Ira D in Cairo

Tents in Tahrir

2011-07-21T01:06:00.004+02:00

Wednesday, July 20, 2011, 4:30pm

Interpellated Subjects in Tahrir Square

2011-07-14T10:37:00.002+02:00

All of this week, Tahrir Square has been under civilian control and revolutionaries have shut down the streets around the square. Over the past few weeks, there have been camps set up, and there were attacks on protestors last week, but people came back stronger and more determined than ever, which has been very impressive. People are extremely angry at the failure of the government (the PM’s office and the military) to enact the promised and demanded changes, and by all accounts things have a much different, and more tense feel than they have for some time.

I want to explain, briefly, what civilian control of Tahrir Square means from my point of view. This week, when I arrived downtown (for my Arabic lesson) by Metro, as always, I exited onto the Square. This is a huge Metro station, probably the largest in the system. It includes a maze of undergrounds tunnels and, I am guessing, between 10 and 12 street exits. So, as I approach the street exit, there is a group of young revolutionaries who are checking ids and bags and patting people down. Men and women. Often I am struck by their youth—many teenagers. Always, I have been struck by their professionalism and politeness.

At the start of the week, I only had my university id, which I showed them. They preferred a passport, but were fine with what I had. They seriously searched my bag. And offered an extremely friendly, “Welcome.” Then I came up to the street where you can see hundreds of tents and thousands of people gathered around and a couple of stages. Last week, when there were tents and demonstrators in the Square, but the streets were still open, there were civilians directing traffic and providing security inside the Square. There are also checkpoints at all of the streets that lead to the square. It is, as I said, tense in many ways, but I am impressed by the efficiency and sophistication of such an extensive operation. Their goal is to keep out thugs and police (sometimes one and the same) to prevent attacks on protestors. There have been a few, but they have done their job and held the square. It is not clear what the police will do, which is, I believe, a cause of the tension.

Throughout this week, I was also struck by a relative normalcy on many of the streets around the Square. Many businesses were open and people were doing their thing. (KFC and Arby’s were closed; McDonald’s looked open; there was a cadre of street vendors there to fill the void.) The revolutionaries had blocked the Mugamma government building for several days, but I was really struck, in a good way, with the ability of the revolution to coexist with a certain normalcy. I am not sure if this makes sense, or if it somehow represents a failure in that the goal may be to create a certain abnormalcy. Certainly the activists have effectively disrupted things. The area of the city they control is really the epicenter of the city (and I think few cities have a single epicenter that would be the equivalent to Tahrir).

So why are people carrying on with their lives and business? Perhaps it is because a certain fear is gone. Perhaps it is replaced by a newfound fearlessness. Does this coexistence constitute a sort of tacit or passive support for the revolution, and if so is this a good thing? I like the way that it draws everyone in, whether willing, as in my case, or not, as in the case of my Arabic teacher for example.. (I am much more trusting than I am when uniformed people check me elsewhere.) Everyone needs to show id and have their bags checked. Or follow civilians directing traffic. In doing so, unavoidable though it may be, we are accepting the revolution. It may be Althusser’s idea of interpellated subjects (I should probably be reading his essays on ideology now!)... The conditions produce the subjects.

Football and revolution

2011-07-03T16:20:00.001+02:00

As folks may have heard, there were major demonstrations last week after police attacked a gathering of families of the martyrs. Tahrir Square was retaken by demonstrators on Tuesday night into Wednesday. Since it received a good bit of media coverage (and I was not there), I won’t go into the details of what happened, but I am intrigued by a sidebar related to a big football scheduled for Wednesday.

On Wednesday night, there was slated a big football match between arch-rivals Ahly and Zamalek, with the season nearing the end. I can’t think of an appropriate comparison for folks in the US, but this is a huge rivalry and this was the first match between the two sides since the end of the revolution. Ahly was up a few points up in the standings with the season nearing the end, so Zamalek was in a tough position to catch up.

Relatively early in the day on Wednesday, it was announced on Reuters and elsewhere that the match was postponed. I understood why the authorities wished to cancel an event that had the potential to destabilize things further. But they changed course and it was announced that the match would be held Wednesday evening.

I was confused at first, but came to understand it through some conversations with friends. First, the background is that the ultras, militant groups of football fans, had organized in January and February to defend the revolution and, along with younger members of the Brotherhood, were on the frontlines. By all accounts, their role was heroic (and partly inspired by their own experiences of police brutality). There was some coverage of the ultras on CNN recently, so you can get some background. Frankly I myself had not fully appreciated their role though it has received some coverage.

On Wednesday morning, it looked like demonstrators, with the support of the football ultras, had control of Tahrir Square. If the match were cancelled, demonstrators would have probably stayed in the square on Wednesday and Thursday, and probably been joined by others on Friday. But with the match on, the ultras left the square (disappointing some activists).

This morning (Sunday), when I came downtown, there is a small encampment in Tahrir, but traffic looks to be flowing freely.

The match was a 2-2 tie (which amounts to a victory for league leaders Ahly).

Reverse osmosis water filter

2011-06-18T22:34:00.009+02:00

The water in Cairo is very heavily treated and chlorinated. There does not seem to be a problem of parasites and bacteria in the city water supply, but the result is not so tasty. It is probably not immediately dangerous to drink the water, but the consensus is that over time it may be unhealthy due to the high chlorination levels. (If the fading colors of our clothing are any indication of what our insides would look like, I would be concerned.) So since we moved here, we have been drinking mineral water.

First, we bought cases of large 1.5 liter bottles. Then, frustrated with all of the plastic we were consuming (even though disposed bottles are often reused by someone in the city), we upgraded to refillable 19 liter jugs which were less expensive and better for the environment.

We paid a little bit more than $2 for a bottle. At first, we operated it with a basic hand pump which never worked especially well.

Then we hit the jackpot. A friend who was leaving sold us a water cooler—office style—shown here.

This worked great—it was hot and cold

Over time, however, there is also concern about the mineral content in drinking water, also with regard to long-term cumulative effect. A few friends had installed filtration systems. We have a small shower-head filter that we to soften the water for bathing. When the plumber was here installing it, we talked about it, particularly with regard to an infant. The conversation shifted to drinking water, and he pointed out the mineral content, which was labeled on the water we were drinking. Many of the minerals are very hard for a baby to process (and possibly for an adult as well.)

So our latest, and perhaps final, move is a reverse osmosis five-stage water filtration system, connected to the faucet, which you can see here. It is quite impressive. And the water tastes great. One of the filters is visible, and you can see the color of it after a little bit more than two months of use. We are due for our first filter change in a couple weeks, so I will be interested to see what everything else looks like.

On police and security

2011-06-18T22:17:00.000+02:00

Over the past few months, there has been a lot written about security and safety in Cairo after the revolution, mostly as a result of the disappearance of the police (or their reduced numbers or their decreased effectiveness for a range of complicated reasons). Even the New York Times got into it about a month or two ago, and people feel insecure, mostly with good reason. In these situations, it is hard to distinguish fact from impression (people’s fear of crime, and the state’s response often has very little direct relationship to the actual crime rate), but things have changed here in a way that legitimately make many people feel unsafe. In our well-to-do neighborhood, the concerns are different than those in other, often more vulnerable, areas, but there are extremely legitimate concerns.

Very basically, under Mubarak, there was a corrupt and brutal police force. During the revolution, the police disappeared completely (and in many cases instigated violence and looting and other destabilizing things) and then gradually returned, in fits and starts. During the revolution, neighborhoods took it upon themselves to set up patrols and provide security, essentially civilians providing a necessary service that the state neglected to provide. This was all remarkably well organized, especially considering how rapidly communities were forced to organize (literally over the course of couple hours). Often civilians also took up traffic posts during rush hour.

Today, the police are not present at their previous level, and, for those who are on the streets, the kind of attitude that dominates many police departments is gone. It is no longer clear that they can behave with impunity, or are even the ones in control. For me, all of this came to the forefront in something that happened in New Maadi, near where we live, about two weeks after the end of the revolution, as police were slowly beginning to return to the streets.

In Algiers Square, a microbus driver was stopped by a police officer who was known in that area for harassing drivers. (At this point, I should add that my understanding of what happened is not very authoritative—it is compiled from what I remember reading in several newspapers at the time and online since, and from talking to people, so my understanding of the facts is limited.) One driver stood up to him, in a way that seems like it would not have happened before the revolution, and in an ensuing scuffle the cop shot the driver. Then, the crowd came to the driver’s aid and attacked the cop, beating him up pretty badly. The initial reports were that both were killed, though I don’t think that either one was. The crowd, led by other microbus drivers, burnt a few police vehicles in the area and even ran up on the cop’s home though they did not do anything (which I initially took as evidence of how this cop was familiar to people though I think they may have found his id card). This cop, it was also either known or learned, was the son of a well-known high-ranking officer. Eventually the military came into to rescue the police, who stayed away from all of Maadi for at least a week afterwards as I recall, which resulted in the cancellation of the rest of the public school week (or delayed its resumption at least). With the police gone, the youth directed traffic. Lots of ramifications in the short term.

In the long term, this seems to be one incident among many, but it looks like part of a very messy, and occasionally violent, transition from a system where the police act with impunity to a system where they are held accountable. Part of what is described throughout the city are examples of police becoming increasingly passive, unwilling to get involved as they do not know if they will have appropriate support, or if the people will turn against them. So they are much less effective. Yet, despite the chaos of what happened in New Maadi, it does seem to suggest the possibility of an alternate order that does have accountability built into it. And ultimately I think that is what people want and what people deserve—security with accountability. My sense is that the overwhelming majority of Cairenes want an increased effective police presence, without a return to the old regime. Accountability has to involve meaningful legal and other processes. (What about democratic elections of police officers by the communities they serve?) I also think the combination that emerged—citizen security, other private measures, a moderated police force—can achieve a certain kind of effective balance. Something that allows us to imagine a system other than one where all security is handled by the government. I certainly hope so.

In events like this one, a new dynamic is being formulated. The re-formation of security apparatus can result in its reformation, as everyone learns and understands the new roles that are expected of them. While I am not sure my optimism is warranted, I do believe that an effective system of accountable policing is being formulated (inevitably perhaps, through events like Algiers Square) and hopefully will take hold.

Street Lights

2011-06-17T13:23:00.002+02:00

Since we have lived here (three years now), the street lights have not worked. Some of the individual buildings have lights and there are some stores at one end, but the lights on the lamp posts have not worked. Some of these lamp posts were taken down during the revolution for use as road blocks by people in the neighborhood to block cars from driving down our street. Since then, they have laid by the side of the road.

Now, people in the community have apparently gotten together and fixed them— rewired and remounted them without the government. And just a couple of days ago, they were working again* (presuming that they did work at some point in the past) for the first time in at least three years. Here is the view from our balcony.

More on election results

2011-06-13T12:51:00.003+02:00

You can read about the election and its results on Al-Masry Al-Youm (including 88% turnout).

University Dean Elections

2011-06-12T11:10:00.000+02:00

I have recently heard a bit of good news from colleagues at Cairo University, which is the largest in the country with 250,000 students (as I recall). This weekend, they just had their first democratic election of a Dean of the Faculty of Arts, with seven candidates running and extremely high turnout among the faculty and staff electorate. The new Dean is also the first woman to hold the position. Part of what intrigues and inspires me about this process is the way that, amid so much remaining tense in the streets and so many serious questions about the military rulers of the country and the future, that the “revolution” has taken greater hold throughout many spheres.

My initial inclination was to describe this as the way that democratic practices have transformed “civil society,” but I think that presumes the existence of “civil society” as such. The universities were administered by the government, operated through political pressures, and, perhaps most damagingly, surveyed and patrolled by state security. So what has happened is in many ways a two-step process (a ridiculous over simplification for sure). First, the university had to be civilianized (a process which began in some sense before the revolution with a court ruling evicting state security from campuses, though it has taken the revolution to see even a modicum of enforcement). And then, secondly, processes like this weekend’s elections are able to take place, thanks to the impressive and longstanding activism of so many faculty and students on the campuses. I think the results are both transformative and sustainable.

And I guess I think in some ways this may be what the revolution looks like—at least in part—the transformation of civil institutions in such ways. A similar electoral process took place at Ain Shams University earlier in the year, so there is reason to be encouraged. Such changes do not carry much weight in the international media, unfortunately, and things elsewhere in the city remain as unsettled as ever, but I do think this reminds us that, if we looks in the right place, there are reasons to be hopeful.

Donkey Cart

2011-06-01T23:00:00.000+02:00

I love the fact that I live in a place where, on the three-block walk home from where I get off the bus, I pass a guy selling watermelons off of a donkey-drawn wooden hitch. If we were not going out of town, I surely would have bought one.

Teaching after January 25

2011-05-31T13:34:00.002+02:00

Blogging has slowed down, for all sorts of reasons. There is still a lot happening here, most of which I am not especially qualified to comment on beyond the kind of off-the-cuff observations that I often bristle at from others. I do have some pictures that I hope to post—of murals and things from the neighborhood—but that feels a bit pollyannaish right now. Soon, I promise.

A few weeks ago, I attended a conference in Alexandria with colleagues from other universities here about teaching language and literature after January 25. My topic was on “Teaching American Literature and Human Rights” which was nicely complemented by some colleagues who talked about their new translation of Thomas Jefferson’s writings, as something, like much of the American example, to be considered a valuable case study, rather than a model to be emulated. Jefferson demands critical engagement as he embodies so many contradictions as a literary and prophetic figure, representing the best and worst of the US tradition. I like the temperament of this approach to the US at this moment.

For my talk, I used Malcolm X’s insistence (repeated throughout the last years of his life as Manning Marable documents in his biography, which I just finished last week) on seeing the African American struggle as demanding the attention of the United Nations. Part of Malcolm’s argument was that this movement facilitates transnational dialogue and solidarity. What a wonderful way for me to think about teaching American literature in Egypt—what if we think about it as part of a “world” tradition, rather than a national one? What are the possibilities? Specifically, I talked about texts of slavery, incarceration (also always texts of freedom, as Toni Cade Bambara frequently reminded us), and internationalism. For me it is an exciting time to be teaching here since every text, even those I have taught a half-dozen times before is “new.”

The rest of the program was quite exciting because it dealt with everything from the institutional (a campaign by colleagues at another university for direct election of the Dean and other administrators) to the curricular (“The Revolutionary Texts Initiative” and a rhetorical analysis of Mubarak’s final speech) to the pedagogical (how do we implement democratic reforms in the classroom, and the importance of new forms of student-centered learning, which is still a radical idea here).

And perhaps the most encouraging thing for me was to hear the voices of students from several universities. This, for me, was such a thrill because it is a rarity for students to be afforded a voice in this forum. And their professors are listening to them with a new seriousness and attentiveness. The movement of the youth in Egypt during the past several months forces us, as professors, that not only takes into account the material changes that have taken place around us (and which we do, by consensus, support), but to fundamentally restructure academic meeting such as this. It is no longer the teachers talking and students listening. It is, instead, a more democratic process emerging. And I believe we are only scratching the surface of what is possible in this regards.

The specific presentations included analyses of January 25^th slogans by linguistics students. Their work was impressively interdisciplinary in that it looked at the interactions of text and image on many of the posters that were seen in Tahrir Square. A colleague also shared a video of a “Democracy Graffiti Art Project” that she has undertaken with her students (who are featured in the video though they could not travel from Cairo to Alexandria for the conference). The restrictions of public expression, public space, and free speech at universities here has been so engrained that this project is really revolutionary in its own way. Large white pieces of paper are hung on the walls for students to write their thoughts. It is not policed or monitored, and has by all accounts been quite successful with students finding the smallest bit of free space to use, with more and more sheets of paper being added to the walls.

Metro Station Art Gallery

2011-05-26T15:52:00.000+02:00

Yesterday in the Tahrir Metro Station (known as Sadat), there was a public art exhibit with hundreds of drawings, painting, and photographs hanging throughout. (I did not have my camera—argh!) And there were some poster tributes to the martyrs included as well. Some of it was revolution-inspired, but not all of it. And people were stopping and looking; it was another impressive scene that seemed to be very thoughtfully organized. I found myself inspired by the diversity and breadth of the initiative in its reclamation of public space.

Kindness of Strangers

2011-05-20T00:24:00.001+02:00

Sorry for sleeping on the blog. I do have some stories to tell, including one about an energizing conference I attended in Alexandria on the subject of teaching literature after January 25.

This evening, we were heading out during rush hour and waiting for a taxi. A car with a young couple, early twenties, pulled up beside us. I though they were asking for directions. No, they were offering us a ride. “Let us take you.” No, thank you, I replied. “Please,” they responded earnestly. I hope I was able to communicate the sincerity of my appreciation. (There was a taxi right behind them, and it looked like they were probably going in a different direction than we were.)

Something similar happened to me some 10+ years ago when I was in New Orleans. I was with two other people, waiting for a street car and a guy pulled up and offered us a ride downtown. I hesitated, and probably, left to my own devices, would have said no. But my friend eagerly and boldly accepted, and I followed him into the car and got a ride to the French Quarter.

On the road to the beach

2011-05-01T10:43:00.002+02:00

We went to the beach over Easter break, which was a lot of fun. It was a lovely and welcome vacation, and not much of a metaphor for what is happening in Egypt. One recent reminder of what is happening here does seem to involve a university professor’s trip to the beach. The arrest of a law professor for insulting a military officer itself is disturbing, the apparent decision to try him before a military tribunal makes it much more so.

His detention happened around a beach area, though a different one than where we were. On the road to the beach, I noticed the construction of a series of statues of military officers. They seemed very basic, and apparently were still under construction of some sort. It was clear that they were propped on bases that were in the process of being painted the colors of the flag. There were at least two variations of the statue—one a military soldier saluting and another holding a pair of binoculars, that appeared every few miles though seemingly not at regular intervals. (Unfortunately, I don’t have any photos.) They seem to me to represent the idea of the citizen-soldier (although if they were icons of particular officials I am clearly mistaken). There was a lovely and elaborate mosaic mural I also saw that told this story. It featured a soldier climbing out of a tank and being greeted by a mass of civilians waving Egyptian flags.

