blah blah blah

Identities are strange stuff. (Duh.) If it weren't, you know, impossible, I'd want to understand how people see themselves and their identities. Even just one other person. That would be some sort of life project. Not so that I could point out how diverse visions lead to New Feminist Possibilities or New Understandings of Agency or New Methods of Subversion that would somehow make them "okay" or "acceptable" or "suitably postmodernist" for someone from my background, but really just understand, you know? I guess that's a pretty tall order though. And I'm not entirely sure what the use would be.

If I don't end up coming back to Cairo and interning next spring, chances are I'll stay at IU and get myself a gender studies minor. But isn't it weird that that's a separate thing? That anything's a separate thing? There's fundamentally no such thing as religion without gender, no such thing as either without class, ethnicity/race, (dis)ability, nationality, age, and a whole host of other variables. But the second you acknowledge that, you find yourself looking at a web of identities so thick that it's incomprehensible. The Gordian knot of this day and age. I feel like academia (or the social sciences rather) keep getting progressively hairier—like, oh wait, we forgot to deconstruct this particular aspect of the situation at hand, let's do that too!—to the point where it almost loses all meaning and just makes my brain hurt. Or it could be that I'm just not smart enough. I don't get it.

I guess the thing that got me thinking about this is the fact that being here is the first time I've ever really not felt / been treated as white. In the states, I am an upper-middle-class midwesterner and all my friends are white and I think I'm usually considered to be the same—at the very least, I consider myself to be the same, and I don't notice others doing anything differently. White is the "default," the "non-identity" (though of course it isn't really) in the same way that upper-class is and female isn't and midwestern is and androgynous isn't—in the way that I feel my gender and my gender presentation but I don't feel my class or my region or my ethnicity.

Here it's different, of course, because white is now the "other," now a marker of something that isn't the default. And I keep expecting to be singled out for it, to feel acutely white like everyone else on the program does, and it keeps not happening, and then I realize with a jolt and a sense of unease that I'm not white, not here at least. And it's really, really weird and kind of frustrating because (as I now realize) I think I was implicitly identifying for most of my life with white as an ethnicity, and when people don't recognize/respect that identity it is as disconcerting and untrue as when they don't recognize I'm an adult or an American or a lefty or what have you. And when the others keep telling me that it's a blessing to not be singled out, I want to scream that it isn't, that the fact that I'm apparently not marginalized by this thing I now am (a brown person)  doesn't mean that I like it or identify with it, in the same way that straight privilege doesn't mean everyone wants to be straight or male privilege doesn't mean that everyone wants to be male.

I keep thinking that if it's possible to be transgender it should be equally possible to be transethnic or transage or transclass or transabled—and, is it? Are those communities/identities that people have belonged to / claimed? I should do some googling, I guess. But you get the point. I'll stop now.

ohgodonlyonemoreweekleft.

shifting seasons

It's mid-May, and when the cars and motorcycles whizz by as always there is now a palpable wave of sultry air that comes with them. At times the wind isn't caused by traffic, but even then you can feel it nearing you. It's like when you approach a lamp, or the stove, or a fire, but more all-encompassing—a rush of warmth that briefly, completely envelops you. In a weird way, it's comforting. At least until you realize it's a hundred degrees out. The policemen's uniforms have switched from navy or black to a blinding white that I guess keeps them cooler. I can't fathom the amount of bleach it must take to maintain their (lack of) color in a city like Cairo, and I'm not sure it's worth it, but either way they, too, are a sign of the fact that summer is indeed finally here, and here with a vengeance. The smell of heat, especially at night, reminds me more of India than I realized was possible.

A couple of weeks and it will be India. I'm trying hard not to resent that—trying hard to not be jealous of the people on the program who will be spending the summer here, or in Palestine—and I think I'm succeeding. I think enough things will stay the same that India, too, will be awesome: The smell of laundry drying on the balcony, for one. Also: the crowding, the noise, the heartbeat of the masses unencumbered by the sanitization that makes America so repulsive, so boring, so not something I ever want to go back to. Ha. I mean, I do, kind of. Dryers are nice. Clean air, open spaces, et cetera. But it just feels like it's lacking something. And when I'm there, so do I.

I should be devoting more time to talking-about-adventures and less to waxing-poetic-about-things but I'm sure I'll have plenty of time for that once I'm home. Right now I'm just relishing the last couple of weeks I have here, hoping I'll be back next spring, and pleading that I'll survive all the papers and projects and exams that are coming up. If I can make it to 9:00 Monday night, I'll be set. For now: good night. Summer is here and it is significantly different from not-summer. I'm sure I'll get over it soon, but for now, it is beautiful. That is all.

