A man to whom I tutor English is a big corporate executive. I also called to check in on him as he lived in Maadi and per the news, his neighborhood was under attack of looters. The first time I called his wife answered in a state close to panic. We have never met nor talked before and she anxiously stated: “they (the looters) are here and he (her husband) is down there. They are attacking cars. We have to move.” I tried to help her assess the situation and come up with plans. She calmed enough and we hung up. Again, I just sat and could not imagine. Eventually, I got a hold of him. His sporty, aggressive side kicked in early when he heard the looters approaching. He told me, “Ellen, they were against everything that we stand for and everything that we desire in life for Egypt and our children. They came to destroy our hopes and homes. We caught them and you can’t imagine…” I cut him off there knowing his physique and passion and I said, I don’t really want to imagine but I am glad you and your family are safe. He then laughed and explained that his managerial nature kicked in as he organized phone trees and security shifts and street alarm systems for the whole neighborhood. He is proud to be an Egyptian.
Stories like this abound. I can’t imagine what would happen if Chicago neighborhoods joined together to protect themselves. Of course the situations are different but the solidarity and pride is quite overwhelming.
Monday, February 14, 2011
The first few days....
25 Jan. First day of protest— though no one really knew what to expect. My internship explicitly prohibits participation in political events and demonstrations thus I only have accounts from friends.
My friend Emily and her Egyptian friend went out to the main square on Gamat el Dawal St. in Mohandeseen (a big neighborhood in Cairo). They arrived at 2pm, the supposed start time, to an empty plaza. Within five minutes, still alone in the square, her Egyptian friend started to curse the apathetic nature of Egyptians. And just as the curses started crowds flooded from three subsidiary streets. Hundreds from each direction, chanting, and waving their banners. She said it was just like in the movies!
Two of my Egyptians friends went to Tahrir that night and found amazing displays of solidarity and nationalism. People were beginning to set up camp, others walked around handing out sandwiches and blankets. For the first time that anybody could remember people from all socio-economic classes and men and women sat and chatted. My Egyptian friends said they actually felt a sense of eing Egyptian that night and were proud to be so. My foreign friend and I dually noted the change in sentiment and solidarity.
One of my first undergrad classes focused on the idea of nationalism. What creates a sense of nationalism? Similar language, religion, ethnicity or simply a common government and boundaries. Many Egyptians are proud of the history of their “mother-land” and contributions to society and of course nationalism is high during national soccer (football) matches, but other than that, this abstract concept is rather difficult to define. This Tuesday was a start to a whole new definition here in Egypt.
One of my classmates you could easily call a “protest-junkie.” She lives for this kind of stuff so, of course, she was in the front lines all day. We phoned throughout the day just to make sure we’re still alive and she shared some amazing stories. She emerged from the metro just as police started throwing tear gas. She said it stung like hell but she didn’t pass out! (there’s always a positive!)
As people started throwing rocks, the surrounding Egyptian men picked her up and threw her over the barricade to protect her. In Cairo usually the only time a man touches a women on the street is for his own pleasure. Not only had she been smashed against them with no groping but they had protected her. Quite a change of events in and of itself. She recounted that one of the most amazing moments however was during the rock fight during the call to prayer. (All mosques have loud speakers from which a man sings/chants five times a day throughout the entire city). She said the prayer started and all protestors immediately stopped throwing rocks to form prayer lines on the street. As they were praying, the police stood w/ arms cocked and loaded. Rather caught of guard, of course they couldn’t throw a rock at people praying!
She has some amazing pics and stories of a life time.
That Tuesday, not knowing what to expect and prohibited from participating, I had left my apt in the early morning and spent the day in Nasr City, a quiet neighborhood on the developing edge of Cairo. Seeing how things were still unpredictable I watched BBC all night w/ my British friend in her out-of-the-way apartment. Wed. morning I taxied home through eerily normal streets. I heard through news and friends that police descended and tear gassed the peaceful protesters around 1am.
Wed. 26
The city felt on edge all day. The unprecedented events and moments of nationalism had been physically cleared by the police earlier that morning, yet the mental images were still raw. That day I went for coffee with a new friend and did some errands. Everybody walked the streets with a bit of hesitation. It was just an awkward day.
Thurs. 27
Thursday morning was about the same. I took a long walk to Zamalek, an island in the middle of Cairo, and had lunch w/ a friend. That night a group of us even went out for a drink. Again it felt like a day in waiting with most discussions focused on hypothesizing scenarios for Egypt to come. Word was that Friday, after prayer, was going to be powerful and most likely violent.
Friday 28
My apartment is two blocks from Tahrir and on direct route to the Ministry of the Interior. I didn’t want to get stuck and nobody knew what to expect. So, contrary to cultural traditions, my friend Amr arranged that I stay with his family. I got up early Friday morning to make the family some cookies, took a shower then taxied to Nasr City. Not completely ready to just arrive at his house especially knowing that there were all to pray, I told him that I’d call him from Starbucks.
I arrived at Starbucks, bought a latte and settled in to read. I waited, intentionally about 45 minutes, then called. There was no network. Facebook, twitter and other electronic social networks were intermittent since Tuesday and now down as internet had been out all morning. To cut off all mobile communication was rather shocking.
It was 11am, things were supposed to erupt slightly after 12. People with scarves wrapped around their necks, big glasses on their head whispered in excitement of protests. Amr was sleeping- he usually sleeps through the mid-afternoon on Fridays. I had no network, no address and couldn’t return home. I sat, breathed and waited in hesitant confidence that Amr would come and get me.
Luckily, within 15 min, he came and my slowly growing anxiety subsided.
While it started peaceful, things did erupt on Friday. Friends walked from Nasr City and Heliopolis to downtown (about a 1.5hr walk).
We watched T.V. news from Aena wa Gedu’s (Grandma and Grandpa’s) house all evening. It was only in Arabic so I had rather sparse comprehension of all the events. Still no phones or internet. We saw images of political buildings on fire. The military was called in and they were rather received as friends of the people and foes of the police. Rumors started that the police began to release prisoners from the prisons to wreak more havoc on the protesters and the city itself.
No internet, no cell phones. Luckily, I had a new “family” and was safe. I had no ideas about my classmates and co-workers…
Saturday morning I woke around 10 with cell phone reception. Ahumdililah! Calls in and out came quickly as I took inventory of my friends. Maggie had decided to stay in her apartment just above the Ministry of Interior, she was all but stuck in her apartment and passed a night filled with sounds and images of war. Rosa had been shot three times with pellets, and tear gassed but overall was ok. Most were making plans to evacuate.