I have only been on this road a couple of times so I don’t have a clear sense of what preceded these statues, though there certainly were frequent icons of Mubarak (billboards and murals) that are all gone, and replaced by this new national narrative.

More on De-mubrakization

2011-04-22T12:06:00.002+02:00

I have blogged a few times about the changes of names that have taken place throughout Egypt during the past few months. They have occurred on the Metro and at the university (though I recently learned that the name change to Suzanne Mubarak Hall just became “official” last week even though the sign itself had been removed a month ago). Well, the name Mubarak is now to be removed from all public places, due to a court decree that was handed down on Thursday, and is reported here in Al Jazeera.

This applies to Mubarak’s pictures which the attorney proposes replacing with the Egyptian flag. I like that the idea. Not only should Mubarak’s picture be taken down, but perhaps the idea of the Presidency in Egypt has been so transformed that, perhaps he or she (and Egypt has its first female candidate), should no longer lord over the state, symbolically or actually. Another lesson Egypt can teach the world.

Aesthetically at least, I appreciate the spirit and image of the name scratched out on subway maps, reflecting the democratic spirit of the revolution, much more so than a court order. Still I think this decision is pretty cool especially, when Jazeera reports:

The case had been filed by Samir Sabry, a lawyer, who had requested the court to have Mubarak's name replaced with the names of protesters who died during Egypt's popular uprising.

It is estimated that some 500 places in Egypt (mostly schools, but also parks and a public library near our home) bear, or bore, the Mubarak name. On the day before the court order was issued, a new count of those civilians killed during the revolution was released: 846. While it may be tempting to look at this number and compare it to the death toll of other revolutions (and there is a time and place for that sort of analysis) but 846 is 846 is 846. It gives me chills just typing. That is a lot of people.

And this, finally, leads to the math. Egypt can begin the process of renaming places for the martyrs of the revolution and, at the end of the day, will not have enough institutions for all 846.

Revolution in the Factories of Menoufiya

2011-04-21T20:21:00.003+02:00

Last year, I gave a talk at a university in Shebin El Kom, Menoufiya, in the Delta, and blogged about the experience. During the revolution, I was especially excited by the stories I heard coming out of this area, where it was clear that there were mass mobilizations on a scale equivalent to what the world saw in Cairo and in Alexandria, just without the international media attention.

I was pleased, then, to read a report on NPR from Menoufiya, particularly around labor organizing that has been taking place against a system of privatization that has been occurring throughout the country for the past several years. Privatization has been a national crisis, and is certainly one major cause of the degradation of working people, which, of course, led to the revolution. After the revolution, it is encouraging to see workers continuing the movement in the factories. Movements like these represent the places where the work of the revolution will continue.

In this context it is worth mentioning that privatization campaigns occur with the full-fledged support of the US and many international NGOs, and this factory in Shebin El-Kom manufactures products for the US market.

Welcome back to the neighborhood, Malawi!

2011-04-18T21:36:00.002+02:00

There is a lot of good information about what is happening in Egypt right now and some really insightful political analysis from people far more knowledgeable than me. And I hope that friends and family reading my blog are also reading widely about Egypt. Now I am reflecting on the value of my blog, which is primarily a forum for friends and family abroad to know what I see and what is going on in my world here. And it is a place for me to post photographs of that world.

So I think it makes sense for me to describe what is happening on the street where I live in Maadi. I used to live next door to the Macedonia Embassy, which I wrote about some time ago here on the blog. I have not moved, but they have, so we are no longer neighbors. Or, at least, their flag was taken down from the building next door. Plus I saw some big moving trucks a few weeks back.

This neighborhood does have a lot of embassies, though only a couple on the streets right around me. Other than Macedonia, the Malawi Embassy is also on our street. And their flag was also taken down at the time of the revolution, but this week I noticed that it was back up.

By the way, this is a great flag that I am happy to see it every morning when I walk to the gym or the bus. Malawi went back to the classic Pan-African red, black, and green last year (after having a variation of it since independence). Welcome back.

On the Bus

2011-04-16T13:25:00.001+02:00

On the bus that I take to campus several times a week, there have been a few changes. There is a security guard on each bus, because there has been some concern regarding security on the roads, with so much uncertainty throughout the city. Originally it seemed like it was something like an air marshal, someone unidentified. But you typically know who the person is, and usually it seems like they are wearing AUC jackets (either by design or default). The buses intentionally do not indicate that they are for AUC, a practice that predates the revolution. They used to be “Family Transport” buses, but our route is now managed by a different carrier, who uses an assortment of buses, most bearing the names of some tour company or other.

This week, there was a new change. The security officer on the bus checks identification before allowing you to board the bus. This is an entirely new practice. Then, as it was before, when you get off the bus at campus, your id gets checked to make sure you have a bus pass (students) or are otherwise authorized to ride (staff or faculty). Then there is another id check for getting onto campus, which includes putting your bag through an airport-style x-ray machine and walking through a metal detector (which I don’t think is too sensitive or serious as I have never emptied my pockets).

Things I see and don't see

2011-04-13T23:23:00.001+02:00

I was downtown today for this first time this week. The first time since the military fired on demonstrators over the weekend. And the first since the remaining protestors were cleared out again. There were some small groups of people on the streets around the midan, but not many. And there were military police in the square who seemed to be doing two things—helping direct traffic and making themselves visible. They were wearing uniforms with bright red armbands and bright red berets, and they were in groups and could be readily identified from a distance. The streets had been shut down by the military earlier in the week, and it seems like the military wanted to clear everyone and everything out before the end of the week so that there was not momentum coming into the weekend.

And in other news, there was the announcement of the detention of Mubarak and sons for questioning for 15 days. The sons, and their cronies, are being held at the Tura prison which is near where I live (and which I blogged about a few months ago). The former president appears to be essentially under house arrest in Sharm.

I am not entirely sure if there is a connection between the military attacks on protestors and the high-level arrests, but it does often seem to be the case that something terribly demoralizing (and in this case tragic) is offset by something encouraging. I am not sure if this is part of a well-rehearsed script, but it does occasionally feel that way. Then again, there is not a lot of evidence that the military is particularly well-organized in its role as the country’s rulers...

I love seeing dictators held to account for their crimes almost as much as I like seeing activists in the streets (and treated respectfully by the state security authorities, whoever they might be at the moment).

Guns for sale

2011-04-07T23:44:00.002+02:00

I blogged a few weeks ago about seeing someone showing off a new gun on the metro platform. Since the revolution, there have been signs advertising guns for sale at the local supermarket, bakery, and bookstore. I took this picture earlier this week at the stationary store across the street from where we live.

Book fair

2011-04-03T23:18:00.008+02:00

The Revolution caused the cancellation of the Cairo International Book Fair, which is a big annual event that takes place in late January. As a result of the cancellation, the university decided to organize a much smaller Tahrir Square book fair, which I attended with R yesterday morning for a couple of hours.

I was there relatively early in the day and it was still pretty quiet, which meant lots of space for R to safely run around and have fun. Not sure how things were later in the day, or throughout the weekend.

R collected lots of gifts—an Italian flag from the Italian cultural center (several embassies had tables set up); a bag with a book, magazine, and brochures from the Azerbaijan Embassy; and miscellaneous snacks from everywhere. There were a lot of children’s displays, which was nice. At one of these, R started pointing and screaming “Bu Bu.” I looked and saw what she saw: Brown Bear, her favorite English-language book in Arabic translation, which is now the newest addition to our family library.

I have gotten R some Arabic-language children’s books (which are at my reading level) over the past few years, and her favorite character is Farhana, who has a whole series of books about her. This past week, R has been really enjoying them, so I was disappointed that we were not able to stay late enough to see the author who was doing a children’s program and reading later in the day. I was, however, excited to learn the titles of the next three books in the series: Farhana Loves Egypt, Farhana Loves Tahrir Square, and Farhana Loves Freedom.

The publisher told me they are still at the printer but should be available in the next couple of weeks.

Earthquake!

2011-04-02T16:11:00.004+02:00

Yesterday, I experienced my first earthquake. Our apartment shook. I did not notice it at first, but J did. Then I heard the hanging doorknobs on some of our cabinets rattling and realized something was happening. A quick internet search revealed a quake measured at 4.0 in Cairo that had its epicenter in Crete where it registered at about 6.0. There was no damage here in Cairo, but you could definitely feel it. My world remains interesting.

Strange Fruit

2011-03-31T22:59:00.001+02:00

I played Billie Holiday singing "Strange Fruit" in my Introduction to American Studies class today, and the students clapped when it ended.

More on renaming the hall...

2011-03-30T21:25:00.003+02:00

I just read an article that appeared in the New York Times last week (two days after I introduced Nuruddin Farah in that room) about the process of renaming the many Egyptian institutions that bear the Mubarak name, and it included this account from the university:

Gigi Ibrahim was about to inaugurate a free speech program at the American University in Cairo when the name etched in gold across a heavy beige marble plaque hanging outside the hall stopped her in her tracks: H. E. Suzanne Mubarak Conference Hall.

So Ms. Ibrahim, 24, having cut her teeth as a political activist at Tahrir Square, immediately applied the lessons learned about direct action, found a screwdriver and took it down with a friend’s help. “When we saw it we thought, ‘Well this just needs to come down,’ ” she said, although officially the name holds.

Link to Khalidi lecture

2011-03-29T10:05:00.002+02:00

Since I blogged about Rashid Khalidi's lecture a few weeks ago, I wanted to let folks know that a variation of the speech is available online at Jadaliyya.

Guns

2011-03-27T00:39:00.000+02:00

Saturday afternoon, around 2pm, I was getting on the subway headed downtown. On the platform, I see two guys talking, and one is holding a large cardboard box. He opens it and shows his friend his new purchase—a rifle (still in the plastic in the box). I do not know enough about guns to say anything about it, but it was surprisingly casual and not at all secretive.

Personal firearms for protection seem to be proliferating in Cairo. I see advertisements for them at the local store. Mainly, I think, people are buying them to protect their homes, feeling that the disappearance and distrust of the police and other state security forces makes it necessary for folks to take personal security into their own hands. I am not a big fan of guns in the hands of police or civilians.

The room formerly known as...

2011-03-25T11:31:00.005+02:00

The Somali novelist Nuruddin Farah was in town this week, and I had the extraordinary honor to introduce him during a lecture on campus. His lecture was scheduled to be held in Suzanne Mubarak Hall, a conference room named for the former dictator, which the university administration has been unwilling to change. The best approach, suggested by a colleague during a list-serve discussion of this point, seemed apparent: it was incumbent upon anyone speaking in this auditorium to comment on the name. I thought and wrote long and hard—really for several weeks—over what I should say and how I should say it. I wanted to be unambiguous, but economical. And I did not want to distract from the speaker. It really consumed me for a period of time.

Part of what I came up with was:

The name reminds us of the shameful relationship of this institution to the former regime, and, in some cases, our own silence and complicity. And it may serve as a symbol that the extraordinary work undertaken by so many Egyptians during the past two months remains, at this moment, incomplete as long as vestiges of the former regime remain among us. While the name of this room represents some of the most troubling aspects of this university, tonight’s speaker reminds us of it at its best...

Nothing special, really.

Then two things happened.

One—some of us talked about it with Farah over lunch before the lecture, and he felt that there was merit to keeping the name because it provides an opportunity for reflection. This is based on his experience living in South Africa, where he explained many buildings have the names of former apartheid leaders. These names become important mementos of terrible history. His was a valuable experience, indeed.

Two—sometime after 3pm, I learned that the name plaque had just been removed from the conference hall. I even walked down there to confirm. Here is a photo distributed on a faculty list-serve:

The name around which I had organized my introduction was obsolete. Thankfully. But without explanation. So I had one hour to rethink and rewrite the introduction I spent weeks contemplating.

Part of my revised introduction:

Our joy on this occasion is heightened by noting that this is, I believe, the inaugural event in the newly renamed P0071. And while the change may serve as an important symbol of the extraordinary work undertaken by so many Egyptians during the past two months, I hope that the erasure of the former name does not cause us to forget the troubling relationship of this institution to the regime, and, in some cases, our own silence and complicity. As our guest pointed out to us earlier, based on his experiences in South Africa, where he lives, such sites provide opportunities for important public conversations about our shared history (which is why I mention it now).

Much the same sentiment, I think. And I guess the lesson lies somewhere in the notion that one must never be silent, and must always speak up, regardless of the name on the door.

Interior Ministry fire

2011-03-24T01:12:00.005+02:00

There was a big fire at the Interior Ministry yesterday, which you can read about in your local newspaper. The building is a block away from where I had my Arabic tutoring session, so I stopped off to see what was happening this afternoon. Quite a bit of damage as you can tell. There was a sizable demonstration of mid-level police officers outside. It is not clear who is responsible for the fire, but in many of these instances, it appears to be an attempt to destroy evidence.

There were still a number of people in the street as you can see here. The tanks are not in the picture.

I was not sure what these folks were doing on the roof right above the wall.

Election results

2011-03-22T11:17:00.000+02:00

If you ever needed a reason to take anything I write advisedly, you can take the election results. The constitutional amendments were approved with 77% of the vote. Even though most folks I know voted “no,” my personal polling was not a sound prognosticator (not unlike what I saw in the US in 2004 when everyone I know voted for Kerry). The turnout was 55%, which is quite impressive and encouraging. Many people want economic stability, and feel like the way to achieve that is by moving forward as soon as possible. For one provocative analysis, you can see Sandmonkey’s blog here.

I did have a taxi driver on Saturday night (the evening of the election), who was extremely enthusiastic in his opposition to the amendments. He was a young guy, originally from Fayoum, who had a tribute to the January 25 martyrs hanging from his rearview mirror. So when I asked him why he voted “no,” he simply told me “Midan Tahrir.”

Constitutional Referendums

2011-03-19T02:27:00.005+02:00

Today is a big day—the constitutional referendum. Egyptians will go to the polls—many for the first time—to vote yes or no on an amended constitution. The issues are complicated on many levels. Most of the activists and opposition groups have endorsed voting “no”; the Muslim Brotherhood leadership came out in support of it but a youth faction has come out in opposition. Actually I can say that I don’t personally know of anyone who is voting “yes.” All of my students said they are voting “no.” I can’t read too much into it because I know that the people I know are not necessarily a representative sample.

There are several issues which motivate the “no” folks. One of the major ones is that the amendments maintain the provisions for emergency rule which has been in effect for the past 30 years. For example, the amendment that allows for elected presidents to serve no more than two four-year terms, could be overridden by executive authorities which remain in place. Furthermore, it seems like the constitutional question has in many ways evolved into a referendum on military rule.

I have asked a few taxi drivers about the elections, and the most remarkable thing is their willingness to talk politics so openly. There is no consensus, but I did ride in a taxi last night whose driver told me he was voting “yes.” His explanation, to the best that I could understand it, was that Mubarak is gone, the people won, and he seeks as quick of a return as possible to some semblance of stability. Strong centralized military rule—at least in the short term—is considered by some to provide the best opportunity for that.

In my American Studies class, we read the US Constitution, and have recently been reading the Civil War amendments (13^th, 14^th, 15^th). One of the things I have discussed in class was the position of many radical abolitionists who burnt the Constitution at demonstrations and believed that amendments were not sufficient to change a document stained by slavery. In some ways, the question is similar here--whether or not to replace or amend Egypt’s 40-year-old constitution (which you can read in English here).

There are lots of other issues at play, which are beyond what I can explain. Some critics feel that it is too soon to vote on amendments, that the process should be more through, and take more time. You can find some insightful and detailed analysis online.

For me, one of the most remarkable things has been the expectation of high turnout. Given the opposition’s lack of confidence in the process, and the short time since its announcement, I was not sure what to expect. I imagined that a significant segment of the population that would express their opposition by declining to participate in an election they do not consider legitimate. On this point, I think I was starkly wrong. Everyone I have spoken to over the past few days is planning on going to the polls. (People can vote at any polling station they want by using their national identity card.)

In December 2005, I was in the Democratic Republic of Congo for their constitutional referendum, when many people were voting in a real election for the first time. It was exciting. A holiday was declared (as it is for tomorrow here). The process in DRC was more involved—voter registration was required. There was an international commission supervising the election. The Congolese constitution had been written over the course of several years following the installation of Joseph Kabila as head of a transitional coalition government (following the assassination of his father in 2001). It was overwhelmingly approved. There was little controversy, but the turnout was high. In many ways it was a dry run for presidential elections the following summer, which Joseph Kabila won in a run off. With the next presidential election approaching later this year, in January, Kabila pushed constitutional amendments through parliament, including one that will limit the presidential election to one round. The public argument is economic; however, this will clearly benefit Kabila by preventing the diverse opposition groups from forming a strong coalition behind the first round’s second place finisher.

“Preliminary Historical Observations on the Arab Revolutions of 2011”

2011-03-15T12:48:00.004+02:00

Historian Rashid Khalidi spoke on “Preliminary Historical Observations on the Arab Revolutions of 2011,” and there was something refreshing in his perspective. He has studied and followed the history and politics of the Arab world for decades and to hear him thanking the Egyptian people for what they have accomplished was, frankly, touching. It was similar to what I felt when I heard Robert Fisk saying this is the happiest story he has covered in 35 years in the region. Analysts of the region who I read and admire, and who have been staunch critics of its authoritarian regimes, seem genuinely happy, at times almost giddy. A kind of “this is it” moment that even the most cynical and critical among us must recognize.

This was particularly valuable at this precise moment, following last week when serious attacks on demonstrators raised serious questions about the direction in which things are moving. And still, we are no closer to being able to answer those questions this week. And while the response should not be one of self-satisfaction, it does seem useful to keep this wide-angle view within our sights at all times.

