11 posts tagged “cairo”

I was sitting with my old friends from college: B and M. We were in
Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf, one of the many fashionable coffeeshops
dotting Cairo's well-off spots. M was in mid-story.

He was at a scientific conference in Canada and he'd run into our old
colleague, T. T's mother is Russian, his father is Egyptian; his full
name is very Muslim. M approached T to chat; T's name label said he
worked as faculty in one of the US's better universities. M spoke to
T directly in Arabic. To his surprise, T pretended he did not speak a
word of Arabic, had never been to Egypt, and was, apparently, a
Russian-American. M would not stand for it, but T was pleasantly
adamant, so M left.

Later, T is approached by D, a girl who also used to be in the same
circles back in Cairo. T spoke with her in Arabic. Spotting this, M
did not let it slip. He went right back to T, said hello to D, and
now confronted T. How come he could now speak Arabic? Red-faced,
T claimed he suffered from Alzheimer's and tried to pretend like
he suddenly remembered everything.

At this point, both myself and B said in unison: "if he doesn't want
us, we don't want him". We were so angry.

M went on to say that he'd researched T's web page and found that T
had written Egypt out of his CV. T claimed going to schools in
Russia, university in Russia, and to speak only his mother tongue:
Russian. We were just appalled.

B was reminded of when he used to go out dancing in various parts of
the world: his Lebanese friend would call himself Juan or Antonio and
claim to be Cuban. B told us he never hesitated to give his full
Muslim name and say he is Egyptian. And if the girls were not
going to like him, well they can go to hell.

In Egypt, everybody agrees that the country's system of government is
stagnant, that change is needed, that it will take a long time to
come, and a long time to really change things, that everybody's
meanwhile looking after themselves, and that most people
understandably want to go abroad and earn a decent living. But like
the Irish and the Italians who emigrated to the US because they had
to, loyalty to the motherland is beyond dispute.

A taxi driver, a man I have no qualms about describing as simple and
not particularly knowledgeable of world affairs, was telling me about
his Saudi Arabian passenger. The Saudi passenger got a bit lippy
about Egypt: crowded, some people are unscrupulous, disorganised,
etc. The taxi driver told him: "Your country may be wealthy now, but
it was not too long ago when you awaited our largesse. It used to be
that Egypt was the centre of the world, and the day will come again
when it returns there." The Saudi passenger replied: "I hope this day
never comes." The taxi driver pulled over and told him to get out.

In Cairo, I notice people deal with me with more respect than was
usual. Do I look older, do I look more 'ibn naas' (of good breeding),
do I tip more generously, do I look more 'nedeef' (clean-cut), do I
pay whatever they say too easily?

Here is an incident in the opposite direction. I park the car and run
off to buy something, by the time I am back, there's a car that's
parked alongside me in a manner that shuts me in a little. There's a
woman sitting in the passenger seat. I decide not to talk to her, and
to get out carefully. As I am turning on the engine, a man of about
45-50, who turns out to be her husband, taps on the boot of my car a
few times, almost drumming on it. I ask him: "What is going on? Why
are you beating on the boot?" He goes: "Having a laugh". I am
dumbstruck. I glare at him. He gives me a look that says: "get over
it".

Why is he drumming on my boot and not apologising! Am I getting too
English?

Wealth manifests itself in pockets of exclusive communities around
Cairo. Villas with pools and landscaped gardens go at $3-4 million a
pop. And they go! Much to the amazement of the masses, some people
have the money to buy this stuff. This ostentatious wealth was never
part of modern Egypt; you heard of it in Johannesburg and Rio De
Janeiro but never saw it in Egypt. It is here now.

There's a 1-3% slice of the population that has deep pockets and they
are a far way from the 10-20% middle class who are in turn a safe
distance from the common folk. The 'supers' are businessmen,
entertainment folk, emigrees with second homes in Egypt, highly
successful doctors, international expatriates, etc. But the young
graduates all want a piece of the action.