Amr and I went to Spinneys (like Target- kind of) to stock up on supplies and food for the family. It was a mad house. As we started our shopping at 1pm they announced that they were closing for security reasons. We stood in the check out line for over an hour. People looked tense and tired- already. Mini- fights broke out in lines as people pushed to pay and get back home. The way home was tense. All shops were closed. Some barred. The heavy pollution only added to the anxious scene. People were practically standing in the middle of the road looking for a taxi or micro-bus to take them home. There was no calm before the storm.
We arrived home around 3:30 to find that a curfew from 4pm to 8 am. Again, a new experience.
Getting intense…
Saturday night was probably the most intense. I tired as much as possible to stay in contact with Maggie and Rosa. I’ve never been so grateful for phone reception. Rosa saw four people shot and killed right in front of her. Then she came home and the building across from ours was in flames. The next morning it was flooded as a water main had broken.
That night I called Rosa at least every hour. She was alone in the apt, building around were on fire and the street below was a literal war zone and she couldn’t make outgoing calls.
I talked to Maggie also about every hour. At one point our conversation was interrupted by a knock on her door. It was a police man only half in uniform, he came to beg for civilian clothes and few pounds to escape the area. For her security she refused to open the door but as she looked out the window she saw police men taking off their uniforms on the street and fleeing.
For part of the night, Amr and I just sat on the couch, not knowing what else to do. CNN and BBC only reported that Tahrir Sq was finally peaceful and the crowds were plentiful. They paid NO attention to the raging war that was happening just two blocks away! Rocks, bullets, tanks, military, police, civilians. Shops being looted and who knew if/when our building would catch fire too.
Maggie called and said that shooting from the inside the Ministry had stopped and angry protestors were pushing forward. Just then Amr got a call from a university friend who was a Captain in the police force and inside the Ministry. He called to say that they were almost completely out of ammunition and that protestors were advancing. Maggie watched them advance. Amr’s friend said good-bye…
We both hung up and just sat. There are two sides to every battle. I can’t say that I’ve had the best experience with police in Egypt. At the same time I understand that for many in was a form of employment. They were young men trying to help feed their families…
My friend Emily and her Egyptian friend went out to the main square on Gamat el Dawal St. in Mohandeseen (a big neighborhood in Cairo). They arrived at 2pm, the supposed start time, to an empty plaza. Within five minutes, still alone in the square, her Egyptian friend started to curse the apathetic nature of Egyptians. And just as the curses started crowds flooded from three subsidiary streets. Hundreds from each direction, chanting, and waving their banners. She said it was just like in the movies!
Two of my Egyptians friends went to Tahrir that night and found amazing displays of solidarity and nationalism. People were beginning to set up camp, others walked around handing out sandwiches and blankets. For the first time that anybody could remember people from all socio-economic classes and men and women sat and chatted. My Egyptian friends said they actually felt a sense of eing Egyptian that night and were proud to be so. My foreign friend and I dually noted the change in sentiment and solidarity.
One of my first undergrad classes focused on the idea of nationalism. What creates a sense of nationalism? Similar language, religion, ethnicity or simply a common government and boundaries. Many Egyptians are proud of the history of their “mother-land” and contributions to society and of course nationalism is high during national soccer (football) matches, but other than that, this abstract concept is rather difficult to define. This Tuesday was a start to a whole new definition here in Egypt.
One of my classmates you could easily call a “protest-junkie.” She lives for this kind of stuff so, of course, she was in the front lines all day. We phoned throughout the day just to make sure we’re still alive and she shared some amazing stories. She emerged from the metro just as police started throwing tear gas. She said it stung like hell but she didn’t pass out! (there’s always a positive!)
As people started throwing rocks, the surrounding Egyptian men picked her up and threw her over the barricade to protect her. In Cairo usually the only time a man touches a women on the street is for his own pleasure. Not only had she been smashed against them with no groping but they had protected her. Quite a change of events in and of itself. She recounted that one of the most amazing moments however was during the rock fight during the call to prayer. (All mosques have loud speakers from which a man sings/chants five times a day throughout the entire city). She said the prayer started and all protestors immediately stopped throwing rocks to form prayer lines on the street. As they were praying, the police stood w/ arms cocked and loaded. Rather caught of guard, of course they couldn’t throw a rock at people praying!
She has some amazing pics and stories of a life time.
That Tuesday, not knowing what to expect and prohibited from participating, I had left my apt in the early morning and spent the day in Nasr City, a quiet neighborhood on the developing edge of Cairo. Seeing how things were still unpredictable I watched BBC all night w/ my British friend in her out-of-the-way apartment. Wed. morning I taxied home through eerily normal streets. I heard through news and friends that police descended and tear gassed the peaceful protesters around 1am.
Wed. 26
The city felt on edge all day. The unprecedented events and moments of nationalism had been physically cleared by the police earlier that morning, yet the mental images were still raw. That day I went for coffee with a new friend and did some errands. Everybody walked the streets with a bit of hesitation. It was just an awkward day.
Thurs. 27
Thursday morning was about the same. I took a long walk to Zamalek, an island in the middle of Cairo, and had lunch w/ a friend. That night a group of us even went out for a drink. Again it felt like a day in waiting with most discussions focused on hypothesizing scenarios for Egypt to come. Word was that Friday, after prayer, was going to be powerful and most likely violent.
Friday 28
My apartment is two blocks from Tahrir and on direct route to the Ministry of the Interior. I didn’t want to get stuck and nobody knew what to expect. So, contrary to cultural traditions, my friend Amr arranged that I stay with his family. I got up early Friday morning to make the family some cookies, took a shower then taxied to Nasr City. Not completely ready to just arrive at his house especially knowing that there were all to pray, I told him that I’d call him from Starbucks.
I arrived at Starbucks, bought a latte and settled in to read. I waited, intentionally about 45 minutes, then called. There was no network. Facebook, twitter and other electronic social networks were intermittent since Tuesday and now down as internet had been out all morning. To cut off all mobile communication was rather shocking.
It was 11am, things were supposed to erupt slightly after 12. People with scarves wrapped around their necks, big glasses on their head whispered in excitement of protests. Amr was sleeping- he usually sleeps through the mid-afternoon on Fridays. I had no network, no address and couldn’t return home. I sat, breathed and waited in hesitant confidence that Amr would come and get me.
Luckily, within 15 min, he came and my slowly growing anxiety subsided.
While it started peaceful, things did erupt on Friday. Friends walked from Nasr City and Heliopolis to downtown (about a 1.5hr walk).