There are a few additional notes from the talk I wanted to share.

One of his main arguments was that throughout the past two centuries of non-violent and democratic revolutions in this region, those taking place mark the end of the old anti-colonialist nationalism in that they are not mainly against foreign occupation.
He believes that US public opinion—overwhelming support for the Egyptian demonstrators—forced the US government to moderate its own positions driven by economic interest.
He sees a revolution in US media coverage, where the standard talking heads no longer have anything to say, and forcing an entirely new approach to the region from outlets like CNN.

And a couple of pieces of information—not news, but new to me.

In the past ten years, the poverty rate in Egypt (those making less than $200 per month) has increased from 39% to 43%.
Egypt and Tunisia both have 70% literacy rates.
The tear gas that was used against peaceful protesters in Tahrir Square in from Pennsylvania. It had been widely discussed as coming from the US, which I knew. But I had not realized, until his talk and a followup google search, they were manufactured by Combined Systems Inc. in Jamestown, Pennsylvania. This was widely reported, including on CNN, but I somehow missed the Pennsylvania part of the story. (Maybe because there was no internet here for the week.)

On shredded paper

2011-03-08T11:23:00.000+02:00

So the latest, and amazing news, are the demonstrations at state security offices throughout the country, beginning with Alexandria. In addition to the goal of toppling state security (and the verdict is still out it seems), folks in Alexandria liberated political prisoners still held in prison. Incredible. Activists breaking people out. And the other amazing project has been people in the offices trying to save as much documentation as possible and to prevent the agency from shredding and burning its records. So, activists went in with digital cameras and started taking pictures which were and continue to be posted online. It is really amazing, and while there does seem to be some pushback at several sites, I remain in awe of the brilliant things protestors continue to do in the interest of transparency, justice, and history.

Among the photos were several of bags of shredded paper from the offices. This reminded me of something I read a couple of years ago (and had not heard before). When the US Embassy in Tehran was taken over in 1979, US diplomats anticipated the impending attack by shredding all of its files. Iranian activists, however, saved all of the shredded paper and spent years putting it all back together! The results of the years of hard work was the publication in multiple volumes of all of these shredded documents. I hope those bags of shredded documents meet a similar fate to those from the US Embassy in Tehran.

Scenes from the Maadi Festival

2011-03-06T00:00:00.005+02:00

Yesterday I took R to a Revolution Festival that was happening in my neighborhood. Tons of flags. Lots of music. Fun for all (except those caught in the traffic). It was originally scheduled for last Friday, the one-month anniversary of the start of the revolution but there had been a police shooting a couple of days earlier (another story) so it was rescheduled. And it was able to celebrate another victory—the departure of the former Prime Minister.

There were thousands of people out. The street was closed. There were volunteers doing security though I, with a baby stroller, was quickly waved around the side so I would not have to wait. R was something of a celebrity and made lots of friends.

There was not a lot of politicking going on. It was mostly commercial with people advertising or selling one thing or other. The Egyptian Revolution sponsored in part by Auntie Anne’s soft pretzels. (No I am not making this up.)

I was slightly heartened, however, to see that the most lively table was that featuring supporters of the protesters in Libya.

What did amaze me about this scene was how unfamiliar it was. Here we have a country where the streets now belong to the people to do with them what they choose—from politicking to partying and, at its best, both at the same time. I ran into some students there—the main demographic was 15-25 year olds—and talked to them about how novel they found this scene. And I think this is one of the legacies of the revolution—the reinvention of public space.

I wish I had taken more pictures. My camera batteries were low. I had the foresight to purchase new ones but forgot to bring them along.

"I take my goals from you, and I promise you, if I cannot fulfill those objectives, I will come and join you as a protester."

2011-03-05T00:07:00.001+02:00

I went to class on Thursday morning and when I got out the country has a new Prime Minister. Unbelievable. Ahmed Shafiq, who was a holdover from the Mubarak regime, was deeply unpopular and huge protests were planned to call for his resignation or removal on Friday. He was replaced by the military by a Essam Sharaf, a figure who the opposition leaders had proposed—a former Transportation Minister who resigned from the Mubarak government several years ago in protest, and who even joined the protests in Tahrir Square.

After Shafiq’s resignation, I spoke to a student who, like me, was in shock at the pace of the changes taking place. He was, also like me, a bit cautious. What does this mean? Is this a power play by the military? Or is there another explanation? And of course, the skeptic in me wants to approach it cynically. Prime Ministers aren’t replaced because the people protest and want it. But then, I thought, of course they are. And I had this conversation with the student—this is entirely logical. Why would those in power not listen to the people? They should. It makes sense. They have learned the lessons of the past month—the enormous power of people. Millions of people. In the street. It really makes perfect sense.

I guess I had a random thought about the labor protests in Wisconsin, and now spreading throughout the midwest US. I have seen and heard commentary comparing the situation there to this region. While there were some really inspiring signs of solidarity on both parts (pro-Wisconsin signs in Tahrir Square and vise versa), it seemed too facile for me. But what finally hit me was this revelation of what participatory democracy can look like. Because while the causes in both places are completely different, the common ground seems to lie in the belief that lasting change can happen through direct action. When I was protesting in New York in the lead up to the US invasion of Iraq, I thought the best possible outcome was to slow down the imperial war machine. The invasion could be delayed. A visible US opposition could convince US allies not to support the invasion. And I believe that we may have succeeded in those respects, though the ongoing tragedy makes it hard to find any kind of victory in those achievements. However, what I have witnessed in Egypt has forced me to reconsider everything I thought I knew about the possibilities of political action.

Two additional scenes from the surreal world I live in:

On Wednesday night, the eve of his resignation/removal, the Prime Minister debated Egypt’s most famous writer (and an outspoken opposition figure) on television. A political debate! And a novelist!
This morning (Friday), the new Prime Minister went back to Tahrir Square and proclaimed: "I take my goals from you, and I promise you, if I cannot fulfill those objectives, I will come and join you as a protester."

De-Mubarakization of the Metro

2011-03-02T15:14:00.002+02:00

From the Metro station formerly known as Mubarak...

From the NY Times. Photo and article by Mohamed El Dahshan. See the article here.

The Station Formerly Known As Mubarak

2011-03-01T09:23:00.000+02:00

On Sunday, I rode the subway downtown and as I was exiting the car, I noticed a “correction” on the line map that appeared above the door. The “Mubarak” station was crossed out by a marker. I figured its renaming, and the renaming of anything associated with the former regime was inevitable (and this includes a room on our university campus). But I was touched to see it done so directly. So on my ride home, I was careful to check every available map, perhaps a half-dozen in all, and all of them had “Mubarak” crossed.

I wish I had a camera to take a picture of the sign. (I really should have one with me at all times.) It is a small thing, so small that I did not even notice it last week when I went downtown on the metro (and I am sure it had already been erased then).

As for Tahrir itself, it was still lively as there were still demonstrations taking place at various positions around the square. The largest congregation, I guess, may have been 1,000 people, and there were several smaller groups of perhaps a couple of hundred. There was a strike a couple of blocks off the square, at a bank building as well. There were army officers standing watch, but they did not appear to be positioned aggressively, but after Friday night, it seems like all bets are off.

Barbershop

2011-02-24T15:55:00.001+02:00

I went to get my haircut last night. The young guys there who have been cutting my hair for the past three years were visibly giddy. I was actually last there on January 25, the day the protests began, and one of the barbers told me, with a note of cynicism, that nothing would come of it. That was a refrain that I heard repeated by Egyptian friends during the first couple of days.

Last night was a different story. He was trying to convince me to try a new hairstyle—for the revolution, he explained. (For what its worth, these folks are Coptic Christians, which I mention to emphasize the point that this revolution has widespread popular support and is not religious, as it sometimes has been portrayed though I think and hope this notion is now thoroughly discredited.) Add to the scene a television, which was showing Qadafi’s long speech (not the 30-second one). The speech was surreal. It was fun watching it there, and that took the edge of the devastating tragedy of what is happening there..

It is hard to describe the excitement of people, and what is happening on so many of the city’s streets. So many of these scenes seem like bad nationalist propaganda, with citizens working together happily and joyfully. But the new rainbow murals in my neighborhood are real. I will try to take some pictures.

After the revolution...

2011-02-22T15:49:00.002+02:00

We arrived back in Egypt Sunday, and I started teaching yesterday. For now, I can give my initial impressions of my arrival. The sky was grey since there have been khamisin (sandstorms) this week. We went from the airport back to our apartment. I only saw one tank, which was a huge change from our trip to the airport when we left. Then, they were everywhere. On the ride in, the one I saw was parked in front of the J. W. Marriott Hotel, which is large compound out in the desert. It was pretty inconspicuous.

As we came into the neighborhood, I saw a few things that really excited me. On Road 216, there were a dozen or so young teenagers painting the curbs of the median on the road. It looked good. Then we made another turn onto Road 254 and there was another group of teenagers, mostly girls, a little bit older, also doing some work. They were fixing a busted up sidewalk which is right along a route I take to the bus stop everyday. And that big pile of garbage which I would pass daily for two years was bundled up into a few dozen bags. Lamposts that were dug up as barricades are replanted in the ground. There are Egyptian flags everywhere. This is one view of the revolution and young Egyptians are taking pride in their city and their environment. It makes perfect sense, but there is something really amazing in seeing it. As we continued toward home, the midans in the neighborhood had newly painted curbs and especially well-tended gardens. There are still quite a few potholes in the street, primarily from the barricades that folks had set up in the neighborhood a few weeks ago.

On campus, the service workers (security and custodians) were on strike, which is great to see. There are striking workers throughout the country—working folks have learned the lessons from Tahrir Square and putting them into practice in extraordinary ways right away. It was great to reconnect with colleagues. I enjoyed my time with my students, and look forward to more classroom time. On the way home from campus, I saw a few more tanks, but still fewer than before I left.

On the state, and some images

2011-02-18T18:25:00.003+02:00

The time for returning to Egypt is rapidly approaching—tomorrow, Saturday, to be precise. I did not get a chance to write everything I had hoped for a range of reasons—from the mundane lack of time to the rapidly shifting and transforming situation in Egypt itself, where things I saw, thought, and felt, have been entirely upended by subsequent developments. Two weeks ago feels like epochs ago, and in some ways it is.

So, to be brief, I do intend to be a more faithful and frequent (not sure exactly what that means yet) blogger during the coming months. And we will see what transpires. Needless to say, I am excited to return and looking forward to getting back into the classroom.

One thing I hope for this blog is to provide some context for some of the pictures I took. On Wednesday, February 2, I went to Tahrir Square, wanting to witness what was happening in the city I have called home for the past three years. Partly, I was inspired by the demonstration the day before which attracted millions (literally) of people, and disappointed that I had missed it. I was also sad to be leaving the following day—it felt inevitable and like the right decision—but I was sad to be leaving so many friends and comrades at such a critical historical moment. Anyway, so I spent a few hours downtown, careful to return via the subway before curfew at 3pm.

The Wednesday I was there was also the day that pro-Mubarak thugs on horses and camels attacked demonstrators. And it was also the day when foreign journalists were under attack from some of the same people. Fortunately, I missed the violence by about an hour. I did want to share a couple of images from that day.

First, when I entered the square, there was checkpoint, organized by the demonstrators themselves. I showed my id (US passport) and was politely searched. They saw my camera, and I was allowed to enter. It was very professional. In this picture, you can see a group of women off to the right because they had separate lines for men and women (with women searching women). Part of what struck me about this scene was that you had the demonstrators in control of the square, which included performing the security functions one typically associates with the state (either the police or the military). My understanding is that at other times and other positions, the checkpoints were much more rigidly controlled, and that the military was involved. (Though I understand that female civilians assisted the military in those instances—which enabled women to bring in things that the military might have disallowed.)

Still, the military was on the scene. And here is a crappy short video I took of what some of them were doing—cleaning up garbage with the assistance of civilians.

It was really a remarkable scene to see police/military functions civilianized in multiple directions. Security performed by civil society, and military performing a civilian service. The latter is, I think, crucial for the future of the country—will the military continue to serve the people in this way? Is there a way to maintain the military as an institution (something that is probably needed to maintain stability), while creating a new civil society profile for them?

There were many things I saw that were unfamiliar and that, perhaps, did not feel “right,” but I did not feel like I had instincts. I had some good conversations with people although I was awkwardly approached while taking pictures and asked if I was a journalist. I insisted no (unaware of the targeting of western journalists to come—Egyptian and regional journalists had long been targets), and my interlocutor walked away. There were also, mostly outside the square, small groups of pro-Mubarak folks. You can see them carrying pictures of the then-President. Presumably police families. I did not see anyone on horseback. This is another lo-fi short video I took—you can see a small argument taking place off to the right.

The civilian security was clearly overtaken by the pro-regime thugs (though I believe they entered from a different side of the square). The reasons for checking identification also became clear. When the thugs were apprehended, as was widely reported, their id cards were all police ids, which presumably is what security was looking for, and why the thugs needed horses to rush the barricades and lines.

The Protesters' Demands

2011-02-16T22:32:00.005+02:00

When I was in Tahrir, I noticed a group of activists painting an enormous sign on the ground, and took this picture.

When reading the excellent Jadaliyya website a couple of days ago, I saw the amazing 10-story-tall finished product.

At first, I had thought that is was to send a message to helicopters that were newly hovering over the demonstration, but in fact it turned into this gorgeous banner, listing the demands of the protesters. They are translated into English on the wesbite.

My first post-Mubarak blog post!

2011-02-15T23:38:00.001+02:00

My head has been spinning since Thursday when the shocking disappointment of Mubarak’s non-resignation speech was transformed into the joy and excitement of Friday’s news.

I am still behind on blogging, and hopefully will catch up during the next few days, and weeks, but it all feels surreal. That includes the disappointment of missing what was clearly the best party of all time!

I guess it makes sense that in some ways the past three weeks feel like it has been much longer. In the evolution of democracy, it has been epochs, not weeks.

I am excited to return to Cairo—the whole fam is heading back home on Saturday to a different country than the one we left. What an honor!

Staying with friends

2011-02-09T22:37:00.006+02:00

After Saturday night, we made the decision to stay with friends who live about a mile away from us. There were several reasons for the decision. First of all, we wanted to be around other people, and the family we were staying with lived in a building with several other friends and colleagues. In particular, there are lots of other kids there for R to play with. Second, their street was a little bit quieter. Our flat is right off of one of the main roads into Maadi, which was why we had to listen to so many nearby tanks and guns the night before. Third, they have satellite television so we could keep abreast of things by staying glued to Al Jazeera. Fourth, because there are other colleagues in the building, we also found ourselves better apprised of what the university was and was not doing.

A friend with a car picked us up on Sunday morning. He parked at the end of the block because there were cars still blocking the road from the night before (and they remained in place for most of the rest of the week). We packed carefully though not comprehensively. There was, somewhere in my mind, the possibility that we would never be able to get back in (for a range of reasons). I was extremely concerned about a decade worth of research documentation culled from archives on three continents, which, at the risk of sounding dramatic, represents my life work. Its loss would be devastating, though our primary concern was and remains the safety of our family, friends, and neighbors. (I spent Monday and Tuesday back the apartment, scanning materials, organizing and packing, realizing that we would probably be evacuating later in the week. I made the 20-minute walk in the morning after the 8am curfew lifted and returned to our friends’ place before curfew which was 3pm those days.)

The place where we were staying is closer to Maadi Sakinat, and generally did seem quieter although on Sunday, there were helicopters and fighter jets flying low over the city and neighborhood. (You can see a helicopter through the trees, to the left of the flag, in the picture at left. Both photos are from Tahrir, Wed., Feb. 2.)

Our friends also live somewhat close to the Interior Ministry’s notorious Tora Prison, which has been the site of the torture of countless political detainees over the years, and where there was a well-publicized escape. There was a lot of noise—gunshots and explosives of sorts—coming from the direction.

View Torah Mahkoum Prison in a larger map

We were on Road 14. I should point out that the noise from the prison never seemed threatening because although the distance the sound travels is not particularly far, the prison is (or was) located across a highway overpass from our neighborhood so it was not as “close” as it appears on the map or sounded during those days. Some of the stories coming out about the prisoner escapes are among the most remarkable that I have heard in the past few weeks.

From the roof of the building, we could also see tracer fire being shot into the air (often followed by live rounds). It was hard to discern precisely where it was coming from. It may have been coming from the prison. Or it may have been coming from two nearby apartment buildings that are residences for retired military personnel.

We stayed three nights there and need to shout out big thanks to those who put us up and put up with us.

Footnote on images

2011-02-08T19:40:00.003+02:00

I took all of the photos I am posting here, though I did not shoot the videos embedded from youtube. I did shoot a couple of short videos I may try to post in the week ahead.

Goodbye Barney Fife; Hello Tanks

2011-02-08T19:31:00.002+02:00

So, Saturday was an amazing day, and the most personally trying. Friday night, we had the comfort of a group of close friends in our home, which enabled us to drown out the news and the sounds, which seemed relatively far off in the distance. On Saturday, we spent the day inside, talking with friends on the telephone about what was going on around us in anticipation of the coming 5pm curfew. Shortly before 5pm, I looked outside the window and saw about 40 men in the street with sticks and pipes and baseball bats and at least one rifle. Both ends of the block were barricaded with debris and cars and eventually drums which were set on fire. It took me a moment to process, but I soon recognized many of my neighbors. This was a neighborhood group that had organized itself to protect the block from the possibility of looting by the police or people in the employ of the NDP. And this was the approach—lock down the block. While the men were on the street, the women were on the roofs and balconies with molotov cocktails ready to rain down on any intruders. Even kids got into it—there were some children on the balcony across the street from us armed with tennis rackets. Our doorman/building super (there is no precise English translation) was active and involved throughout it all. We sent down dinner for him on Saturday night, and food throughout the week.

