Yesterday, June 6, was the one-year anniversary of my arrival in Egypt. The new batch of CASAwiyyeen arrived the day before, so in a sense it was very easy for me to remember exactly what I had felt like at the very beginning of it all. It's true that last June 6 was pretty different, and experiencing both the arrival of the newbies and the graduation of the next class of Princetonians made me feel a little wistful for the world-is-my-oyster fresh-facedness of June 6, 2012. I had dinner in the dimly lit lounge of the Fairmont hotel, a hamburger, with my boyfriend and was reunited with my good friends Yehya and Nada. In one way, it was a much more comfortable routine I was about to settle into: I knew what I was signing up for for the next year and I had people to look out for me.
But on this June 6, perhaps partially a result of my heightened consciousness of time, I suddenly felt that I surmounted one of the invisible linguistic hurdles that line the path to really speaking Arabic. In an unprecedented occurrence, I actually expressed everything in Arabic how I wanted to express it, when I wanted to express it. In the afternoon, I had just left the French Cultural Center with my now-roommate Miriam when a man cruising in a silver car drove by a few times yelling "sex" out the window. My reflexes were unusually swift, and I took off chasing him down the street. He stopped for a moment at an intersection and I caught up, looked him in the eye, and shouted qoss ommak -- the foulest of curses I could muster -- while shaking my fist. He looked surprisingly panicked, tried to drive off, and crashed into the car in front of him. Walking off feeling empowered, we were stopped a few blocks later by a young woman who told us she was quite sure the man was driving a stolen car. (This would explain his panic when he saw me running!)
Later I helped new CASAwiyyeen friends connect with the landlord of an apartment they wanted. The idea that my Arabic was good enough to be useful for someone else -- now this was a new idea. A year ago, I would have frozen up and called on someone else to do the Arabic for me.
That evening, Miriam and I were invited by our friend Ahmed to a concert at the Journalists' Syndicate commemorating the 18th anniversary of the death of the gravely leftist folk singer Sheikh Imam. Every revolution has a voice, said the emcee, but Sheikh Imam is the voice of all revolutions. He was originally the voice of the 1970s student movement, although many of his songs (written by a variety of leftist poets, including the most famous, Ahmed Fouad Negm) were recycled for the January 25 revolution, since everybody knows them. Immediately after the concert, the round, gray-haired host added, all those interested would be relocating to the Ministry of Culture, where they would join an ongoing sit-in of artists and intellectuals protesting the new Muslim Brotherhood minister. (He recently fired the liberal, well-liked director of the Opera, the spark that set off people's fears that the MB was trying to dull or suppress cultural life here.) And, he added before the bands began, they would bring down the MB government entirely on June 30 -- a day when giant protests are planned - inshallah. Indeed, the audience was filled with liberal and leftist activists of many generations, including my own friend and his buddies and the founder of the Tamarrod ("Rebel") petition campaign that has apparently collected millions of signatures against Morsi. Still, strangely, we were sitting in neat lines of plush chairs in the union hall's theater. Last year the event had been in the street, Ahmed said, and that was much more appropriate for the populist music of Sheikh Imam. Even if the Journalists' Syndicate is a bastion of anti-Brotherhood sentiment, it still felt like too much of an institution for rousing protest songs. Even so, the selections evoked both the best of Egypt's cultural history and the revolutionary fervor of the almost-present. Songs like Ya Masr Qomy (Rise Up, Egypt!) and Sabah El Kheir 'ala El Ward Elly Fattah Fe Ganayin Masr (Good Morning to the Flowers that Bloomed in the Gardens of Egypt) were sung in Tahrir Square this time around as well. The latter title was, specifically, printed in red on the front page of a special edition of Al Masry Al Youm newspaper on February 6, 2011. Beneath it was the famous smiling photo of Sally Zahran, the first woman killed in the revolution, and photos of the other martyrs up to that point.
On my way home around 11, the metro was mysteriously packed and men had completely filled the women's car. I tried to make my way out at my stop, but a group of about 12 shabab stood between me and the door. Normally I would have shut up and tried to weasel out, but they were trying to pick on me and I was feeling testy. I won't let you out until you give me your number, said Rot-tooth by the door. Come on, gimme something, gimme something. He grinned into my face. Yeah, no girl in the entire world is going to want that, I told him, just loudly enough for the 50 people crammed around us to hear. I didn't smile, but I gently pushed him aside and stepped out. On the escalator, with the cat calls of the group still audible behind us, an old man stepped beside me and asked: Miss, are you Egyptian? I told him I wasn't and he said he was surprised after seeing me tell off the shabab in good Egyptian. I'm sorry for that. Feeh keda w feeh keda! -- You know there are people of all types here. Everywhere, I guess, right? He smiled and plodded off into the night, tsk-tsking his way along.
