Doo Doo Doo Lookin' Out my Back Door

Or in this case- my back window.
I’ve developed a little ritual for myself to help me digest and reflect on the day’s events. At the end of every day, I like to look out my window for about 10 minutes and people watch. I have seriously considered buying a pair of binoculars, but something tells me my neighbors won’t appreciate it.
At night, this is what my view looks like.



On the surface, there is nothing particularly exciting happening. You see cars, people, balconies, all the things that you expect from Egyptian street.
But start looking closely.
To your right, you see a line of parked cars. It is unbelievable how no matter the size of the car, no matter the size of the space, Egyptians can parallel park like it’s their freakin’ job. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. SUV’s parked where a tiny one-door car should be. It is as if they have the ability to shrink their car down to proper size to fit into the space, and then expand it back to its original size once parked. It’s uncanny. My former program director assigned this phenomenon, among others, to the mysterious ability of Egyptians to weave their way through impossible situations and make something out of nothing. Give them an obstacle, and somehow, they persevere and find their way through. Give them line after line of bureaucracy, red tape, no after no after no, and they somehow make it work. Give them a three inch space to park their car, and by golly, they’ll do it!
To your left, there is a line of men sitting on plastic chairs, smoking shisha, drinking shai (tea), and playing dominos. They discuss the days events, sometimes bring their children outside to play (the other night, they had a toy gun and the kids were hiding from the father as he chased them with it), and they watch soccer, shoot the shit, and come back, night after night, and stay out there until 2, 3, 4 am.
When you look up, you see the lives of women in Egypt. You watch as they go in and out of their apartments, look at the streets, check on their laundry on clotheslines, dress their children, and unlike the soccer games playing outside, there are Turkish soap operas, entertainment television, music videos, or old movies playing inside.
The children run back and forth between their mothers and fathers. When the fathers hear the babies fussing inside, you can hear them from between their breaths of shisha yelling, “ma lak! Eiyza eih?” (what’s wrong? what do you want) and then the kids either calm down or come outside.
Men come every night and rinse the street with water, moping up the dirt from the street. People come and go from the trash dumps, throwing their trash bags either in the bin or on the ground next to it. Taxis come and go. People walk around all night. Sometimes fights erupt over neighborhood scandals.
Think what you will, judge the gender roles as you like, but this is Egypt. And it’s awesome to watch.


PS. Alexandria just enacted a new no-smoking ban. This means no shishas in any public space. The fine for shisha smoking is 100 pounds for an individual and 1000 pounds for the establishment providing the shisha. If you ask me (and anyone in Alex), it’s probably because the government needs some quick cash, it won’t last more than a month, and that it is an attack on the very essence of Egyptian culture- the Ahwa (the coffee shop). For a country suffering from astronomical unemployment rates, why try to take cash away from thriving local businesses?

PPS POMEGRANATES!

Mohamed and Sarah get hitched!

Last night, I attended the wedding of the century!
My friend, Mohamed El-Kholy (or Kholy as we know him), got married to his long time friend, Sarah. We met Kholy last summer (he was a member of the rotary club and was introduced to the program) and we were buddies ever since! He knows everyone in Egypt and always hooked us up with all kinds of awesome concert tickets, seats to soccer games, and was always down to have a good time. So we were so excited to find out that he was getting married and that we would be here in time for the wedding!

Now, first, a note on Egyptian weddings. Unlike in the states, the marriage process in Egypt happens in a few different stages. First, the engagement. Usually, the groom goes to the bride's parents and arranges everything with them- he asks for permission, the two families talk about it, and if it is decided that the match is suitable, the couple becomes engaged. And then they have a huge engagement party that often resembles a wedding in America. Next, the couple sets the date for the official Islamic wedding called, "The signing of the book" or "Ketab al Ketaba." It is very much like the Ketuba ceremony in Judaism, but it takes place several months prior to the wedding celebration. Only close family and friends attend this ceremony, and afterwards, the couple is married in the eyes of Islam. During the time between the signing of the Ketaba and the actual wedding ceremony, the couple arranges their home, makes sure they have enough money for everything, and basically gets everything set. Then, the wedding is just a huge celebration! There is no ceremony, it's just basically a party!

So last night:
We (Katelyn, Mae, and I) were told to be ready at 4 o'clock because the wedding starts at 6. We were obviously skeptical because as we have learned, Egyptian time is not the same as American time, but we got ready nonetheless.
Bazooka picked us up at 7:30. Maalesh.
We arrived at the King Marriot and the place was decked out and absolutely gorgeous (and might I add that we three mozas (hotties in Arabic) were decked out as well!) In addition to being gorgeous, the place was ready to feed an army. A table longer than anyone could possibly imagine was ready with food trays, there was a shwarma stand, an ice cream stand, a giant fruit statue. It was unreal. There was also a dance floor in the middle, 2 giant projection screens, and at least 50 tables (we were told that there was going to be 650 people at the wedding!)






