An Easy Morning Jog through the Labyrinth

Today I discovered the most effective way to go jogging in Cairo without becoming bored with the doldrum, monotonous (though always amusing) surroundings: go for a jog in Ma'adi. First I must describe to you the district of Cairo known as Ma'adi. I come here once a week or every few weeks for church and as a little vacation. Via bus and metro it takes me around an hour or less to get to Ma'adi, and when I arrive, I feel as though I've entered another dimension. This district is known mainly for one group of residents: the foreigners. If you're homesick for the West, go to Ma'adi. If you want to see green trees, beautiful public and private gardens, and relatively orderly streets, go to Ma'adi. If you want to see quite wealthy residences and a lot of foreigners, go to Ma'adi. It's in the southern part of Cairo where everything is more spacious and spread out, comparatively. I definitely wouldn't call it spacious compared to Springfield, Missouri, but spacious. As this city becomes more crowded, people, especially those with more money, are moving to the outskirts. This is Ma'adi: an international haven leagues away from the reality of Cairo.


After church this weekend, I decided to stay in the area to visit with friends, attend an open mic night with the young adults from my church, relax after a stressful week, and so on. With the opportunity to spend a morning in this beautiful area of town, I decided to plan on going for a lovely run. This would provide me the rare opportunity to actually run in the shade of trees in a pair of modest shorts (rather than my heat inducing pants) and not have to be concerned with choking on the pollution, becoming a moving target for the ever-present traffic, providing the local pedestrians and loiterers free amusement, and becoming the subject to practice their English-speaking skills ("Welcome to Egypt" is what they always say). I anticipated an easy, relaxing jog. It turned out slightly different.


I've always quite detested jogging in cities. You pass by so many people and buildings and shops, and though it seems as though you've jogged at least 2 miles based on the ever changing scenery, you've really only gone about 200 meters. I constantly find myself looking at my watch, and asking myself how much longer I have to hop over construction areas, weave in and out of cars, or circle the same block. How I do miss the long, barren roads of upstate New York and the forest trails of Jackson Hole Wyoming! Nevertheless, today I did not find myself getting bored at all with my city jog.


There is the one distinct quality about Ma'adi which never ceases to amaze newcomers to the community and locals alike: the layout of the streets. The streets were very cleverly named with numbers ranging from 9 to 539 in no apparent order, and they were constructed and laid out in a way which enhances the internal navigation system of the local driver (aka...they weave in an out of each other with random round-abouts placed in between in a most confusing, often frustrating manor). I do believe that even Ferdinand Magellan would have become frustrated navigating in this community even after living here for several years.


I discovered that if I want to go for a long run, go to Ma'adi. It's quite logical, really. You start your jog simply trying to remember the direction from which you came. After a very short time of enjoying the trees, flowers, and beautiful houses, all of the roads and intersections begin to mesh together in your brain, everything looks as though you've seen it in the recent past, and your internal compass confuses north and south with up and down, in and out, right and left, and stop and go. You find yourself in a labyrinth of Middle Eastern expat land. Your easy, relaxing, thirty minute jog has turned into an all-day adventure and a first-hand lesson in reorientation and navigation. Today I simply had to succumb to asking directions. Of course the language barrier is always an enjoyment trying to work through with my limited vocabulary and the limited patience of people around me, but after a very long jog, a lengthy conversation with a couple guards, a ride with a random local guy on his way to work, and a second ride with a lovely foreign woman who was shopping for flowers, I arrived at my destination with a fresh image of Ma'adi: "What deranged, unbalanced maniac made the layout for this district?!" Regardless, I always enjoy an adventure and never regret all of the detours that must be taken to reach my goal. It’s all a learning experience which has the potential to create some good relationships and always ends up becoming a good story. Yes, I will jog in Ma’adi again. Next time I'm just going to bring a few pounds with the anticipation that I'll be having to catch a taxi from whatever far-out land I end up in.