It was remarkable for its organization, and definitely affirms my confidence in the ability of civil society to organize itself to provide necessary services absent the state. Crisis brought out a sense of community—longtime neighbors met each other for the first time. (ASIDE: There are lots of similar stories from Tahrir Square, including many of garbage cleanup by citizens and soldiers. Here is one photo I took on Wednesday. It is a remarkable image for a city with no effective sanitation system and famous for its dirty streets.

)

Back to Saturday, which was a wild scene: Businesses on our block which had opened in the morning quickly closed, removed all displays from the windows, or hung newspaper in their displays. The building next to us houses the Egyptian offices of Michelin and their sign was covered so that it would not be targeted. The police were gone as was the Macedonian Embassy, and its flag, which was housed in the building next to ours. Prior to last week, there had been a permanent encampment of police there—typically five to ten at any given time. These Barney Fife muhfuhs (as J hilariously called them) were gone and were not seen again for the next six days (as long as we were there).

There were a number of rumors circulating, and I still don’t know what was true. One was that the police had raided the local police station (in one account, three people were killed) and were armed and looting (not sure). A friend and neighbor had a car stolen the night before (true). Another was that big box store (Carrefour) and upscale shopping mall—a few miles away—had been looted and set on fire. It was definitely looted, and there appears to be fire damage in this youtube video:

Saturday night, our neighborhood watch did its job. If a vehicle drove by, everyone rushed it and sent it away. At around 10pm, I heard someone hollering a signal and out rushed people from all the buildings. There was one suspicious looking white pickup truck that did, from my view on our balcony, look like a police car (which are not as standard in appearance as those in the US). People rushed it. One of the neighbors had a gun, and shot it in the air a few times. It was one of those moments where I was proud of and grateful for my neighbors, but still uncomfortable to see and hear the guns.

We spent the night talking to friends nearby—asking what, if anything, they could see. It was all frightening. We heard occasional gunfights, some of which seemed to be no more than a block away. And then the tanks came in. We could hear them, but not see them. Our street is right off of one of the main entrance points to Maadi (coming from new Maadi). We heard reports from friends abroad that Maadi was now on the international news. It got very loud again around 2am and somehow through it all we eventually fell asleep, though not before making the decision that in the morning we would go stay with friends, which we did on Sunday morning.

A footnote on the military

2011-02-07T22:22:00.005+02:00

I should point out that the story of the military is still being written, and still contested. And I am not sure that it will have a happy ending. See this recent post on a blog (Occupied Cairo) that a student sent me.

the first days...

2011-02-07T22:14:00.005+02:00

I am still not sure where to begin to talk about the past two weeks, but things began on Tuesday, January 25, which was an official government holiday in Egypt, Police Day. There were large demonstrations in Tahrir Square downtown, and I stayed at home (the university was closed) preparing my classes for the spring semester. This was also the first day of telecommunications disruptions. Twitter was shut down. FB was hard to access. An Egypt-based Gmail email account was offline. The demonstration was clearly a success as protesters organized at Tahrir Square, and the police responded in their typically brutal way. It was clear though, at this moment, that something special was happening. And it was clear that the government feared it. The sense was that if demonstrators were able to hold part of the Midan, that the mass demonstrations called for Friday following noon prayer would be historic, and indeed they were, beyond almost anyone's expectations.

On Wednesday and Thursday, as I was in the office at the university in New Cairo, I was following events online, in the local and international press. At home, our internet was sketchy before the government shut it down, and we do not have satellite television. Still, there was something surreal about following online from international sources what is happening in your city. Second, third, fourth hand reports and lots of rumors accumulated.

Friday morning, we woke up and went to supermarket to stock up on supplies (kind of how some Americans do in anticipation of a Nor’easter blizzard). By Friday afternoon, things jumped off with folks from throughout Cairo converging at Midan Tahrir. During the afternoon, as demonstrators converged, the government responded. Cell phone and internet service was severed throughout Egypt. (We have a landline at home, but very few people had the telephone number.) Friday was also the first night of a curfew—set for 6pm, enforced by the military. Though the time changes from day-to-day, the curfew is set to continue indefinitely.

We had, several weeks earlier, organized a party for that Friday night and a few friends actually came. Through it, we could hear shots of some sort or another in the distance. A friend with military experience thought they were tear gas canisters. Folks in our neighborhood even said they could smell the tear gas in the air when they woke up on Saturday morning. They sounded like they were relatively far away though there were reports of an attack at a local police station and a fire at a nearby government office. Still lots of conflicting reports. Our friends broke curfew to walk home—our neighborhood was still quiet and foreigners have a certain kind of liberty to move around under the circumstances.

Throughout the night, we got occasional news from friends who have satellite tv, and were watching reports on Al Jazeera. We also had friends who were down at the demonstrations. Without cell phone service, it was hard to get in touch with folks, and there were some scary moments, though by the next day we were able to track down everyone. Friday night also saw the burning down of the ruling party’s headquarters, the NDP building, which you can see in this picture I took on Wednesday. (The ochre building to the right is the Egyptian Museum.)

Friday night ended with a speech by Mubarak, apparently recorded much earlier in the day, but not broadcast on television until well after midnight. Mubarak’s second speech on Tuesday night was also broadcast quite late. Both were unbelievably foul. As for their timing, apparently he did them as late as possible so that they would not further enrage the demonstrators to mobilize, and march on the presidential palace, which had been threatened all week. A friend told me that apparently the previous regime in Tunisia took a similar approach.

Friday was also the day that the police were sent home and that the military moved in. Briefly, the police come under the Interior Ministry and are hated, brutal, and corrupt. The military had much more broad popular support, something which initially surprised me. The sight of demonstrators and civilians welcoming the soldiers and tanks were as shocking as they quickly became commonplace. One of my favorite pictures I took was in Garden City on Wednesday, less than a mile away from Tahrir Square, in an area where there are a lot of embassies, and large military installations blocking the roads. A family that was walking in front of me stopped and took their son’s picture wearing one soldier’s helmet in front of a makeshift barricade.

The View from Cairo

2011-02-05T20:57:00.006+02:00

I am not sure where to begin the story, since the Egyptian government shut down the internet and prevented me from blogging in real time. But hopefully I can spend the next week sharing stories from the past week, which I mostly spent indoors, where I felt the excitement of a great revolution (coupled with some occasional, frightening moments). Our decision to leave on Thursday was one of the more difficult I have made, but things remain volatile. And while my fear for our family’s personal safety is minimal, there are enough concerns about what will happen during the next few weeks--if the banks remain closed, if food becomes scarce, if medicine is scarce, if water or electricity are turned off, if telecommunications are interrupted, if the police revolt—that convinced me our family’s decision, such as it was and based on the resources available to us, was the best one at the time. The university is closed until at least February 13, and I plan to return to teach at the start of the semester, whenever that is.

On Wednesday, I did attend the demonstrations in Tahrir Square. To express solidarity. To witness. To experience a liberated zone under an authoritarian regime. To take pictures. It does not amount to much, and I have many friends who spent (and continue to spend) far more time there than I did, but it was a profoundly affecting few hours. These are some images...more words and photos to follow.

Blood-Burning Moon

2010-11-22T23:42:00.001+02:00

I have a new Arabic teacher. And he speaks no English, which is fantastic for me. That means all of our communication is in Arabic. When we talk on the phone to schedule classes, we must do it in Arabic. Still progressing slowly but I really like this new wrinkle. It pushes me.

Plus, he is a really literary guy. He brought in an anthology of Arabic translations of 20th Century American short stories to show me. It is fun to read the names in the table of contents, because they are all phonetic spellings so I can figure them out without being limited by my vocabulary. Always interesting for me to learn who and what is translated: Hemingway, Faulkner, Nabokov, Jen, Oates, Barthelme, Porter, Cheever, Munro. There was one African-American writer represented—Jean Toomer with “Blood-Burning Moon.” It would not have been my first guess, but pretty cool.

Losing French?

2010-11-10T22:48:00.000+02:00

I met some other parents at the playground earlier today; they were speaking French to their 18-month-old son. I am excited for any opportunity to speak French but found myself out of practice and dropping in occasional Arabic words. It could be taken as a sign that my Arabic is really taking off, but more likely it is a sign that my French is slipping.

Tommy Davidson

2010-10-30T22:30:00.005+02:00

Short blog: We took R to see Tommy Davidson do stand up tonight. She laughed at all of the right spots, so we know she has great timing. He was excellent. It was kind of inappropriate for a toddler, but she won’t remember anything. At least not without the aid of psychotherapy.

Tommy Davidson is really brilliant. I know him from In Living Color, of course. But his performance in Bamboozled shook my world. Such an edgy movie, and his performance really challenged the line because he was performing these destructive stereotypes but figured out a way to be funny in the process. In a film that is critical of what (I recall) it calls new age minstrelsy, Spike let Davidson and Savion Glover do they damn thing. And get down. Really brilliant and unsettling and challenging. I wish I thought to tell him that when I met him.

I will try to blog here from time to time.

A bathroom conversation at Harrisburg International Airport

2010-07-10T02:15:00.003+03:00

On Thursday morning, I was at the Harrisburg Airport, en route to Seattle, Washington. I took R into the restroom to change her diaper. She was fussing, as she has been recently when I change her. I am talking to her, trying to be calming and reassuring, “You will be alright” and such.

Sixtyish white guy walks in and hears her crying. “You are ok. It is not like you have anything to worry about.” Then out of the blue: “You weren’t born in Haiti or Africa...”

Huh? I cut him off, “Actually, she was born in Africa!”

He looked and sounded shocked and shaking his head says, “I don’t know where that came from.” I hope he was referring to his own presumptions (and much worse). I didn’t say anything else and neither did he. He seemed genuinely dumbfounded as he exited the men’s room.

I was glad I was able to disrupt whatever he had in his mind. I walked out of the men’s room laughing at the absurdity, only to find my laughter occasionally interrupted by deeper thoughts about his presumptions, where they come from, and where they may lead him.

beer

2010-06-28T22:38:00.002+03:00

Now that I am visiting the US, I have time to blog about Cairo. It is kind of a funny thing how living in Cairo can get in the way of blogging about Cairo.

In this case, about beer, actually.

In Cairo, you can order via telephone or internet almost anything for delivery and it is remarkably efficient. More so than anyplace I have been. If we want beer, we call a place called “Drinkie’s” (no I am not making this up or changing the names) and they deliver within 45 minutes for no extra charge. And you can request it cold. Also for no extra charge.

Other than Heineken, you have two Egyptian beer options—Stella (not the be confused with its Belgian namesake) and Saqqara. Both are lagers that I, as someone who does not drink very much, find quite satisfactory. Sometime last year, however, we found out about an Egyptian label called Luxor that has a hefeweizen, an unfiltered wheat beer, that is quite delicious.

A few months back, when I telephoned Drinkie’s for beer, I asked if they had Luxor. They said no, so I ordered Stella. Transaction done. A few minutes later, I got a telephone call.

Me: “Hello.”

Caller X: “Hello. Do you need beer?”

Me: [long pause] “No? Thank you.”

Caller X: “OK.”

End of conversation. Me left scratching my head.

My Stella order arrived shortly thereafter.

It took me a few minutes to figure out what probably happened. When I called and asked for Luxor, the dispatcher passed along my telephone number to someone else who does sell it. It is a beautiful example of the way that informal economic networks still infiltrate this highly efficient system.

More recently, the place we ordered Luxor from was closed (closed down, we later learned). We were desperately (ok—that is a dramatic overstatement) seeking Luxor, so the idea hit me. Why not call Drinkie’s again and ask for Luxor, and when they say they don’t have it, hang up and wait for the call from some mysterious beer distributor? I actually thought about doing it, but it seemed a bit too strange...though it might have made for a much better blog entry.

New home office

2010-06-17T08:46:00.005+03:00

As I wrote last month, we moved up two floors in our same building. Moving into a flat with a very similar floor layout is a curious experience. The furniture is different and nicer, as are all of the other accouterments and details. It was a fun opportunity to reinvent things about the flat, including my work area. Anyway, there is a section of the living room, where I have a desk and books, and where R keeps some toys.

I was able to decorate the area using some of the Kuba textiles I collected during my two trips to Democratic Republic of Congo. With book cases.

The center is one of my favorites, though I don't know the artist (as I do for the other two).

When I sit at my desk, this is directly behind me. It is huge--about 10 feet long--but fits perfectly in this space.

And my desk.

waiting at the bank

2010-06-15T22:15:00.002+03:00

A few weeks ago, I blogged about the new bank policy eliminating a separate and unfair queue for faculty. I have gone to the bank twice since then and have had to wait significantly longer than I did in the past. Last week, I waited at least thirty minutes. Though I did not time it precisely, it was enough time for me to go to the bank, get a number, wait, go out to get something to drink, come back to the bank, wait some more, go to my office, work for a few minutes, and come back to the bank again. Today I waited about 15 minutes, all of it spent in the bank.

I am not sure if there is a problem with the longer waits. But I do know that if it is a problem for faculty, it is surely a problem for everyone else. The best solution seems to be more tellers available for everyone, not a separate faculty line. I guess what strikes me is that if there is a need—for more tellers, for example—the new system makes a solution more likely. By adding faculty voices to those of staff and students, the position for advocating, whatever, becomes much stronger.

Of course, I am talking about a line at a bank, which is terribly unimportant and certainly not worth the time you have spent reading about it. But, I like the idea that the elimination of the separate faculty line creates a new possibility for solidarity in a space where it was much less likely before.

World Cup

2010-06-14T07:23:00.000+03:00

I was at the neighborhood market today and everyone who worked there wanted to talk to me about the World Cup. Folks at the market know that I am from the US, so this is a natural topic of conversation. The US tied their hardest match in an otherwise easy (relatively of course) group. And since the US historically has been so pathetic in football, it is the one sphere in which I sometimes root for the imperium.

I will be leaving for the US next week and my only regret is not being able to be in a football-mad country for the rest of the tournament. Even if, as in the case of Egypt, they themselves did not qualify. I guess to be in a country that not only cared, but was also playing would be ideal.

Part of this is self-interest because, like having a baby, football is ready-made conversation piece. It provides endless opportunities to practice my Arabic. The city is the water cooler, and everyone wants to talk about whatever matches were played the day before.

The supermarket and the pharmacy

2010-06-10T23:55:00.001+03:00

I ran some errands last night. I went to the supermarket for lettuce and bread. Two heads of romaine and a baguette for 5.60 Egyptian Pounds (exactly one dollar). Next stop: the pharmacy. I got some pain syrup medication for R and Vitamin D drops. The bill was 7.25 EGP. I was home in 10 or 15 minutes, and my pockets were slightly more than $2 US lighter.

Medicine is inexpensive because it is subsidized by the government. Bread is actually also subsidized by the government. But not baguettes. (I could have gotten much more bread for a lot less money had I wanted.)

The U in the NY Times

2010-06-09T09:00:00.003+03:00

I am not sure if folks saw this article about the university that appeared in the New York Times last month. It is the kind of thing I would have posted on the blog back when it was published if I were keeping current with the blog. (Slacker that I am, I did post it on fb.)

Anyway...I have a lot of personal thoughts. I agree with the argument that the liberal arts are a good thing, and the university is providing a valuable service by introducing this kind of education in a place where it is unfamiliar. And I agree with the characterization of the students as generally open-minded and willing to be challenged in new ways by this style of education.

The description of it makes the university sound like a missionary institution, which is where I start to get uncomfortable. Partly because, as some of you know, I spend a lot of time researching missionaries. Partly, perhaps, because the university was founded, as the article acknowledges, by actual missionaries.

But I think my primary point of dissatisfaction with the article is its implication that Egyptian students are not bringing anything to the table other than bad habits. This, I believe, is patently false. I teach a number of M.A. students who did their undergraduate degrees at national universities, including the one named in the article, and feel that they arrive with a rich range of literacies and, as a group, adapt quite well to work in our department.

Specifically, our Egyptian students at all levels come trained in a tradition of multilingualism, which is foreign in the US. Their multilingualism includes multiple Arabics and English, and oftentimes French and German. As a teacher of literature from the US, I find these skills, which are part of my students’ educational background, to be valuable and unique. This might seem kind of obvious, but I don't think we can take it for granted.

Citizenship

2010-06-03T18:48:00.002+03:00

When I tell people that R was born in Egypt, they ask, “So does that make her an Egyptian (or dual) citizen?” The short answer is no. Citizenship in Egypt is determined by the nationality of the father; therefore, I would have to be an Egyptian citizen for her to claim Egyptian citizenship.

In the United States, however, citizenship can be either patrilineal or matrilineal for a child born abroad to a citizen parent, as is our case. For R, it was a relatively straightforward process since both of her parents are US-born citizens and there are no complicating factors like unmarried parents, one non-citizen parent, missing documents, multiple passports, long-term residence abroad, etc.

This was only an issue because hers was the birth of a US citizen abroad. When someone is born in the US, their parents’ citizenship (at least as I understand it) is less an issue because citizenship is determined by their place of birth. I have Egyptian friends and students who are US citizens because they were born, for example, while their parents were doing a medical residency in the US. (And in many of these cases, they have siblings, a few years older or younger, born elsewhere who is not a US citizen.) I don’t know the citizenship laws of many places, but this law is particularly American and is, in many instances, the source of the question I get asked. Usually, though not exclusively, it is Americans who ask about her citizenship. Based on our country’s laws, we may reasonably presume that one’s birthplace always grants citizenship.

While this is clearly not the case, why does the US do it? The answer has its roots, as do many questions of US policy, in slavery. The 14th Amendment to the Constitution of the US granted to citizenship “all persons born or naturalized in the United States,” including former slaves. A law that based citizenship on parentage would have continued to disfranchise African Americans (and instead the courts and legislatures had to find alternative ways to effectively do that). The Constitution was amended in the wake of the Civil War in order to guarantee citizenship to the descendants of slaves in perpetuity. This history makes this law sacred.