We got there just in time for the Zefa ceremony. Basically, the groom waits with everyone and a band of tabla players (drummers), trumpets, and all sorts of other instruments plays as the bride gets out of her car, and her father walks her to the groom. The band continues to play and everyone sings and dances around the bride and groom. It's a really beautiful and joyful tradition. Here is a video:



Next, after the dancing, everyone sits down and the bride and groom have their first slow dance. Then everyone gets up and slow dances as well. After that, we are seated, and are served awesome juice (mango and something that tasted like jello).

After this, a DJ comes on and everyone dances around the bride and groom. Everyone there knows all the words to all the songs and is singing and dancing and just having a blast (this basically is what happens throughout the rest of the night).
So there was a DJ, then a singer who sang on the dance floor directly to the bride and groom, then a break for dinner.


And oh my god. I wish I had words to describe this dinner. My guess is that every kind of food ever made inside of Egypt was present at this dinner. There was a fish, 800 different kinds of meat, a whole salad bar, ice cream stand, shwarma stand, 8 kinds of dessert, and remember that giant table? There were 2 of them!! Here are some pictures, because words can't aptly describe the scene!!



After dinner, they brought in a different singer, then the DJ again, so at about 1:30, the wedding ended, and we all said our goodbyes, our mabruks (congrats) and went off to sleep.

Overall, the wedding was awesome!!










please note that the pictures were taken by the talented Katelyn Gallagher. For further insight on our trip in Egypt, weddings, traffic, and life, you can visit her blog (cakelyn.wordpress.com) or Mae's blog at (maemciver@blogspot.com)

public transportation: a guide to surviving Egyptians on the move

When you think of driving around in Egypt, I wouldn't be surprised if this image came to mind.



At first glance, it seems a chaotic mess of cars and taxis, minibuses, tour buses, donkeys, carts, people, all trying to maneuver their way through a city lacking traffic lights, stop signs, police, or even one way signs, even though most of the streets are only one way. To the foreigner, there are no rules. People jump indiscriminately in front of speeding cars and trams and everyone's honking and flashing their lights and you wonder how it's possible you've made it this long without losing at least a toe.

But, with the help of my roommate and all other Egyptians, I've learned a thing or two about a thing or two.

First, let me tell you about the different ways you can get around. At first, I thought there was just the tram (an above ground train that runs slower than my sister but only costs a quarter of an Egyptian pound and takes you to most places you need to go). The tram runs parallel to the Cornische (the street running along the waterfront). Then, there is the Mashrua (also known as minibuses or microbuses) that as far as my knowledge went, ran along the Cornische for half an Egyptian pound. Then there's a taxi- more expensive but obvious advantages.

Then Dalia opened up a whole new world to me: To get to school, I have to take the tram to a regular bus.
But (here's the kicker)
The tram isn't the same tram that I thought was the only one that existed in the city. There's another one! A different tram! I don't know it's route or anything about it- but it exists!
And a bus! A bus! It costs sometimes one Egyptian pound, sometimes half an Egyptian pound, and runs sometimes one route, sometimes another route, it has no regular departure times or arrival times, no indications for bus stops- it's a system that runs entirely on know-how. The bus waits at the train station and it won't depart until it is entirely full and all its passengers are sufficiently sweating and sitting on top of each other.
And then, Dalia took me on a minibus. But we weren't on the Cornische. It was another minibus! Like another tram! And again, there is no way to know or discover where these glorious little vehicles run or when or how.

But somehow, everyone seems to know the system. Everyone knows exactly what bus to take and how to find it, how much it costs and where to get off. Everyone around me knows the rules, the best seats (next to the window obviously to catch that amazing breeze when you first pull out of the station), and they know how to carry their purses, not to wear backpacks, just the right moment to jump off the tram so as to no hurt themselves, how much time they need to cross the street before being hit by a car, how many honks to indicate to the other drivers what you need, how many times to flash your lights. And I'm realizing that the transportation here, the life here, is exactly like the language. It's incomprehensible to foreigners without a guide, and even then, no matter how long you are there, no matter how hard you study, you will not know it like the Egyptians know it. There will always be an exception. The direct object is mansub after Ism Kan but Marfua after ism in. The bus costs more on fridays or doesn't run on fridays or maybe has some sort of peak hours. The bus stops in front of the university unless it stops at Port Said street. One taxi driver will take you somewhere for 3 pounds while another will take you for 2 and another will try to squeeze you for 10. You say Mesh in present tense but Ma in past tense. Both are systems that are so convoluted and complicated that they seem like an absolute mess. But slowly you realize that its not a mess, but it's calculated and intricate. You just have to grow up with it.

And sometimes, I feel like a masochist living here. But think of it like a puzzle- you are sick of sitting in that same stupid chair and your back hurts from searching for that last corner piece, but you can't stop until you've finished!