Woo Cairo

The countdown on the Amideast program site is ticking ticking ticking. Forty days and counting, I'd better make the best of them.

This weekend was fun. Thursday after class we traveled en masse to the village of our Arabic teachers' boss. Met his family, helped (uh, questionably) them make fteer for all of us. Which was delicious. Saw lots of little kids running everywhere. Had them tell us the Arabic names of the animals that were wandering around, that I've now forgotten. Picked strawberries and mulberries and you know, rejoiced in a life of simplicity away from the noise and anger of Cairo proper. (That last statement was kind of tongue in cheek, dunno how well tone gets conveyed here—don't want to exoticize/simplify/excessively valorize/etc. rural life, but it was a nice change of pace.)

Friday we went to the Ahly–Zamalek football/soccer game. We were Ahly fans, and wore red and got our faces painted appropriately to show it. We sat in first class with like, a super clear view of everything. Right by the field. Also a super clear view of the helmeted-and-masked policemen surrounding it. And of the less intense policemen who protected us Amurricans as we entered and left the stadium.

I don't know anything about soccer but it was super intense, was tied 2-2 for a while, Zamalek scored again real close to the end, we left to beat traffic, as we were walking out we heard the cheers etc surrounding another Ahly goal. Woo. So it was tied. And I guess you're allowed to leave it tied, apparently. So yay, or something.

Saturday I went to Khan al-Khalili again. Probably the coolest place in Cairo haha. Bought a sweet looking dagger with the shahada inscribed in the scabbard. I'm kiiiiind of a Muslim terrorist. It happens. I also really want to buy an oud but I don't know how much that would cost / how feasible that is. Hm.

Anyway yeah weekend. Ho hum classes now. Islam and Politics midterm today. As usual I'm terrible at that. Wrote the long essay and time was up. Oops. Didn't get around to the short essay. So I guess uhhh we'll see how that goes.

Speaking of Islam and Politics, we have a term paper due coming up prettttty quickly. I want to write about the idea of fitna, I think. Something about the relation between women's bodies and political bodies it creates, between chaos and seduction, and the impact this has on the creation of a feminist Muslim imaginary.

Or at least, I thought it sounded like a good idea. I asked my professor if she could like, point me in the right direction and give me some resources to start out with, though, and she was just like ... uh, no, maybe try emailing this other person? So I did, but she hasn't responded yet. Rawr. I will be grumpy if I have to change my topic. This idea makes sense, darn it! ...Right? If you are reading this and can help me out PLEASE DO. I will be eternally grateful.

Ha. Okay that's it for now. Later!

oops i forgot to give this post a title. ramblings.

Oh wow. It's been a month since I last updated. Hm. Things in Cairo have settled, I guess. Life's more ordinary than extraordinary at the moment but I suppose that's how it's supposed to be. Apparently there's a protest in Tahrir Square today, though I haven't been downtown so I don't actually know. Something related to the April 6 Youth Movement, protesting to free the people who were arrested in their protest last week, to raise wages, to push for various constitutional amendments, to generally reform the country I guess. It's a pretty intense time here politically, I think. (Although I'm not sure it's ever not.) Parliamentary elections are this year and presidential elections are next year and that's gotten people talking and advocating for reform in the system like whoa. Of course it's possible (probable) that nothing'll really come of them, that the Watany party will continue to be the waaaay dominant one and that either Mubarak or his son'll be president come 2011 but still. Not everyone's as cynical as I am I guess.

The past couple of days the police seem to have been more ubiquitous than usual though, their little street corner booths supplanted by the large boxy green vans with barred windows they have lining the streets. It's strange though to look at their faces. We rode by in our little tourbus, staring as Americans tend to, them staring back equally though which in some ways made it okay. One man in particular stood out. As we passed by one of those dark green trucks, sitting there all ominous with its caged windows and armed guards, we noticed the individual behind one of those windows, a young policeman, a grin on his face, his hand waving at the group of harmless tourists (us) passing by. Like so many little kids before him have done. And in fact, he wasn't much more than a kid. His mustache was of the variety grown by people who can't really grow a mustache yet but are too proud or excited to shave it off, a hint of a mustache, a wisp of a mustache, the sort of mustache that can only dream of one day becoming as mustachey as those mustaches sported by the middle-aged Egyptians who wander the streets (and boy do they have some inspiring mustaches). Point being, who are these people? Pretty much all the police seem his age. Seem my age, or maybe younger even. Sometimes they look sleepy, sometimes they look excited, sometimes they do pull off threatening (because lord knows the police here have wrought carnage and brutality in the past and for sure they will again) ... but yet there's an inevitable incongruity in seeing these kids with guns in their hands and uniforms on their backs. Hm.