The Voice of a Nation

I was more of a musician in the past, but I guess that I am still a musician. If you have the talent and passion in your heart for the 'voice of the heavens' (aka music), you can never lose that identity. As a musician and as one who studied music for a time, I realize the power and impact that it can have on a person, an industry, an idea, or even a nation. Little did I know the impact of Umm Kalthum on Egypt before this week.

It is tradition at ALI to have an end of the ‘torture’/semester party. I don’t think I realized what a big deal this party was until I arrived that afternoon and the room was packed full with students, teachers, administrators, and other college officials who came for more than just the bountiful banquet that followed the presentations. Maybe I had gotten the idea that the party wasn’t very important based on the fact that the competition for Arabic writing submissions was announced last minute, or the presentations that were being prepared all seemed spontaneous and unorganized. Of course, this shouldn’t surprise me based on the nature of the Egyptian culture where so many events seem to happen spontaneously and without distinct organization.

Students are encouraged and often times coerced into contributing to the entertainment at this party. This entertainment can be anything from a simple play in Arabic to singing songs in Arabic about Alexandria. At the party, a couple of my Norwegian friends told jokes in Arabic which they only realized were funny when the audience laughed aloud unceasingly. It was at this point that I realized that jokes can only be understood by people who can completely grasp the language used in the joke and have a good understanding of the culture and context of it. At the time I had neither, but it was fun laughing with other people even if though I didn’t know why I was laughing. My vocabulary teacher, a short, strict, passionate, loving woman who I can easily call my mother and my sister, had only to ask me to sing a song, and I said yes. When I looked back on this event, I realized that I said yes not because I wanted to sing in front of people in a language I’m still trying to learn (even though this does not intimidate me), but I said yes because I didn’t know how to say no. Besides, how could it hurt me? The worst that could happen is complete embarrassment by singing words that make no sense at all. I’ve done worse in my life.

Five days before the party, my teacher gave me the words to a song by Umm Kalthum called Al Atlal written in Arabic and told me that I was practicing with a person who’d play the ­­­­­­oud to accompany me a few days later. I looked at the words and put them in my bag to not touch them until a few days later. How in world could I practice it without a recording or without knowing the pronunciation? On top of that, I really didn’t particularly care for Arab music mainly because I don’t understand its structure and I can’t hear the sound of it. It’s just not what I’m used to. Thinking that I was singing this simple song with a simple accompaniment without a lot of onlookers/hubbub/exposure, I arrived in the practice room a few days later with several musicians and onlookers present to have the main musician explain to me (in Arabic, nonetheless) that this song was one of Egypt’s most popular, well-known, and loved songs. He briefly explained the importance of Umm Kalthum and that everyone knows this song. Perfect! Now I can’t screw up.

After a brief hour-long session where I felt like my teeth were being pulled out, I was sent home with the music, told to download a copy of the song from the internet and do nothing but listen to it for the next two days before I was supposed to perform it. I would come to find out that Umm Kalthum was a twentieth century Egyptian singer whose songs, sung in Fusha (the Standard Arabic language, not the spoken Egyptian dialect), inspired the nation to unit during times of hardship and breathed life into the language of the people. The artistry and richness of the poetry of her songs would make crowds go crazy when she sung. At listening to her voice, I could hear why the deep, rich, almost jazz-like qualities of her singing captured people. The very same day I started practicing Al Atlal, I found a series of documentaries on NPR about Umm Kalthum. I learned that her funeral was one of the most attended funerals in all of Egypt; over four million people crowded the streets at her passing and even stole her coffin to bring it to her favorite Mosque. To this day she is loved, or at the least respected, by every Egyptian I’ve mentioned her name to.

