CAIRO - School ended a little over a week ago, and the day after classes finished I took a long but cheap (2 LE) bus ride to the Cairo airport to meet Dmitry, who will be joining me in Egypt for the rest of my year here.
It's been really nice having a man around so far. I have noticed a distinct change in the way that I am treated by shopkeepers, taxi drivers, and even passersby. People seem to give me more respect as a part of a legitimate couple, and the street harassment stops entirely with a man at my side. We are still greeted with calls of "Welcome to Egypt," but the kissing noises, excessive compliments, and offers of marriage have all but ceased. I am glad that I started out the way that I did: experiencing life in Cairo alone before getting the chance to experience it as a couple.
However, we still haven't experienced very much. Cairo in August is smoldering hot. Even the Cairenes leave, usually going to Alexandria to escape the heat. The only people who want to be in Cairo in August are wealthy tourists: some from the West, but many more from the Persian Gulf countries like Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, and Bahrain. The only time I think it is safe to leave the house is the very early morning or the late evening, and even then I need a shower as soon as I get home to wash away the sweat and the dust. I am really looking forward to fall and winter, when the temperature will fall enough to allow midday excursions.
We have also tried to explore the neighborhood more, actually going out to some of the restaurants that we often get dinner delivered from, walking across the Nile instead of taking cabs or subways, and introducing Dmitry to some of my local shopkeepers. This caused an interesting exchange, since so far I have not seen men go grocery shopping - particularly not accompanying an Arabic-speaking Western woman. Aside from generally gawking at his presence, my regular vegetable seller asked if he was my mother. (I said no. Then I realized that I don't really get Egyptian humor.) Although I am willing to emasculate my man by bringing him around shopping with me - the lessons in language and culture that he gets from this are too good to miss - I wouldn't let him carry any bags, and I had him hand me the money. I tried to preserve his dignity where I could.
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 Dmitry outside the mosque. |
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 A little girl poses in front of a verse from the Qu'ran. |
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 Kelly and I enjoy some much-needed refreshment while shopping. |
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 Don't try this at home — or anywhere else. |
What I didn't know was that it would be teeming with people, so crowded that walking a block took 20 minutes, or that I would see more shoes there than I had ever seen before in my life. After wandering around in a sea of shoes for half an hour, we consulted the map, found the right path, and started walking toward the Khan. We had not gone more than 15 feet when I looked behind me and realized that Kelly had disappeared. I had a heart-stopping three minutes, wondering how she could have vanished so completely, before Dmitry found her standing about 20 feet away. In the meantime the owner of the store she had been waiting in front of had offered her a chair and fended off any overly enthusiastic street vendors. We breathed a collective sigh of relief and celebrated our reunion with cold sodas - bought and drunk at the cart so that we could return the bottles to the seller.
The walk to the Khan was long and crowded, but it really made me realize how differently I feel in Egypt now. When I had visited the Khan my first weekend in the country I was overwhelmed by the crush of people, the vendors trying to get my attention, and the visual kaleidoscope of wares, food, rich and poor people, all gathered together in one small area. Now I find the crowds much more manageable, I no longer feel breathed on and pressured by shopkeepers, and my Arabic has improved enough that people realize that I am not a tourist - that I live here. And they treat me differently because of it.
Although my dispatches were originally titled "Diving into Arabic Language and Culture," I think that this summer has been less of a dive and more of a very slow descent: first just a toe, then a foot, then legs, and finally I feel like I have stepped in up to my neck.
I have always been a little shy, a little slow to open up completely in new situations, but I hope that after this summer I will be able to use the comfort level that I have gained to really make this place my home. I still have bad days and good days, but I realize that I am really starting to love it here.
After we finished our shopping at Khan al-Khalili we stopped in the square outside al-Husayn Mosque. A breeze was blowing and the square was crowded with couples and families, all basking in the relatively cool evening air, playing with their kids, and just enjoying Egypt. A girl who looked about 10 years old came up to us and started talking to me in Egyptian - apparently my shirt had come up in the back and a little skin was showing. Her family had sent her over to save me from being embarrassed: a courtesy they might have extended to any Egyptian. I pulled the scarf I was wearing over my arms a little lower to cover my back, thinking that it feels pretty good to belong. They sell T-shirts at the Khan that say "I'm not a tourist, I live here!" but I don't feel like I need one of those. People are already treating me like part of the family.
To get the most out of my month-long vacation and enjoy slightly chillier climes, we leave for Russia tonight, where we will spend two weeks with Dmitry's family before taking a week-long trip to Ethiopia. Thank you to all those who e-mailed me, whether to say hello, give feedback, or make suggestions about places to eat or visit. If you've enjoyed my dispatches and want to keep reading about my impressions of Egypt when I start school again in September, check out my personal blog at pamila.blogspot.com.
— Ma'as salaama,
Pamila
Pamila Pengra graduated from UC Berkeley in May 2005 with a B.A. in linguistics. She is studying Arabic in Cairo on a CASA fellowship.