Some "just know" they will have their own $3 million villa one day;
some have already figured out that they will only ever be spectators,
and they are deeply resentful. They are 'dislocated' from the
country; they want to get the hell out. They hope that 'abroad'
(Dubai, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, Europe, Canada, etc) they will have a
fair chance at living a civilised life.

Naguib Sawiris is the only Egyptian in the world's list of
multi-billionaires. He sits atop an empire that owns a huge mobile
telecoms operator, a construction company, and a zillion other
ventures. He wields significant influence in the world of
international telecommunications. A proud Egyptian Christian (a
Copt), well-spoken in both Arabic and English, and obviously
intelligent, he seems to be one of the few voices radiating optimism
about the future of the country.

He owns a satellite television channel (OTV) that is distinctly
Egyptian, youthful, and very well-funded. His business empire
recently acquired five IT companies (some of which were Indian),
which it is proceeding to unify and run out of Cairo. They are not
quite taking on the Indians in the out-sourcing business, but they
reckon there is enough spare business around to keep them happy.
Their main problem is they want more talent out of Egyptian
graduates.

Usually the problem in Egypt is unemployment, but the Sawiris people
have the jobs, they have the salaries, they just can't find the boys
and girls with the adequate skill sets! So, they have started their
Orascom Academy to retool the kids for the 21st century. It is
typical of Sawiris mentality: rise to the occasion and find
solutions.

Sawiris bravely went for the Iraqi telecoms market when no one in
their right minds wanted to do business there. He lost out on that
one: they pulled out a year later; but it is indicative of his
mind-set. But, still, his example is misleading.

Watching this polished, smart doer of a man, one can easily forget
the realities. I cannot compare this man to the Google founders, or
to Steve Jobs or Bill Gates. This man never invented or innovated
anything. Most of his business ideas were imitations of foreign ideas
in the Egyptian market.

After spotting business opportunity, Sawiris had the means (through
his second-generation-businessmen family connections) to go for them.
Yes, Sawiris towers over the other local businessmen; they did not
pursue opportunities with the same hunger and creativity as he.
Nevertheless, all of them, every single one of them, is nothing more
than an entrepreneur who saw opportunity and had the wherewithal to
draw on it.

None of these guys, I think, will ever change the way people across
the world lead their lives. To bring a mobile network to an African
country, is not the same quality achievement as developing the mobile
itself.

It seems the coterie of very rich businessmen and elite media
personalities are part of the same circus. They sit on various
television stations talking in urbane Egyptian dialect, alternating
between gentle and sarcastic humour, telling amusing anecdotes,
sending their children to international, private schools and then to
private universities (either in Egypt or abroad), they get their kids
jobs in their own field, and they all hang out in exclusive gated
communities. Then they lament that Egypt is changing and their kids
are not going to be the same Egyptians they once were!

They sit as if in a castle surrounded by a very wide moat (hat-tip to
shehab). The locals are watching the elites through the windows of
the castle and wondering how on earth to cross, or as may happen,
storm, the moat. Meanwhile you park your car and the 'menady' (the
guy who helps you, uninvited, to park) chases after you: "One pound
more, sir. What difference will a pound make to you!" His job is not
proper, your tip is voluntary, but he has mistaken you for one of the
guys who lives in the castle. After all, you drive a car and you are
going inside the city's premier mall!

Elrakabawy was our descriptive geometry professor at Ain Shams
University. A big man with a bulky neck and a reddish face, he had
been teaching the subject for what seemed to be, twenty years ago,
twenty years. When I found out last year that he was still teaching
it, I was surprised. Today I learnt he passed away a couple of months
ago.

Descriptive Geometry is probably a Soviet term. I did not find
textbooks on the subject in the West. But a couple of years ago, I
spotted second-hand copies of two Soviet-era textbooks on the
subject. Given that our curriculum at Ain Shams was a mixture of
Soviet, French, British, and American curricula (reflecting the
typical PhD destinations of our professors), Descriptive Geometry
probably came our way via the Russians.