It also means that anyone born in the US is guaranteed to be a citizen of some place. This might seem obvious, but it is not. In Egypt, for example, Palestinians who were born here typically can not become Egyptian citizens (and don’t have citizenship or a passport). Imagine a population, all born in the US over the course of several generations, who are not eligible for citizenship.

Actually there were huge exceptions to the 14th amendment. Native Americans were excluded from the 14th amendment based on their tribal citizenship until at least 1924 when the parameters for citizenship were made territorial rather than juridical. And of course, there have been decades of de facto exclusion from many of the rights conferred by citizenship on African Americans, Native Americans, and others.

While there is a lot of debate in the US about immigration, I have not heard much discussion of the important constitutional reasons why the US, given its particular history, grants citizenship in the way that it does. I have been thinking about all of this in connection to the hateful immigration law in Arizona. The expansion of citizenship in the 14th amendment gave the 13th (abolition) meaning and the 15th (franchise) a foundation. I have not heard the Tea Party arguing for the repeal of the 14th amendment yet, but I think people need to recognize that this history of expanding opportunities for citizenship is worthy of celebration, and look for more opportunities to enfranchise all people who reside in the US.

Bank queues (and democracy)

2010-06-02T00:35:00.001+03:00

As of today, there is no special line for faculty at the bank branch on campus. At banks in Cairo, you take a number (like a deli counter) rather than having to wait in line. You arrive and tell them if you have a deposit/withdrawal or need to open/close an account or do some other category of business people do at banks. Up until yesterday, at the university branch, you had the additional option to go up and tell them you were faculty and end up in a separate, and presumably quicker, queue.

Last week in the faculty queue, I got stuck behind some complicated transactions and ended up waiting longer than if I would have if I were in the regular line. Getting to see folks arrive after me and leave before I was served probably serves me right. But 80% or 90% of the time the faculty line was quicker.

Nearly every time I went in the bank, I would take a “faculty” ticket even though I like to think of myself as a democratic person. On one particular occasion (when I was extremely rushed, or at least I claimed as much in an act of rationalization), I remember being embarrassed when I waited less than a minute to see a teller in a bank full of university staff members who clearly had been waiting for quite a while. It wasn’t right, but I did it anyway. Not that it counts for much, but I felt terrible, as it was happening and all day afterwards. Not that I want to make it, in and of itself, into a big deal...

I am glad that they have changed this unfair policy, even though I took advantage of it. I don’t mind waiting a bit longer at the bank. Plus I no longer have the option of doing something I don’t believe in. And I also don’t have to wonder why I knowingly did it.

Moving up

2010-05-30T01:33:00.008+03:00

Last weekend, we move apartments. Up two floors in the same building to the flat formerly inhabited by some dear friends who moved to Doha. Similar floor plan but nicer things—detailing, appliances (clothes dryer and dishwasher), furniture. A lot more natural light. Less street noise. Nice breeze. Cleaner air (maybe. relatively).

I am more inclined to take the elevator to the fourth floor than the second (actually fifth and third for American counters), which I dislike. But it has been a great decision even if I am not yet unpacked.

When we first moved to Cairo (and this building), I posted about my favorite room in the house—the large front balcony. Ditto for this place.

Check out the furniture:
the view:
and the company:

Grades and email

2010-05-28T08:17:00.001+03:00

I submitted grades for one of my classes yesterday. Within less than five minutes (literally—the submission screen was still open on my computer), I received an email from a student complaining about their grade. This is annoying, but commonplace, and not really the subject of this blog entry.

This student’s note led me to think about how email has transformed the way that people communicate. First of all, the email was incredibly informal. It was extremely brief, written in all lower case letters, without punctuation, full of typographical errors, and without any of the courtesies that typically find their way into professional correspondence. It is hard to expect much if it was written in a couple of minutes. Certain etiquette in circumstances like this would be beneficial for students, because they would be presenting their case (to the extent that they have one) much more clearly.

What if there was no email (as when I was an undergraduate student) or if its use was limited (as when I started teaching). The student would have had to contact me either by telephone, in person, or in writing. The first two are possible but involve a level of direct confrontation that most people, especially those who, like me, rely heavily on email, find uncomfortable. I went to a residential college but I don’t recall extensive telephone conversations with my instructors beyond, perhaps, scheduling appointments. In a face-to-face, people generally need to come correct, though they don’t always do so. And a written note requires thought even if it were the written equivalent of the email I received (a note hand-written in green ink on a piece of ripped scrap paper, folded and slid under an office door).

What all of these possibilities share is a required forethought. It would take the communiqué longer to reach me. Even the time to walk to a professor’s office with a complaint takes longer than to send off an email. If the telephone caller gets through, I guess a call can be similarly impulsive, but it immediately becomes interactive. In writing a letter, there is forethought required. There is the time it takes to deliver it. What if this student waited a day or two or a week to reflect, or was somehow required to contact me through another channel. I don’t know if it would have an impact. Email has changed the way that teachers and students and other people communicate—even when they are not communicating via email. I have thought about requiring students to come see me to talk about things like this, in order to see if that would change the quality of our interaction, but I fear that it would open the door to more complaints and, frankly, I rely on email as much as they do (and for many of the same reasons).

Chance encounters; or, the Novelist and the Professor meet in Cairo

2010-05-20T00:14:00.003+03:00

On Wednesday last week, a Novelist was visiting campus. About a month earlier, he graciously contacted me about speaking on campus, as visiting writers sometime do, and I put him in touch with a colleague who arranged everything. Unfortunately I was unable to attend his talk, but heard from my colleague afterwards that everything went well.

On Thursday, the following day, I was meeting another campus visitor, a Professor who had some meetings about international exchange programs and was also giving a lecture. I had never met him before, but arranged to meet him downtown so we could ride the bus to New Cairo together from Tahrir. (He was staying in Zamalek.) I took the metro downtown and arrived to meet him at around 9:30. As I was walking the half-block from the subway exit to the corner, I see a familiar face walk by. It was the Novelist! I had never met him, but his picture was on posters that were hanging up in the office, so I knew it was him. Incredible, since my first order of business for that morning was to send him a thank you note. However I can be shy and a bit slow, and by the time I realized it, he was gone.

So I get to the corner and the Professor sees me and asks, since we had never met, “Ira?” We shake hands and start to walk back in the direction from which I had come in order to catch the bus. Toward the end of the block, I see the Novelist again. I excuse myself from the Professor and now that I had spent the past few minutes regretting not introducing myself, I approach. I greet him by name. He then greets me by name. WTF? My picture was not on any posters. How did he know me? The Novelist explains that the Professor, who is standing beside me, saw the Novelist a few minutes before I arrived and thought he was me. Before I arrived, the Professor approached the Novelist and asked “Ira?” The Novelist said, “no,” but then went on to explain that he knew an Ira in Cairo and realized that it was probably the same Ira for whom the Professor was waiting.

Bizarre.

The Professor and I chatted with the Novelist for a few minutes before running off to catch the bus. Encounters like this can make a city of 18 or 20 million people feel like a small village.

Space Ping Pong

2010-05-16T08:26:00.004+03:00

Several months ago, we got R the most wonderful bathtub imaginable: "Space Ping Pong." I went to the Sun Ra art exhibit at the Institute for Contemporary Art in Philadelphia this summer, and her tub would not have been out of place. It is one of the most absurd, surreal, and whimsical things I have ever seen and can't help but smile every time I see it. R likes it though my opinion does not reflect a household consensus.

There is a sci-fi trend emerging. R's favorite song is the Newcomers' "Martian Hop" (Stax) which you can listen to here (though it is much better watching R dance to it).

More from Menoufiya; or How do you say "Ask Your Mama" in Arabic?

2010-05-11T23:46:00.007+03:00

Even though I posted about my visit to Menoufiya, I did not really talk much about my talk. And I guess I am not really going to do much of that sort of thing here. Briefly, however, my presentation “Langston Hughes, Patrice Lumumba, and the Black Arts Movement” considered the last decade of Hughes’s career. I tried to situate his work as a sort of prototype of the Black Arts Movement, with the figure of Lumumba being central to my understanding of the political dimensions of Hughes’s poetics. There were some challenges is trying to balance a presentation of material that is accessible to an audience of non-specialists but that still represents some my scholarship. As the second part of the program, we screened an excerpt for Eyes on the Prize called “Ain’t Gonna Shuffle No More” that covered Muhammad Ali’s conversion to Islam, the student movement at Howard University, and the National Black Political Convention in Gary, Indiana.
My work is my work, but what made it most interesting for me at Menouifya were the comments and questions I received from colleague and students in attendance. Among the questions I was asked were several about the relationship between African American literature and other ethnic American writing, which is increasingly gaining some attention among Egyptian readers who have, justifiably, tired of the more milquetoast tradition associate with the U. S. One of my colleagues pointed out how often Egyptian scholars are drawn to African American literature, which is a great observation. I met colleagues who have written theses and dissertations on Baldwin, Baraka, Dunbar, etc., and while this is still anecdotal, it is worth contemplating.
There were some questions about shifting racial terminology (i.e. why does this poem use the term “Negro”?) which then ties into questions about hip-hop and other about a directness of the language of the Black Arts movement poetry. One question extended this to Lumumba in a way I found interesting—Lumumba’s independence day speech in front of Baudouin in Kinshasa on June 30, 1960, uses the same directness and “impoliteness” that came to be associated with the Black Arts Movement. Is Lumumba the first Black Arts Movement poet?

After the film, there were lots of questions about Islam in the US, and I tried to give the history of El Hajj Malik El Shabazz’s movement toward Sunni Islam, and offered a longer historical overview of African American Islam (which is an area of research I really need to return to). There was another thoughtful question about Obama’s election, and how that has or has not changed the racial landscape described in these poems. In other words, is his election a representative act or is it more idiosyncratic?
I spent some time talking about Hughes’s masterpiece Ask Your Mama. And I was suddenly aware of my audience. I thought, how can I translate “Ask Your Mama” into Arabic? I did my best to say something about the significance of signifying, and asked the audience. Thankfully some colleagues were able to offer if not a direct translation, then at least an equivalent. But whatever was said did elicit some uncomfortable chuckles from the crowd. I should have written it down.

The Black Arts Movement in the Nile Delta

2010-04-30T16:18:00.004+03:00

On Wednesday, I gave a lecture on the Black Arts Movement at Menoufiya University, one of Egypt’s national universities, located in the Delta region. Menoufiya is one of seven national universities in the Delta, the fertile region between Cairo and Alexandria. Menoufiya has 70,000 students, which makes it one of the smaller of these universities, which all seem to have between 70,000 and 100,000. (By contrast, some in Cairo have well over 100,000, with 250,000 at Cairo University! AUC, on the other hand, has perhaps 5,000.) This means there are more than 500,000 university students in the Delta, which I was told is home to more than 50% of Egypt’s 80 million people (which, I believe, includes Alexandria’s 4 million). So let’s say 40 million plus approximately 20 million in Cario and then perhaps 20 million elsewhere in the country.

With a university this size, there are lots of exciting things happening. The English department, for example, has more than a thousand students, and the joke that a colleague made was for them all to be able to attend the program, we would have required the university football stadium. Still, the turnout was great.

In terms of the overall situation in the Delta, last year, the Guardian had a good article on the impact of climate change in the region.
I hope to find some time to share more about the program itself, but I wanted to begin somewhere, as I try to get my blog groove back.

Hooding

2010-02-11T22:37:00.002+02:00

Last night, I got to "hood" a graduate student, who earned her M.A. in Comparative Literature. My first time doing it. Pretty cool. And well-deserved. By her. Not me. I was a reader on the committee but nothing more.

People are Friendly

2010-02-03T22:23:00.002+02:00

I took baby r for a walk today. A short cab ride. Pay the internet bill. Market. Bookstore. Fruit stand. Nothing exceptional. I noticed how friendly people are to me when I have a baby. Much more so than when I was babyless and empty-handed. I experience public space differently. I found it similar when I was in the US--conversations with strangers in lines at the store or in elevators or parking lots or coffee shops or post offices. There is one difference. Here, what I like is that this means many more chances to practice my Arabic. A daily Cairo outing with r looks like a great way to make progress on my Arabic...

Egypt 1, Ghana 0

2010-02-01T00:03:00.003+02:00

This is a basic way to try to get my blog groove back on. Big match tonight with Egypt defending their African Nations Cup crown in Angola. The finals win was almost as big as their humiliation of arch-rival Algeria (who prevented Egypt from qualifying for the World Cup) a few days ago. En route to the title, Egypt beat four World Cup qualifiers: Nigeria, Cameroon, Algeria, and Ghana. Now, it is after midnight, and I am enjoying cars honking in celebration.

This is a great opportunity to meditate on the meanings of nationalism and the flag, a topic which I can hopefully return to once I am *really* back.

I try to avoid making excuses, but if you feel like you need one, look at my previous posting from about three months ago.

Peace.

How did I become the guy carrying this picture around in my wallet?

2009-11-04T17:48:00.002+02:00

On a roll...

2009-10-23T19:28:00.000+02:00

I just walked to the flower shop in my neighborhood. I go there a couple of time a month, which is probably not as much as I should but enough to know the guys who work there. I try to speak a little bit of Arabic. They are always nice and fair.

Here, with much commerce, prices are not posted. The patron decides what the service or product is worth, says it fadal/i (here it is [m/f]), hands over the money, and walks away. If you underpay, there is a discussion, negotiation, or perhaps argument. This is the way that taxis, for example, function. I generally don’t have trouble with taxis because I know what the fares and rates should be. Today, at the flower stand, I got 15 roses to bring to friends who are having us over for dinner. I handed the florist 30LE (a 20 and a 10). He told me I overpaid, and handed me back 10LE. Wow! I don’t recall that every happening to me.

And then, things got better. I got asked directions in Arabic. I knew the place and street number and was able to answer correctly and coherently. Awesome.

So I am on a roll. And I think things are going to keep getting better...

What’s next?

Rocking Chair

2009-10-17T13:45:00.000+02:00

This is a quick blog post about a recent purchase—a custom made rocking chair with foot stool. Egypt is know for wonderful mashrabiya woodworkers who design furniture and buildings. You see a lot of this stuff here, particularly in windows, and it is intricate and beautiful. (The classic example of this type of design in the photo is actually the footstool. The lattice design for windows is a traditional means of blocking out the sun while allowing air to circulate.) We wanted to buy a rocking chair so I went to a nearby shopping road where there is a series of woodworking shops and commissioned a rocking chair. I told them basically what I wanted including the color and a couple of weeks later it was ready. The price was 1,000 Egyptian pounds (or about $180US) for both pieces. They make nice screens (room dividers) that I would like to save some funds to purchase sometime.

More students

2009-10-12T19:59:00.003+02:00

So, the student who starred in my previous blog post missed another appointment with me. No email. Not a surprise. He came to class and his cell phone rang. Twice! The second time, it interrupted a student oral presentation. I glared at him and said, “You’re kidding, right?” He actually tried to make some excuse. I shut him down pretty quickly so I have no idea what it was. Writing now I am a little curious as to what he would have come up with, but at the time I wanted his classmates to be able to continue their oral presentation of a Gary Snyder poem. The student was flustered by the phone and/or my reaction, and in reaching to turn it off, he dropped it on the floor and it fell apart into a bunch of pieces. Karma. (But I think he was probably able to put it back together.)

But, here is the other side of students. A former student from my African literature class in the spring came by my office to say hello. She brought me a book of poetry by Iman Mersal, a wonderful Egyptian poet who I introduced her to last term. My student got really into her work, which became the topic for her final paper. I had only read occasional anthologized poems that have been translated into English, but my student read everything in the original Arabic. When she came across a new English edition with brilliant translations by Khaled Mattawa (These Are Not Oranges, My Love), she got it for me.

Back to school; round 2

2009-10-11T10:50:00.001+02:00

So we have finished the first week of the semester. Or at least the first post-Eid, post-H1N1 closure. My graduate students have been doing their thing, which was not a surprise. My undergraduates came back strong too, and that was a surprise to me. Perhaps I should be embarrassed by my modest expectations. These are mostly 16 and 17 year olds in their first semester of college. After only three class sessions, we were shut down so I kept in touch via email and by using some of the online course tools. They had handed in their first essay before the closure so I responded with comments and grades by email and required them to submit their second essay online. Almost all of them did it correctly and on time. Then for one first day back, they were to read a chapter of a book on art theory and write a short essay and most of them not only completed the assignment and did good jobs with it. Our discussions in class that day and again later in the week were pretty dynamic. The students had kept up with the reading.

In the class of 21, there is of course one student who missed the first three classes and shows up after the closure. He was on my email list and had access to the course website, but had done nothing to contact me or respond to my announcements. Initially I thought he was added late because sometimes the advisors do shady things, but he said he was registered by the deadline and got sick. OK. On this, his first day, a month after the first class meeting, and having missed the first three essays, he comes to class without a pen or paper. All he brought was his cell phone; I know, because it rang of course.

After class, he comes up and tells me how he is going to do all of the work by Thursday. I explain that he can’t do all of the work that quickly and that we need to make an appointment to meet to discuss exactly what he needs to do and when he can do it. We find a time for Wednesday. I also change the assignments for group projects in order to accommodate him. Finally, I tell him to always bring a pen and paper. He tells me he is a sophomore, so I explain that if first year students have no excuse for coming to class without a pen and paper, he certainly does not.

On Wednesday, he misses his appointment. I was not surprised. On Thursday in class, he had to borrow a pen and paper for the pop quiz (on which he did not answer a single question) occasioned by another student’s phone ringing. (On the syllabus, I explain that the penalty for a cell phone ringing is a pop quiz for the class.) And later he pulled out his cellphone which I did call him out on in front of the class. After class, he approached me to tell me how lost he is in the course. I asked about our missed appointment. He started to tell me that he had to do something really important at the same time. I explained that when you schedule an appointment that you are unable to honor, you notify the person via email. Then he said something about it being too late and he did not think I would have gotten the email. OK. This is not going well. We have made another appointment for this week.