Speaking of kids, sometimes (like today), if I walk back from school at a certain time, I pass by hordes of them also headed home for the day. They are dressed in the identical uniforms that make me sometimes wish I had gone to a private school, all navy pants and striped button-downs and the poorly tied ties that characterize elementary-schoolers allowed to dress themselves. A soccer ball deflated and ripped in half suffices nevertheless as a soccer ball for the youngest kids as they gleefully charge after it down the street. The older ones amble in groups. Either way, there exists a nice sense of community and solidarity and general happiness (the universal feeling of yay! school's over! that I guess everyone experiences) that makes me long slightly for an earlier time, and also wish I'd grown up somewhere where I could walk places instead of having to take the bus or have my parents pick me up and drop me off alllll the time.

Walking back from school, I also pass this sign:

بتحب مصر ... بتعمل ايه لمصر؟؟

Which translates to, "You love Egypt ... What do you do for Egypt??"

These billboards are everywhere, prodding, interrogating, asking why exactly it is I love Egypt and what purpose that love serves. They're good questions, and the fact that they're advertisements for the Bank of Alexandria doesn't change that. Why do I love Egypt? Or, I love Egypt, but what do I do for it?

I come here, I study, I party, I leave. I fall in love with Egypt as an outsider, as someone for whom the grass is and will always be greener on the other side. I love it because of the dirt, the za7ma, the noise, the feeling of being alive that these things produce. The feeling of being swallowed. The feeling that you are part of something larger than yourself, the feeling that's not really to be found in midwestern college towns no matter how hard you try. But what of the people who were born here, who live here, who can't get out of here? For them Cairo is as stifling—more so, no doubt—than America, that land of blue skies and endless opportunities. It's ironic how the American dream has produced a generation of youth who want nothing more than to leave the country, and has given them (us) the sense of entitlement that allows them (us) to do so and market it as something "courageous" or "enriching" and not just a luxury that they (we) inevitably take for granted. By mere virtue of travel, of being here, you are in some way proclaiming your superiority. And the fact that you're not really doing anything other than selfishly falling in love only heightens that. At the same time, trying to "help" Egypt in any way would also reinforce your status as an outsider who thinks they have more status/power than native Egyptians. It's a Catch-22 I guess. Blah.

Hm. In other news, I guess in the past month I've traveled to the Black and White Desert (which was beautiful), and to Alex, which was also cool I guess. We had a week of spring break, but I just stayed here and tried to catch up (at least somewhat) on work for my research mentor back home. We had field trips for my IR class to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Egyptian Council for Foreign Affairs, which were fascinating. Basically listened to important people talk about Israel/Palestine. And of course claaaaaasses. For MSA today we read this really great poem by Mahmoud Darwish, a Palestinian poet. Here's the first stanza:

على هذه الارض ما يستحق الحياة:
تردد ابريل
رائحة الخبز في الفجر
آراء امراة في الرجال
كتابات اسخيليوس
اول الحب
عشب على حجر
امهات تقفن على خيط ناي
وخوف الغزاة من الذكريات

Which translates (I think) as:

On this earth what makes life worth living:

The coming of April

The smell of bread at dawn

Women's opinions of men

The writings of Aeschylus

First love

Moss on a stone

[uhh something i don't know what it means]

And the occupier's fear of memories

Ummmmm it sounds better in Arabic. But you get the drift. Cool cool.

Annnnnnyway I should really be doing homework. So, peace. Just figured I should (finally) update this...

Gender Sucks.

I'm sorry, but it had to be said. My personal experiences and aversion to categorization aside. Seriously. Gender sucks.

I can't speak to the Egyptian perspective. I'm not sure how harassment is different for Egyptian women than it is for American women. But all I can say is this: The strength of character required to be a woman here, maybe to be a foreign woman here in particular, is astounding. I applaud and respect those who have that, but I am also so so SO horrified and outraged that it's a necessity. I love Egypt. I love the streets of Egypt. However, I do not love—and I hate that I am forced to tolerate—the day in day out comments and worse my female classmates receive.

My experiences here are not theirs, do not hold a candle to theirs in terms of difficulty or frustration. I am a boy here, maybe even an Egyptian boy at first glance (though eventually the exclamations of "India!" and "Amitabh Bachchan!" win out). Parents? Sorry, but that's the way it is. People don't "mistake" me for a guy, they interpret me as a guy, and I am fine with that, and it's not a problem or cause for worry.