We watched T.V. news from Aena wa Gedu’s (Grandma and Grandpa’s) house all evening. It was only in Arabic so I had rather sparse comprehension of all the events. Still no phones or internet. We saw images of political buildings on fire. The military was called in and they were rather received as friends of the people and foes of the police. Rumors started that the police began to release prisoners from the prisons to wreak more havoc on the protesters and the city itself.
No internet, no cell phones. Luckily, I had a new “family” and was safe. I had no ideas about my classmates and co-workers…
Saturday morning I woke around 10 with cell phone reception. Ahumdililah! Calls in and out came quickly as I took inventory of my friends. Maggie had decided to stay in her apartment just above the Ministry of Interior, she was all but stuck in her apartment and passed a night filled with sounds and images of war. Rosa had been shot three times with pellets, and tear gassed but overall was ok. Most were making plans to evacuate.
Amr and I went to Spinneys (like Target- kind of) to stock up on supplies and food for the family. It was a mad house. As we started our shopping at 1pm they announced that they were closing for security reasons. We stood in the check out line for over an hour. People looked tense and tired- already. Mini- fights broke out in lines as people pushed to pay and get back home. The way home was tense. All shops were closed. Some barred. The heavy pollution only added to the anxious scene. People were practically standing in the middle of the road looking for a taxi or micro-bus to take them home. There was no calm before the storm.
We arrived home around 3:30 to find that a curfew from 4pm to 8 am. Again, a new experience.
Getting intense…
Saturday night was probably the most intense. I tired as much as possible to stay in contact with Maggie and Rosa. I’ve never been so grateful for phone reception. Rosa saw four people shot and killed right in front of her. Then she came home and the building across from ours was in flames. The next morning it was flooded as a water main had broken.
That night I called Rosa at least every hour. She was alone in the apt, building around were on fire and the street below was a literal war zone and she couldn’t make outgoing calls.
I talked to Maggie also about every hour. At one point our conversation was interrupted by a knock on her door. It was a police man only half in uniform, he came to beg for civilian clothes and few pounds to escape the area. For her security she refused to open the door but as she looked out the window she saw police men taking off their uniforms on the street and fleeing.
For part of the night, Amr and I just sat on the couch, not knowing what else to do. CNN and BBC only reported that Tahrir Sq was finally peaceful and the crowds were plentiful. They paid NO attention to the raging war that was happening just two blocks away! Rocks, bullets, tanks, military, police, civilians. Shops being looted and who knew if/when our building would catch fire too.
Maggie called and said that shooting from the inside the Ministry had stopped and angry protestors were pushing forward. Just then Amr got a call from a university friend who was a Captain in the police force and inside the Ministry. He called to say that they were almost completely out of ammunition and that protestors were advancing. Maggie watched them advance. Amr’s friend said good-bye…
We both hung up and just sat. There are two sides to every battle. I can’t say that I’ve had the best experience with police in Egypt. At the same time I understand that for many in was a form of employment. They were young men trying to help feed their families…
The first few days....
25 Jan. First day of protest— though no one really knew what to expect. My internship explicitly prohibits participation in political events and demonstrations thus I only have accounts from friends.
My friend Emily her Egyptian friend went out to the main square on Gamat el Dawal St. in Mohandeseen (a big neighborhood in Cairo). They arrived at 2pm, the supposed start time, to an empty plaza. Within five minutes, still alone in the square, her Egyptian friend started to curse the apathetic nature of Egyptians. And just as the curses started crowds flooded from three subsidiary streets. Hundreds from each direction, chanting, and waving their banners. She said it was just like in the movies!
Two of my Egyptians friends went to Tahrir that night and found amazing displays of solidarity and nationalism. People were beginning to set up camp, others walked around handing out sandwiches and blankets. For the first time that anybody could remember people from all socio-economic classes and men and women sat and chatted. My Egyptian friends said they actually felt a sense of eing Egyptian that night and were proud to be so. My foreign friend and I dually noted the change in sentiment and solidarity.
One of my first undergrad classes focused on the idea of nationalism. What creates a sense of nationalism? Similar language, religion, ethnicity or simply a common government and boundaries. Many Egyptians are proud of the history of their “mother-land” and contributions to society and of course nationalism is high during national soccer (football) matches, but other than that, this abstract concept is rather difficult to define. This Tuesday was a start to a whole new definition here in Egypt.
One of my classmates you could easily call a “protest-junkie.” She lives for this kind of stuff so, of course, she was in the front lines all day. We phoned throughout the day just to make sure we’re still alive and she shared some amazing stories. She emerged from the metro just as police started throwing tear gas. She said it stung like hell but she didn’t pass out! (there’s always a positive!)
As people started throwing rocks, the surrounding Egyptian men picked her up and threw her over the barricade to protect her. In Cairo usually the only time a man touches a women on the street is for his own pleasure. Not only had she been smashed against them with no groping but they had protected her. Quite a change of events in and of itself. She recounted that one of the most amazing moments however was during the rock fight during the call to prayer. (All mosques have loud speakers from which a man sings/chants five times a day throughout the entire city). She said the prayer started and all protestors immediately stopped throwing rocks to form prayer lines on the street. As they were praying, the police stood w/ arms cocked and loaded. Rather caught of guard, of course they couldn’t throw a rock at people praying!
She has some amazing pics and stories of a life time.
That Tuesday, not knowing what to expect and prohibited from participating, I had left my apt in the early morning and spent the day in Nasr City, a quiet neighborhood on the developing edge of Cairo. Seeing how things were still unpredictable I watched BBC all night w/ my British friend in her out-of-the-way apartment. Wed. morning I taxied home through eerily normal streets. I heard through news and friends that police descended and tear gassed the peaceful protesters around 1am.
Wed. 26
The city felt on edge all day. The unprecedented events and moments of nationalism had been physically cleared by the police earlier that morning, yet the mental images were still raw. That day I went for coffee with a new friend and did some errands. Everybody walked the streets with a bit of hesitation. It was just an awkward day.
Thurs. 27
Thursday morning was about the same. I took a long walk to Zamalek, an island in the middle of Cairo, and had lunch w/ a friend. That night a group of us even went out for a drink. Again it felt like a day in waiting with most discussions focused on hypothesizing scenarios for Egypt to come. Word was that Friday, after prayer, was going to be powerful and most likely violent.
Friday 28
My apartment is two blocks from Tahrir and on direct route to the Ministry of the Interior. I didn’t want to get stuck and nobody knew what to expect. So, contrary to cultural traditions, my friend Amr arranged that I stay with his family. I got up early Friday morning to make the family some cookies, took a shower then taxied to Nasr City. Not completely ready to just arrive at his house especially knowing that there were all to pray, I told him that I’d call him from Starbucks.
