Wednesday, August 11, 2010
I the Egyptian Video
Thursday, July 29, 2010
On The Way Out
Sunday, July 25, 2010
I Believe I Can Fly Video
This is the video we created for the DukeEngage: Cultural Crossroads night. Pictures will be added soon, so please check back again in the morning.
Come One, Come All
A Line or Two on America
The one thing I was repeatedly told about going to Egypt was, don’t have any expectations. Thus I, and I think my peers did the same, put myself in a mindset to be ready for surprises. I figured I’d probably learn a thing or two about Egyptian culture and society along the way; what I didn’t anticipate is how much it would tell me about my own. When I’m put into a new situation or something unexpected happens, I am usually not surprised. No big deal, that’s what’s supposed to happen when you interact with a new culture. In an earlier blog post I think I interpreted this as being unfazed by my interactions in Cairo. But the truth is that I am fazed, and the effect lies in the fact that something was unexpected in the first place. Instead of getting a better understanding of Egyptians, I think I’ve ended up learning more, through contrast, about Americans.
One of the main insights I feel like I’ve gained, and the one that’s been most on my mind lately, is that we Americans are obsessed with lines. Yes, lines. All types of them. In the metro, when there are massive mobs trying to get in and out of the same door of a car at the same time, or trying to buy tickets, it’s a bit foreign. I suppose earlier I dismissively thought (quite pompous in hindsight) that this had something to do with civility. But the truth is Egyptians are no less civil than the people I’ve been surrounded by for most of my life. My fellow Americans are just absolutely infatuated with organization, often for no real purpose other than to subdue their unyielding (and perhaps more unnatural than I thought?) fear of chaos. Our reaction to the mobs at the metro is just the surface of some sort of new metaphorical insight I feel like I’ve gained about the American and perhaps Western mindset.
And that’s not the only kind of line. The American is proud of nothing more than he is his open-mindedness and acceptance of others. Yet perhaps exactly that idea can limit his outlook, which sounds paradoxical and probably is. Whatever. Most of my Arabic class here is discussion based, so we often end up talking about important and usually sensitive issues in America and Egypt with our teacher. Our teacher would ask us how Americans viewed something or what the tradition was for something and we very quickly learned the word for “it depends on…” Within the first week it became absolutely necessary to explain to our teacher the concept of “politically correct.” In being so constantly preoccupied with not hurting anyone’s feelings or not generalizing, we were drawing another line- a boundary. A limit. And lots of them at that. I’d realized a while ago that Americans hate to generalize or offend people (yes, I know what I just did there. Clever, right?), but once we had to talk about something in a foreign language, without the ability to say things exactly right, I really saw just how stunting it could be for communication. Every society has boundaries about what can and cannot be done, but ours is an intellectual boundary and seems to be a lot more apologetic. Our group knows each others’ values and backgrounds; why, then, is there still this constant trepidation to say something that may, theoretically, have offended some person from some family in some random area of the country? Why do we get so uncomfortable when an Egyptian in a coffee shop asks us about our religion and feel the need to constantly repeat the fact that this is only one opinion and not everyone believes this way? Of course it’s your opinion- you’re the one who said it; it’s not about clarifying that. It’s about that historically deep-rooted, socially promoted discomfort- not with being wrong, but with being perceived as ignorant or closed-minded.
There is another line still, though it’s very similar to the former. A few days ago I was in a largely Christian area in a church with a few friends on a mountain called Moqattum (an experience that really deserves its own post, though the chances of that happening are pretty slim). We were discussing the relationship between Muslims and Christians in Egypt and one of my friends said something that struck me. He knows the country much better than I do and was telling us how he’d seen Muslim women come to the church we were sitting in and ask the patron saint for protection. He then related that followers of each religion have parades for their respective saints and how sometimes they attend each other’s parades. My friend prefaced this with the observation that the relationship between Muslims and Christians in this area was “pretty odd.” I immediately thought of Islam and Hinduism in pre-colonial India. First of all, I don’t think Hinduism even had a name at that point. People just believed in their gods. If one of those gods had a prophet by the name of Muhammed, then so be it. And if one of the Muslim prophets was a Hindu god named Ram, that’s cool. It was all very… natural. When the British came and went, they left lines. Not just boundaries like the one between Pakistan and India, but categorical lines. People were asked if they were Muslim or Hindu and were then filed in one drawer or another. I’m not arguing that partitions didn’t exist before the evil Western man came in and created them, not at all. But I’ve heard too many stories about people who had no idea if they were Muslim or Hindu, or what the differences were between the two, or even that there were any differences, before British occupation. I think that developed countries in the west, more than any other countries, feel some need to categorize things. It’s no surprise that taxonomy was invented by a Roman. For something to exist, there must be distinctions between it and something else. It goes back to the western preoccupation with organization.