On my way into my building, I stopped to chat with the security guys. I mentioned that I had just been in Ethiopia. This has suddenly become a really hot topic -- as of the day before I returned from Ethiopia -- because lots of Egyptians currently want to go to war with Ethiopia. This is because Ethiopia is planning to build a new dam at the head of the Blue Nile that Egyptians fear will divert some of Egypt's water supply (and Egypt currently uses more Nile water than anyone else). People are really up in arms about this. Apparently Morsi and the Coptic Pope are going to Ethiopia soon, and when Mohamed El Baradei apologized to Ethiopia for all the raging Egyptian threats directed at the country, there was a massive angry uproar.
Before I went to Ethiopia, Egyptians scratched their heads when I mentioned my destination... Why would anyone want to go there? Now they're interested. So what's it like? asked my security buddies. I started describing the mountains, the lake, the baboons, the rain, the historic sites. Bas... ya3ny... al nas kwayeseen? they wanted to know. Are they good people? Yes, I nodded vigorously, in my experience. The two men looked slightly incredulous but took it in.
Naturally, the conversation shifted next to my marriage prospects. Nasser is a quiet, moon-faced man, with eyes that crinkle and just a few thin wisps of graying hair around the sides of his head. He listens more than he speaks, but he knows us better than most of the others -- remembers our names, where we're traveling, what we're doing in Egypt. The other man, with his thick white mustache and business suit, likes to remind me of details he's gathered about my life, although often they're not quite accurate. He's not afraid to help himself to a cookie or two when I come in from the bakery, and has a forceful but pally demeanor. So would you ever marry an Egyptian? he wanted to know today. I reminded him that I wasn't planning to get married anytime soon. Okay, but theoretically, what if you were 30? Would you marry an Egyptian then? I told him that I would need to evaluate things on a case-by-case basis. He said that his son runs a resort in Sharm El Sheikh and there was an English woman who wanted to marry him. I need to get her some books about Islam, though, That's the thing. I looked over at Nasser: But as I understand it, it's okay for a Muslim man to marry a Christian woman -- right? Nasser agreed -- Mosh moshkela, It's not a problem. Yeah, it wouldn't normally be a problem, continued mustache man loudly, but you know, she's a "maseheyya mota'seba"! -- She's a fanatic Christian. He seemed determined to resolve the dilemma, though, whatever it would take. Then he redirected his questioning at me. Anyway, we will find you an Egyptian husband sooner or later. Then you can stay in Egypt forever! I told him I needed to live more so that I could know who is good and who is not. That seemed to be the magic answer that satisfied their inquiries. That is so wise of you, they both said. Too many marriages end in divorce! Even mustache man added before letting me go: Enty kwayessa, 'ashara 'al 'ashara! -- Something like, You're a good person, through and through.
But on this June 6, perhaps partially a result of my heightened consciousness of time, I suddenly felt that I surmounted one of the invisible linguistic hurdles that line the path to really speaking Arabic. In an unprecedented occurrence, I actually expressed everything in Arabic how I wanted to express it, when I wanted to express it. In the afternoon, I had just left the French Cultural Center with my now-roommate Miriam when a man cruising in a silver car drove by a few times yelling "sex" out the window. My reflexes were unusually swift, and I took off chasing him down the street. He stopped for a moment at an intersection and I caught up, looked him in the eye, and shouted qoss ommak -- the foulest of curses I could muster -- while shaking my fist. He looked surprisingly panicked, tried to drive off, and crashed into the car in front of him. Walking off feeling empowered, we were stopped a few blocks later by a young woman who told us she was quite sure the man was driving a stolen car. (This would explain his panic when he saw me running!)
Later I helped new CASAwiyyeen friends connect with the landlord of an apartment they wanted. The idea that my Arabic was good enough to be useful for someone else -- now this was a new idea. A year ago, I would have frozen up and called on someone else to do the Arabic for me.
That evening, Miriam and I were invited by our friend Ahmed to a concert at the Journalists' Syndicate commemorating the 18th anniversary of the death of the gravely leftist folk singer Sheikh Imam. Every revolution has a voice, said the emcee, but Sheikh Imam is the voice of all revolutions. He was originally the voice of the 1970s student movement, although many of his songs (written by a variety of leftist poets, including the most famous, Ahmed Fouad Negm) were recycled for the January 25 revolution, since everybody knows them. Immediately after the concert, the round, gray-haired host added, all those interested would be relocating to the Ministry of Culture, where they would join an ongoing sit-in of artists and intellectuals protesting the new Muslim Brotherhood minister. (He recently fired the liberal, well-liked director of the Opera, the spark that set off people's fears that the MB was trying to dull or suppress cultural life here.) And, he added before the bands began, they would bring down the MB government entirely on June 30 -- a day when giant protests are planned - inshallah. Indeed, the audience was filled with liberal and leftist activists of many generations, including my own friend and his buddies and the founder of the Tamarrod ("Rebel") petition campaign that has apparently collected millions of signatures against Morsi. Still, strangely, we were sitting in neat lines of plush chairs in the union hall's theater. Last year the event had been in the street, Ahmed said, and that was much more appropriate for the populist music of Sheikh Imam. Even if the Journalists' Syndicate is a bastion of anti-Brotherhood sentiment, it still felt like too much of an institution for rousing protest songs. Even so, the selections evoked both the best of Egypt's cultural history and the revolutionary fervor of the almost-present. Songs like Ya Masr Qomy (Rise Up, Egypt!) and Sabah El Kheir 'ala El Ward Elly Fattah Fe Ganayin Masr (Good Morning to the Flowers that Bloomed in the Gardens of Egypt) were sung in Tahrir Square this time around as well. The latter title was, specifically, printed in red on the front page of a special edition of Al Masry Al Youm newspaper on February 6, 2011. Beneath it was the famous smiling photo of Sally Zahran, the first woman killed in the revolution, and photos of the other martyrs up to that point.