I arrived at Starbucks, bought a latte and settled in to read. I waited, intentionally about 45 minutes, then called. There was no network. Facebook, twitter and other electronic social networks were intermittent since Tuesday and now down as internet had been out all morning. To cut off all mobile communication was rather shocking.
It was 11am, things were supposed to erupt slightly after 12. People with scarves wrapped around their necks, big glasses on their head whispered in excitement of protests. Amr was sleeping- he usually sleeps through the mid-afternoon on Fridays. I had no network, no address and couldn’t return home. I sat, breathed and waited in hesitant confidence that Amr would come and get me.
Luckily, within 15 min, he came and my slowly growing anxiety subsided.
While it started peaceful, things did erupt on Friday. Friends walked from Nasr City and Heliopolis to downtown (about a 1.5hr walk).
We watched T.V. news from Aena wa Gedu’s (Grandma and Grandpa’s) house all evening. It was only in Arabic so I had rather sparse comprehension of all the events. Still no phones or internet. We saw images of political buildings on fire. The military was called in and they were rather received as friends of the people and foes of the police. Rumors started that the police began to release prisoners from the prisons to wreak more havoc on the protesters and the city itself.
No internet, no cell phones. Luckily, I had a new “family” and was safe. I had no ideas about my classmates and co-workers…
Saturday morning I woke around 10 with cell phone reception. Ahumdililah! Calls in and out came quickly as I took inventory of my friends. Maggie had decided to stay in her apartment just above the Ministry of Interior, she was all but stuck in her apartment and passed a night filled with sounds and images of war. Rosa had been shot three times with pellets, and tear gassed but overall was ok. Most were making plans to evacuate.
Amr and I went to Spinneys (like Target- kind of) to stock up on supplies and food for the family. It was a mad house. As we started our shopping at 1pm they announced that they were closing for security reasons. We stood in the check out line for over an hour. People looked tense and tired- already. Mini- fights broke out in lines as people pushed to pay and get back home. The way home was tense. All shops were closed. Some barred. The heavy pollution only added to the anxious scene. People were practically standing in the middle of the road looking for a taxi or micro-bus to take them home. There was no calm before the storm.
We arrived home around 3:30 to find that a curfew from 4pm to 8 am. Again, a new experience.
Getting intense…
Saturday night was probably the most intense. I tired as much as possible to stay in contact with Maggie and Rosa. I’ve never been so grateful for phone reception. Rosa saw four people shot and killed right in front of her. Then she came home and the building across from ours was in flames. The next morning it was flooded as a water main had broken.
That night I called Rosa at least every hour. She was alone in the apt, building around were on fire and the street below was a literal war zone and she couldn’t make outgoing calls.
I talked to Maggie also about every hour. At one point our conversation was interrupted by a knock on her door. It was a police man only half in uniform, he came to beg for civilian clothes and few pounds to escape the area. For her security she refused to open the door but as she looked out the window she saw police men taking off their uniforms on the street and fleeing.
For part of the night, Amr and I just sat on the couch, not knowing what else to do. CNN and BBC only reported that Tahrir Sq was finally peaceful and the crowds were plentiful. They paid NO attention to the raging war that was happening just two blocks away! Rocks, bullets, tanks, military, police, civilians. Shops being looted and who knew if/when our building would catch fire too.
Maggie called and said that shooting from the inside the Ministry had stopped and angry protestors were pushing forward. Just then Amr got a call from a university friend who was a Captain in the police force and inside the Ministry. He called to say that they were almost completely out of ammunition and that protestors were advancing. Maggie watched them advance. Amr’s friend said good-bye…
We both hung up and just sat. There are two sides to every battle. I can’t say that I’ve had the best experience with police in Egypt. At the same time I understand that for many in was a form of employment. They were young men trying to help feed their families…
My friend Emily her Egyptian friend went out to the main square on Gamat el Dawal St. in Mohandeseen (a big neighborhood in Cairo). They arrived at 2pm, the supposed start time, to an empty plaza. Within five minutes, still alone in the square, her Egyptian friend started to curse the apathetic nature of Egyptians. And just as the curses started crowds flooded from three subsidiary streets. Hundreds from each direction, chanting, and waving their banners. She said it was just like in the movies!
Two of my Egyptians friends went to Tahrir that night and found amazing displays of solidarity and nationalism. People were beginning to set up camp, others walked around handing out sandwiches and blankets. For the first time that anybody could remember people from all socio-economic classes and men and women sat and chatted. My Egyptian friends said they actually felt a sense of eing Egyptian that night and were proud to be so. My foreign friend and I dually noted the change in sentiment and solidarity.
One of my first undergrad classes focused on the idea of nationalism. What creates a sense of nationalism? Similar language, religion, ethnicity or simply a common government and boundaries. Many Egyptians are proud of the history of their “mother-land” and contributions to society and of course nationalism is high during national soccer (football) matches, but other than that, this abstract concept is rather difficult to define. This Tuesday was a start to a whole new definition here in Egypt.
One of my classmates you could easily call a “protest-junkie.” She lives for this kind of stuff so, of course, she was in the front lines all day. We phoned throughout the day just to make sure we’re still alive and she shared some amazing stories. She emerged from the metro just as police started throwing tear gas. She said it stung like hell but she didn’t pass out! (there’s always a positive!)
As people started throwing rocks, the surrounding Egyptian men picked her up and threw her over the barricade to protect her. In Cairo usually the only time a man touches a women on the street is for his own pleasure. Not only had she been smashed against them with no groping but they had protected her. Quite a change of events in and of itself. She recounted that one of the most amazing moments however was during the rock fight during the call to prayer. (All mosques have loud speakers from which a man sings/chants five times a day throughout the entire city). She said the prayer started and all protestors immediately stopped throwing rocks to form prayer lines on the street. As they were praying, the police stood w/ arms cocked and loaded. Rather caught of guard, of course they couldn’t throw a rock at people praying!
She has some amazing pics and stories of a life time.
That Tuesday, not knowing what to expect and prohibited from participating, I had left my apt in the early morning and spent the day in Nasr City, a quiet neighborhood on the developing edge of Cairo. Seeing how things were still unpredictable I watched BBC all night w/ my British friend in her out-of-the-way apartment. Wed. morning I taxied home through eerily normal streets. I heard through news and friends that police descended and tear gassed the peaceful protesters around 1am.
Wed. 26
The city felt on edge all day. The unprecedented events and moments of nationalism had been physically cleared by the police earlier that morning, yet the mental images were still raw. That day I went for coffee with a new friend and did some errands. Everybody walked the streets with a bit of hesitation. It was just an awkward day.
