I will tell you this--my tailbone and thighs still hurt from the camel ride, and that's stayed with me since Monday! Today, Amy and I spent the day shopping. First, we went to a lovely store in her neighborhood, Maadi, that sells beautiful handmade cotton scarves and artwork that is both traditional and a bit uniquely modern. We also went to a Bedouin store where they sell traditional handicrafts from the Bedouin tribes of Egypt. In some stores, you get the sense that people are immediately going to take advantage of you because you're obviously a Western tourist--but I've been lucky. Amy speaks Arabic and she's not shy about asking for a lower price, and/or challenging someone who she thinks is overcharging. I couldn't have had the same experience without her knowledge and language skills--which is one of the reasons I've become even more convinced that language acquisition is essential for Americans. So many transactions in culture, politics, war, even, might be made easier if Americans were more knowledgeable about other people's culture and the way their language can and does figure into any transaction.
Even though there is a real desperation about the economic conditions now--because of the sudden decline in tourist dollars since January 25th, the Egyptians are tough. They are hanging in there, and yes, they strike me as incredibly resilient (yes, folks there is my word again). When we went to the Khan-e Khalili, the enormous sprawling souk (market) that weaves in and out of buildings, alleys, and where everything, I mean everything is sold (brass, silver, spices, cotton scarves, tablecloths, flags, waterpipes, melons, books, paper, prayer beads, evil eye protectors, hands of fatima, flags of Egypt, tshirts celebrating the revolution, halal meats, fruits, traditional handicrafts), it was obvious how hard these months have been for people here. We saw very few tourists besides ourselves in the souk. Mostly, it was local Egyptians and lots and lots of empty space in which to move, which, Amy assures me, isn't normal. People were buying, selling, haggling, begging, hawking, and, despite their obvious challenge in making adequate sales these days, seemed remarkably optimistic. But it was also obvious that there is still much desperation.
I'm guessing the effects of the January 25, 2011 revolution have not worn off just yet! The souk is a wonderful scene--full of life--and it has such a different feel than commerce, sales, and merchants than in the U.S.--the only thing that comes close (and that is such a woefully inadequate comparison) is the flea market. I think of commerce in the U.S. as so much more sterile and uncolorful. There isn't some of the annoying haggling, yes, but there is also the experience of human exchange that I loved. The souk is embedded in Cairo's blood. I have read about it in literature (yes, Naguib Mahfouz for sure, but also in travel narratives by Western travellers and Persian ones too). I had also heard from my graduate school friends about the souk, the many layers of this part of the city that wind their way through mosques and masouleums, and where cats and people live together in the dust and heat and create something that is marvelous and alive. Men (and it is mostly male merchants) sit outside their tiny stores, trying to engage sellers (and especially conspicuous tourist-looking types like me (Amy isn't a tourist, but a local ex-pat)), and encouraging you to come in and examine their wares. Once you buy one thing, you can feel that you've both made their day, and also incited the other surrounding merchants to press you a little more. I became very adept at shaking my head and saying, "la"(the word for no), or "la, shokran"--- but it is very very hard to say no. There are a lot of poor people. I don't mean that in a condescending way. But the truth is, there is poverty here in more pronounced and concentrated ways. And you can see how much this is the edifice of the country that the January 25th revolution is attempting to topple. Because on the other side of this poverty is a people who are ripe for change, needing change, and so amazingly resilient, but also responding to the manmade conditions of poverty--which are by and large the product of a repressive, corrupt regime.While Hosni and Suzanne Mubarak might be in jail (or hospital) along with their sons, they are the tip of the iceberg. How they'll change this edifice, isn't clear to me.
At one point we went to the cafe that Naguib Mahfouz allegedly frequented. We had a cup of tea with mint (Eyyptian style) and that was lovely. We did get a little frustrated with the hawkers and beggars who came through, insisting that we look at their wallets and beads. Sometimes they put it right up next to you and tell you, "look Madame, just look, no buy." There were small children selling things too such as small packets of tissues, or just looking for a small donation of one Egyptian pound. At one point a man selling wallets had my attention and Amy told me not to engage with him. He was pushy and unrelenting. She wasn't being mean, but she could see how they were working me. My indecision, my feeling sorry for them, my sense of how I was viewed as wealthy, someone with money to spend in their country. It's difficult not to feel you're being viewed a certain way too, and there is that sense in which language, and Amy's language skills became the best defense for holding them at bay and not letting us take over our experience of trying to enjoy just being there without having to buy stuff.
In addition to moving through the colorful souk, we went to the Fatimid period Al Azhar Mosque. It is an absolutely beautiful mosque with a big courtyard made from marble and when you enter there you feel the holiness pull you in. There are people lounging, praying, reading their Korans. There are people from other Islamic countries studying there too. We saw a handful of what seemed to be Indonesian and Malaysian men there. We put on our headscarves and checked our shoes at the door. We were greeted by a young man who wanted to tell us about the mosque and took us over to the table where history of this mosque to Amy in Arabic while I quietly pretended to listen, but really I was drawn to the idea of prayer just then. I became overtaken by the desire to sit and pray for Kyle, to feel this holy place wash over me, to watch as people performed the Muslim prayer in a rhhymic meditation that I sometimes wish I just knew how to do. Not because I am Muslim or religious, but because sometimes I can feel how small I am and how much I need the comfort of something bigger with which to connect my life, my spirit. Instead, I just let my sorrow wash over me and sat down on the red carpet thinking how much I wished Kyle were just with me taking in all this. I said the Kaddish for Kyle facing east toward Mecca and then let myself weep just a little and left one of the stones I brought for him at the base of one of the columns.This is a day I will never forget. Thank you, Amy. Thank you, Cairo.
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