On my way home around 11, the metro was mysteriously packed and men had completely filled the women's car. I tried to make my way out at my stop, but a group of about 12 shabab stood between me and the door. Normally I would have shut up and tried to weasel out, but they were trying to pick on me and I was feeling testy. I won't let you out until you give me your number, said Rot-tooth by the door. Come on, gimme something, gimme something. He grinned into my face. Yeah, no girl in the entire world is going to want that, I told him, just loudly enough for the 50 people crammed around us to hear. I didn't smile, but I gently pushed him aside and stepped out. On the escalator, with the cat calls of the group still audible behind us, an old man stepped beside me and asked: Miss, are you Egyptian? I told him I wasn't and he said he was surprised after seeing me tell off the shabab in good Egyptian. I'm sorry for that. Feeh keda w feeh keda! -- You know there are people of all types here. Everywhere, I guess, right? He smiled and plodded off into the night, tsk-tsking his way along.
On my way into my building, I stopped to chat with the security guys. I mentioned that I had just been in Ethiopia. This has suddenly become a really hot topic -- as of the day before I returned from Ethiopia -- because lots of Egyptians currently want to go to war with Ethiopia. This is because Ethiopia is planning to build a new dam at the head of the Blue Nile that Egyptians fear will divert some of Egypt's water supply (and Egypt currently uses more Nile water than anyone else). People are really up in arms about this. Apparently Morsi and the Coptic Pope are going to Ethiopia soon, and when Mohamed El Baradei apologized to Ethiopia for all the raging Egyptian threats directed at the country, there was a massive angry uproar.
Before I went to Ethiopia, Egyptians scratched their heads when I mentioned my destination... Why would anyone want to go there? Now they're interested. So what's it like? asked my security buddies. I started describing the mountains, the lake, the baboons, the rain, the historic sites. Bas... ya3ny... al nas kwayeseen? they wanted to know. Are they good people? Yes, I nodded vigorously, in my experience. The two men looked slightly incredulous but took it in.
Naturally, the conversation shifted next to my marriage prospects. Nasser is a quiet, moon-faced man, with eyes that crinkle and just a few thin wisps of graying hair around the sides of his head. He listens more than he speaks, but he knows us better than most of the others -- remembers our names, where we're traveling, what we're doing in Egypt. The other man, with his thick white mustache and business suit, likes to remind me of details he's gathered about my life, although often they're not quite accurate. He's not afraid to help himself to a cookie or two when I come in from the bakery, and has a forceful but pally demeanor. So would you ever marry an Egyptian? he wanted to know today. I reminded him that I wasn't planning to get married anytime soon. Okay, but theoretically, what if you were 30? Would you marry an Egyptian then? I told him that I would need to evaluate things on a case-by-case basis. He said that his son runs a resort in Sharm El Sheikh and there was an English woman who wanted to marry him. I need to get her some books about Islam, though, That's the thing. I looked over at Nasser: But as I understand it, it's okay for a Muslim man to marry a Christian woman -- right? Nasser agreed -- Mosh moshkela, It's not a problem. Yeah, it wouldn't normally be a problem, continued mustache man loudly, but you know, she's a "maseheyya mota'seba"! -- She's a fanatic Christian. He seemed determined to resolve the dilemma, though, whatever it would take. Then he redirected his questioning at me. Anyway, we will find you an Egyptian husband sooner or later. Then you can stay in Egypt forever! I told him I needed to live more so that I could know who is good and who is not. That seemed to be the magic answer that satisfied their inquiries. That is so wise of you, they both said. Too many marriages end in divorce! Even mustache man added before letting me go: Enty kwayessa, 'ashara 'al 'ashara! -- Something like, You're a good person, through and through.
It was a good evening. The more confident I feel about my Arabic, the more willing I am to advance my own - maybe controversial - opinions. And if I can say them correctly, people actually listen sometimes.
News from Ethiopia coming soon.
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