What is a cause for worry is the never-ending harassment the girls get. From the ceaseless "Oh my god!" "Fantastic!" "My future wife!"-type exclamations, to the being-followed-home-by-random-men, to the actual grabbing and being pulled into a doorway (that eventually ended with going to the police, a more or less farcical bureaucratic fiasco in and of itself), it's astounding any of the girls put up with it, and it's no wonder the more benign comments of "welcome!" or "spice girls!" are as a result also treated with suspicion. I have no idea if any of them will be able to maintain a neutral much less positive attitude toward Cairo as a place, and that saddens me.

This nonsense needs. to. change. Interpret it how you like. Men feel a lack of economic power and so they express their autonomy by subjugating women? I call BS. Everyone feels weak. That's one of the parts of life that is hard and uncomfortable, and that doesn't just hold true for financially impoverished men. Feeling weak is oppressive. Feeling weak is shameful, yeah, I know. However, feeling weak is not grounds to hurt others. And those calls? That they find funny, or empowering? They hurt. They hurt the people they're directed at and they hurt me as someone who desperately wants to love Cairo, who desperately wants to love its people, but who cannot love what all too often seems like a majority of its men, cannot even respect them.

There's a weird sense of survivor's guilt that comes with not being a girl here, and there's the frustration of not being able to do anything to help the others. Less than a week ago I wrote about not understanding the strength of the male-female divide and the comfort for women that came with gender segregation. I fear I understand now, and that sickens me so much.

Lord help me if I ever become a part of the patriarchy.

I can only hope that one day, for example, a guy in the girls' bathroom will be as negligible a threat as a girl in the guys' bathroom (though of course I hope for gender neutral bathrooms blah blah blah). Because no group of people should automatically be viewed as a threat, and no individual actors should behave in ways that enforce the perceptions that lead to that. It works both ways. And it boils down to KINDNESS and RESPECT and that's it. In the end, I can only hope that everyone, everyone, is respected and given their due as a human being. (Including animals, actually.) Is that really too much to ask?

Sorry to rant, but it had to be done. Cairo? For your own sake, change this. You want honor? You want pride? You want agency? You want power? You want respect? Change this.

Sigh. Anyway, interesting idea for a future project: become fluent in Arabic, wander around Khan el-Khalili with girl friends, question/record every single dude who says or does anything to them (good as well as bad things) about why he said/did that, compile answers, see if themes emerge and how said themes can be addressed. I'm sure people have already done this, though, right? Hm.

Wedding and Happiness are the Same Word

Just posted Siwa Part Two below, and Siwa Part Three is coming soon, I swear. But until then, chew on this, and possibly another gender-related post to follow:

At times you can feel the novelty of being here slough off like dead skin after a sunburn. (...let me if that's not an accurate simile.) You get tired of people thinking you're fourteen. You get increasingly wary of gender-segregated spaces. You get more and more frustrated by your failure to comprehend Arabic and your inability to figure out the best way to direct a taxi driver from your apartment to school. You can feel your identities shifting and that's a weird thing and you're not sure if you're okay with it. And Cairo? Cairo is exhausting.

But then there are times like last night when none of that matters.

So our friend Mahmoud (an Egyptian who does theater and modern dance and is generally awesome) told us his friends were having a wedding party in the streets and that it would be cool and we should go with him. After a little bit of reluctance—in retrospect, I have no idea why that was—we agreed. The group of us, which now included a bunch of Americans on the program, Mahmoud, and a couple of members of the Egyptian handball team (who I guess we met at a party and started hanging out with...?), headed a metro stop over, walked across a bridge, and ended up at this awesome street party. Music, dancing, et cetera. It was super cool. Then we were invited upstairs and given apple juice, hung out, chatted, were generally happy.

A bit later, it was decided that the [two recognized] genders needed to split up, and the guys headed back downstairs. After some waffling I decided to stay upstairs.

I felt a little guilty about it at first. The only reason I was claiming this exclusively female gender identity was out of some personal/anthropological curiosity about what exactly would go down in the absence of a perceived male gaze. I'm sure stuff like this is a hard enough moral dilemma for actual anthropologists, who have a real goal of increasing cultural awareness and such. For me though, it was almost shamefully disingenuous: I was staying to satisfy nothing more than my own voyeuristic curiosity.

At the same time, it ended up being really easy and comfortable and accepting, surprisingly so. As soon as I was like, "I'm a girl," there was no awkward questioning, no skepticism, no disparagement or confusion on the part of the Egyptian women—just a quick oops sorry, and then things were totally cool. They were perfect and gracious and really fun. I mean asserting an identity like that in and of itself is a little weird and uncomfortable, because ... I dunno, I like letting people believe whatever they initially read me as. Chances are I am everything they believe me to be and more. But whatever, because after that initial step, it was a really really awesome night. And the cultural observer in me was more than intrigued.