Thurs. 27
Thursday morning was about the same. I took a long walk to Zamalek, an island in the middle of Cairo, and had lunch w/ a friend. That night a group of us even went out for a drink. Again it felt like a day in waiting with most discussions focused on hypothesizing scenarios for Egypt to come. Word was that Friday, after prayer, was going to be powerful and most likely violent.
Friday 28
My apartment is two blocks from Tahrir and on direct route to the Ministry of the Interior. I didn’t want to get stuck and nobody knew what to expect. So, contrary to cultural traditions, my friend Amr arranged that I stay with his family. I got up early Friday morning to make the family some cookies, took a shower then taxied to Nasr City. Not completely ready to just arrive at his house especially knowing that there were all to pray, I told him that I’d call him from Starbucks.
I arrived at Starbucks, bought a latte and settled in to read. I waited, intentionally about 45 minutes, then called. There was no network. Facebook, twitter and other electronic social networks were intermittent since Tuesday and now down as internet had been out all morning. To cut off all mobile communication was rather shocking.
It was 11am, things were supposed to erupt slightly after 12. People with scarves wrapped around their necks, big glasses on their head whispered in excitement of protests. Amr was sleeping- he usually sleeps through the mid-afternoon on Fridays. I had no network, no address and couldn’t return home. I sat, breathed and waited in hesitant confidence that Amr would come and get me.
Luckily, within 15 min, he came and my slowly growing anxiety subsided.
While it started peaceful, things did erupt on Friday. Friends walked from Nasr City and Heliopolis to downtown (about a 1.5hr walk).
We watched T.V. news from Aena wa Gedu’s (Grandma and Grandpa’s) house all evening. It was only in Arabic so I had rather sparse comprehension of all the events. Still no phones or internet. We saw images of political buildings on fire. The military was called in and they were rather received as friends of the people and foes of the police. Rumors started that the police began to release prisoners from the prisons to wreak more havoc on the protesters and the city itself.
No internet, no cell phones. Luckily, I had a new “family” and was safe. I had no ideas about my classmates and co-workers…
Saturday morning I woke around 10 with cell phone reception. Ahumdililah! Calls in and out came quickly as I took inventory of my friends. Maggie had decided to stay in her apartment just above the Ministry of Interior, she was all but stuck in her apartment and passed a night filled with sounds and images of war. Rosa had been shot three times with pellets, and tear gassed but overall was ok. Most were making plans to evacuate.
Amr and I went to Spinneys (like Target- kind of) to stock up on supplies and food for the family. It was a mad house. As we started our shopping at 1pm they announced that they were closing for security reasons. We stood in the check out line for over an hour. People looked tense and tired- already. Mini- fights broke out in lines as people pushed to pay and get back home. The way home was tense. All shops were closed. Some barred. The heavy pollution only added to the anxious scene. People were practically standing in the middle of the road looking for a taxi or micro-bus to take them home. There was no calm before the storm.
We arrived home around 3:30 to find that a curfew from 4pm to 8 am. Again, a new experience.
Getting intense…
Saturday night was probably the most intense. I tired as much as possible to stay in contact with Maggie and Rosa. I’ve never been so grateful for phone reception. Rosa saw four people shot and killed right in front of her. Then she came home and the building across from ours was in flames. The next morning it was flooded as a water main had broken.
That night I called Rosa at least every hour. She was alone in the apt, building around were on fire and the street below was a literal war zone and she couldn’t make outgoing calls.
I talked to Maggie also about every hour. At one point our conversation was interrupted by a knock on her door. It was a police man only half in uniform, he came to beg for civilian clothes and few pounds to escape the area. For her security she refused to open the door but as she looked out the window she saw police men taking off their uniforms on the street and fleeing.
For part of the night, Amr and I just sat on the couch, not knowing what else to do. CNN and BBC only reported that Tahrir Sq was finally peaceful and the crowds were plentiful. They paid NO attention to the raging war that was happening just two blocks away! Rocks, bullets, tanks, military, police, civilians. Shops being looted and who knew if/when our building would catch fire too.
Maggie called and said that shooting from the inside the Ministry had stopped and angry protestors were pushing forward. Just then Amr got a call from a university friend who was a Captain in the police force and inside the Ministry. He called to say that they were almost completely out of ammunition and that protestors were advancing. Maggie watched them advance. Amr’s friend said good-bye…
We both hung up and just sat. There are two sides to every battle. I can’t say that I’ve had the best experience with police in Egypt. At the same time I understand that for many in was a form of employment. They were young men trying to help feed their families…
Friday, February 4, 2011
Egypt
I’ve tried for three days now to start an entry – I don’t really know how or where to start. So much as happened, so much remains uncertain. Sounds cliché.
Facts of the situation:
Egypt is in great turmoil.
I am safe and have been safe from the beginning.
My apartment is two blocks from Tahrir Sq (the main place of action) and has been on CNN numerous times. It is also the direct route the Ministry of the Interior, a target the first few days. Knowing this and the unpredictability of life in Egypt, I left my house last Friday morning .
I am staying with my Egyptian friend and his family in a safe and relatively quiet neighborhood.
I am intending on staying it through. A lot goes into this decision but I promise that I will be more responsible than stubborn.
Your prayers and support for all involved are a appreciated more than I can express!
If you haven’t been following the unprecedented and amazing coverage of the situation, you can find a wealth of info at CNN, BBC and please check out Al-Jazeera English. Especially in the past few days I have never been more impressed and grateful to courage and persistence of reporters. They are true heroes!
My roommate Rosa has been in the thick of things from day one. She has been shot multiple times (w/ pellet guns), tear gassed more than a couple of times, stuck in our apt one night as she watched the building across the street go into flames, and just last night she was detained and interrogated by Egyptian Security forces for 6+ hours. I think that finally scared her into retreat, but I’ve said it before so we’ll see how long she’ll stay put! While many of you may think this is absolutely crazy- you’re right, it’s not the life for everybody- at the same time she’s capturing some amazing things and is helping in anyway possible. Please keep her and all other risking their lives to bring a positive change. As soon as she blogs, I’ll pass along the site for more front-line news.
I will admit that I have not seen any direct action. My job contractually prohibits me from participating in any political events- for the safety of the refugees. Thus for the sake of my job and the security of my refugee friends, despite my desires, I did not participate in the first few days of protest. Then as things have turned uglier, in the past few days, it is evident that this in not my fight and I would be much more of a burden than a help w/ my blue eyes and lack of Arabic. My status as a female-foreigner, my current location away from downtown, and the eye’s of my friend’s family have made me all but dependent on the moves of my male-Egyptian friends to do anything or go anywhere. (Needless to say I’ve mastered the tight-jawed smile that really says “I don’t agree at all but urgh, I have to.”)
