Who Needs Sleep?

So it is actually only 1:00am -- which isn't too late at all but I should be in some subconscious dreamland rather than sitting here in the dark full of energy and excitement.

Tonight was my last class to teach -- now I just have their exam on Thursday. It is really quite sad, actually, because I love teaching. Today an Egyptian girl studying to become a teacher observed my class and said she really enjoyed it. She wanted to make sure it was alright to e-mail me with her questions. I reminded her that I really have no idea what I am doing. The whole coversation was pretty edifying and if I relayed the conversation here it would only be for my ego so I will refrain.

Come 9:30 I couldn't seem to get my students to leave. It was 9:35 when I said "don't you want to go home? see your families? eat dinner? anyone?" Still I was there for another ten minutes (which I really don't mind at all, I just don't understand) answering questions and making photocopies. Downstairs at the copy machine I could see in Jake's classroom where his students had completely bombarded him as well.

Post we had the usual discussion of ideas for dinner. My earlier attempt at cooking (potato, tomato, egg white, & feta) turned into a pitiful attempt at sustenance which Jake cited as "peasant food." He settled on schwarma and I was going to get a Double Cheeseburger (plain, of course) and a yogurt from the grocery store.

As soon as I opened the door to McDonalds I saw two of my students (and they saw me) and we smiled. The two sisters sit in the front and smile every time we make eye contact. The girls are lovely, and funny -- today I gave them a vocabulary list to see which words they were unsure of and it only took two minutes before one raised her hand and declared that she could not share with her sister -- "She is so selfish!" They are also two of the girls who asked me to teach them next level -- I hate being their teacher only because they are the type of girls I would hang out with at home and the teacher/student relationship is an awkward one to trample on.

They invited me to eat with them, so I dissed my plan of yogurt and got french fries instead. While the situation had awkward written all over it, I didn't feel so at all and my fries went cold from talking (granted, whether or not they felt awkward is a different story). We giggled like girls through most of dinner and I wish I could just give them their exam so I could hang out with them already with out the teacher-comes-with-baggage-feeling.

I found out a lot about their life; things I wouldn't expect. They are also two of the very few Egyptian girls I have gotten to actually talk to, so I found my education coming alive while they told me facts about Egypt and Islam that I had long since read in a text book or article somewhere.

They actually have relatives in North Carolina and have been trying to get their visas worked out to come work with their family in the States. Inshallah they will come visit soon.

We of course also had the food discussion, because in the beginning all I ate was McDonalds and my students know it. They said that I must like McDonalds very much -- so then I explained my situation when it comes to consumption in Egypt: either I don't like it or my stomach can't handle it.

I came back to my apartment thrilled and still giggling over seeing them there -- only wishing I had someone to share my excitement with. I think that is why I am so restless now -- either that or my body is finally going into shock over all the fast food I have eaten.

Tomorrow I get to grade papers and make an exam all day.... and yet there is something strangely satisfying about that thought.

If You Can't Beat Them

The story of my life (in Egypt): I can't find anything to eat.

I think if I eat much more fast food I am going to die of a heart attack -- have sworn myself off of falafel, schwarma makes me sick everytime, and how much pasta and hard boiled egg-whites can a girl eat? The remainder of things I can eat fall into a few categories; carbohydrates, pizza (which is also kind of a carb), and juice (isn't fruit full of carbs as well?).

Tonight, restless as always I went 'exploring' to see if I could find anything suitable for my stomach.

And really, let's be honest - I really just wanted to get out and wander on my own.

After about an hour of only ending up at McDonalds (where I did not eat) and then wandering down the Cornish towards San Stefano I found a lovely little road which offered me a few choices of food items: schwarma, falafel, and french fries.

I was getting pretty proud of myself for mastering the 'don't you even hiss at me' body language - arms cross, angry mouth, looking straight forward and walking fast when I settled on a thirty-five cent ice cream cone. Chocolate. It melted fast, but it was good -- so I crossed under the Cornish and to take a slightly different route back (yes, walking on the other side of the street is different).

Of course, trying to consume my ice cream cone means I have given up my 'leave me alone' walk and I was quite content so it only took half a minute of walking before two lanky 20-something guys walking infront of me turned around and said "wow." I took a cue from Julie and Sam and replied back sarcastically "WOW," and they laughed and mumbled something about the pyramids (wtf?) in Arabic. Then I was asked where I was from (ana Amrekea) and if I had see the pyramids (why yes, of course).

Of course, after they found out I was American, the conversation was half in broken English and partially in broken Arabic. "you are very beautiful," one of them said. Apparently when I am looking disgusting (and yes, I really did look gross), I sweat aphrodisiac because this is a reoccurring theme in my life.

They were pleasant enough. The conversation switched between English and Arabic when one of us didn't know the right word. Where were you going? (home) What are you doing in Alex? (I teach) Where is your boyfriend? (In America.) How long are you here? (One week. Seven days.) Do you live alone? (No, I live with my cousin. My father's sister's son.) What is your name? (Diane.) Can we walk you home? (No.) We are so happy that we talk to you now.

