Month: May 2013

How to Talk to a Woman in a Niqab

I didn’t think about this until moving here to Cairo, but I didn’t know how to talk to a woman in a niqab (face veil with eye slit). For weeks, when talking to any woman in a niqab, I kept looking down uncomfortably or to the side pretending I was looking for someone else. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I didn’t know what to do. I had never had a conversation with a person whom I couldn’t see her personal style, individual flare. I had never had a conversation with a person whom I couldn’t see her mouth as she spoke. It took me awhile to snap out of my stupidity. A person is a person and it doesn’t matter what he/she looks like or chooses to wear in the morning.

You look her in the eyes, you listen to her, laugh at her jokes, you take cues from her voice and gestures, you smile and you can tell she smiles. Just like any other conversation.

I love that I can confess that I had to learn this lesson.

The body is as much a private issue as possible for increasingly more of the Muslims here. There are very few sexualized televised commercials or print ads. I admit I am starting to enjoy that. Kinda refreshing not having the daily visual invasion of the Victoria’s Secret models with the firm tushes, bodacious boobies, and Angel wings. (Actually almost all of the sexualized media is censored by Saudi and Qatar.) But when it comes down to it, I would love to say that I am not self conscious about my body here, but I still am. When street harassment is based on the color of your skin and the amount of skin showing and the length of your hair, you think a lot about your body.

There are things I have come to love about Cairo and things I am starting to loathe. This is perfect timing to sort out those cultural admirations and irritants because I am headed to the World Forum on Intercultural Dialogue in Baku, Azerbaijan next week. One focus of the forum will be Muslim/West relations. An important time after what happened in London yesterday.

So here’s a run-down of my thoughts on life in Cairo.

I love that bar snack offerings here consist of legumes, fresh tomatoes, hummus, and carrots. Not looking forward to a return to the chips and fried crap they serve in bars in the States. My expectations have been raised.

IMG_5721

I loathe that a mother at the dance studio where I teach here asked me if her daughter was “too chubby for ballet.” The daughter is six. This is common thinking here. Some bodies dance and some don’t.

I love that 80% of the trash in Cairo is recycled.

I loathe that I came across a dead puppy on the sidewalk yesterday and no one seemed to be doing anything about it.

I loathe the pollution in the air here as well as the fact that I am getting used to blowing my nose and seeing black.

I love that even the seediest, most disturbing bellydance cabarets have boundaries. No touching. No lap dances. Yes it can be a sad scene in many many ways, but there is much more respect for the culture, the women, and the dance than you see in American strip clubs.

I love the fresh juice stands. Mango, guava, orange, carrot, strawberry, or sugar cane. On every street. Perfect for these 95-100 degree days. You walk up to the counter, pay less than a dollar, watch the man make your juice with no additives or colorings, then drink a tall glass of juice right there. In a real glass. No plastic involved. You put your glass back on the counter and proceed on your way.

IMG_5761

***I lied. There can be plastic involved. If you need your juice for take-away (like most kids prefer), the man will pour your juice from the glass into a plastic sandwich baggie, insert a bendy straw, and tie a knot in the bag.

I loathe the harassment. All I want for my 35th birthday next month is a day without the relentless cat calls, whistles, lip smacks, and slander from strangers as I walk down the street.

I love that I know a beard here means Muslim Brotherhood or Salafi, and a beard back in the Midwest USA means our team is in the Playoffs.

I loathe that there is a need for women to have a separate car on the Metro train. The other cars are co-ed, yes, but the genders are becoming increasingly separated. Often I am the only lady in a co-ed car without a hijab (head scarf). And a few times a month I am the only lady in a co-ed car, period.

Yet, I love my daily commute on the Metro. The service is fequent and reliable, plus it only costs 14 cents per ride. Even when I am the only woman in the car, there is no harassment and many times there is a place for me to sit and feel the breeze through the window.

I love that there’s history everywhere you turn in this city. Ancient, biblical, colonial, revolutionary.