Now don’t get me wrong- my friend isn’t some dumb American who’s completely unaware of the fact that societies have different religious and cultural norms. I, as primarily a westerner, also found the information he shared strange. I think I’m guilty of drawing all of these types of lines. I’m not even so sure if that’s a bad thing. I really don’t think I would have been able to fully appreciate it without the contrast of Cairo though. It’s definitely not the only thing that being here has taught me about Americans and probably won’t be the last; I’m curious to see if I’ll find even more biases once I go home.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Don't Know French? That Makes Two of Us
Thiis summer, young African refugees living in Cairo are attending English, computer and Arabic classes in a school financed by the Red Cross. Some of them live on their own in Egypt, without their family.
On the third floor of a run-down building, some snippets of English escape through the open door. "Hello, my name is Degaa. I am 18 years old. I was born in Mogadishu; I arrived in Egypt in 2001." One by one, each student stands and introduces him/herself. Their voices drown out the noise from the street where the tuk-tuks – motorized rickshaws – zigzag among the passer-bys, bread deliverers on bike, and hookah smokers. A sizeable Somali community lives here, in Ardilewa, a disadvantaged neighborhood in Southwest Cairo.
This Tuesday, there are twenty boys and girls attending an English class in a Somali community center. Focused, their eyes are riveted on Lindsey and Fernando, two American students from Duke University in North Carolina; all the teachers – volunteers – come from Duke. Despite their focus, the students readily giggle at their trip-ups when counting backwards in English.
For seven weeks, a hundred African refugees, aged 12-21, are participating in this summer school financed by the Red Cross and organized by NGOs that provide aid for refugees in Cairo. Grouped together by nationalities, young Somalis, Sudanese, Eritreans or Ethiopians mainly take English courses, but also have computer and Arabic classes. They attend information sessions on the rights of refugees, health and nutrition. Excursions on felucca rides, visits to the National Cairo Museum or a day in the park are also in the program.
The American Dream is still popular
"I want to discover a new culture through English", attests Ifrah, a shy young 17 year old girl, veiled, who sits up straight in her long black robe. During the year, she attends a public Egyptian school.
Her sister Fartoum, 12, is also present in the class. They arrived from Somalia in 2006, with their uncle, himself the father of seven children. Ifrah says she has no memory of her parents. "Later, I would like to go the United States and become a doctor," she adds The American dream is still popular among the Somali youth.
The program is primarily aimed at unaccompanied minors who live on their own in Egypt. This is the case of Osmane, a slender 17-year-old who arrived in Cairo one year ago. "I live in an apartment with three other Somalis. I would like to learn a job. Maybe a mechanic, I would like that." As for his family, he does not draw out the topic: his parents are dead and he has lost all contact with his sister.
We're better off in Egypt than in Somalia: here, there is peace
Among the hundreds of thousands on African refugees who live in Egypt, there are some hundreds of unaccompanied minors. "The majority arrive in Egypt alone. Their parents have disappeared or can no longer care for them," explains Chantal Hudson, an official in the Department for Minors of the British NGO AMERA (Africa and Middle East Refugee Assistance) – an NGO that furnishes legal aid to African refugees in Cairo.
"Once they are registered with the United Nations High Commissioner on Refugees (UNHCR), the minors receive 400 pounds a month (55€ / $70), free medical care and legal protection." As Egyptian policemen regularly stop African migrants, this protection is precious: it can save a refugee from being sent back to their country of origin.
Life in Cairo, where racism against blacks is common, is far from idyllic for these teens. "One time, someone insulted me in the street because I am black," testifies Zeinab, 18 years old. "But often, the people are nice. In any case, we're better off in Egypt than we are in Somalia: here, there is peace," she concludes, before hitting the books again.
- Nina Hubinet, in Cairo