The subject is about drawing three dimensional objects to-scale on a
sheet of two-dimensional paper. It is extremely difficult because it
requires imagination as well as mastery of technique. Reading the
problem statement usually brought on bouts of dizziness. "Chess is
the best cure for a headache", said a famous philosopher; I think
wasfeyya ("descriptive"), as we called it, had pretty much the same
effect. Your brain had to read each sentence three times before it
could begin to fathom it.

Rakawaby taught it workman-like and without humour. He had a serious
disposition, and there was rarely any occasion for him to impose
discipline. His lectures were 9am lectures and he tucked right into
the problems. I hardly remember a word he said.

His name, El-rakabawy, has something to do with "the neck", and this,
combined with the difficulty of his subject, led us to caricature him
as an executioner. The guy seemed so impenetrable, just like the
subject. But he did have a few attentive front-row students. He
queried them as he went along: "so we extend a line to ??", "yes,
point q, and then we project it onto plane ??" ...

Failure rates in the first year at Ain Shams's Faculty of Engineering
were usually around 30-40%. Almost every single one of these guys
would have failed 'wasfeyya'. You could even find guys with overall
excellent grades and a "pass" in 'wasfeyya'.

Elrakabawy is responsible, not single-handedly, only partly, for the
impression of impenetrability and intellectual demand that the
Faculty of Engineering left on me. I remember people being confused,
going through 'sheets', jumping through hoops, cracking jokes, none
the wiser. Slowly, I began to spot the ones who were standing on firm
ground, those who were watching and following and asking.

Their mark was their concision and clarity. If they could not explain
it simply and with clarity, they started again. I recognised 'my
people'.  I often have to remind myself not to lose that and become
a Rakabawy - may he rest in peace.

Water cuts are common across various neighbourhoods in Cairo. We live
in an area lucky enough to suffer only two sets of two-hour cuts. The
word on the street is to not drink tap water directly: boil it and
filter it first, or buy bottled water (courtesy of Coca Cola -
Dasani, Pepsi Cola - Aquafina, or Nestle). We are not sure bottled
water is, in fact, to be trusted, but we have no choice.

The main roads across the city are serviceable, but once you turn
into smaller streets, holes and uneven surfaces become the norm.
Rubbish collection takes place, but some people can't afford to pay
for the apartment-collector and dump their own rubbish themselves in
a big metal skip. This usually overflows and becomes a dogs-n-cats
haunt, as well as a smelly eye-sore.

Healthcare is obviously hit-and-miss, what with doctor clinics and
hospitals that may not be hygienic.

Public transport is unappealing. The buses tend to be over-crowded.
The micro-buses (privately-run) are totally irresponsible. About a
half of them are driven by young cowboys who do not have a license to
drive. They stop anywhere and speed irresponsibly, paying no heed to
the passengers they have on-board. Even the taxis are hit-and-miss:
fares are a negotiation, and the taxi itself is, 50% of the time, a
car that should not be on the road.

My well-to-do middle-class friends drive around in strong,
air-conditioned cars. They drive responsibly and may occasionally
give way to pedestrians, but their number one preoccupation is to
watch out for the "animals" and the "donkey-and-cart-drivers". These
are code terms. Traffic is self-regulating, self-organising. A friend
who drove in India noted the key difference of aggressive
competitiveness in Cairo driving.

We hop from one relatively chic spot to another, ordering juice or
coffee, and we complain. No one has a good word to say. The default
is to complain and blame someone else. From the bastards up high, the
beardies on the side, the "new generation" on the other side, to the
poor and ignorant down low.

Passiveness is the order of the day. You partake in it with relish
and in your heart of hearts thank God that you've got yourself a way
out.

Right in the middle of this degradation of yourself and immersion in
a form of group-nihilism, a friend points out that if we all give up,
we are promoting the status quo.