This is all pretty typical stuff, as any teachers reading here will probably agree. I do find it also typical that I devote three paragraphs to one knucklehead and less than one to the rest of the class who come correct.

Buying ketchup in Cairo; or, economies of scale

2009-10-02T22:15:00.001+02:00

In the US, when you go into the story to buy yogurt, you can buy an 8 oz. container for $1 or a 32 oz. container for $2.50. Or something like that. I am actually making this up in order to make the observation that when you buy a larger quantity of something in the US, the price per unit decreases. (Most yogurt is now in 6 oz. containers and the price varies wildly.) You save money by buying most things in large quantities. In many big US markets, the price tags on the shelves will often indicate the price per unit, so that consumers can easily understand that a 16 oz. jar of jelly is $0.19 per ounce, and an 8 oz. jar is $0.24 per ounce. There are exceptions. For example, when you buy fruits and vegetables by the weight, the price is fixed per pound. If you buy bananas for $0.60 per pound, it is $0.60 per pound whether you buy one-half of a pound or ten pounds.

Shift to Egypt. I have noticed at the local supermarkets that there are minimal benefits to buying products in larger quantities. An 8 oz. yogurt drink will cost 2.60LE and a 16 oz. will be 5LE. A 16 oz. bottle of ketchup costs 4.60LE and a 32 oz. bottle costs 9LE.

I am wondering what the reasons are for these different economies and think that it relates, in part, to lifestyle. With the growth of suburbs in the US, you have the development of Sam’s Club and the like. American consumers buy in quantities. Outside of large cities, they generally have cars and homes that can accommodate these sorts of purchases. Is this kind of consumption be driven by merchants or consumers? In an urban economy like Cairo’s, I imagine that it would not be an effective marketing strategy to push people to buy in bulk. Consumers are much more fixed and limited in what they can purchase and store. That may be changing here with the development of large suburban communities in the desert.

I have never been in a Sam’s Club, but I understand the idea is to buy a case of toilet paper which you can keep on hand and purchase at a discount. At our local supermarket, the largest pack of toilet paper has nine small rolls. Most people would not have the space to store all of these things.

Here, people shop for food much more frequently than in the US. You buy your fruits, vegetables, bread, meat, and fish fresh every day or every other day. You do not go shopping once per week, as we do in the US. People are used to purchasing fresh products on a regular basis so there is minimal incentive to buy larger quantities. A large bottle of ketchup, even though it does not spoil quickly, is really unnecessary because you go to the market frequently, it doesn’t save you money, home storage space is limited, and you probably have limited disposable income and could put that 4.40LE to good use in the time before you need more ketchup.

Before, during, and after the matches

2009-09-27T16:21:00.007+02:00

On Friday night, I went to the U20 World Cup. This was my third WC, actually. On June 25, 1994, I went with my dad and sister when the US hosted. I was living in NYC and we went to see Saudi Arabia beat Morocco, 2-1. It was sold out at the Meadowlands which holds close to 80,000 people. Great match. Super excited fans. Our seats were in the last row behind one of the goals and, as my sister just reminded me, my dad pointed out that they were good seats because we could see the whole field.

Then in 1999, we went to the opening ceremonies of the Women’s World Cup, which featured boy band 98 Degrees. (No I am not making this up.) Also sold out. Supposedly it was the largest US crowd ever for a women’s sporting event. It was Juneteenth 1999, and matches were the US-Denmark and Brazil-Mexico. Brazil beat Mexico 7-1, and the US shutout Denmark 3-0 on goals by Mia Hamm, Julie Foudy, and Kristine Lilly. In case you were wondering, my memory is not that great, but I am grateful to Wikipedia for the assistance. It needs to redeem itself after the problems it caused last night (read on).

I described the process of getting the tickets in an earlier blog post. At the point of purchase, I asked the location of “Al-Salam Stadium,” and after some discussion got a few inconsistent responses that did not inspire much confidence. When at home, I did endless searches online and found very little except a Wikipedia link from Al Salam Stadium to the Egyptian Military Academy Stadium, which is located in Nasr City, near Heliopolis and the airport, where there are several stadiums. (The same information came across a list-serve too.) OK. I even wrote down the name of the place in Arabic. When I called the taxi company and told them where we were going, they called me back two minutes later to double check on the location. Not a lot of confidence, but I thought we would figure it out. So we went to the Egyptian Military Academy Stadium. We drove completely around the entire perimeter (which was several miles long) and it seemed pretty clear that, although there was a stadium, there were no matches taking place. I mean, this is a major international sporting event. It should be obvious. But, alas, it was not. We stopped at this one spot and it took about 15 minutes, but a solider helped us figure it out where we were headed—still about 30 minutes away. As we were leaving, the soldier asked me my name and told me that he is from Aswan and his family has a felucca... I politely took down his name and telephone number. Our cab driver started laughing and spoke his first English words of the night: “Always business.”

The road ahead was not much more clear. We stopped to ask directions several times. We saw the stadium lights in the distance, but were on the wrong side of the split highway and had to drive miles before being able to turn around. Once we did, we passed the road to the stadium because there were no lights and had to back up along the shoulder of the highway (which was kind of dangerous because the road did not really have a shoulder). We were still really far away and eventually made it to what seemed like the main gate of the stadium. We asked some folks who were there and they said we were in the right place. We got out, paid the cab driver, and were on our way. A couple of my friends who were with me spoke some Arabic and arranged for the driver to come back to get us. We had no idea what transportation would be like after the match so this seemed like a good idea. He asked us to pay half of the return fare up front, which was a bit strange, but we talked about it briefly, got the driver’s phone number, and gave him 20LE additional toward our return. Or so we thought (more on this later).

Feeling the adventure was over, we went to enter the stadium. We showed the guards our tickets and they told us we needed to enter by a different gate that was at least a mile away. (Our tickets were 2nd class.) At each point during the evening, I kept thinking, it can’t get stranger, but each time was proven wrong. Finally we arrived and there were a lot of guards telling us conflicting things—that we were at the wrong gate, that the gate was closed, that they were not letting more people in. This was bizarre. And chaotic. (And I would write about the dead dog that was lying flattened on the driveway where we were standing, but that would make the story too weird.) Eventually we made the smart decision to listen to those people who were telling us what we wanted to hear (that we could go in), ignored everyone else, and made our way upon a phalanx of riot police with helmets and shields. They told us we could not enter. We pointed at the ranking guy in a white uniform who just told us we could enter and they let us through. My friend made a joke about how mad he would be at me if I, who “organized” this outing, got him beat up by riot cops for no good political cause. There were lots more guards but we showed our tickets and entered the stadium as the first half was ending. It took us about an hour and a half to get to the stadium (and the driver was 30 minutes late to start), so we were late.
There were of course no seat assignments, or any signs whatsoever. The way we entered and exited looked no different than a service entrance. There were people sort-of-pointing us in the right direction, but it is not clear to me if that was their job or they were just being helpful. Once inside, the area we were seated in was relatively full, although the stands behind the goals were nearly empty. We were seated next to a section filled with soldiers, who are given free seats to help fill up the stadium, which is on the grounds of a military complex (which may partly explain the confusion about the stadium). The soldiers were not especially disciplined, but they were well-dressed in their civilian outfits which are bright-colored nylon track suits. Including hot pink. I spent much of the evening imagining US soldiers in such gear... By the way, once we were inside, we realized the stadium was not the same one pictured on Wikipedia.

The stadium was, despite its chaos, quite nice in some respects. We were seated in front of an enormous television screen and there were nice, new displays behind each goal. This was really state-of-the-art stuff that is probably as nice as things get this side of Jerry Jones’s ego. But the stadium does not have toilets or signs directing patrons or a proper concession area (though there are guys wandering around with bags of koushari).
As for the football, we just missed some excitement. A few minutes earlier a Nigerian player got a red card and Venezuela scored the match’s only goal at the 45-minute mark. The first match ended 1-0 for Venezuela which was a pretty big upset since Nigeria won the last U17 World Cup a few years back (though it is not exactly the same team) and was a tournament favorite. Since I missed the first half, I am embarrassed to admit that while watching the second half I did not realize that Nigeria was down a player until the match was over. Nigeria still controlled the ball and had a few solid opportunities to score. The Venezuelan fanatics were definitely the best--they had flags, signs, and most importantly trumpets!Tahiti, not surprisingly, got smoked by Spain, 8-0. It looks good for Venezuela to advance now, since they can presumably beat Tahiti. Nigeria needs a strong showing against Spain (and should probably run up the score on Tahiti) since not all 3rd place teams advance. Tahiti presented their opponents with floral leis, and had some other cool-looking pre-match rituals.

Before the matches ended, we called our taxi driver who told us he was on the way to come get us. We went outside and waited for him. We called again. He said he was “five minutes” away, which of course meant closer to 30 minutes. My friend had fun explaining to his 6-year-old son that “5 minutes” is a figure of speech, like “in a second” does not literally mean 1 second. The driver showed. He dropped three of us off first and then went to the final stop. The evening adventure was over. Or so I thought. About 15 minutes later, my friend calls and tells me he is still with the driver who is insisting that the fare is 1 ½ times the meter for both going and returning since we were so far out. He is refusing to accept the fare that we offered—the meter rates plus a nice tip. Since I was the person who arranged the taxi, he asked if I knew anything about this. I told him no and that it sounded fishy. He was trying to call the cab company, and a friend to help with some translation. I also tried the cab company (it was probably about 1:30am) and got a dispatcher on the phone who apologized, and told me that this was b.s. and that we should not pay and that the driver would have to meet with his supervisor and be reassigned the following day. Next, I tried to call back my friend whose line was busy. I made the mistake of calling his wife who I woke up, because I was anxious to get him the message. After some extensive debate, my friend left the driver in the lobby of his building and there, apparently, the adventure finally ended.

U20 World Cup comes to town

2009-09-24T23:54:00.004+02:00

The FIFA U20 World Cup (soccer for all my US folks) started here tonight with Egypt beating Trinidad and Tobago, 4-1. It is a cool thing. All of the FIFA tournaments are being held in Africa in the period leading up to the South Africa-hosted World Cup in 2010. Egypt gets the U20 event, which is scheduled for the next three weeks in for several cities in lower Egypt including Cairo.

This afternoon, I headed out to buy tickets for an opening round group being held here in Cairo tomorrow night. The double-header is Nigeria vs. Venezuela and Spain vs. Tahiti. This is the first time Tahiti has ever qualified for an international tournament so I am definitely rooting for them. (They qualified with a huge upset of New Zealand.) As for the other match, I can’t root against either the Flying Eagles or Chavez. Can’t wait! In terms of things I am eagerly anticipating at present, the match is holding steady at number two.

So to buy the tickets for this international event, I had to go to a kisok in Gezira near one of the sporting clubs. I could not get clear directions to where it was, but knew the general vicinity and decided to wing it. I took the Metro and found the spot, a temporary booth with a nice graphic on the side seemingly made of cardboard on a street corner. But it was empty. There was a group of four guys drinking tea under a shade tree across the street who called me over. This was the ticket office relocated. They had black canvas briefcases filled with tickets. They asked me which match I wanted, found the tickets (20LE each, less than $4US) and I was on my way. Most anywhere else the scene would have felt sketchy, but here is felt just right. Here are the tickets:
I will try to remember to leave my dog, helmet, and hammer at home.

No Class.

2009-09-19T13:19:00.001+02:00

On Wednesday evening, the university announced that all classes will be cancelled until October 4 due to a decree by the government shutting down all schools in the country as a supposedly proactive measure against the spread of H1N1 flu. It is not exactly clear to me what this will accomplish. The World Health Organization has issued a statement addressing the best ways to fight the disease, and does identify schools as an important site (and their closure as way to address it). In part it may be that there is a fear that travelers who are going abroad for the Eid, which begins this weekend, to places like Saudi Arabia will return with the disease. There is no outbreak. And my university is shut down even though there are no reported cases. One can only imagine what will happen if there are reported cases. Plus we do have flu season coming up in January and February.

For me, it means that I am scrambling to reinvent my two classes after just spending a lot of time inventing them. I am afraid of losing whatever kind of momentum we started gaining during the first two weeks of the term. The official policy is that missed days will be assigned to Tuesdays (a day when few classes are actually scheduled) throughout the semester. I have decided that my graduate seminar will continue to meet at undisclosed locations (hush hush) during the cancellation period. For my undergraduate class, I am trying to do a lot of things electronically via email and the course website, but that still requires a massive reconfiguration and adjustment on my part. There are lots of unanswered questions.

I am trying to find something clever or interesting to say but am at something of a loss. I am burnt out from reading 19 student essays, typing up my comments, sending them out individually by email, composing a class email, responding to follow-up queries from students, and planning the next assignment.

Kulli sana w’intu tayyibu!

What I am learning when I am studying Arabic

2009-09-13T13:03:00.002+02:00

I am keeping on with my Arabic tutoring, but am encountering another of my bout with frustration. After a summer mostly spent away from the language (despite the fascinating overlap with Bantu languages like Kiswahili and Tshiluba), I realize in some ways how little I have learned and retained. For what its worth (and I really don’t know), I do plan to keep on with it.

I am reflecting on how many different ways there are to study a language. Traditionally in academia, you study languages—historically ancient languages—for purposes of reading. Graduate students, even when working in modern languages, are examined for their ability to comprehend a scholarly text in the language being tested. There is a large gap, of course, between reading comprehension and conversational ability. From all those years of French study in high school, I could read and understand materials probably better than I could carry on an informal conversation. But then again, is the purpose of high school French to enable me to order a baguette should I ever be a tourist in Paris?

I am really not sure. As Arabic has begun to be promoted in the US, is there a popular commitment to teaching people to read classical Arabic literature or contemporary scholarship? Or is there a shift, driven by politics, to train a cadre of Americans who can communicate with people in the Arab world? This seems to me to be a different skill, driven in part by the vocational potential of language facility. Still, this remains a complicated issue with regard to Arabic, where there is such a radical distinction between written and colloquial forms. And, while I really do not have much sense of what is happening in terms of language instruction in the US, I do see myself facing dilemmas with my Arabic study.

Am I studying to be able to have a conversation with a taxi driver? To be able to understand Palestinian or Lebanese films? To be able to read a newspaper? To be able to read the Qur’an? These are all radically different sets of language skills, and all of them take a very long time. This is part of what I am starting to realize. I am a long way from being able to read an Arabic language newspaper or have an in-depth conversation in the language. I believe, at my current pace, I am probably years away. It is hard not to be frustrated but I am doing my best.

I am having different thoughts about what my goals are. For example, while fluency remains far off, I am learning, for example, something about the differences in varieties of Arabic language. I have learned something about the importance of different types of greetings in Arabic, even when I am deficient at using them correctly. I have also been able to make observations about the secularization of a religious language when I hear a Coptic friend say insha’allah or il-hamdu li-ilaah. Also, I realize that I have learned a lot about communicating in English with people in Cairo. That may not make much sense, but I appreciate the importance of greeting someone before asking a question. I have been fascinated by the fact that I may be learning most effectively a sort of cultural understanding about the role of language here in Cairo. I am probably learning this much better than I am learning to communicate in the language itself. Maybe it is just manners? Not to diminish the importance of manner, but I suspect there is something more.

I am not sure what it is but I will continue to try to find out.

My current Arabic teacher is moving to Dubai after the Eid, so I will be asking the university for a new tutor.

First Day of School

2009-09-08T11:14:00.001+02:00

I know that people have often commented on the inappropriateness of many student email address monikers. In my first-year humanities class, which met for the first time yesterday, of the 21 students, I had:

[name]xxx [at]
[name]69 [at]
therockandrollmaster [at]
Lolita [at]

As much as I enjoy laughing at (and blogging about) the email list on the first day of class, I think I owe it to the students, mostly 16 and 17 year olds, to strongly encourage them to have an email address (preferably their official university account) that they use for professional purposes, including my class.

It is not all bad. The Lolita reference is kind of exciting if I presume the student is interested in Vladimir Nabokov. After all, this is a sort of literature class.

Kindness of strangers

2009-09-02T16:20:00.001+02:00

This morning, J and I were walking to the bus which is about 10 minutes away. J is very pregnant and Cairo is very hot this time of year. Along the route, we decided to catch a cab the rest of the way. A driver stopped. We got in. We rode a very short distance—2 blocks, I think—and asked him to stop. We got out and I reached in my pocket to pay him a few pounds. He smiled and waved me off. He wouldn’t take my money. I thanked him and he drove off, presumably to pick up a paying customer. The way cabs run in Cairo, it is highly unlikely that we will ever see him again, even if we wanted to do so.

Cab drivers in Cairo, as a group, sometimes get a bad rap. Many of them drive old cars in poor condition. Sometimes they press hard for higher fares. Sometimes they are in more of a hurry than you are. But sometimes like this morning, they make small, lovely gestures.

A Ramadan Scene

2009-08-31T07:12:00.000+02:00

During the month of Ramadan, Muslims fast from sunrise to sunset and then break the fast each day with an iftar meal. In Cairo, about an hour before iftar, the streets get very quiet. Most folks are headed home, or somewhere else, to eat.

One of the principles of Ramadan is charity, so food is offered to the needy. One form this takes is tents which are set up around the city—often organized by mosques, business, or private citizens—to provide iftar to anyone in need.

There is another scene that particularly moves me. If you are out at the time the sun sets, currently around 6:20pm, there are groups of young men who hand out food and drink to people on the street or in taxis. Cups of juice, bottles of water, bags of fresh dates. You see them throughout the neighborhood—in the streets in front of mosques or just hanging out in the midans (squares). It is a great scene.

