Tuesday, January 25, 2005

There's No Place Like Home...

I have returned! I’m finally home. Egypt was a fantastic experience, and I’m sure as I settle back in to the routine of being home I’ll be reflecting on my experiences out there. Aside from the natural beauty of the country what struck me most was the poverty. During my first day a child no older than 7 approached the bus I was on. He had a tin plate in his hand and made the universal signal for eating. It broke my heart.
We had been eating lunch taking a break from our 10-hour ride to a resort on The Red Sea. I immediately told my uncle to give the child my food, my uncle said, “no” and closed the window curtain on the child as I me not seeing the child would make the ache in my heart go away. I was unable to eat, my food remained untouched. After a few minutes the child re-emerged on the other side of the bus again plate in hand. By this time my traveling companions had begun plotting on my meal planning to divide it among themselves. I stood my ground and demanded that my uncle give it to the child. He did and the child sat down on the road and quickly ate the meal. There were many scenes like this if I could’ve I would have provided for them all. I found that the people I was traveling with were embarrassed by the beggars, they’d get indignant if I attempted to give the beggars money. When a 14 yr old boy cleaned our window and held his hand out my friend admonished me for trying to give him some money. She told me, “No Maria, he does nothing all day, he should go out and get a job!” On a street I saw a woman and her daughter begging when I attempted to take a picture of the scene my friend Ahmed blocked the shot telling me not to take a picture of it. It wasn’t that I wanted to record the image as proof of the poverty but the photographer in me found the scene poignant and it deserved to be photographed and preserved.

The people in Egypt were friendly I’m not sure but perhaps because I was in the company of Egyptians who see me as family I was treated different from other tourists. I was treated as a national and not a foreigner. I danced with the belly dancers, and learned the lyrics to Egyptian pop music. I Traveled into the high tone touristy neighbor hoods and chilled in the ghettos. I felt more at home in the ghettos. My friends smoked hashish night and day and took me along on the hash highway with them. I’m not a smoker, or a drug user and I only drink on social occasions but I joined in with them and was accepted as part of their crowd. I developed a taste for tea which I’ve always hated since Mahmoud would serve to to me everyday at breakfast… The sight of my “aunt” Malak sitting on her floor preparing a rabbit for dinner was surreal. I was on the phone with my aunt Nora as Malak sat there chopping away at the neck severing the head from the body, “so how are you liking it over there?”, snap snap , the bones of the rabbit being broken, “ oh it’s nice I like it Malak is making rabbit for dinner she asked if I like it”, “you do I’ve served it to you here I just never told you what it was” ripppppp the skin being torn away from the rabbit carcass… I learned to appreciate the difference in home cooked meals and the same stuff served in restaurants. I preferred Malak’s cooking. Because I have a lot of food allergies I basically stuck to chicken in restaurants out there prompting one of my uncles friends to comment, “I think she came to Egypt to sprout feathers and lay eggs for us she eats so much chicken!”…

I walked the streets of Alexandria on a shopping expedition with my buddy Little Hassan aka Cookie.. the day after a holy holiday, Eid Al-Adha, the Muslim holiday commemorating Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son. Instead God spared his son and accepted a sacrificial lamb. Muslims around the world gather and share a special meal for Eid, but reserve a third of it for charity. In the streets I saw pools of blood of lambs slaughtered for the holiday. It was amazing. Cookie is a 19 year old kid.. he’s into hip hop and all things American. I got him into reggaeton music while I was there.. and on my next to last day he pulls me to him and gives me the highest ghetto compliment, “You are my beech” I just stared at him and laughed so hard tears streamed down my face.. and I gave him a “pound”. I miss the country, I miss the people but (clicking heels 3 times) there's no place like home, there's no place like home, there's no place like home....

Labels: Egypt

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