Stuff that connects with people, stuff that leaves a mark on people's
lives, is stuff that is (i) realistic, (ii) resonates emotionally,
(iii) simple and relevant.

Writing coaches tell us that if you have the characters sorted,
everything else is. Great writers depict memorable characters and
then they put them in situations that test them. Anne Tyler once said
that the bulk of her work is done when she's figured out the
characters. Afterwards, she queries them and follows them around.

Comedy is a strange beast because it can be nothing more than
one-liners and funny faces. But it could also be a lot more.

Logan Murray teaches that just as the poet sees a problem, observes
something, and finds the words to paint a picture of it, a comedian
finds the joke in the observation. A comedian's solution to a problem
is to find the funny in it.

But the great poets do not just paint pictures, they paint pictures
of how they feel about something. Likewise, great comedians find the
funny in how they feel about something. I find both mediums equally
powerful and remarkable.

The poet makes us go "mmm, how true, how apt, i never saw it that way".
The comedian makes us go "hahaha, how funny, i never saw it that way".
Poetry is about emotion, truth, resonance; comedy is about impulsiveness,
playfulness, deliberate stupidity.

I think both mediums stay with us. Everytime I go inside an aeroplane
loo, I remember Jerry Seinfeld's: "you lock the door behind you, and
the lights turn on, it's like someone's throwing you a surprise
birthday party". Saeed Saleh's line in Madrasit el-Moshaghbeen about
the lebanese school curriculum: "It's so easy. you tell the
curriculum come here, it comes. Not like our impossible curriculum"
(using curriculum as code for girls), that's a line that has been
passed down generations.

The new development on Egyptian TV over the last year has been a
preponderance of sitcoms. We're talking a dozen sitcoms. This is a
brand new format in the Arab world. Now we have Tamer & Shew'eya
(he's posh, she's slummy); a doctors' clinic involving an
incorrigible central character; a husband who lives with six women
(wife, sister, mother, mother-in-law, daughter, ...), and many more.

They mostly don't work. Because the writers have not matured enough
to generate the stuff that connects and leaves a mark with people.
But everyone agrees that it is a question of time before a critical
point is reached, and a killer sitcom comes around. More importantly,
these mediocre sitcoms are actually popular! People are perfectly
happy with caricature, one-liners, and funny faces.

Being in Cairo is tumultuous (is this even a word, I don't want to go
and check). It is turbulent and deep and emotive. Being here brings
nostalgia, longing for a past, wanting to take care, wonderment at
what has happened while you were away, love of the place, the people,
the land, and many other things.

Home is family. Though I have lived in it continuously only
seven-eight years, I never was too far away from "masr" (Egypt): my
parents, their families, and the history and culture that my parents
painted me part of. The familial connections, together with the
friendships I made about twenty years ago, friendships with
middle-class Cairenes of similar backgrounds to mine, are/is what
Egypt is for me. Through them I belong to a bigger entity called
Egypt. Through these connections, I am entitled to have opinions on
Egypt as an Egyptian, and I am also looked to to contribute something
to my country.

I was at my aunt's place last night. Ageing being what it is, I took
her 'leg trouble' casually. Likewise, I took in her husband's
increasing stoop almost without noticing it. My mother was absent
because of stomach trouble. It was only my father, who sometimes
needs to steady his walk by leaning on something, his sister, her
husband, and me. Average age: 64!

My aunt's husband had positively enthused (over the phone) that I was
coming to visit. After the initial greetings, he sat me down to give
me a short introduction to the autobiography of Galal Amin that he is
reading. Knowing I was coming, he had prepared a written note
summarising his thoughts, and at some point he read from it directly.

So I am in Cairo. It is Ramadan time (the muslim month of
dawn-to-dusk no-food-no-water daily fasts). The weather is muggy
although not terribly hot (high humidity, 30C-ish temperature). My
parents are well. Internet speeds are abysmal.

