Getting out or Getting Through?

Sitting in the van, I push the curtain aside as we roll through Muquttam, a poorer neighborhood of Cairo. Women, men and children queue up in a crowded fashion, standing in some semblance of a line pushing and shoving, trying to get to the front. A woman and her son walk away, balancing a plate with several pieces of Syrian bread atop her head. Further down the rode, I see a group of 10 year old boys, some shoe-less, most wearing dirty and tattered clothing. As the dust rises up behind our van, I look back and see faces of all different ages staring at us as we pass through, speeding by. Some look puzzled, most look sternly without smiling.
This struggle occurs on a daily basis for millions of Egyptians. Difficult to watch, I find myself merely a passerby, honing in briefly then cruising out, back to the hotel and eventually, back to the US. Frustration builds inside me, as I wonder how I can possibly help to get these people out of this desolate situation. Merely driving through you are neglected the opportunity to fully observe. You are given a glimpse, a preview, upon which you make your judgments or assumptions about how life must be. Upon actually visiting places like Establ Antar, however, I have learned that the people in these communities manage to make it through each day. As much as they might want to escape this lifestyle, they manage to evade these dreams of an easier life and instead focus their efforts on getting through each day.
As a student studying abroad, I can't help but think of the things I will do once I am out of Egypt. When times are trying or people difficult, I remind myself that there is an end to my stay here, and regardless of the physical ailments or cultural misunderstandings that plague me, in a few weeks time I will be out. My time here has led me to realize that my absence does not cancel out what I have observed; the phrase "out of sight, out of mind" seems faulty. How can I erase the images of women sitting in the streets with their children, begging for money or young children wandering the streets alone, dirty and dressed raggedly. I have only been here two weeks and I find myself now wondering less about quick fixes, instant solutions and more about fully understanding the problem. It takes more than just a preview to understand a whole movie. More often than not, the previews are the most dramatic scenes loosely strung together so you get a gist of the type of movie. But previews are often misleading. I find myself thinking less of ways to remove these people from their situation and more about ways to trudge through, to change the system in a way that will benefit these people. The easy way is out, but most don't have that option.

Upper Egypt

After a few days, my body has begun to adjust to the time difference, although I still rarely know what day it is. But almost as quickly as we have settled into Zamalek, we are whisked away by overnight train to Aswan, the deep south of Egypt. I spent a week and a half trying to absorb a ridiculous amount of historical and cultural information. Traveling to the Pyramids of Giza, the Sphinx, a plethora of ancient Pharoanic temples and tombs, our tour guides Ibrahim and Michael filled our minds with the structural details and historical context of each monument. Clustered together in a group of almost 40 was quite frustrating at times; for a good 10 days we were being loaded on and off buses and guided around like a herd of sheep. Even individual time was spent in larger groups of 8 or 10 rather than 3 or 4 students. The balance between trying to meet other students and paying attention to the tours was tricky; often running on 5 or 6 hours of sleep, days were long and hot (in Aswan and Luxor, about 100-107 degrees every day!). With wake up calls as early as 5:30, I can’t say I was fully awake upon arriving on site. In Aswan, visiting temple after temple after temple, is at first almost irksome. Yet, one feeling that never gets old is that of downright awe. Thousands of years old, these structures still stand, bodies still preserved. The structural soundness and the immense size of each temple, pyramid or tomb absolutely stuns you. The remnants of paint, nearly worn off, leave you with only a partial image, your imagination filling in the rest. How were these monuments constructed. It is hard to imagine such monstrous sized and elaborately decorated structures could possibly have been built sans the technology of today's world. Traveling north to Luxor, these thoughts persist.

The sweltering heat is made bearable only due to the arid desert air. Upon arriving in Luxor we were given a few hours to explore our surrounding, so a few friends and I took a stroll down the Nile. Every 100 feet or so, a man garbed in a gallibaya approaches, “Hallo! Falukka…Sailboat on Nile?” “La’a shokran.” Taxis pull up to the sidewalk, “Taxi? Beautiful eyes!! Taxi?” “La’a, shokran.” Men sit together, 4 or 5 together, and watch you, more often than not whistling or catcalling, “Spicy girl! How many camel? Where you from! American girl! Want Egyptian husband?” Your hardest efforts at ignoring them pales in comparison to their persistence at getting a reaction out of you. The unfortunate truth is, we stand out. Our differences draw their attention, leading you to ask: Do they honestly expect a genuine response to their off the cuff marriage proposals? Are they trying to get a rise out of us? Regardless of these answers, you are left in a position where culturally, as a female, you have no real power to do much aside from politely declining. We depart from Luxor later today. I have a day for my mind to transition from tourist to student...

First Impressions

Essalem alaykum!
Since arriving two (three?) days ago, I have already begun to feel immersed in the culture. Perhaps I anticipated the differences in culture so much or maybe it will hit me harder sometime in the near future, but I do feel surprisingly at ease...in some sense. You only get one chance at a first impression, so here it is:
A permanent haze encompasses the city. Guards dressed in white uniforms patrol nearly every block on the streets on the island of Zamalek. Tourist police, in order to ensure the safety of the tourists. Zamalek, considered a higher class neighborhood of Cairo, serves as a microcosm for the general structure, both physical and social, of the city as a whole. Though considered the "Manhattan" of Cairo, the sidewalks are littered with cigarette butts, animal droppings, cans and bottles, and a plethora of other objects. BMWs, vans, and many older vehicles cruise through the narrow streets, often barely stopping to allow pedestrians to cross. Though many streets are paved, the curbs are nearly a foot up off of ground level, and bricks and stones jut out unevenly. This apparent lack in sanitary standards, however, does not reflect the attitude of its peoples.
As I learned from my "crash-course Arabic" instructor, Syanora, there are really only two classes: the rich and the poor. The gap is ever growing, not just because of a faltering economy but because of cultural norms. Many of my everyday encounters on the island are with tourists or local shopkeepers, who persistently smile at you, waving "souvenirs" or other items in your face, yelling out prices talking about discounts. Initially, you might think they just want your money, which they do. For many, however, this is their only source of income, for themselves as well as their families. Many of these people have gone to college or university and graduated with a degree in fields ranging from business to tourism to engineering, yet because of their social status they have no work despite their higher level of education. My natural instinct is to give what I have to these individuals, however, we are CONSTANTLY being warned to refrain from giving "bak sheish" (tips or small change). Young children and shopkeepers thrust themselves and their services or products in your face. Their physical condition appears lousy, to say the least; ripped shirts, dirty faces, scratched hands, and yet we are told to hold onto our money, don't cave to the innocent and persistent looks of the locals. Further contemplation on this issue is to come. For now, off to a Falouka on the Nile!