So there I was at the party put on stage with an oud, a drum, a tambourine, long earrings, a sparkly necklace, and a scarf in my hand that I was told to compulsively wave around as I sung. Part of me hoped that the song would be so popular that everyone would start singing or clap along and drown out my voice just in case I did mess up the words (which, even to this day, I don’t quite know what I was singing about – something about a lover and walking in the moonlight; if it was any other Arab song I would guess that I was singing about “habibty” [trans. my darling] and her brown eyes). This didn’t quite happen, but right away I could tell the impact of Umm Kalthum and Al Atlal. People oohhed and aahhed just at the introduction of the song and sat with anticipation and a glint in their eyes. Immediately I felt as though I had in my hand a precious Egyptian treasure that it was my responsibility to deliver with power and conviction. This feeling was quite different than what I’d felt a few days before when I was wondering why in the world I had ever agreed to sing THIS song. Nevertheless, I sang.

I ended to an up roaring applause and grins of complete satisfaction on the faces of my teacher and the musicians that accompanied me. How ever I did it I don’t know, but for a few minutes, I, a foreigner whose exposure to such a rich language has been so brief, brought to life a voice that impacted a nation. I think that I did make an impact in that room that day. A teacher lives through his or her students. A teacher teaches to impart what he or she knows into another. He or she teaches to bring forth life and ability in his or her students so that the students can soar to heights even greater than those attained by the teacher. The teachers in that audience could relate first hand to what I was singing and also had the satisfaction to know that I was a product of their hard, passionate work: an encouragement to continue reaching toward their goal. And for me…I found Umm Kalthum. Though her music may still be strange to my ear, I too have been captured and long for the day when I can feel the richness of her words as well.

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On a side note (and to make proud the Rotarians who made my scholarship possible), I took first prize in the writing competition for the Elementary Arabic level. Woohoo! I won my first book in Arabic. I can’t wait until I can actually read it.

101 Reasons to Honk Your Horn

In an Egyptian vehicle, the signaling horn (referred to as a hooter in British colloquial) is usually the most used part of the vehicle; used even more than the brakes. This is a list compiled from direct observations made by myself and Huma the Great of the methods of communication on the roadway infrastructure in Cairo collected through the course of our stay. The following observations are subject to the prejudices and personal postulations of the aforementioned observers. All supposed conclusions and explanations have no direct bearing on the actual intentions of the motor vehicle operators.

1. Tired of waiting for the traffic police
2. Merging
3. Exiting
4. Singing along with music
5. Celebrate something while you're driving
6. Inform a pedestrian that you're coming
7. Ask directions from the car next to you
8. To say hello
9. To wave at a person
10. Accompany the curses of unjust doings
11. Encouraging the action of another driver
12. For no reason other than simple entertainment
13. Inform the donkey drivers that you are coming
14. Warn other drivers that you are going the wrong direction
15. To catch the attention of cute women
16. Find customers (Taxi drivers)
17. Request for another driver to get out of the way
18. When there is a build-up of cars in a one way street
19. To communicate how two cars going opposite ways on a one-way street will get around each other
20. Wake up the neighbors
21. The owner doesn't know how to operate the car alarm
22. Because the car directly in front of you just randomly stopped
23. Get the attention of a shop owner
24. Wedding celebrations
25. Soccer victories
26. The horn is used like Morris Code using beep patterns to communicate (i.e. affection, curse words)
27. Changing "lanes" (whatever that means)
28. Inform bus drivers that you are in their blind spot (which is every spot)
29. Simply beeping to let others know you have a cool horn
30. The horn is broken on your car and never stops
31 through 101. Variations on the previous thirty applied to specific situations.


DISCLAIMER: For those of you who do not know me all that well, I am adding this post-par tum disclaimer stating that all of the above information is purely out of jest simply for the fun of it! Enjoy (especially all of you Egyptians who know you honk your own horns)!

