Who am I? you ask

Who am I?

(Wouldn’t you like to know!)

You ask, and yet you hear no answer I give.

You are Christian? you ask

No, I tell you, I’m not.

Ah, then you are Muslim?

No, I tell you, I’m not.

Confusion in your eyes

I peer into them

Searching for a clue

A hint

Anything that I could say

So you would understand

Anything about me

Anything at all

Even if it is small

Even if it is only my smile.

 

Who am I?

(Wouldn’t you like to know!)

You ask, and yet you hear no answer I give.

What about God? you ask

What about God? I say.

I love God, I say

I love God and all God’s creations

There is no other label on my soul.

That is good, you say, relieved.

I am also relieved.

But you are not satisfied

This means then that you are Christian, you say

No, I repeat, I am not.

When a pebble falls on a calm pond, ripples

So were the wrinkles on your forehead.

 

Who am I?

(Wouldn’t you like to know!)

You ask, and yet you hear no answer I give.

So you have no religion then?

Sahh, I reply, only faith.

Your voice is dry like the desert sand that blows in through open windows.

This means then you are atheist, prostitute?

My eyes now are wet

An oasis

To go with your dusty voice.

I can feel the rain, soon it will come

But there is no rain in the desert

So I choke instead on the grains of my faith

My faith is real, just like yours

My God is not my own but ours

There is no god but God.

Why can’t we all share?

Have you been to Paradise?

Have you seen God’s face?

What makes you think you can save me then with a veil or a cross?

If I need salvation in this world

It is from the religious men

Whose religion doesn’t stop their rude eyes, tongues or hands.

Vagina Rocket (Please pass by if you think you might be offended)

I am raunching home through grey rust air

a burning brick and a feather

Why did you throw that THING THERE?

Between my LEGS

Fear of

POW!

A gunshot burnt

from the place where the

light on fire is

Smoke chasing after my frightened fleeing

heels

and my vagina cries out in horror at your

FUCKING

Rocket.

Isn’t the puny sag between your legs ENOUGHT?

I was walking home today when a boy threw a firecracker on the ground between my legs.  This anger comes from the feeling that, the the very part of my body that already feels a bit unwelcome here, was attacked.  I ask you to not take this as something that is common in Egypt.  I chose to share this ugliness with you, not because it is an overwhelming presence here (it is not), but rather because it does exist and if my accounts are to be at all real, then they cannot all be about mango  sunsets.  

Ramadan Kareem!

It’s 5:30 p.m., about 45 minutes before Iftar (sunset, when the Muslims break their fast).  As a non-Muslim, this is the perfect time to go to the supermarket! The narrow, winding, obstacle-laden aisles of the local Fathalla Market, usually jam-packed with yelling customers and squeaky shopping carts, are abandoned.  Save for the low trembling voice of the Iman reciting the Holy Quoran over the radio, there is only sweet silence.

I risk my life darting across the Corniche’s 10 lanes just so I can walk home beside the Mediterranean.  Restless waves thrash about in anticipation like the hungry bellies charging past me to get home in time to break fast.  Rubber burns against hot asphalt and a chorus of discordant horns races down the street towards the voice that will insha’allah ring out across the rooftops reciting something from the Holy Quoran that to foreign ears scarcely means more than “Eat!” and every Muslim in Alexandria holds a glass of apricot juice to their lips awaiting the moment when the Sea will swallow the warm mango peach hibiscus sunset in one gulp.

Engagement Party

One of my students, Nadia, invited me to her Engagement Party this past weekend.  I have been dying to put up the pictures, but I had to ask her permission first, since she is not wearing higab (head scarf) in any of them.  She said it was ok, so check them out under Egyptographs!

Nadia's friend met me at the tram station and we went together to see Nadia at the hairdresser.  When I first saw her, I didn't even recognize her!  It was a makeover to put all American proms and weddings combined to shame!  I would think my skin would decay under that amount of makeup, but makeup is huge here and is certainly an attention-getter when used in such quantities!  And it didn't stop with her face; oh no, they put powder all over her back and up and down her arms!  Then, her long, black hair unveiled and wound into a fancy updo complete with white plastic flowers, and finally a baby-pink princess dress!  All this for an Engagement?  I guess it just goes to show how important marriage is in Egyptian culture.  Or, better put, how important the IMAGE of marriage is.  

A fair number of hours before the party even began was consumed by the taking of pictures, so many pictures!  I guess this is true in the U.S. too, but maybe for the wedding itself.  Going to the photography studio was actually a blast, especially because I got to see all of the women in their fancy outfits.  Egyptian women sure know how to dress up!  Lost amid a sea of stunningly colored head-scarves, ball-gowns and shawls, I found myself intently studying the various styles of sideways, Spanish higabs, sometimes 3 or 4 different colored scarves wound together and pinned to look like roses.  Secretly I vowed to try this at home.  At first, I tried to keep myself from staring, but when I realized that I also was being started at, in my head it became this sort of mutual pact: I stare at you; you stare at me.  And this is not rude.  I guess.  

Arriving at the party was by far the craziest part of the entire evening.  My thought process went something like this: in some other country, I might be nervous about getting into a car with 8 or 9 people and a potentially drunk driver.  But this is Egypt, and these are Muslims, so the driver won't be drunk!  I was totally at ease as I squished into the backseat.  Almost immediately after the engine started and the _________________ (insert your favorite synonym for "ridiculously" here) loud Arabic music came screaming out of the speakers conveniently located right next to my ear, I knew I had been wrong.  I almost certainly would have been safer with a drunk driver.  Let me preface this by saying that Egypt is the last place in the world I would ever drive a car, simply because there are no traffic lights, no speed limit or regulations of any type, and lanes are formed whenever a car thinks he can squeeze into that 5-inch margin between a bus and a moped.  So picture this, and then picture the train of Engagement cars deciding that the best idea in the world would be to start to swerve wildly back and forth like we are driving on a sheet of ice in the middle of a hail storm (although I have a strange feeling that none of these Egyptian drivers have ever had the privilege of driving in New England during the winter).  I told myself not to panic, that surely if the 3-year-old child on her mother's lap in the front seat is not crying, then there is no need for ME to cry.  Just when I thought the music was already light-years beyond max volume, a song that the driver fancied just a little more than the rest came on and so the volume went up.  At this point, I couldn't distinguish this so-called song from what I imagine a helicopter crashing into the side of a metal building would sound like, but to make up for it, the driver began blaring on the horn and bouncing up and down in his seat to whatever he must have identified as the beat.  

*Sigh.*

The party was on the the beach, beside the Mediterranean and beneath some brightly-lit, frankincense-infused tents.  Then there was dancing!  I was still in shock from the car ride, but it was exhilarating shimmying around in a circle of girls and women, all clapping their hands, shaking their hips and letting out these cries that I have termed "wedding whoops" (the girls will make this high-pitched, screaming sound while fluttering their tongues back and forth so the sound vibrates, and then they finish it off with this WEEEEEEE! that I had previously thought could only be generated by New Year's noise makers.  My belly-dancing friends in Uruguay referred to this as the "Gawazi Call," but I don't know what it is here, although it is amazing!)

The next day, when I saw Nadia, she asked me how I liked the party.  "Wow, if that was your Engagement, I can't even imagine what your wedding will be like!" I exclaimed.  "Oh, I'm not ready for the wedding yet," she replied, "first I will have my Bridal Shower!"

I dyed my hair with Henna!

It's kind of a reddish brown.  Check out the pictures under Egyptographs!  

P.S. The smell of henna is intoxicating.