Yesterday, shortly before sunset, I was in a taxi with some friends for a short ride from the metro station, little more than a mile. By the time we got to my apartment—less than a five minute ride, the driver’s car was filled with about 10 bags or cups of dates, some nuts, and a bottle of water. Since I was in the front seat, I got to receive most of it for him.

Art from Congo

2009-08-25T22:59:00.008+02:00

I don't know what it says that I am back in Cairo and writing on my Cairo blog about Democratic Republic of Congo. These pictures, however, are about both places, I think. Art from Congo that are now part of my life in Cairo.

First, this is a picture of a handbag made by an artist friend of mine, Veronique, from Kuba cloth. She is a fabric artist that I met four years ago, who works with various sorts of raffia. I have a lots of things she has done, including a marionette. She is not herself Mukuba; she is from Bandundu and works in Kinshasa. This bag is pieced from some fabric that she bought from Kuba artists. I gave it to my wife as a gift.
This here is my home office, or my soon-to-be office. This is a piece I bought from Kuba artists, a brother and sister (Bope and Henriette) who I met this summer through Vero. This is a huge piece about 3 meters (or 10 feet long).
These are two smaller pieces that I purchased from the same artists. The first is hanging in my home office area, on the wall directly across from the one pictured above.
This one is in the hallway in our apartment. So I guess this blog entry is about our Cairo apartment.

Né dans la rue + Pixo!

2009-08-22T18:25:00.006+02:00

So, the good art exhibit I saw was a graffiti show “Né dans la rue” (Born in the Street) at the Fondation Cartier in Montparnasse. There was no photography allowed inside (and the fact that I was using my sweet new Canon HD video camera for my stills made me kind of conspicuous) but they did hae some nice pieces on the exterior which I photographed and posted via Facebook.

I thought the show was excellent. The entry room included large new pieces commissioned for the show from artists from Europe, the US, and South America. Then, downstairs, in the first room, they had historical pieces, mostly from the 1970s, which included piece books, video footage, oral histories, and photographs. They even brought in P.H.A.S.E. 2 and SEEN to recreate some of their classic pieces. Next, as the show moved into the 1980s, they were showing Wild Style (they had Lady Pink’s airbrushed jacket too) and videos by Blondie and The Clash. Plus they had record artwork (Ramelzee!) and paintings by Basquiat and Haring. The website for the show is nice and has a lot of material available for those of you not able to make it to Paris.

For me the biggest revelation was Pixo, a film about pixação (aka “pixo”) a form of tagging that has taken off in Sao Paulo, Brazil. These are writers who work in very dangerous spots on the sides of public buildings, climbing up spiderman-style. (You can check it out some more in the video below.) Its roots are hard to determine—a lot of writers cite the influence of heavy metal album covers---but it goes back at least to the 1980s. It is illegal and has been the foundation for an entire outlaw culture. In the way that graffiti has become increasingly astheticized, and therefore commercialized, pixo is deliberately avoiding that route. (An Audi parked in front of the Cartier Foundation exhibition seems seems suggestive of graffiti's entrance to the galleries.)
I think we have reached a point, for example, where it is not too hard to recognize the artistic value of many graffiti artists (like those photos posted on my fb page). (Example: Part of KET’s sentence in NYC for tagging trains was to paint a mural at a school.) The case becomes a lot harder with pixo, which is all about creating a font to make a tag and a message. This has two effects, as I see it. First, their work becomes much harder to co-opt for commercial purposes. There is little to no premium placed on what we might call the artistic quality of the tag; the premium is placed on its placement and visibility. Second, the focus stays on the words and the message, thereby lending itself to particular form of political protest for young people (mostly, but not entirely, men) in Sao Paulo who have no other way of being heard. The video I am posting below includes a pixo action at the fine arts school in Sao Paulo, where a student, also a pixo writer, got a group of other writers together and bombed the school.

I am not sure when and where you will have a chance to see the full film by João Wainer and Alexandre Orion, but here is a shorter versions online. It is in Portuguese with French subtitles, but the images of the writers climbing the buildings is amazing whether or not you understand either of the languages. It is definitely worth 11 minutes.

Pixo, un film de João Weiner et Roberto Oliveira (Extraits)

If you have trouble with the embedded video, try the link above or let me know.

Tarzan!

2009-08-21T13:34:00.008+02:00

During the four days that we spent in Paris en route from the US to Egypt, we saw an exhibit “Tarzan!” at the Musee Quai Branly. This is a new museum--think an updated American Museum of Natural History--devoted to art from the non-Western world. I anticipated a museum exhibit that was somewhat critical of Tarzan—one that attempted to place the development of Tarzan alongside US and European colonial policy toward Africa, which seems to me the obvious backstory of the Tarzan phenomenon. I was not looking for irony necessarily, but I was hoping for something much different than what I found.

The first clue was the ubiquitous little © copyright symbol that reminds you that Edgar Rice Burroughs retains all rights to Tarzan.

The exhibit did do a couple of things well, I thought. The extent of visual documentation—books, films, and ephemera—that was accumulated is a valuable archive. There were other connections that were made clear, such as tracing King Kong to the kind of racial imagery that preceded it in Tarzan films. Also there was a good explanation of the emergence of the leopard print in European fashion as a result of Tarzan. The racial imagery in these action figures is unmistakable.

BUT: There was no discussion of European imperialism in Africa and how that provided a context for the ways that readers and viewers experienced the stories, which began in 1912 with Burroughs’s first novel Tarzan of the Apes. It was just shocking to me. There has been some good serious scholarship on Tarzan that made me expect certain things from the exhibit. In a book I love, Manliness and Civilization: A Cultural History of Gender and Race in the United States, 1880-1917 (Univ. of Chicago Press, 1996), Gail Bederman concludes with a discussion of Burroughs’s first novel in the context of US ideals of racialized masculinity. So this work on Tarzan does exist. (There is newer book from Univ. of Georgia Press by Alex Vernon called On Tarzan that I have not read.)

Here are a couple of images, which I find offensive. (Keep in mind that the exhibit had no such warnings and was in many ways targetted at children.) The first is from a “view finder” (those kid binoculars).

These here are from comic books, which contribute to the hateful association of black people and crocodiles.
None of these images were accompanied by a substantive critique. Not only was I hurt and offended, but I was also surprised. Perhaps I am naive.

There were many more seemingly innocuous images, such as this one from a recorded storybook of "The Jungle Book." This grabbed my attention because growing up I had the exact same record (in English of course).For more images, the NY Times has a slide show that accompanies Michael Kimmelman’s (also negative) review. I have more thoughts and criticisms, but will leave it there for now.

Postscript: The day afterward, walking along the Seine, I noticed not surprisingly Europe’s endless fascination with Tintin, specifically Tintin in Congo, which, for those not familiar, is a terribly racist Belgian comic. Tintin is being made into a movie (supposedly without the more overt racism) by Spielberg. Two years ago, Borders wisely decided that it would no longer keep Tintin in Congo in their children’s section. Just this week, the Brooklyn Public Library has been receiving coverage for its decision to pull it from their children’s section. (The Brooklyn PL link reproduces some panels from the book.)

I did see a good exhibit in Paris too, so I will write and post some more in the coming days.

Bloody cellphones

2009-08-21T13:14:00.005+02:00

Global Witness released a new, major report on mining in Democratic Republic of Congo last month that identifies some of the British firms and their involvement in the country’s ongoing war. The full 110-page report, “Faced with a gun, what can you do?” is available online, as is a more condensed summary.

In discussing this with some friends recently, I was asked about what kinds of actions individual consumers can take. It is easy to feel powerless, but, since US consumption is in many ways responsible for the civil war and grinding poverty in DRC, our role is crucial. Here are some ideas abouts things you can do before you buy your next cell phone or computer:

First, research the phone company and their policy on their coltan supply. Many have detailed statements on line. We can do research, encourage other to do the same, and send letters to manufacturers (specifically their departments of corporate responsibility). Even when their policies are posted, send letters asking questions so they know that people care. It is particularly important to encourage rigorous monitoring and enforcement by companies of their supply chains. Just because suppliers sign an agreement that they do not use coltan from DRC is not really enough. For one example, you can see Motorola’s statements on the mining of metals and their suppliers. What is perhaps most amazing to me is that despite their efforts, t hey report that only 47 of 179 suppliers even responded to their survey. Certainly Motorola can require their suppliers to at least respond to their survey!

Second, people can encourage companies to mine coltan elsewhere--Australia and Greenland for example. The latter is suspected of having large untapped reserves and requires some exploratory research. Nokia, for example, has tried to eliminate Congolese coltan from its supply chain. Still, Nokia has to be pushed to provide more rigorous documentation and enforcement. Apple and Samsung also have policies you should be able to find online.

Third, we can encourage the development of alternative technologies. I am technically out of my league here, but there needs to be research into affordable ceramic capacitator construction... Given all of the other technological advances in this area in recent years, this should be feasible.

Fourth, we can encourage our family, friends, businesses, colleagues, churches, and organizations to do this research and make phone calls and write letters and consume products accordingly. If a university or large business is purchasing a bunch of phones or laptops, I think an inquiry into the supply chain would be taken seriously from a vendor.

Fifth, there is a modest bill before Congress which you can encourage your legislators to support. You can follow the bill here. You can also read the Presbyterian Church (USA) statement of support (which also criticizes the bill’s failure to require companies to independently audit their supply chains), and through this site, send a letter to your senator.

Finally, of course, we can try to limit our consumption. Recycle. Try to keep our cellphones longer...

Just a few ideas. I am sure there are other good ones out there. Hope this is helpful.

Back to the office...

2009-08-18T14:20:00.000+03:00

I got back to Cairo on Friday night after a few days in Paris. (I will try to write something about that trip in the next week.)

On Sunday morning, I headed to my office and campus is mostly a ghost town. There were very few people there. I went to my office and my computer did not turn on. I tried every outlet in my office. The lights (including a desk lamp that seemed to be on the same circuit as the computer powerstrip) worked fine. I swapped out a cable from a different computer in the office and there was nothing. It is less than a year old too. The problem was that there was nobody around to help me. Almost all of the university staff takes their annual leave in August, which makes sense since there are no classes and few people around. But it doesn’t make sense in that there is almost no technology coverage. I tried to call lots of people, and barely got a human. Full voice mail boxes. Forwards to attendants who never picked up. I reached a department administrator on her cellphone in England! Eventually I went to the Dean’s office who put me in touch with a hardware supervisor in some other building who sent someone down to my office. He kindly figured out, quite quickly, that it was in fact an electricity problem. Then we were able to call someone who dispatched an electrician over who fixed it. I think he replaced a fuse. Whatever it was, he was able to do it without even being in my office. Then as a bonus he was able to complete the unfinished installation of my desk outlet which had never been screwed into the wall and spent all last year lying on the floor with all of the cables exposed. (It was not a repair I ever thought to request.) Anyway, it was not how I had hoped to spend my first day back in the office, but that part of it was a windfall.

Engagement

2009-08-07T21:05:00.002+03:00

I just read this article on BBC about a marriage proposal for Chelsea Clinton from Godwin Kipkemoi Chepkurgor. It involved an offer of cows and goats as the dowry, or bride price. In many places, the family of a daughter will receive a gift from the family of her fiancé. There are lots of variations on how this is done, but my closest friend in Kinshasa was seeing his daughter married while I was visiting so I have been thinking about it.

In this case, his daughter and her fiancé are both from the same ethnic group (Lega), which makes things less complicated than in increasingly common inter-ethnic unions. They had a meeting between the families and agreed on the price which is usually counted in goats. The exchange in goats rarely takes place. The cash value of the goats is figured out—today between $50 and $60 each—and the exchange takes place in cash, which might be around $1,000. There are variations—two Kongo friends of mine got married last year and their exchange included fabric and clothing in addition to cash money.

It is something that may seem very strange or foreign to people in the US, but I am not convinced it is all that unusual. As my friend explained, as the father of the bride, he is responsible for throwing the parties, which in Congo frequently have 400 or 500 people. Plus there are two parties--the wedding and the engagement. Essentially the dowry is the groom’s family contribution to the feast, which in many cases does not even cover half of the expenses. There are similarly gendered customs in the US about who is responsible for paying for what. Of course, there are many variations to this practice in Congo and elsewhere but this is one that I know.

The engagement party is traditionally where the dowry is exchanged. However, recently in Kinshasa, there have been robberies of these exchange-of-dowry parties, because word gets out that a large amount of cash will be on hand. Now, people typically meet a few days before the party and privately exchange the cash. At the party, the bride’s family now gives an empty envelope to the groom’s family.

Other things are discussed at the family meetings as well. In the case of my friend’s daughter, it had to do with her education. She is currently a graduate student in computer science and wanted to delay the marriage until she completed her degree and has long hoped to study abroad. Her fiancé and his family had agreed to this. This was the situation when I left Kinshasa.

Last week, on what I thought was the night before the party, I telephoned to offer my good wishes. But the party was called off. Earlier in the week, my friend’s daughter found out she was going to be able to go to India to complete a Master’s degree (or its equivalent). Her fiancé’s family wanted to schedule the marriage before she traveled. She refused. Her family supported her. The engagement has been called off, at least for now.

If I were in Kin tomorrow, this is where I'd want to be!

2009-08-06T00:51:00.002+03:00

Photos from Nairobi

2009-08-05T16:12:00.007+03:00

It has been a while since I have posted but hope to get my rhythm back once I get back to Cairo at the end of next week. Stay tuned.

In the meantime, I have some pictures from the day I spent in Nairobi on layover en route from Kinshasa to Cairo. I am experimenting with new ways of sharing photos, so these are up on Flickr and Facebook. Comments on your preferences for viewing photos are welcome.

In memory of Michael Jackson (Radio Trottoir Mix)

2009-07-21T19:01:00.006+03:00

I was in Kananga when I first heard that Michael Jackson died. There was someone from North Carolina staying in Tshikaji who mentioned it somewhat flippantly in passing. My reaction was, like that of many people around the world, literal disbelief.

I returned to Kinshasa on that Friday evening and my friend’s nephew Patrick, who is in his 20s, picked me up to take me to campus. One of the first questions he asked me was, “Is it true that Michael Jackson has died?” As an American, he expected me to have some sort of privileged insight or authority. I responded that I thought it was; I heard the same thing as him. We spent a couple of minutes commiserating about how great he was and how sad we were. Through our conversation, though, I sensed something else happening. His sense of disbelief was different than my own sense. For him, there was real uncertainty that this was the truth whereas for me it was disbelief as a result of shock and sadness. So I asked him, when and how he heard the news. He told me that late Thursday night (around 11pm, which would be 3pm in California), radio announcers started talking about it. This is the way that news spreads in Kinshasa. It is through rumor, only some of which ends up being truthful. The newspapers and other conventional media often report unfounded rumors. There is even a name for such grapevine reporting, radio trottoir (sidewalk radio). There is a lot of irresponsibility in the media in Kinshasa, though I do admire the public’s sense of skepticism of sources that folks in the US so often accept as beyond reproach.

The story does not end there.

On Sunday, a friend told me that Tabu Ley Rochereau, perhaps the greatest living Congolese musician, also died on the same day as Michael. Here he is with the great Mbilia Bel, his former wife.

I was shocked that I had not heard more about this. Tabu Ley has been sick. He was revered, and served as a governor of Kinshasa until recently. I asked a couple of other people who confirmed it too. Eventually I met some skepticism and, within a couple of days, it was revealed to be a false rumor. You can read about in French. Apparently there was a similar rumor a couple of years ago.

Then, there were reports that the most famous Congolese actor known as “Sans Souci” (né Mateya Matondo) has died as well on the same day as Michael Jackson. Sans Souci was only in his early 50s and starred in many popular television comedies. You can read an obituary here and see a tribute featuring some of his work:

This turned out to be true, but also passed through the rumor mill. When I was with a friend toward the end of my trip, he received text message on his phone that had been making the rounds. It said, in effect, that Michael Jackson was not really dead, but that his death was staged to overshadow the passing of Sans Souci. My friend, like nearly everyone else I imagine, laughed it off.

Throughout the city, there were many memorials for Sans Souci. As with Michael Jackson, the overwhelming sentiment in Kinshasa was deep sadness. Being there really enabled me to appreciate the incredible adoration of Michael Jackson throughout the world. I had a student who told me that he was so sad he did not speak or eat for two days! There was a memorial held for him at the Académie des Beaux Arts, which you can see here:

Archival Research

2009-07-17T20:59:00.001+03:00

I thought I posted this last week...
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I did some research at a small library in Kinshasa. It is actually a remarkable place, located at a seminary very close to where I was staying. There was Belgian priest who taught history at the university for many years. He passed away about five years ago, and his personal library remains one of the best places there (perhaps in the world?) for doing research on Congo. It includes lots of standard books, but also unpublished theses and dissertations and lots of pamphlets and smaller documents that are not available widely. For example, I found, quite remarkably, a 1906 publication from a Belgian rubber concessionary company responding to critics of its human rights record. (William Sheppard, an African American missionary in the area, was one its most outspoken opponents. The company later sued him.)

When I was last there, this library was not regularly open because there was not anyone there to staff it. I was really excited to learn that the situation has been remedied and it was now open regularly. By regularly, I mean you call the priest who supervises it or the student intern and they can open it up for you. (Unfortunately this situation is about to change as the student is graduating and the priest is traveling and there are no replacements.) The catalog is a 200+ page binder listed roughly alphabetically; there is no electronic catalog or anything.

An electronic catalog would be limited anyway since there was no electricity for the time I was there. The seminary actually has a big generator but they don’t turn it on until after the sun sets. (They run it from 6 or 7pm until 10 or 11pm). So I requested the books and then set up a chair and table outside in the parking lot where I was able to work under the light and heat of the sun. It was a bit surreal. Me with my laptop taking notes from 100-year-old Tshiluba dictionaries while, at the other end of the parking lot there is always a crowd of people filling up large 5 gallon containers with water from one of the only reliable taps in the area.