I love that there’s a Revolutionists Artist Union and that this group has a little snacks and hot tea stand in Tahrir Square to raise money.

IMG_5717

I love the sites and sounds of a group of teenage Egyptian girls giggling and pretending to be journalists with a can as a microphone. Half the girls in bright-colored hijabs, half with loose ponytails. All having a blast right outside the window right now as I write this.

I love/loathe the power outages. There are more and more of them everyday. Even at the airport. Rolling through the city wherever I seem to roll. Cutting out mid-email or mid-blog or mid-studying. They make some walks home mighty dark; but don’t worry about my safety because power outages bring all the neighbors out to the streets to mingle.

I love that the Muslim call to prayer is pretty much the same from Bosnia to Egypt, wafting over neighborhoods as the birds sing their ‘good morning’ classics.

I love that the wafting smell of a bakery kicking into action (“Time to make the donuts.”) is pretty much the same from Michigan to Mohandaseen.

I loathe the fact that meeting my boyfriend’s family is such a big deal. Talk about culture clashes we have to work through.

I love my boyfriend’s cooking. And I love the fact that I could make him his first baked potato, s’more, grilled cheese with tomato soup, and tuna pasta salad.

Don’t tell anyone, but I loathe Shaabi music. Google some Shaabi and hear this genre for yourself.

I love that health care and medications are affordable here. No insurance really necessary.

I loathe that the economy and unemployment are so bad, so pervasive. During the first five months, I was making a US Dollars full-time income and living in Egypt. Now I am making an Egyptian Pound part-time income and living in Egypt. Quite a difference. Ouch.

IMG_5758

I love that when your smartphone’s monthly data plan is used-up here, you keep receiving data service at no cost for the rest of the month, just at a slower speed.

I loathe the environment where so many Egyptian liberals are losing heart. They don’t want the Muslim Brotherhood and have been betrayed by Morsi and this pseudo-democracy with a flase codification of Sharia law for State benefit, but an alternative vision for future rule remains missing.

I love seeing groups of all different types of Egyptians gathering in shops and Metro stations to sign the “Rebellion” (tamarud) petition.

For some reason, I love that I feel safe here. Sometimes much more than Chicago. Sometimes less. But just like Chicago, every block in Cairo has its own risks at times.

I love that my mom has her bounce back.

I love that you are there reading this. It feels like you are by my side somehow.

See you in Baku.

Full Circles

One of my first blog posts from Cairo last Fall described an encounter with a special man and an initial tour of the High Institute of Ballet. He had made an impact on my impressions of this place.

“The office, which had been abuzz with activity of both female and male faculty rushing around negotiating student files, now becomes unusually still and quiet as the Director of Cairo Opera Ballet enters. He is a bit of an aloof and cultured character. I cannot figure him out just yet but am impressed just by the aura. He wears a brown vest and light wash jeans, is gallant yet slim, and when introduced to me, says nothing, kisses the back of my hand, slowly and certainly.

Prestigious. A long tradition of it.”

Last week, I attended the final performance and the final exams of the students I taught this Fall. I hadn’t seen them since January. For the performance, the students took to the grand stage of the Cairo Opera House. Audience was invitation-only, parents and afficianados. Flamenco, traditional dances from Upper Egypt, male ballet students flying through the air, special appearances by elite professionals, and a high-energy all-girl take on Gangnam Style.

But during Act II, the recital rook a somber turn as the High Institute remembered a special man who had recently passed. An enormous portrait was lowered onto stage as a backdrop. This was the same man I had met during that first visit to the Institute office. Abdel Moneim Kamel. The esteemed director of the Cairo Opera House for decades, a first-rank ballet dancer, and a loved dance educator.

May he rest in a dancing peace.