The Mighty Nile: Source of Life, Source of Trash

When many people think about ancient Egypt, they get pictures of Queen Nefertiti with her servants bathing with crocodiles among the reeds of the mighty Nile. The Nile, which flows north through nine countries beginning in Uganda and Ethiopia stretching all the way to the Mediterranean Sea in Egypt, has fed and sustained innumerable cultures and peoples. Her temperaments have allowed some regions to flourish and some regions to famine. She has brought people groups together and caused wars. She is truly "mighty" as her epithet suggests. While riding in a taxi after my arrival in Cairo, I saw her for the first time through the cloud of pollution and exhaust which was choking the life out of my lungs, I truly felt a surge of historical relevance and kinship in gazing at her width and current. This is the Nile River. Wow! I couldn't believe I was actually looking at her.


After I'd settled into classes, I decided to try for the rowing team with my university. I needed some outlet for my physical stimulus in addition to the thought that the river would be as close to pure, unharmed nature as I could find in one of the most crowded cities in the world. Every other day, I would wake at 5 am and catch a taxi to the club from where our team was based. We'd begin rowing just as the sun was coming over the buildings throwing it's orange rays into the haze that descended on the city just a few hours before. These mornings we so serene, so exhilarating, so hilarious. Only a couple practices into our season, we were rowing slowly upstream practicing technique and coordination when I glanced down into the water to see half of a plastic chair floating by. I just laughed! A short time later I saw an empty bottle and a dead fish and something red whose origin I could not distinguish. This became the usual sight during our morning rows. These mornings produced numerous stories.


One morning a group had come back from practice boasting of running their boat into the carcass of a cow that was floating in the river, a story which I'd similarly heard from a former member of the rowing team. Before one practice I had noticed that the small garbage dump which had previously been an obstacle for us in docking the boats was all of a sudden gone. Then my friend and I looked at the club next door to see a man dumping a whole garbage can or trash into the river. That's probably where it had gone. One day I accidentally shored a double scull boat in some mud where the river had receded slightly. I got out of the boat and stood in the river up to my knees to hear my captain shouting at me to get back into the boat. After that I had to go to the doctor to get tested for this certain parasite that lives in the Nile which can bore into your skin and possibly be fatal. "Don't worry. All you have to do is take some pills to get rid of it." Amongst other things, we would frequently see people bathing in the river or tossing the remains of their breakfast over the side of the bridge.


That picture of Nefertiti and water overflowing its banks into the most fertile ground in the world was made extinct. Now I saw a moving, living garbage dump. One day as I was walking to a bookstore from school, I saw this large crane-like machine on a barge pushing itself through the river. I couldn't quite figure out what it was doing, but it almost looked as though it was pushing against the river bed to free itself from the entrapment of the mud and garbage. I asked another onlooker what it was, and he suggested that the machine was cleaning the river. Unfortunately, I saw no evidence of that whatsoever. I glanced over the side of the bridge right in front of me to see a collection of garbage that was outstanding. It looked like a transport on the way to the nearest supermarket had fallen over the edge and relieved itself of all of its contents into the river. My environmentalist heart almost had a coronary. Regardless, I still saw life standing amongst the colorful boxes and bottles. A beautiful, tall, white egret was looking for food amongst the trash.


This egret is one of many avian creatures that live on the Nile and continue to feast on the life which she brings forth. So maybe she is not as picturesque nowadays as she was in the past, or maybe this section of her banks from the full expanse alone suffers from the same urbanization which has transformed Cairo. This I had later discovered on a trip to El Minya which does boast of river banks with reeds and lush fauna. Nevertheless life is still present on the Nile: from the exotic birds to the simple families who I see fishing every day to the array of boats with lights and dancing which use the waters every night to draw both tourists and locals to her seductive flow. This is the mighty Nile.

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And for reference, my rowing team did decently in our competition this semester. I can boast that my four-woman boat took second place in our division, which was quite an impressive feat. Though I do thoroughly enjoy rowing, I am a climber and a hiker foremost. Nevertheless, I admit that that 8 minutes of my life was one of the most physically exhausting periods I've ever endured and almost as satisfying as a summit. Maybe I will greet those waters again.