One of their names was Ahkram and I didn't catch the other's. It doesn't matter because I will never see them again (ahumdilallah). There wasn't really a way of me getting out of walking with them for those few blocks, so I just gave in to it.

I also really need to learn how to say "I am Christian" in Arabic, because they asked me if I was Muslim and none of the words I could conjure up seemed to explain my religious affiliation: Christian, Jesus, Bible...

The funny part is how I got out of the situation. Ahkram turns to his friend and they have a few seconds of noncomprehendable Arabic and then turn back to me,

Ahkram: "Ehna - "
his friend: "we."
Ahkram: "Yani, We love hashish. We like it a lot. We go smoke hashesh now. You love hashesh?"
me: la. no. la la la. la ihab, I don't like hashish at all. la.
Ahkram: So you not come with us.
me: mish ayza - I hate hashish.

and with that, they slowed down (I didn't look back to see if they were turning or just letting me continue on) and I continued on my own.

Whoever thought my ardent hatred for marijuana would leave me thankful (if just once) for cannabis?

point.

I just needed to prove that I am not the most evil teacher in the word, and that I can in fact be quite endearing towards my child-students.

My Goals have Changes Too

Daniel, Egypt:

"
My goal used to be to learn Arabic, then I realized that it was impossible. Now my goal is to learn to blow smoke rings. I like having goals I can achieve.
"

Through my Western Eyes

Nothing bothers me more then when I see a women in full nikab and then her husband wearing Western clothing - a tight striped t-shirt and a gold chain to top it off. It is not the nikab that bothers me, but the man who accompanies it. If he was dressed even half as conservatively (or religiously) as she is then I would have no qualms. Behind the slits I see two eyes outlined in thick eyeliner staring back at me apologizing for bumping me on the train. Beneath the black cloth (okay, who ever decided on black was seriously oppressive, do you know how hot it must be in there?) you can see quite a bit of eye shadow blinking back at you. That little bit of makeup is like their desperate plea for individuality.

Besides, I don't think the nikab fully serves it's purpose. Jake has said it before and I think it is true for a lot of guys: the girls completely covered, gloves and all fascinate him.

On a slightly funnier note, the other day we went to the Alex Library and there was a woman there in full nikab using the computer. She was holding up her digital camera to and either videoing or photographing whatever was in front of her. In the States this would be a HUGE problem... the I mean, just imagine it to realize how conspicuous it looks. However, here in Egypt, it is not even noticed.

At first, I loved the modest culture. Even the Axe adds only show a pretty girl and that feels like something of a scandal, but I think the little things are starting to get to me.

I took this video at the beach... the beach where we were not allowed to lay down and had to wear clothes into the water -- where even then we were followed around by Egyptian men. I yelled at a 12 year old boy; "Do you understand my English? What do you want? Then go away. Leave us alone."

Julie and I both took videos of men dancing at the beach, but I can't seem to get mine to load. It is incredibly sexual and suggestive; yet still, I am not interested. I am sure you already realized this, but just to add -- the women are not allowed to dance.

While we were in Cairo the harassment was so bad I second guessed my ever wanting to come back and work in Egypt. In Alexandria it is not nearly as bad, but it is annoying when I am dressed much more conservatively than women in hijab and yet I am still called out and hissed just because my head is not covered (good thought, I was totally not interested until you treated me like a piece of meat -- now, of course I would love to marry you) . One of these days, when I am wearing a skirt that passes my knees and a loose t-shirt that doesn't a single curve I am going to totally loose it on some unsuspecting Egyptian guy. While Jake has specifically asked not to be present when it happens, I know at least half a dozen people would pay to watch me verbally drop kick my assaulter.

While I have always remained incredibly skeptical over Hirsi Ali, I find that my mind keeps wandering to the word "caged."

In other news, one of my students -- a very mannered Egyptian guy in his late teens or early twenties came up to me after class yesterday.

"Miss, I was wondering what the word 'promiscuous' means?"
me: umm.. ha... have you been listening to American music?
"yes."
me: Okay. Well. Um. It is Haram. I can't really explain it to you. So haram. It is like sexy. Why don't you Google it, that will give you a better answer than I can.

Promiscous was so much easier to explain to Kathrin and Irene.

ana Amrekeea (أنا أمريكية) and July 4th

It is easily my favorite thing to say in Arabic -- I am American -- and it is so safe to say here (allhumdilliah).

I have decided that if I stick to lessons I am interested in, my kids are interested. When I teach about the things I love (deserts, superheros, and the Middle Ages), we have good days, but when I am trying to explain astronauts and nutrition I struggle.