Tis the season

Yes, you heard me right. Tis the season. Pomegranate season.
All my poor friends in the states who have to wait until January for fresh oranges and clementines, munching only on measly pumpkins and gourds, brace yourselves because you are in for a bumpy and jealous ride.
Not only does pomegranate season mean fresh squeezed juice at every corner, but it means all kinds of desserts and delicacies that scream, "I dare you to not enjoy me." Pomegranate, enjoy you I will. From this moment forward I have committed myself to trying every food in Egypt that contains any trace of this delectable fruit. My mouth will be stained with that beautiful maroonish purple with seeds clinging to my every tooth.
Although we are just at the very beginning (I tried a juice and it wasn't quite ripe), I have seen the light. Phakhanis (fruit guys) at every corner with boxes filled to the brim. Juice stands with pomegranates hanging from the ceiling. Friends, I feel as if my life has just begun.

In other news, classes have also started (today was our first day) and it went quite well! I also joined a gym (lovely women's section with jacoozi, sauna, steam room, and aerobics classes) and I look forward to learning all of the words for the different machines.

Stay tuned, folks, the next post will be entitled, "public transportation: a guide to surviving Egyptians on the move."

P.S. I keep forgetting to bring my camera around, but I promise to bring it tomorrow and upload all sorts of photographs as soon as my internet lets me
P.P.S If you have any Egypt related questions that you need answering, send them along and I will be sure to investigate thoroughly and give you my best guess!

Welcome to Egypt! Or as Ari says, Don't Forget The Bitter Herbs in The Kushari: A Cross Cultural Culinary Adventure

Hello all my dear followers! Firstly, I'd like to apologize for my late blogpost. Egypt's a little hectic, internet's unreliable, and I've generally been getting myself acclimated. So far, things are great. I'm living in a new apartment with a great roommate named Dalia (who is also a vegetarian and a linguist) and I seem to be getting right back into the swing of things.

Now, first things first (truly).
As most of you all know, Yom Kippur is tomorrow night, a fact that has been plaguing me for several weeks now, as it forces me to confront one of the most challenging questions before me, "How do I exist as a Jew in Egypt" and I seem to have to deal with this question right from the get-go. As of now, it looks like there are no services for me on the horizon. The Jews here are scarce and difficult to find, and I am slowly realizing that I will be making a makeshift Yom Kippur all on my own. So, as a part of my Yom Kippur cleansing and self examination, I thought I'd share a few thoughts about Yom Kippur, forgiveness, Jews, and Egypt.

Being Jewish in Egypt is complicated. A google search of "celebrating Yom Kippur in Egypt" brings up a litany of historical facts abut the Yom Kippur War, the exodus from Egypt (both in the Torah and in the 1950s). There is no list of synagogues, no services, just a confrontation with a painful and complicated past that goes back far into the collective Jewish memory. Egypt, for most Jews, seems to symbolize slavery, oppression, and violence.

Although Jewish tradition is filled was vast insight into how to confront difficult situations, it seems to lack any precedent guiding a Jew returning to a place where he was once oppressed. Our scholars don't discuss reengaging our once oppressors in a dialogue, restarting a conversation about what happened and why. In fact, as my father told me, the opposite is true; the Torah tells us, "Do not return to Egypt." We have no guidance telling us what we should do when we go back to Germany, when we revisit Poland, Russia, Spain. It seems, as Jews, our instinct is to move on, settle in a new place, continue our wandering until we find our "salvation." Although we establish permanent communities for ourselves, we still celebrate Sukkot, constantly reminding ourselves how to set up temporary homes if need be, in case of emergency.

And that brings me back to Yom Kippur. On Yom Kippur, we are commanded, not to run, but to confront our friends, our enemies, anyone in the past year who we could have disrespected or could have hurt us. We must engage them, grapple with them, and ultimately, forgive. We must give each other the chance to apologize, give each other the opportunity to cleanse from guilt, anger, sadness, regret, so that we we can both move on and continue in a healthier, more meaningful relationship.

So, to answer my skeptics, this is why we must go back to Egypt. It's not about pursuing an apology that will never come (after all, we don't not see ourselves at the doorsteps of our Palestinian neighbors) (sorry for the controversial statement and for those who I might offend), and we too realize that being a majority is hard. It's complicated. Every nation on Earth has motivations and reasons for acting the way that they do. Every person on Earth has passions that guide them. The key, I have learned, for forgiveness, is to best understand what those motivations are and try our best to understand anothers' perspective. You can no longer be burdened with anger when you understand. It requires a patience that I certainly struggle to have, but I want to learn the human story behind the faces that we Jews and Americans seem to villanize and hope that by engaging, we can begin to understand and respect each other.

How lucky am I that I am arriving after Ramadan- when I can explain that I am fasting to my Muslim friends. How grateful am I that I arrived the same day as Bebe Netenyahu and Mahmoud Abbas on the eve of negotiations in Sharm el-Sheikh. How difficult it will be to read the Hagaddah with my Egyptian friends come Passover, but what an unbelievable conversation that will be. What a feeling it will be to take a drop of wine out of my cup to recognize Egyptian suffering.

Yes, Yom Kippur will be lonely without a shul. Yes, this journey will be confusing and lonely and saddening at times, but I couldn't feel more blessed to be embarking on it.

I wish you all a meaningful holiday. May we all learn to understand ourselves and each other a little bit better.