The seminary campus is quite lush and pleasant. Unfortunately, there are a ton of mosquitoes as well. Even though I wore long sleeves, my typing hands were exposed. After my first day there I noticed several bites on my hands where they were feasting while I was working.

A Picture of Inga Dam

2009-07-12T13:45:00.002+03:00

This is the dam and hydroelectric plant I mentioned in a recent blog post. 100 Congolese francs=0.13 US$

Class Photos

2009-07-10T18:13:00.004+03:00

Here are some pictures that probably belong with my “final examination” entry below. These are my students and our classroom. They seem much happier in the photo which I took (and was not in). But I do like Shabani’s dictionary-reading pose in the one with me. There was one woman in the class who did not attend that day (or most other days). Most of the students in the department are male, but many of the strongest are female. Of three recent appointments to the position of graduate student assistant, the two in literature (the third is in linguistics) are women (and former students of mine).

The art of making a bed

2009-07-10T17:32:00.002+03:00

Manny is a young man, probably in his early 30s, who works at the guesthouse where I stayed in Kinshasa. He cleans up the house, which includes making up the beds. His work is amazing because of the 300+ nights I have stayed in this bed since 2005, he rarely repeats himself in this task. It is really incredible because he keeps coming up with something different nearly every day. It is only a top sheet but he has a ton of creative ideas. I think I have always appreciated it, but probably not enough. Now as I realized in the few days before I left just how wonderful it is, I thought it would be nice to take some photographs as examples of his work.

The View from Kananga; or, Hydroelectric Power

2009-07-09T16:14:00.005+03:00

With a million people, Kananga is the largest city in the world, I have been told, without electricity or running water. The city is cut off from the rest of the country because the trains run rarely and there is no intercity road transport, or efficiently passable waterways. While there I stayed in Tshikaji, which is a village about 10 miles from downtown. It is also the site of a small dam and hydroelectric plant, so it is the place in the region with electricity. In 2006, it had water too, but there was very little this year. (There was a discolored trickle that could be used to fill up a bucket, but not enough to get pressure through the shower.) Tshikaji is also the site of the region’s hospital because of the electricity and water supply.

During the trip, I went out to the dam, which was small but efficient looking. However, I was most struck by something else off site. In the distance, about a mile away, was an enormous hydroelectric cable from the Inga Dam that runs clear across the country. Inga has the capacity to power much of the continent. But instead it runs right beside the largest city in the world lacking electricity and heads out to Lubumbashi, the mining center of the country. It is truly one of the most dramatic things I have ever seen.

Of course, I was wondering how this can be justified. I was told the government has some excuse about the excessive costs in using this line to provide power to Kananga (which did at one time have power though I am not sure until when and from where). Then I asked about sabotage and was suprised that there have been no incidents that anyone I asked knew to tell me. The cable is in plain view, near a major city, and does not appear to be protected. In Nigeria, when corporations try to extract oil resources, the people organize militantly to prevent it from taking place.

The politics of infrastructure investment can be pretty disturbing, especially when it is used to isolate people. (Think about the ways that roads were paved in many southern towns in the early twentieth century—they often systematically avoided black-owned land and businesses to create new “main” streets through white-owned areas, which insured that the most lucrative commercial establishments were owned by whites.) Most of the recent international discussions taking place about expanding Inga are focused on the export of its energy to Nigeria, South Africa, and north Africa, rather than servicing citizens in places like Kananga.

Final Examination

2009-07-08T00:01:00.000+03:00

Greetings from Kenya, where I am on a 24-hour layover en route back to Egypt. I have a bunch of random blog entries which I wrote in RDC but was not able to post immediately. I spent very little time online; internet access was hard. Anyway, I will be posting some of these in no particular order over the next couple of days.
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I am typing this blog entry in the classroom at the University of Kinshasa while my students are taking their final examination. The scene is somewhat unusual because there is no electricity on campus. I had printed out a copy of the examination, but since the photocopiers are run by enterprising students (more on this in a moment) so I wanted to wait until immediately before the exam to make copies. Well, my plan was foiled. Without electricity, my colleagues offered me some carbon paper. That is oftentimes how things work here. Instead, I started writing the examination including instructions on the board. The exam requires the students to identify and analyze a series of quotations from works we read this semester. I had to shorten a couple of them, but otherwise it seems to have worked out. I won’t blog too long; I need to conserve my battery.

The course, by the way, is modernism, and the exam quotes are from Hughes, Rich, Hemingway, Kincaid, Moore, Faulkner, Lahiri, and Ives.

As for the photocopiers, people plug them in independently in classrooms, college hallways, in dormitories, or running cables into the road. They are all older desktop models. They make some sort of arrangements with people who let them store them in offices or supply closets overnight. It has always been this way since I have been here, but recently I was surprised to learn that two of my students own photocopiers. They buy them, hire someone to operate them for them, and collect the revenue. One of my students seems to be doing pretty well with it (and I don’t know what pretty well means other than that he seems satisfied) and another doesn’t like his location in front of some of the dormitories. This is one of the most Kinois things I can imagine. There is this incredible spirit of creative entrepreneurship here—everyone is always doing something to try to make some money. (I need to blog more about entrepreneurship too, but for now I am going to save my battery.)

Roulage

2009-07-07T22:41:00.001+03:00

One of the regular occurrences I quickly got relatively used to when I lived here—to the extent that you can get used to such a thing because you never do get used it—was being pulled over by the police. I blogged about it then and don’t want to repeat myself, but the roulage (traffic police) are terribly underpaid and extract their income by harassing citizens (and occasionally non-citizens like me). I am not sure what if any changes there have been here in that regard, but my initial impression was that things have become more professionalized. Their uniforms were nicer...plus I made a few trips without being stopped.

That changed. I was going downtown yesterday (Thursday) and got pulled over on Boulevard Triomphal in front of the stadium. It is a notorious spot. My friend who was driving got out of the car, showed his documents (which were in order) and had a long conversation outside of the car. He is very calm and has a great demeanor for this sort of thing. The way you handle these things are with patience. There was nothing that the cops could hassle us with, but the ways things work here are that once you hand over your license and carte rose (owner’s card), you are held hostage. Sometimes, you need to give some money to get them back. This is pretty standard. Back in the day (i.e. 2006), we were sometimes able to handle it sometimes without paying. If we did pay, it was usually a couple hundred francs (less than $1).

The recent experience had an amazing twist. My friend who was driving spent 20 to 30 minutes talking and refusing to pay anything. Apparently, the cop was asking something exorbitant, like $30. The cop then handed the license and carte rose to an old man who was sitting by the side of the road fixing shoes. The old man put them down his pants and the cop walked away. My friend, steamed, came back to the car, got 3,000 francs ($4 US) and gave it to the cobbler. He counted it, as if he was collecting money for a bill, and pulled the documents from his pants and returned them. The older man was a strange bagman—not too threatening or intimidating.

Bizarre. There are a couple of explanations. First, there has been some crackdowns from some supervisors against this kind of thing. This way, no money exchanges hands between drivers and police. Some supervisors (perhaps the same ones?) also shake down the traffic police who work under them, so they get a better rate by sharing with the shoe repairman than they do sharing with the boss.

More on traveling to Kananga

2009-07-01T14:26:00.001+03:00

Our airport departure to Kananga went pretty smoothly. All of the other travelers in the group had sent their bags to the airline’s central office a day in advance. This is standard practice here to avoid everything that can happen when checking in at the airport. Due to the reasons mentioned in my previous blog entry, I was not able to do so.

There are tons of fees, and it is sometimes hard to determine what is official and unofficial. All of those fees that are added to tickets purchased in the US (when you see a ticket that lists at $200 + $200 various airport fees) are paid separately at separate windows. Usually, you get a receipt. There was a protocol assistant there to give our group a hand with all of this; typically his job is to handle all of the money. Everything, despite the chaos, was pretty straightforward.

After we arrived, my bags had been carried into the terminal by two porters as is standard practice. Before I could tip them, one told me it would be $5 per bag. Since $5 is an average daily salary in Kinshasa, I respectfully laughed at them, knowing a proper tip to be to be more like 500FC (Franc Congolais) or about $0.60. They were surprisingly insistent and unwilling to negotiate, so I told them that they could talk to the protocol who was helping us and ask him for $5. (He was in line waiting to pay one of the taxes.) At first they said, no, they were asking me. I said, he is the boss. They said, no, you are the boss. Anyway they refused what I was offering and went to wait for the protocol. At that point, two police officers asked them to step outside of the terminal. They refused, since they had not been paid, and were physically thrown out by the officers. Nobody was hurt or anything, but then they were outside banging on the window.

My bags—one of which I was carrying for someone else—were overweight. This involved being weighed at the check-in counter. They wrote a bill for the overcharge of $8US. The protocol took the bill to another office in the airport and paid it. Then he returned to the check-in counter with a receipt stamped paid was able to check the bags. This process took about an hour and the two porters were waiting for us on the other side of the terminal, where we were about to pass through security. I reminded the protocol to tip the porters, which I am sure he did.

After we passed through security to enter the departure lounge we were called into a small office. I was selected the head of the group because I am the only person who speaks French. No problem. I understand enough about these things that I am comfortable to be by myself with two airport officers and our 9 US passports. I could tell that what they are doing is official—they are entering our names, passport, and visa numbers by hand into a ledger. No computers (even though this is the main airport in a city of 10 million people). This is required for domestic travel. As he was copying the information, the power went off so I borrowed a flashlight to help him copy down the numbers. Throughout the entire process, I made the appropriate small talk. At some point, however, another member of our group realized that the officials were from the Kasai and came in speaking Tshiluba, which is usually charming. So the one guy started speaking to her in Tshiluba, asking for money, which he had never mentioned it to me. It seemed like she agreed, but I couldn’t follow the conversation. (The man asking for the money seemed to be some sort of a supervisor; a different uniformed man was copying our information into the ledger.) Another member of the group outside of the office was getting a little bit nervous, but I assured her that everything was on the up and up and that we would not pay anything additional. So after the information was entered into the book by flashlight, the supervisor took our passports and escorted us into the lounge. I was thanking him and trying to politely get our passports back—the sooner the better and the less chance he would ask for any kind of money. Through a combination of insistence and politeness, I get them back and he still never mentioned money to me. He then goes to speak to the other woman with our group and I think she gave him some money (though I never found out), but at that point I think she realized that she was not paying an official fee.

When we arrived at the airport in Kananga, we deplaned on the tarmac and there were a bunch of people standing around. One guy was pretty insistent that we needed to give him our passports and go to the office. In fact, he was so insistent (je suis ici pour vous) that I quickly realized that he was not there for our group, even though he told me he was. Anyway, we walked to the terminal and met the others who were there and really waiting for us.

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OK—I really haven’t explained much about what I was doing in Kasai and promise to explain a little bit more later in the week. Briefly, I did see a sewing school for single mothers, a Jesus film dubbed into Tshiluba, a former colonial hotel (ironically called PAX) that has been turned into a medical clinic, and a university named for a 19^th century African American missionary.

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Yesterday was Independence Day and my mother’s birthday! Happy Birthday Democratic Republic of Congo and Mom. The former is 49 years old.

Leaving for Kananga

2009-07-01T14:20:00.000+03:00

Electricity and Internet access have been extremely limited. I will try to post a couple times, but most likely you will need to wait for my return to Cairo for more news.
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I had plans to travel to Kananga last Saturday but didn’t know what time exactly, so I made tentative arrangements for someone to pick me up early Saturday morning. On Friday I went to the campus to teach at 8am with plans for an afternoon meeting and then to visit a friend downtown. I got a call, however, from my fellow travelers who told me the van was leaving from Ngaliema to the airport at 6am the following morning. It would be impossible for me to make it down there on time from the campus that morning. My ride was an hour away from campus and campus an hour from Ngaliema. Leaving time for possible late-night roadblocks meant that he would need to leave before 3am...not feasible.

So I went ahead with my plans to visit friends and sometime later in the evening I would go back to campus to pack my things. I would spend the night with friends and then they would be able to take me to Ngaliema where I would meet the other travelers and the van. Thankfully my friend was able to borrow a car, without which this would have been impossible.

I met my friend at the high school where he teaches at about 5pm. We spent about an hour there. Then we went to the home of a couple of friends in the Kasavubu neighborhood, which is near the school. We ate and spent some time looking at photographs and I got to watch the video of their wedding last year. We left Kasavubu after 8pm and headed to the university where I was staying. By the time we got there, I collected my things, and we made it my friend’s place in Cité Mama Mobutu, it was close to 11pm. We hung out for some time with my friend and his wife. We had some wine, ate some food (including caterpillars), and looked at photographs. Shortly after 12, my friend’s wife went to sleep. I was tired, especially knowing that I needed to get up at 4am, but excited to see my friends. Then my friend wanted to watch the dvd of my wedding. And then after the wedding video ended, the tv came on and it was “le catch” (pro wrestling), which is incredibly popular and nobody in Kinshasa want to miss.

Through those last few hours something strange was happening. My friend’s wife went to bed around midnight. She was sleeping in a separate room (their current place is quite spacious). My friend was undressing down to boxer shorts and an undershirt in the room where I was going to sleep. That bedroom also had the television and dvd player, so we were watching the wedding and le catch from the bed. At some point, I am not sure when, I began to get the distinct impression that my friend was planning to spend the night in the same room (and bed) with me. I am still completely stumped as to whether or not it was so as not to disturb his wife by coming to bed so late (1:30am) and getting up so early (4am). Or perhaps, I wonder, is it a form of hospitality, him staying with me? As confusing as it was to me, I could tell that for him it was very normal, and not something that demanded any sort of explanation. I suspect sharing a bed with another man is not that unusual here, a place where extended families are large and space limited. So why not share a bed with an adult friend? As I reflect, it is probably not unusual in most cultures. But here, there was no space issue; his wife was one room away. I didn’t want to embarrass him by asking, or do anything that would hurt his feelings. But the mystery remains. He was being extremely generous in helping me out.

In retrospect, I think I was probably staying awake as late as I did because I was waiting for him to go to the other bedroom before laying down. He, on the other hand, was waiting for me to get ready before going to asleep. Both of us thought the other wanted to stay up. I couldn’t imagine that we were going to share a bed, and he couldn’t imagine that such an arrangement would be unexpected to me.

I finally announced I was going to sleep. So without discussion he got in side of the queen-size bed opposite from me. He slept with his feet at the head of the bed, opposite from me. And that was that. We woke up at 4am to get ready to go out.

Tu as bien grossi

2009-06-27T19:25:00.003+03:00

NOTE: I just got back from Kananga where I wrote a lot but could not post. I will try to catch up soon. Here is one.
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Tu as bien grossi: This has been the most common greeting I have received from friends in Kinshasa who I am seeing for the first time in three years. Roughly translated: “You have fattened up nicely.” This is a rather high compliment for people living in a city where, according to a study, more than 50% of the people eat one meal every two days. If you get bigger, this means that you are eating well because things are going well in your life—you are employed, have a stable source of income, and, if male, a wife. One example: some famous musicians whose fame has allowed them a fat belly will often wear a too-small t-shirt to accentuate their graisse.

This intended compliment makes me incredibly self-conscious. Putting aside my own American sense of vanity, I don’t think I would be considered overweight by US standards. And I don’t really keep track of my weight, but I guess I have put on 5-10 pounds in 3 years. My measurement: I still wear the same pants that I wore then (even pants I had tailored in Kinshasa), although they fit slightly tighter around the waist.

When I was last here, I had a much better exercise regiment (thanks to Makfitness) than I have been able to develop in Cairo. Then, I was, I think, considered a bit thin for an American, but was, and still am (I think again) quite average.

I do not exaggerate when I tell you that literally the majority of the dozens of friends I have seen here have told me that I have bien grossi within the first two minutes of conversation. It is often accompanied by a “Tu es en bonne forme” (you look good). Although I realize it is a compliment, it is still hard for me not to be self-conscious and to process it in that way.

From Kin La Belle

2009-06-16T13:14:00.002+03:00

Back in Kinshasa for the first time in three years! Wow!

I am even staying in the same room in the Guest House at UniKin where I lived for the year when I taught here.

The city looks mostly the same. There is not much new construction. The condition of the roads is a bit worse (this being after the rainy season). Talking to friends, everyone says things are getting worse. In 2006, the exchange rate was $1US to 450FC (Francs Congolais), and pretty stable. Now it is $1 to 720-750FC. $US is accepted here as official currency (typically for larger transactions—not in day-to-day purchases—only $5 bills and larger are accepted). Since most people who are paid are paid in FC, their purchasing power is diminishing. For someone like me, I come in with US$ and profit from the economic shift (when I do not need the benefit). That is just one easily quantifiable marker of the changes. There are many other less quantifiable stories that I am hearing about how things are here.

Despite my three overnight flights and little sleep (partly due to the showing of a great Nigerian film “Preacher Man”—strongly recommended IF you like Nigerian film, which is its own genre), I have been able to spend lots of time with friends during the first 24 hours of my trip. This part of the return can be quantified by the number of Primus beers I have shared, and the fact that I ate more meals in a 24-hour period than I previously thought possible. Everyone seems as happy to see me as I am to see them.

On the road in front of the house, there is a teenager who runs a sort of phone booth. These are everywhere—if you don’t have a phone or can’t afford to add a full block of credits, you can go and pay to make a call on one of his phones. He also sells SIM cards and credits. I went to see him to buy a card, as I did a couple of times each week when I was last here. He remembered me, which was nice. He updated me on changes to the cellular network, exchanged some money for me, and told me how he has been doing. And I did the same.

Today I will go over to the faculty to get to work.

Postscript: I wrote this blog yesterday (Monday morning) on my laptop but spent most of the day without electricity. There was still none this morning, but I came downtown to the American Cultural Center and was able to get online here and post this.