Screen Shot 2013-05-14 at 3.34.25 PM

A few days later I returned to the Institute to watch the examinations of my former students. I hadn’t seen them since the end of the first semester. If you read my previous post about my feelings of the exam process, you know this was a pedagogical challenge for me. I wasn’t sure what sort of impact I had had. Was this Fulbright experience worth it? Worth anything? For them, the other teachers, for me?

IMG_5657

As I watched the students, I definitely saw more bolder movement and a willingness to step up to the lead even if they weren’t the best dancer. Those are two things I had hoped to bring to the Institute: an equality of expectation and a push to dance with full capacity. Then the students performed one of the routines I had choreographed (but this time to techno music instead of The Decemberists).

IMG_5664

The backdrop for all this was a bit of disturbing news for us foreigners in the city. An American citizen and director of the CASA program being stabbed in the neck. A planned bomb attack thwarted. Some of the same alertness that we had here in September following the events at the embassy. This time around, I am in love with the people and the good I am able to share.

I am also still leading dance activities at 57357 Children’s Cancer Hospital Egypt and today was the best dancing day at the hospital ever! I wish I could have stopped and taken a picture. The outpatient playroom where we dance every Tuesday was packed. No one was sitting out, which typically happens. And when a young boy with a mass of a tumor growing on his jaw grabbed my hand to try his first leap-turn combination, I could actually feel his joy. Staff and parents were fully supportive.

My plan has always been to build a more sustainable dance program at 57357 with other dance practitioners. I don’t want the dancing to end when my time here does. But this has been more difficult than expected. Dancers here are incredibly busy. Plus there is little history of dancers and artists in hospitals, schools, and other public places. I led one professional development workshop in December, but most of the participants were too young, there was no translator, and nothing ever came of it.

At least I thought.

Today I walked into the volunteer office inside 57357 and a woman says, “Hi Shawn! Great to see you! Do you remember me?” (translated from Arabic). I had found her face familiar but wasn’t able to place her. Turns out she is a graduating student who was at that workshop in December. She had decided to follow-up on those ideas and was there at the hospital today to start her volunteer application process!

Hopefully she will be one of many dance practitioners at the 57357 Volunteer Appreciation Day next year.

IMG_5688

Volunteer Appreciation Day at 57357

I am ending this blog post with an appeal. Every year, a few times a year, I raise funds for different causes. My Facebook friends have come to expect year. Like a cycle, I have raise at least $3,000-5,000 for the past five years. But this year is harder for several reasons. My goals are binational, both monetary and terpsichory.

Please click here, read what we are trying to do, and donate what you can. Any amount. Any currency. Doing good is not a one-time thing, not linear; it is a repetition of dancing circles.  

A Special Request for a Special Mom

I am an only child. My parents never adopted. My mother lost both her parents and keeps her arms open for her brothers and sisters and their kids, but she never had another child after me. She gave birth to me in 1978 and I had a birth defect, severe Craniosynostis. I was a bit much to handle financially and emotionally. My mother tells the story of not knowing if I would be brain damaged, taking me to skull surgery at 6-days-old, and waiting for my hair to grow and reach my ears. She’s a good mom.

396422_10150615095471084_1342920819_n

My parents are both top-notch folks. But it is nearly Mother’s Day and I have to give out some love to one very special lady. And I need your help.

I realized something last week that has taken nearly 35 years to realize: No one will ever have My Mom as a mother except for me. 

You may have a great mom. She might be there next to you. She might be oceans away. She might be loving you from above.

But today I am offering you a most unique opportunity: Being a child of my mother for the week. I wonder if we can get her hundreds of children this week, of all ages, nationalities and backgrounds!

 

Now if you are going to be my mother’s kid, even for a week, you should know a little about her.

  • She loves Nascar (Jr. in particular) and gardening in the backyard when she can feel her fingers (see below).
  • Her favorite color is green. She likes decorating the house for Christmas.
  • She is Lutheran but keeps faith private.
  • She used to be a bowler and go to heavy rock concerts in the 70s.