In one way, I struggle with embarrassment and shame about my retreat as I desire to work in conflict areas and disaster relief. At the same time, I must humble myself to realize that while I fully believe in human rights, this is not my fight. And as previously stated, I could quickly become much more of a burden than a help. I have resolved myself to do what I can in terms of moral support to refugee communities in my proximity for the time being.
Refugees are also at extreme risk because of deeply entrenched racist attitudes and general security issues in Egypt; not to mention, many of them fled their countries because of similar unrest and they simply do not wish to live it again. So, many of them have been locked in their houses for the past 8 days. There are a number of single mothers who are particularly afraid, for obvious reasons. To compound problems, many people in Egypt get paid at the end of the month- this did not happen in January, so money is very scarce. Thus the beginning of this week my friend and I drove around near-by neighborhoods to drop off cash and make friendly home visits.
I'm still working out specifics of other aid projects...more to come...we'll be in touch! ;)
I intend on writing more as emotions and internet allow, so feel free to stay posted. This country is filled with amazing stories and demonstrations of hope, democracy and solidarity. The news reports of Egyptians picking up trash on the streets. In Egypt, as in many other developing countries, trash is a daily part of life and people rarely think twice about it. Well, apparently the people are sick of trash. Please keep spreading the word of this amazing movement and show of what people can do in solidarity.
Facts of the situation:
Egypt is in great turmoil.
I am safe and have been safe from the beginning.
My apartment is two blocks from Tahrir Sq (the main place of action) and has been on CNN numerous times. It is also the direct route the Ministry of the Interior, a target the first few days. Knowing this and the unpredictability of life in Egypt, I left my house last Friday morning .
I am staying with my Egyptian friend and his family in a safe and relatively quiet neighborhood.
I am intending on staying it through. A lot goes into this decision but I promise that I will be more responsible than stubborn.
Your prayers and support for all involved are a appreciated more than I can express!
If you haven’t been following the unprecedented and amazing coverage of the situation, you can find a wealth of info at CNN, BBC and please check out Al-Jazeera English. Especially in the past few days I have never been more impressed and grateful to courage and persistence of reporters. They are true heroes!
My roommate Rosa has been in the thick of things from day one. She has been shot multiple times (w/ pellet guns), tear gassed more than a couple of times, stuck in our apt one night as she watched the building across the street go into flames, and just last night she was detained and interrogated by Egyptian Security forces for 6+ hours. I think that finally scared her into retreat, but I’ve said it before so we’ll see how long she’ll stay put! While many of you may think this is absolutely crazy- you’re right, it’s not the life for everybody- at the same time she’s capturing some amazing things and is helping in anyway possible. Please keep her and all other risking their lives to bring a positive change. As soon as she blogs, I’ll pass along the site for more front-line news.
I will admit that I have not seen any direct action. My job contractually prohibits me from participating in any political events- for the safety of the refugees. Thus for the sake of my job and the security of my refugee friends, despite my desires, I did not participate in the first few days of protest. Then as things have turned uglier, in the past few days, it is evident that this in not my fight and I would be much more of a burden than a help w/ my blue eyes and lack of Arabic. My status as a female-foreigner, my current location away from downtown, and the eye’s of my friend’s family have made me all but dependent on the moves of my male-Egyptian friends to do anything or go anywhere. (Needless to say I’ve mastered the tight-jawed smile that really says “I don’t agree at all but urgh, I have to.”)
In one way, I struggle with embarrassment and shame about my retreat as I desire to work in conflict areas and disaster relief. At the same time, I must humble myself to realize that while I fully believe in human rights, this is not my fight. And as previously stated, I could quickly become much more of a burden than a help. I have resolved myself to do what I can in terms of moral support to refugee communities in my proximity for the time being.
Refugees are also at extreme risk because of deeply entrenched racist attitudes and general security issues in Egypt; not to mention, many of them fled their countries because of similar unrest and they simply do not wish to live it again. So, many of them have been locked in their houses for the past 8 days. There are a number of single mothers who are particularly afraid, for obvious reasons. To compound problems, many people in Egypt get paid at the end of the month- this did not happen in January, so money is very scarce. Thus the beginning of this week my friend and I drove around near-by neighborhoods to drop off cash and make friendly home visits.
I'm still working out specifics of other aid projects...more to come...we'll be in touch! ;)
I intend on writing more as emotions and internet allow, so feel free to stay posted. This country is filled with amazing stories and demonstrations of hope, democracy and solidarity. The news reports of Egyptians picking up trash on the streets. In Egypt, as in many other developing countries, trash is a daily part of life and people rarely think twice about it. Well, apparently the people are sick of trash. Please keep spreading the word of this amazing movement and show of what people can do in solidarity.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
humanity
On January 9, 2010 Sudan will vote on a referendum that could split the country North and South. The North, the seat of the government, has already threatened that the South will never be independent. The South, a land of different religion, language, and culture from the North has suffered long enough from the North and strives for independence. Sudan hosts the longest civil war in history. The location and motive of war has shifted throughout the decades; it currently resides in Darfur. Needless to say, this will not be a peaceful event whatever the outcome.
Many of the people I work with on a daily basis are from Sudan and have escaped its claws for a number of reasons. Torture, rape, destruction, death, they have out ran it. Now, they sit just a short plane ride away, in Cairo, in sickening anticipation of what awaits their family, friends and homes.
This morning in class at the training institute we addressed the pending referendum and the expectations of further forced migration. UNHCR- Egypt (United Nations High Commission for Refugees) is expecting about 20,000 new “migrants.” History shows it could easily be 2 million displaced. We are planning for a crisis. How do you plan for a crisis? How do you plan for death, destruction and desperation?
UNHCR in Egypt, Uganda, Kenya (all neighboring countries to Sudan) are meeting regularly to budget and plan for food, medical assistance, possible camp sites. Dr. Nancy, part of the negotiations, speaks very pragmatically about it. She’s been there done that before; it’s all part of disaster response. Yet we sit in a circle of chairs a mixture of Sudanese, Eritreans, Ethiopians, Iraqis, Somalis and I…they have all been through this before personally. You can tell hearts are beginning to beat faster as people start to shift in their chairs; rotating between twisting their hands or sitting on them. Feet start to cross and uncross, repeatedly. Then hands go to eyes and heads as the anticipation overflows into tears. Of the 22 trainees, 4 still have family in South Sudan, 3-4 others are from neighboring areas of Nuba Mountains or Darfur. What’s going to happen to their families? Can they get out in time? Many of the team members here do not have the proper documents to go and help, even to the border, thus they must sit and watch…
The heart of psychosocial work is realizing people’s basic needs and that people are intrinsically very pragmatic. The conversation shifts from what options might be to what can we do and how should we prepare…it’s a heavy morning. It’s going to be a tense next few months.