So, needless to say our Fourth of July lesson was awesome. We talked about the American flag and learned the words stripe, independence, fireworks, parade, and barbeque. My kids are also quite the fans of George Washington now after the reading we did. While they all loved taking home their paper hats for a ''parade,'' the highlight was easily Yankee Doodle. It was great that most of them already knew the words, but I have a precious video of a happy and peaceful chaos striking my classroom while they marched around desks holding onto the lyrics shouting the words at the top of their lungs.

In other news on my love for the great country of ours, I had a pretty spectacular Fourth of July post a rather frustrating beach trip (will save that for another post). We had gone to Cairo so all the LE volunteers were together and we took a rather lengthy cab ride (it could just be the drivers didn't know where we were going) to the British School.

I know, I know -- irony anyone? The American Embassy held its Fourth of July bash at the British School -- and as soon as we got there and I was asked for my passport I was instantly in heaven. I took off the sweater I wore to cover my shoulders and we went to take advantage of the free food: hamburgers, hotdogs, beans, chips, corn, coleslaw... free coca cola... and cake.

That's right cake - we almost didn't discover the cake but we hear someone talking about it and asked them to point us in the right direction. The cake was huge - about six feet in one direction -- and while we ate quite a bit all of us added a side note on how we wish we could have fit more into our stomachs.

I forgot to add the best part - it was free. The food, the drinks - at the end Jake and I each grabbed a couple drinks for the road - free. and that's what's so great about America. They also had a pretty intense raffle (airline tickets, a weekend in Sharm al Sheik), but none of us one.

Sam disappeared for the beer (which, you did have to pay for), and the rest of us sat at a table listening to a live band play jazz and oldies while people danced. Men and woman danced together. I felt like a veil of oppression that had hit me earlier in the day had been lifted and even Steve (our token British guy) enjoyed the event.

The evening closed with Lee Greenwood and the releasing of balloons. Upstairs, the Marines who were selling the alcohol gave me a beer for free... which I put in my purse and is just sitting in Jake and I's fridge. It is a Heineken -- a good beer -- so I wasn't going to say 'no' -- but I am definitely not a beer person.

The thing in, on the train ride heading to Cairo that weekend I realized I could measure my life by my last Fourth of July. I hadn't realized it has been less than a year since I let for South Africa. July Fourth as my last weekend in Raleigh - where I cooked dinner for Rob, Jay, and Matt and then we picked up Kaitlin to get stuck in horrendous traffic and watch fireworks from Hillsbourough Street. After we set off some of our own fireworks (I always seem to have a stash somewhere), I went over and saw Blake and we had maybe our last sincere conversation standing by his yellow bike while Laura White and friends ran around in the parking lot across the street with roman candles. A lot has changed since then.

Kaitlin has been in the Dominican for almost ten months now. I spent four and a half of the last 12 in South Africa -- which feels like years away now. Then there was Switzerland, Germany, and my brusque decision to come here. It is not the traveling that has made me different, but the people and experiences I have encountered along the way. The people that I can count on and who are important to me have changed.

July 4th has been the first time in a long time where I have been able to say "I know who and where I was a year ago." Even though I have spent a good chunk of my last year out of the country, I feel like the one thing that defines me and my wanderlust is that ana Amrekeea.

Putting My Language Skills in Perspective

I just had a very stressful five minutes in the grocery store trying to illustrate to four Egyptian men that I needed salt. While I know the word for pepper (well, at least I think it is felfel), everything I tried seemed only to explain to them that I needed a) tabasco sauce b) french fries or c) ketchup. It took a lot of convincing on my part to let them know that I did not, in fact want ketchup. Egyptians really love their ketchup (the other day I was offered it with my turkey sandwich).

I am just going to have to write off the whole experience and take it as a sign that I need to start working on my Arabic again.

As American as Apple Pie

I put my foot down yesterday and made a decision: I will do a lesson on the Fourth of July. I want to and I will and I don't really care if the Egyptian kids don't know what it is. Lately, my children's class has not known much of anything.

So Jake and I are sitting around talking about the Fourth - and I am entertaining the possibility of doing something with my adults - is there a food I could bring them that is all-American? Out loud I joked that our lack of an oven made apple pie impossible.

"I want some real apple pie," Jake told me.

and when I asked "Compared to what?" he replied with

"McDonalds." (of course)

I remembered a recipe Chelsea Amerando taught me when we were younger - so after our anniversary dinner (which was at Mo'Men, the Egyptian McDonalds with even larger portions), we went hunting for the ingredients: apples, white cake mix, and butter.

It took me about 20 minutes to peel and slice the apple with our oversized and extremely dull knife, but after a few minutes in the microwave we had an interesting concoction. I remember it being better when I was younger, but regardless it satisfied our apple pie craving.

I would also just like to point out that true to form, Jake and I ate at Mo'Men again tonight. This time we ordered kids meals, which, I kid you not: came in boats.

We saved them.... and walking up and down the Cornish carrying them. Perhaps by the time we leave we will have a whole fleet.