The city is so dusty today you can smell it. I never knew what dust smells like, still can't describe it, but it's clogging the Nile view as well as my sinuses. The staccato of bird trills and car horns punctuate the apartment's emptiness. No wonder people who leave Cairo's white noise for another city's muteness find themselves lying awake in bed, missing its brash lullabies and wake-up calls. All my senses have become a bit numbed (even my lungs glazed over by the smog, by now), but this morning it's nice to be reminded what a sensual city Cairo is.
For my 24th birthday I had a 1920s-gangsters & flappers-themed party at my apartment, with lots of plastic guns (and antique fakes) and swishy dresses and red lipstick. It was fun to see my closest friends get really into the costumes...
A few weeks ago Brett Carpenter and his cousin Adam came to Cairo for 10 days amid their 8-month round-the-world trip. We spent a few days trekking through the Black and White Deserts west of Cairo in a jeep with a friendly Bedouin guide named Ashraf.
My friend Louis came along and added some "Ahhh, this is the life" comments to each sunset, camel ride, hilltop overlook and relaxing soak in cold springs. It felt good to get out of Cairo, even if the 110-degree wind felt like a hairdryer in my face, even at 7 pm.
Daily life rolls along in Cairo - which I don't say with bitterness or boredom, remembering the roller-coaster first year here - and teaching English and yoga classes remains interesting. I tutor young French kids, some from scratch (meaning lots of blank stares) and older Egyptian, Venezuelan and Italian students. The more rewarding experience lately has been my class of 12 adults at an American-founded community center. The whole class was motivated to learn and eager to joke and laugh and connect with everyone. It was only Level 2 so I'm amazed how close we felt with only shallow "What time do you get up?" and "Do you like skiing/wine/listening to music?" beginners' dialogue. I felt happy after every class that one of the students told me how much they'd improved in English. One young student sign a contract at her baby's nursery and was proud to be able to read and understand the whole thing.
June is my final month teaching before everyone scatters for the sweltering summer. In July I'll travel through Jordan, Syria and Lebanon (by bus and ferry) with my roommate Noelle, then fly to Germany for a two-week vacation with my parents and sisters. Can't wait! We're going to visit some of our old stomping grounds, when I was 4 and all I remember are the pools and Gummi Bears and Dad pretending to be a troll under the park bridge where we flew kites. I think, possibly, the experience will be slightly different the second time around.
On a more local thread...Last night I dreamt that I was on the street getting fired up and lashing out about something, then became embarrassed when friends with me, I think from the States, started muttering what a Cairene I'd become. In my waking life, I'm not a fighter. My general strategy toward the harassment on the street is to mask even the slightest cock of my ear, break in my step. Shouting at my daily aggressors only provokes more interest, chauvinism, or laughter. Besides, to them one comment is a flap of their tongue, easily released and just as easily forgotten, whereas for me it's another brick to pile onto my day's load, a mounting fortress weighing down on my shoulders and nauseating my stomach. All I can do is scowl internally.
And this is what I mean about becoming a Cairene. I'm fortunate enough to be in a lull where I can shrug off the comments, the stares, the awareness that yes I look (and act) out of place here. What I think my dream was referring to was my recent outburst at some men on the street for standing by as a young McDonalds employee beat an 8-year-old beggar girl on the side of the road. Some men yelled curses at him, many men stood back and shook their heads, and fortunately after a couple minutes the McDonalds manager came out and his employee retreated. I still can't understand why I was the only person left shouting at the scene after the fact, and the only one who walked up to the sobbing crumpled girl on the ground and took her hand. The bystanders were trying to calm me down, agreeing that yes it was wrong, but using a tone that I can only assume meant they were explaining his possible motives. I've seen people annoyed with tenacious beggar children refusing to leave customers until they gave money...but what's that to a 20-something burger flipper behind the counter? In broken Arabic I said, I don't care, she has only words, he doesn't need to hit her. When the girl Iman and I were about to walk off, they beckoned her and coached her a patronizing, "Don't be afraid, all right?" We got some food down the road and talked about colors and where she lives and how she's a good student. Yellow shirts at McDonalds equals mean people. White (managers) are nice. She showed me the scabbed-over top of her foot and said someone had run over it with a car when she was asking for money. She walked me to the metro and gave me a butterfly ring, telling me to bring her a present next time I see her, in the usual places she'd said I could find her. I know that the bystanders were the exception, that Egyptian men notoriously run headstrong into fights on the street to get involved, but I can't understand why a one-sided fight against a child didn't result in a community-wide verbal or physical lashing of this aggressor.
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