On a similar note, I just found out that my darling pal Lucy, with whom I shared life in Senegal (and can be seen in previous blogs) will be stationed at the heart of the vote where the country divides North and South. After Senegal, she took a post with the World Food Project to provide humanitarian assistance through emergency food delivery in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). She has since climbed to be base manager and recently was given the “opportunity” to serve in Sudan for the referendum. Yes, this sounds crazy to many of you however, these people will need food and she has been called to help deliver it. She and they will need your thoughts and prayers.
Overall, I don’t know what to say except that humanity can be disgustingly greedy and achingly inhumane. I am sickened by the fact that we are preparing for a man made disaster. On the other hand, collections of good hearts will struggle through the ugly to reinstall whatever humanity we can. Even if you’re not called to be part of the direct action, please pray and/or send good energies to Sudan and those serving in and around it during the next few months. Truly, it doesn’t matter if you’re Muslim, Christian, black or white…no human deserves this.
Many of the people I work with on a daily basis are from Sudan and have escaped its claws for a number of reasons. Torture, rape, destruction, death, they have out ran it. Now, they sit just a short plane ride away, in Cairo, in sickening anticipation of what awaits their family, friends and homes.
This morning in class at the training institute we addressed the pending referendum and the expectations of further forced migration. UNHCR- Egypt (United Nations High Commission for Refugees) is expecting about 20,000 new “migrants.” History shows it could easily be 2 million displaced. We are planning for a crisis. How do you plan for a crisis? How do you plan for death, destruction and desperation?
UNHCR in Egypt, Uganda, Kenya (all neighboring countries to Sudan) are meeting regularly to budget and plan for food, medical assistance, possible camp sites. Dr. Nancy, part of the negotiations, speaks very pragmatically about it. She’s been there done that before; it’s all part of disaster response. Yet we sit in a circle of chairs a mixture of Sudanese, Eritreans, Ethiopians, Iraqis, Somalis and I…they have all been through this before personally. You can tell hearts are beginning to beat faster as people start to shift in their chairs; rotating between twisting their hands or sitting on them. Feet start to cross and uncross, repeatedly. Then hands go to eyes and heads as the anticipation overflows into tears. Of the 22 trainees, 4 still have family in South Sudan, 3-4 others are from neighboring areas of Nuba Mountains or Darfur. What’s going to happen to their families? Can they get out in time? Many of the team members here do not have the proper documents to go and help, even to the border, thus they must sit and watch…
The heart of psychosocial work is realizing people’s basic needs and that people are intrinsically very pragmatic. The conversation shifts from what options might be to what can we do and how should we prepare…it’s a heavy morning. It’s going to be a tense next few months.
On a similar note, I just found out that my darling pal Lucy, with whom I shared life in Senegal (and can be seen in previous blogs) will be stationed at the heart of the vote where the country divides North and South. After Senegal, she took a post with the World Food Project to provide humanitarian assistance through emergency food delivery in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). She has since climbed to be base manager and recently was given the “opportunity” to serve in Sudan for the referendum. Yes, this sounds crazy to many of you however, these people will need food and she has been called to help deliver it. She and they will need your thoughts and prayers.
Overall, I don’t know what to say except that humanity can be disgustingly greedy and achingly inhumane. I am sickened by the fact that we are preparing for a man made disaster. On the other hand, collections of good hearts will struggle through the ugly to reinstall whatever humanity we can. Even if you’re not called to be part of the direct action, please pray and/or send good energies to Sudan and those serving in and around it during the next few months. Truly, it doesn’t matter if you’re Muslim, Christian, black or white…no human deserves this.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
whole lot of chicken going on....
Due to health concerns that exploded last spring this summer I decided to transition to a gluten free, lactose free life style. If I thought the dietary transition was a bit tricky in the States, then here in Egypt it could be a part time job. The life of a full time student and full time volunteer barely leaves time to cook however my digestive track insists that I eat “special- not-found-on the street” food thus I must essentially cook everything I eat. It’s a lot of time.
This past week I tried a new curry-honey-mustard baked chicken recipe. The recipe calls for a whole chicken and whole chickens are readily available in the markets, so I decided to try one. One time, I helped our domestique in Senegal, prepare a whole chicken. I have never prepared a whole chicken by myself. If you know me and my phobia of blood, bodies and everything associated with raw fleshy things you are correct to ask, what the heck was I gonna do with a chicken!
Got the chicken home—I chose the one that was already dead, feathered and cleaned. Ahamdililah! The recipe called to break/cut the chicken into smaller pieces. If the recipe wanted smaller pieces why did it originally call for a whole chicken? This is a recipe from the US- butchers regularly offer already cut up chicken…
I pinched the little leg- it bent like a real leg. I dropped it and my blood pressure followed suit. I turned around the pan—big whole in which I could see a backbone and blood. I turned the pan again- something that looked like a chicken’s anus. I began to prepare the marinade as the naked chicken sat on my counter.
After mixing the mustard and honey, I mustard up (yes, pun intended) the courage to snap off the back legs. I quickly washed my hands and fled the kitchen to catch my breath again. My head was spinning.
My guest was to arrive in 40 min. The chicken required 90 min to cook and in our nasty Cairen oven that means 2 hours and the naked chicken anus was still pointing my way. I called my friend for support and advice. She had none but told me to go buy already cut breasts. No. I debated calling my Grandma—but really, she’s in the States, she can’t break this chicken. I debated if could I just throw the whole bird in the pan and cook it? I mean that what they do in the movies for Thanksgiving. Then walked in my roommate! Thank God, for roommates!
About 4 min, a few grunts and sawing like sounds later, the chicken was in pieces in the pan. It turned out delicious! And of course I played the, “you don’t understand the sacrifice I went to w/ this dinner”…and he did the dishes! :)
This past week I tried a new curry-honey-mustard baked chicken recipe. The recipe calls for a whole chicken and whole chickens are readily available in the markets, so I decided to try one. One time, I helped our domestique in Senegal, prepare a whole chicken. I have never prepared a whole chicken by myself. If you know me and my phobia of blood, bodies and everything associated with raw fleshy things you are correct to ask, what the heck was I gonna do with a chicken!