560572_10150926071111084_1876453654_n

  • I consider her background somewhat hippie, making her own mini skirts and cavorting with soldier friends serving in Vietnam.
  • She has been battling breast cancer and heart issues since September. The neuropathy is bad right now, so her fingers are often numb and her feet hurt and swell, making it very difficult to walk.
  • She is having a double mastectomy one week from today.
  • She doesn’t like putting herself first or exercising, but she’s trying her best to turn that around.
  • She has never taken a sip of alcohol or smoked a single thing in her life.
  • She recently celebrated a 40th wedding anniversary with my dad.
  • She is shorter than me.
  • She is smart.
  • Her daily positive humor is something we should all aspire to.
  • She is hilarious.

Isn’t she awesome?

Now, if you want to be one of my mom’s kids for the week, please send her a Mother’s Day greeting in the comment section below.

But sorry… After Mother’s Day next week, she’s all mine again.

Love you, Mom!

602113_10151462254446084_686607454_n

 

A Tribute to the Workers Who Make Cairo Work

Today is May Day. International Workers’ Day. I have been thinking a lot about workers’ rights lately after more than 400 people died in a building collapse in a textile factory in Bangladesh. Organized workers and strikers were also a major spark of the Arab Spring. Plus, I’m from Chicago, a union city, a place called “The City of Big Shoulders.”

But today I am compelled to write about a different sector of workers you might not know or think about. My goal is to introduce you to the independent service industry in Cairo. To honor these entrepreneurs and their critical importance to keeping this urban society running.

A broad-shouldered man in a brown suit sits alone in the cafe in the Cairo train station, enjoying a Turkish coffee and reading a local paper. Another man, more casually dressed, approaches him. With little words, a negotiation is made. The more casual bends down and takes off the seated man’s shoes, slipping a piece of cardboard under his now stocking feet. He takes the shoes away while the man continues to enjoy his coffee and paper. In just a few minutes, he returns, delivering the shined shoes on another piece of cardboard, like a platter. He puts the shoes back on the other man’s feet, collects his money, and away he goes.

This is the freelance shoe-shine profession in Egypt. Gazmagaya.

Other workers who keep Cairo working include…

Zabbaleen: Informal garbage collectors sorting through the massive trash piles for over 9 million people and recycling up to 80% of what the collect. All without a single garbage truck or recycling bin.

Bikia Guys: Men driving donkey carts through the streets, hollering on megaphones, collecting old, donated furniture, antiques and appliances for resell or upcycle.

IMG_5608

3’raz : People collecting and distributing gas canisters for people’s homes.

IMG_5607

Tabaya: Without parking meters or open parking lots/garages, the next job is crucial. There are the young men helping drivers find a spot to park, watching people’s cars while they go in to eat dinner, watch a movie, etc., then stopping traffic so that the cars’ owners can back out of the space safely. The cost of this service is unstated, but Tabya are usually given 5LE (72 cents) per car.

Tabaya Part 2: Men hanging outside the minibus door, yelling the destination in order to draw customers, collecting the money, and keeping the peace among passengers.

Side note: No one in Cairo ever pumps their own gas.

IMG_5606

Bawaab: Door guys who also make sure that your car is safe and clean, gates are locked, and no funny business is going on.

Bay Aya Gawel: Entrepreneurs selling newspapers and sweets on the government trains, Metro, and other venues.

IMG_5609

There are no dive-thrus that I have seen in Cairo, but there are the women and men selling hot tea and sandwiches on the side of the street. They use real glasses and metal spoons. No disposables. A driver must pull over and take a moment to enjoy their tea.

6aYar: Although they officially work for companies and are not independent, I consider motorcycle delivery men some of the heroes of Cairo, bringing you your McDonald’s, groceries, prescriptions, or almost anything you could want, including Cinnabon.

IMG_5605

Look around you today for the workers that make your city, your school, or your block work. Who are these fine men and women?

IMG_5610

Around the world, may they all have a beautiful May Day. Power to the people.

© 2024 Shawn Lent

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