The men left but the kids stayed regardless of gender, a cohort of little boys and girls running around, dancing, playing, being fun. The second my camera came out they would not leave it/me alone, constantly wanting pictures taken of every imaginable combination of people making every imaginable combination of facial expressions and body language. Their giddiness was contagious.

The women were dancing too, and the sense of community in the room was just so palpable. There was so much happiness and warmth and trust that you don't usually get to see. And of course there were plenty of other things you don't usually get to see. For example, hair. Hijabs were stripped off; niqabs were lifted and burqas were hitched up to reveal skinny jeans and heels, eye makeup and smiles and smiles. I realized that night that never when passing a woman in a niqab on the street had I envisioned a smile under her veil. Stupid of me. That has now changed.

Anyway, that party was just a really interesting social situation, and one I'm grateful I was allowed to participate in.

Of course, it leads to some serious pondering: Why is the presence of men so oppressive here, why does it prevent an atmosphere of trust and openness like this? How can an entire gender of people be othered like that, be constantly perceived as a threat? How can gender segregation make these women so comfortable and at ease, when for people from my background the same thing is kind of weird and uncomfortable, disconcertingly homogeneous in a way? Plenty of other questions emerge, of course, but those were the biggies I think. Anyway, yeah. Food for thought. And a good time. Perfect :)

Siwa, Part Two

Sorry! Not sure why I didn't post this earlier. Um. I was going to embed photos, but that's a lot of work, so I suggest you just follow along at my flickr. Sound good? Okay thanks.

So Friday morning we headed out to see the ancient sites in Siwa. Cool cool. Also saw lots of villagers, donkeys, et cetera. Anyway, we bounced from place to place as follows.

(1) The Old City of Shali, and its mosque. I guess nowadays the city is used only three days a year, during the full moon in October or something like that, for tribal gatherings/reconciliations maybe? I could be way off … it’s SO HARD to remember all the information they give us :/ … um, also the guy either said the mosque was in use until recently or is still in use. Not sure. Either way, cool.

(2) House of Siwa Museum. Basically a model of old Siwan houses/life. We were shown traditional clothing, jewelry, other stuff. The guy spoke in Arabic and Dr. Randa translated, but I could understand an encouraging amount of what he was saying, so that was nice. Also, hey Mom and Dad --- does the oven remind you of the scary fiery water heater thing that used to be in Paati and Paata’s old large bathroom downstairs? Because that’s definitely the first thing I thought of…

(3) Gebl al-Mawta (Mountain of the Dead), a huuuuuge burial site. Just, tombs and tombs and tombs everywhere. (One of which Dr. Randa fell into, haaaahahaha. That maaaaay have made the trip.) But also there were just bones, everywhere, which was fascinating in a kind of creepy/awesome way. Like bits and pieces of human skeletons everywhere. Seriously. Probably the coolest thing we saw Friday. I maaaay have thefted a couple of small bones. I'm probably cursed. Oh well!

(4) Lunch! Mmmmm. Oh I forgot to mention the people here are Amazigh (Berber in non-PC terms) and speak a dialect of Amazigh they refer to as Siwi. Cool cool. That combined with eating couscous for lunch was very reminiscent of our Sahara trip in Morocco, which, heart. Only as you’ll see later (Saturday), this journey to the desert was maybe a little crazier.

(5) Temple of the Oracle. The oracle here was a statue rather than a person that moved left or right and answered only yes or no questions, I guess. Weird. But apparently it was pretty famous and Alexander the Great visited here and everything. Neat.

(6) Temple of Amun (Umm Ubayd). Not sure what this was, really. We only stopped briefly. Most of it’s not there anymore because someone decided he wanted the stairs for his house and tore most of it down.

(7) Cleopatra’s Bath. Supposedly Alexander swam here. Dr. Randa was super enthusiastic about going back to the hotel to get bathing suits and then returning to swim here haha. More so than any of the students. However, upon returning to the hotel people decided they’d rather just swim there than return to Cleopatra’s Bath … so they did. And hung out with random cats, et cetera. Y’know. Lounged around.

Then, shortly afterwards, we headed to (8), Lake Siwa. Basically just sat by the lake and watched the sunset, but it was one of the most beautiful, peaceful things ever. Pictures are better than words here…but yeah. Wow. After that, we came back to the hotel for dinner, which was delicious, and hung out by a fire and drank tea and chatted and listened to music. Also wonderful.

So that was Friday. <3. Great day.