SANDStorm

On more than one occasion, I’ve seen lots of blood smeared outside of buildings and on cars. Very, very frightening, especially when it appears that nobody else seems to notice, not even the family getting into the blood-smeared car.

Well, I was recently told by a friend that people smear the blood of an animal (a goat?) on something to keep away the evil eye. Makes sense, now that I think about the places I’ve seen this phenomenon – on the outside of a new restaurant, on new cars, and on the doorway of a home.

My walk to Arabic class takes me through a lively open-air market where I can buy tomatoes, falafel (actually, it’s called tam’iya in Egypt and it’s made from a broad bean, not the chickpea), fish, and string beans any time of the day. The vendors and their wooden boxes fillled with produce creep into the street and make driving through it pretty difficult for the taxis, service trucks, and anyone silly enough, or unlucky enough, to turn down the street.

On Saturday, I turned the corner and began my walk down the market street to find it oddly quiet. There were no vendors in the streets, no wooden boxes, no vegetables, no stands filled with oranges. I noticed that the employees at the shops along the street were hurriedly taking in the goods and produce which sit on the sidewalks to entice folks into their shops.

People on the streets were moving inside and the street was quickly becoming a ghost town.

“What the heck was going on?”

Well, street vendors are illegal in Cairo and occasionally there are crackdowns by the police. Street vendors – illegal? They are everywhere! Apparently the vendors usually just pay bribes to the police to continue business, but when there is a raid, the vendors risk having all their goods confiscated if they are selling on the streets.

Last week a friend from DC showed up on our doorstep, asking to be taken in and shown around the city. Who are we to deny shelter and companionship? It’s been a blast to revisit sites in Cairo with a pair of fresh eyes and an intrepid spirit.

Last Saturday, L and I hopped on the bus to the Pyramids, which, I’ve got to say, are better the second time. Especially when the second time is in December rather than during the intense heat of the summer.

All lined up in a row.

Camel overlooks the city of Giza.

Dust tornadoes caused me to rub the dirt out of my eyes for two days after our visit.

Just got this photo sent to us by a friend, taken during Ramadan.

We were caught outside yesterday during a brief, light evening rain. When we returned home, we noticed lots of little black flakes on our face. Of course we took photos because we knew you might not believe us. We swear the flakes are not due to a dirty lens…it’s from the rain.

Keanu Reeves sucks. Okay, on to other things. It has come to my attention that our blog could use some “lite” sidebars. To bring in a more “Cosmopolitan” readership. Well, considering the news out of the Middle East is, to indulge in understatement, depressing, let’s cheer ourselves with a staple of magazine journalism: The quotation quiz. Our theme this month: Statements that remind me of life in Cairo, ironically and otherwise. Match the quote with the quoted.

Quotes
1) “Wine has nothing but benefits, I’ll cut off the head of anyone who disagrees.”

2) “I torture the data until they confess.”

3) “Religion is only there to increase the quality of life and maximize people’s enjoyment of living.”

4) “I don’t know what I’m feeling, but it’s a little more than I should.”

5 ) “I wrote my memoir in prison, without pen or paper. I wrote it with the eyeliner of a prostitute. On toilet paper.”

Quoted
A) Printed on the back of a jacket worn by a gentleman walking down the Corniche El Nil.

B) Juliette Lewis, of Juliette and the Licks and numerous films.

C) Mohamed El Sawy, founder of the Sawy Wheel, a music venue in Zamalek that promotes up and coming and “alternative” bands.

D) An unnamed character in Nobel Prize winning author Naguib Mahfouz’s “Cairo Trilogy.”

E) Nawal El Saadaw, writer who ran for the Presidency of Egypt in 2005. She lost.

Post some guesses and I’ll post the answers.

-Thrashin Badger

An amusing article in the Daily Star Egypt today which tries to understand the various reasons taxi drivers refuse a fare. Traffic whoes seems to be the only reason.