Got the chicken home—I chose the one that was already dead, feathered and cleaned. Ahamdililah! The recipe called to break/cut the chicken into smaller pieces. If the recipe wanted smaller pieces why did it originally call for a whole chicken? This is a recipe from the US- butchers regularly offer already cut up chicken…
I pinched the little leg- it bent like a real leg. I dropped it and my blood pressure followed suit. I turned around the pan—big whole in which I could see a backbone and blood. I turned the pan again- something that looked like a chicken’s anus. I began to prepare the marinade as the naked chicken sat on my counter.
After mixing the mustard and honey, I mustard up (yes, pun intended) the courage to snap off the back legs. I quickly washed my hands and fled the kitchen to catch my breath again. My head was spinning.
My guest was to arrive in 40 min. The chicken required 90 min to cook and in our nasty Cairen oven that means 2 hours and the naked chicken anus was still pointing my way. I called my friend for support and advice. She had none but told me to go buy already cut breasts. No. I debated calling my Grandma—but really, she’s in the States, she can’t break this chicken. I debated if could I just throw the whole bird in the pan and cook it? I mean that what they do in the movies for Thanksgiving. Then walked in my roommate! Thank God, for roommates!
About 4 min, a few grunts and sawing like sounds later, the chicken was in pieces in the pan. It turned out delicious! And of course I played the, “you don’t understand the sacrifice I went to w/ this dinner”…and he did the dishes! :)
Monday, October 25, 2010
happy working in Cairo!
In school, I debate theoretical arguments such as the distinction between "inhumane and degrading treatment" v. "torture" and I read case studies about the gross lack of medical services available to refugees in Cairo. I walk the streets of Cairo harassed by macho comments, covered with dirt and sweat. I often ask myself, what am I doing here and why am I doing it here specifically. Today a few of collegues and I visited numerous non-governmental organizations (NGOs), community based organizations (CBOs), and schools in a predominatly poor and Sudanese area of town (one might say, the ghetto). These visits answered those questions and renewed my purpose and energy in Cairo.
The objective of the visits was to observe the organizations where the new psychosocial candidates will be hosted and what are there current activities, in addition to meeting other staff and board members of the organizations. Yet amongst the meetings, we walked through the streets, shook hands of random people, drank tea, avoided goats, horses, donkeys, dogs, cats and their remains. We saw real life.
While it’s great to understand the theories and case studies, for me, there is nothing more gratifying than working in communities, walking the streets and seeing/feeling the daily life of the people with whom I work. Today I got to see a side of Cairo that I have never seen. Granted it was a holiday thus, I’m not sure it will be the same the next time I return however it was fun to see daily life on a holiday!
One aspect of the visits that struck me was the discussion surrounding financial affairs. Some of the organizations survived essentially by volunteer staff, others sat around saying there was no funding thus no programming and others had international contacts that helped to secure external funding. One lady in particular who runs a nursery for babies and infants stuck in my mind. She talked in a very matter-of-fact way; she recognized the less than desirable conditions of the organization and families that frequent it, yet she spoke with such conviction and passion that re-instilled my faith that people are intrinsically good. She saw a need in her community and she does something about it, piece by piece, day-by-day, from the goodness of their heart, without renumeration and often at great expense, for the betterment of the community.
Then there were the ones that sat around waiting for funding. Frankly,they annoyed me and made me just want to push past and say, “excuse me, please get out of the way for people that are actually doing something!” It also reconfirmed how many of the daily activities and programs are initiated and maintained by women. Yes, we saw a lot of men at the heads of organizations and some were very effective and influential yet overall, I still have this feeling that women are the real movers and shakers.
During the site visits I also thought of Greg Mortenson’s comments in his book “Three Cups of Tea” when he speaks about how many cups of tea one must consume to get anything done. Sadly enough, as I’ve noticed in other developing countries, tea is frequently replaced by glass bottles of sugary soda. Do they think that all foreigners drink lots of soda? I can’t imagine it a question of access or price as tea is so easily available in Egypt. But I brushed my teeth three times when I arrived home.
Today, while a bit tired and dirty, I come home renewed. Last year I volunteered at the Refugee Legal Aid Project and lived in that community of people: staff, volunteers and clients. Today made me realize that 1) this year, I had been missing that sense of community and 2) that I where I might not get to work intimately with just one organization this year, it will be fun to mixed into a bunch of them!
The objective of the visits was to observe the organizations where the new psychosocial candidates will be hosted and what are there current activities, in addition to meeting other staff and board members of the organizations. Yet amongst the meetings, we walked through the streets, shook hands of random people, drank tea, avoided goats, horses, donkeys, dogs, cats and their remains. We saw real life.
While it’s great to understand the theories and case studies, for me, there is nothing more gratifying than working in communities, walking the streets and seeing/feeling the daily life of the people with whom I work. Today I got to see a side of Cairo that I have never seen. Granted it was a holiday thus, I’m not sure it will be the same the next time I return however it was fun to see daily life on a holiday!
One aspect of the visits that struck me was the discussion surrounding financial affairs. Some of the organizations survived essentially by volunteer staff, others sat around saying there was no funding thus no programming and others had international contacts that helped to secure external funding. One lady in particular who runs a nursery for babies and infants stuck in my mind. She talked in a very matter-of-fact way; she recognized the less than desirable conditions of the organization and families that frequent it, yet she spoke with such conviction and passion that re-instilled my faith that people are intrinsically good. She saw a need in her community and she does something about it, piece by piece, day-by-day, from the goodness of their heart, without renumeration and often at great expense, for the betterment of the community.
Then there were the ones that sat around waiting for funding. Frankly,they annoyed me and made me just want to push past and say, “excuse me, please get out of the way for people that are actually doing something!” It also reconfirmed how many of the daily activities and programs are initiated and maintained by women. Yes, we saw a lot of men at the heads of organizations and some were very effective and influential yet overall, I still have this feeling that women are the real movers and shakers.
During the site visits I also thought of Greg Mortenson’s comments in his book “Three Cups of Tea” when he speaks about how many cups of tea one must consume to get anything done. Sadly enough, as I’ve noticed in other developing countries, tea is frequently replaced by glass bottles of sugary soda. Do they think that all foreigners drink lots of soda? I can’t imagine it a question of access or price as tea is so easily available in Egypt. But I brushed my teeth three times when I arrived home.
Today, while a bit tired and dirty, I come home renewed. Last year I volunteered at the Refugee Legal Aid Project and lived in that community of people: staff, volunteers and clients. Today made me realize that 1) this year, I had been missing that sense of community and 2) that I where I might not get to work intimately with just one organization this year, it will be fun to mixed into a bunch of them!
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