It seems time has continually sped up. My days and times run into each other. The amount of information I am receiving now every day, observing, feeling, witnessing, is somewhat challenging to articulate into words, but I will most definitely try. Within this blog are photos from Islamic Cairo at a Mosque called Ahmad Ibn Tulun, that dates to about 700 years ago. It was empty as we were there at closing time, but still so sacred and beautiful. Also below is a short video of the place:) I have taken the subway a few times with Emad, a much better way to get around quickly, without the hassle of death defying acts like crossing the Cairo streets. There are no street lights, people make their own lanes, and honking seems to get everyone’s attention. I think of it as a game of Jenga, the game where you pull out blocks on a high tower, hoping your block will not make the entire tower crash to the ground. The cars here as they drive all to somehow fit together and work, even when it appears as utter chaos. The subway stares are interesting too, however, I’ve taken on a new technique of staring glaringly back at these men, and they stop. I found it interesting that as you walk to get on the subway, there is a sign for women, which to me, appeared as women’s bathroom sign. This was not the case. It so happens, that at the subway, within every metro car, is a car just for women only. This is not to segregate or discriminate, rather, they can choose whether they want to be amidst all the men or not deal with the hassle of dealing with them, the staring, the harassment. They can calm themselves by being with other women. That felt reassuring to me. I would never take the subway later in the day during rush hour or at night alone, as it is not so safe.
Another interesting aspect of people here that I have noticed are the children. They are precious, little beams of light, full of so much energy, yet completely fearless! I swear, these little ones, through their raising years, appear to be much more independent of their parents, fearless of crossing the street, walking on their own, feeding themselves, etc, than any of the children I’ve seen back home. It appears that we “baby” and coddle our little ones much more so than the children here. The parents, because of financial or economical difficulty, may only have one vehicle, for example, could be a motorcycle, and so the mothers must carry their little ones, some of them just babies, on these motorcycles. I’ve even seen parents with children barely able to walk, having them cross the street, being somewhat pulled and dragged along, and yet, they do it no problem. A boy of maybe 9 years old was driving his bicycle, too big for his short legs and body, through downtown traffic with an enormous crate bigger than he was, full of who knows what, carried up with one hand above his head. He swirved his bike through traffic, across self-made lanes, without a hitch! They speak and walk much sooner it seems too, and the parents talk to them as though they are adults! On some level I could appreciate the independence, yet as babies, I was amazed they speak to them as though they already know everything as adults. I’m all for not baby talking children, rather giving them choices and guiding, directing, and also letting them be kids. But here, it seems because of the different hardships and challenges for families, some children must start working at a very young age. Just the other day, I was with Emad at an outside ahawa (coffee shop) outside with tea, coffee, and hookah (sheesha-sweet fruit tobacco), and little ones often come up to ask for money or will just stop to say hello. We have gotten into the habit of speaking to them with such honesty that it takes them out of their “game” of begging. Most of them know a few words of English and so Emad always says something in Arabic like, “May God supply for you and you are God’s child” when they are begging for money. Then I will ask them in Arabic, “Esmak ey?” (What is your name?) They will answer, with a half smile. Then we will try talking in English or they will ask me my name. From there, it breaks down their barrier of having to sell to us and be “big guys” and they become children again. It is an amazing thing to witness, yet so real when it comes to the fact that even at 8,9, 10 yrs old, they feel they have to provide for their families.
I spoke a little in my last entry about the obsessive staring here. Well, I have been given an opportunity to learn from these men. I have been given the opportunity to tap into that inner power even more so. Recently, while walking downtown with Emad on the streets, we were in a crowded area, with pastry shops, clothing stores, and a lot going on. A man reached out his hand and waved it through my hair as we walked by. I was taken back, startled, unsure what to do, panicked, as this is not something remotely accepted in this culture, much less anywhere else. I glared at him with a look of death, but part of me was angry, terrified, unsure what to say. The more I thought about it, the more upsetting it became, disrespectful. I probably would not have thought anything of it back home, but knowing this culture the way I am learning, it was idiocy, childish, disrespectful. I mentioned it to Emad right away, although we were too far away already for him to do anything. He was upset that I had not said something sooner, letting me know that in that situation it is important to say something to the man, to yell at him, to let him know that it is not okay what he did. Sexual harassment is a big issue in Egypt, especially now since the revolution. Police are not as widely spread around the streets as they once were, and so people push boundaries more so because of this. I have been told that the next time a man tries to harass or touch me, I must get really angry at him, creating some noise, which prompts other men to see this and step in, in my defense. I have been told that regardless of what I say in Arabic or English, the man will step back, as this is his worst fear, a woman standing in her power and showing it. I said, “Yes, but these would be the same men staring at me too.” And the response I got was, “Yes, however, these men will support you because they know you are foreign and it is wrong. Egyptian women also have this issue with them.” So rest assured, I am learning just the right words to say should it happen again.
I have come into somewhat of a routine. Having finally, or at least somewhat figured out how to hang my wet clothes on the line without them brushing into the side of the dirty flat or the fear of them falling into the abyss of trash on the ground, I feel more confident. Its so funny because just the other day I decided to really take a leap and try washing my 1000 thread count Egyptian cotton ivory sheets, and just as I was about to fold them over in half to keep them from dragging on the dirty ground, and just as I was about to lean over the balcony, peering down into that nasty abyss, the wind swept them into the side of the flat. Lines of dirt streamed the beautifully ivory colored sheets of mine. UGH! So...I proceeded to wash them again! Not only that, but this is the most hilarious part. Before this previous wash of clothes, I came into my small bathroom, it completely flooded with dirty laundry water because I, in my naive thought that it was hooked up somewhere, which really didnt exist in these flats, the water from the tube out of the washer moved it all out to the bathroom floor! SO FUNNY. I realized then that now I have to remember to place the tube into the bathtub to prevent this. So back to my sheets....After the second wash, I was so diligent and mindful in folding it up nicely so that I could lean way out off the balcony dirty ledge,bungee the sheets across three lines and pray that the sheets stay put while I manage to slowly pin them down. Sure enough....as I'm so doing this, a piece of fabric falls, and dirt all over my sheets. I had, had it. That was enough. They can dry with dirt all over them, and I will just deal. :) I am sleeping now finally through the 4am call to prayer. I am also learning the Arabic for shopping in the market down the street and how to get into a taxi with the few words I have. It is empowering and liberating when I have succeeded in this. I’ll be practicing my Arabic every evening and hopefully will have much more under my belt very soon. I see clearly the necessity for this learning.
In the next blog, I’ll speak about the idea of how we as humans cling to our identities when we are in the midst of a new culture, new language, new people, etc. and how the belief in oneness and unity plays a role in that, especially when we , as humans, tend to divide and separate. How is this oneness and unity so real and apparent, how do we stay in alignment with that as what we believe, if in fact, naturally, we experience this separation in a very real way, we buy into the illusion, or we hold on to our identity for it is what keeps us comfortable in a new place? I will speak to this next time…
Also, stay connected, as I’ve been observing how religion and culture plays a significant role in the lives of women, particularly Muslim women, and it is quite complex and complicated more than I had imagined. I will be doing a project soon of this research in getting their stories of how their religion and culture define, plays part in, adds to, uplifts, enhances, limits, their lives, their personal power, the ways they express, and who they are as people. The results that I am finding are very diverse! It is fascinating!
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