Taxi, would you not take me there please
Friday, December 1, 2006
http://www.dailystaregypt.com/article.aspx?ArticleID=4216

After reading this article, I am very intrigued by Tabba, a place near Nasr City. A taxi driver relates his experience there:

“There is a place in the end of Nasr City called Tabba, I have been there twice and I was not afraid of the place; I was thrilled. People there are strange. You feel like you are in a thriller movie. I won’t, however, go there again, at least for the time being.”
Adel, Lada

1. Crosswalks and/or pedestrian bridges across four-lane roads.

2. My anonymity. [I really miss this one.]

3. My car. But even if I did have a car here, I don’t think I would make it much further than a mile from our house before running into an old man standing in the middle of the street, or a wagon full of cabbage hulled by a donkey, or a dented, bumper-less minibus, or all three in one blow. So, it’s best I don’t have the temptation.

4. My simplistic view of America’s role in foreign affairs – I could never have fully understood the impact the decisions our leaders make until I came to the Middle East. It was so much easier to fall asleep back then…

5. Kraft macaroni and cheese – no spirals or fancy white cheddar powder. Just the original dayglo orange version.

6. Conversations which are slightly more complex than:
“How much is a kilo of oranges?” or
“My brother is a doctor.” or
(as complex as it gets…) “I am happy today because I am here.”

7. Watching the Sunday morning pundits cut each other down (preferably seated on my couch with a hot cup of freshly brewed coffee rather than Nescafe), especially in the run up to the midterm elections. Will the Democrats take the House and Senate? Have the Democrats given the American public a clear message on what they stand for? And, what exactly do they stand for again?

Oh wait, no. Wrong list.

8. George W. Bush. Remember, before he destroyed the world, how we could laugh at that guy?

D and I just returned from Makan, a concert venue in downtown Cairo which hosts live traditional music every Tuesday and Wednesday night. The building is just a block from a Metro stop and across the street from the imposing, sloped walls of the Pharonic, yet oddly Soviet-esque, styled mausoleum of Saad Zaghloul, the Wafd party nationalist leader who was prime minister in Egypt in 1924.

The entrance to Makan is set just slightly below street level and I instinctively duked when walking through the door. The main room is open and the concrete walls are unfinished, full of pockmarks and scars. Although the walls are barren, the atmosphere is very intimate. Red and white wooden chairs line the railing of the balcony which overlooks the room. Chairs and floor cushions are placed on the large, red oriental rugs which cover the floors and the whole room is lit by small, soft, orange light bulbs hanging from the ceiling.

Tonight’s concert was Setona, a group of eleven performers who play Sudanese music. As the musicians sat down, someone’s phone rang out, “Hello? Is that me you’re looking for?” Yes, the phone played Lionel Richie.

I have never heard Sudanese music before. Or at least I thought I hadn’t, until I recognized the third song they played from one of the various “World Music” cds I used to own. Every song Setona played tonight was up-tempo and lively, enhanced by the crowd’s singing and clapping – the songs were definitely familiar to many in the room. Occasionally a woman’s high-pitched voice rang out from the crowd, “tttttttttrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiii—iiiiiiiii—iiiiiiiiiiiiiii—–iiiiiiiiiiiiii—–llllllllllllllllllllllllllllll……….” and the crowd responded with fists pumping in the air.

Most of the instruments were recognizable to me: four types of drums, an oud, a six-foot long wooden xylophone, a red velvet-covered accordian, and various percussion instruments like a clapper and something which looked like a cheese grater. Two men and two women clapped and sang in the background. Another man played three round drums which floated in a three-foot diameter metal laundry bucket filled with water. The lead singer, a large woman in a pink and gold wrap which sparkled under the lights and mezmorized me, played a drum under her arm. When the pace of the music got faster, she switched to a large, wooden mortar and pestle. She stood up and pounded the pestle into the mortar, her whole body shaking as the loud knocks rang out and directed the tempo changes to the other musicians.

As Setona entered into the second hour of music, the crowd did not show any signs of restlessness. The triller and a few others from the crowd got up and danced in the semi-circle in front of the musicians. The triller moved her torso in slow waves and threw her head back, her face to the ceiling. One of the male dancers put his fingertip on her forehead, as if turning her around and around like a top. I couldn’t stop watching and hoped they’d never get tired of dancing for me. By the end of the night, I felt like I was sitting in a friend’s living room with fifty of my closest and newest friends.

D, on our life in Cairo (and after a few glasses of wine):

“I think I just need to embrace consumerism – this whole search for worldly truths is just depressing.”