan, New York City

 

The day is also associated with an awakening of American understanding of Islam and of predominantly-Muslim Arab cultures and nations. 11 years ago, I just had moved to a predominantly-Muslim neighborhood in East London. I was one of those Americans who realized my ignorance and the need to reach out.

11 years later, I am living in Cairo. Still learning and sharing. Cultural exchange. Making friends. I have been here one full week and a bit. Have gone out to a few pubs and clubs, and like an American independent lady, walking home after.

Today, because I was one of three people on the panel to interview and select Egyptian students for the Fulbright program in the U.S., I dressed smart. Nice button-down shirt and a tight, black pencil skirt. The students were eloquent in translating their reasons for wanting to study the arts in America and what their vision was for the arts in Egypt and the Middle East/North Africa.

After the panel, I walked around town in that pencil skirt, getting a few comments from strangers but nothing awful. Just one man blurted, “F@#king American” as I passed him. Several guys served some lame cat calls, but I paid no mind. In general, they just said things like, “Welcome. You are welcome here.” I walked with a bold stride that tested the back slit of my skirt. Generally happy and knowledgable enough to start understanding and embracing the Egyptian life; no American Fool stereotype here.

Had the confidence to take Cairo public transportation for the first time.

Cairo Metro مترو أنفاق القاهرة

 

The Metro only costs $0.16, doesn’t require haggling with grouchy taxi drivers, and is clean, if not a bit pushy and steamy. I loved it, and was proud of myself for figuring it out. Yet I was definitely the only one around in a pencil skirt.

Sadat Station under Tahrir Square

 

Sadly, that pride was short-lived.

As I was walking home around 3:00 in the afternoon, an older gentleman walks up along side me and asks me where I’m from. I just say “The States” politely and quickly walk on. He jumps in front of me, telling me to not be rude and explaining he used to live in Michigan. Says he is the director of a museum. Also says he wants to give me his business card. I thank him with a “no thank you” and tell him I’m actually in a bit of a hurry. He is adamant to just give me his card and leads me into his souvenir shop, where his daughter is sitting. She is getting married tomorrow, they say.

He hands me his business card and asks me my name. Now, here is my big mistake. I tell him my name is Shawn and attempt to leave. But as soon as his daughter hears my name, she starts painting it in Arabic on a piece of papyrus paper. When I turn around, she’s there offering it as a gift. While I am explaining that I don’t want it, the son appears with a cup of tea. The family says it is rude in their culture to refuse the tea. I explain that I’m in a hurry, but drink some of the tea quickly. The son flirts and the daughter wraps the painting in a bright yellow tube while I sip.

After a few moments, I begin to walk out.

The three family members all get angry and say I need to pay for the papyrus painting. I politely, but assertively, say I don’t need or want it. They point to the price on the wall (460LE) and ask for a portion, however much I want to give them as a gesture of good will between our two countries.

I say no thank you.

They yell that the painting is unsellable now. Ruined. Because it has been personalized with my rare name.

I give up. Give them 100LE ($16). Their faces and words force me into doubling that amount.

And I have to carry the bright yellow tube all the way home.

Sigh. Shamefully swindled.

The yellow tube

 

But 9/11 is a time to reflect on other matters: memories of amazing people killed on that bright blue morning, as well as during the 11 years of war and chaos that followed.

We are the generation somewhat defined by 9/11.

9/11 is the hope for decades of peace and friendships.

From Kabul to NYC. From Chicago to Cairo.

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