Whether in people's homes or at internet shops, speed is barely
around the 256Kbs range. It used to be comparable to the UK, but not
anymore. Hooking up to a new internet provider is not easy because
our local telephone exchange is way oversubscribed. There is a few
weeks' wait before you get hooked up. It does not make a difference
if you have the money to pay for the fastest service available (8Mbs,
I think) or the masses-friendly 256Kbs, you still wait.

Big-name companies (such as Vodafone) can hook you up quicker because
they pre-bought bulk slots on various exchanges. But they are
expensive. Their 8Mbs package is LE500 a month. That's a salary
around here. Most young professionals earn LE2000. (LE1 = £0.1 =
$0.2) Imagine: you pay a quarter of your salary to get a decent
internet connection. No wonder some people subscribe to a 256Kbs
service and split it on a few apartments to cut costs (LE100 divided
by four is a much more affordable LE25 per month). But their
experience of the internet is different to the one you and I have
come to expect in the wealthy world. (Although if you're on one of
those 3G mobile internet connections, speeds are slow too.)

I was disappointed at the speed I got at a local internet cafe (LE2
per hour). Kids were playing internet games, people were having
lengthy chats, and some idiots were talking like they are in their
own living room. The kind of place where you're surprised anything
works.

On arrival, I mistook someone else's suitcase for mine and had to go
back to the airport three hours later to exchange suitcases. For a
guy my age, the swap was more funny than alarming. But to my parents
(minimum age 65) it was as if I had informed them I needed major
surgery. Poor mum and dad ended up waiting in the airport parking lot
until 6am as I got to grips again with egyptian bureaucracy (the
airport operates at slightly more professional standards than
typical). I got into my de rigueur "fights" with men who perceived me
as insolent and were determined to show me who is boss. On both
occasions, I backed down, as I knew I would.

The first occasion involved a lost-luggage officer over-ruling his
colleague and instructing me to talk to him instead, when i snapped:
"you or him, does it matter!", I knew I was going to be in for a long
wait. The second occasion concerned trying to convince the senior
police officer in charge of admissions, to admit my parents to wait
inside the departure hall rather than in the car park. The officer
said it was Omra time (minor pilgrimage season) and they were not
allowing anyone in but passengers. When I indicated that the hall was
empty and he probably lets those with "connections" in without
question, he looked like he was going to set his officers on me.

My parents intervened right away: they calmed the officer down,
excused my behaviour as "foreign", and told me to walk off. They soon
joined me and we all agreed that whereas I may have been dismissive
of the rules, the man had escalated the matter in an ugly manner. I
went in on my own from that point on, while they waited in the car.

Cairo proper is busy and crowded, although miraculously efficient.
Traffic is bad, but usually flows. Pollution envelopes us, but we are
surviving. The heat and humidity can curb you, but they relent and
you soon feel cool and pleasant. People can yell at you like they
might plunge a dagger into you but then everybody calms down and they
ask you over for dinner. Words people use every day are highly
emotive, almost poetic, now they use them to express love and
devotion, two hours later you are damned, deemed rotten and worthy of
the company of dogs. Predictions of the demise of the country have
circulated since the 70s, but, hey, things are actually getting
better. It's Egypt, man.

The rockslide that happened in Cairo a couple of days ago is tragic.
We don't know the full story yet. But the instinct of the streets is
to blame the government. "Surely, corruption is responsible," they
argue. To a certain extent they are right: if Egypt had transparent,
intelligent government, regulations concerning safety and protecting
people's lives would be held sacred. But the truth is: this could
have happened anywhere in the world. We don't know the full story
yet.

Of course, the homes on which the rocks fell were not supposed to
have been there. It was an unplanned, illegal settlement, a slum. The
government claims these people were going to be resettled in a matter
of weeks, but tragedy struck first.

What really upsets me when I see these scenes in Egypt is the fate of
the common people. The screaming mothers, the sobbing grandmothers,
the helpless-looking men, ... from just one look at them I know, as an
Egyptian, the kind of people they are: poor, simple, and utterly resigned
to their fate. Small people.