Breathing Break: Hakuna Simba!

Photos & text copyright Yasir Khan 2008

Willie and the other safari drivers in the Masai Mara were on edge for our first two days there. Nobody had seen a lion.

It's a safe bet that most people come to the Masai Mara to see lions. Hell, most people spend thousands of dollars on safaris, and if they don't see anything else except for lions, they will go home happy. Drivers like Willie take pride in finding lions for their clients.

It's hard to find lions in the spring, though - the Serengeti / Masai Mara grass is tall, and it rains frequently. So, for 2 nights, the talk at the drivers' dinner table centered around "hakuna simba." No lions. They took it personally.

But on the 3rd day, as we were wrapping up a giraffe, our CB radio began to squawk excitedly.

Kuja! (Look!)

Simba! Simba! Simba! Simba!

A mad rush across the Mara, with constant directions over the CB, led us to this big cat:


What I wasn't prepared for, were the paparazzi:

Photo copyright Sufia Lodhi 2008

For the next 45 minutes, camera shutters from 8 safari vans clicked with her every bored move.

The rest of the Mara thought we were the most ridiculous animals there. We barely noticed.

Breathing Break: Kenya pt. 4

Photos & text copyright Yasir Khan 2008

On day 2, we drove over to Buffalo Springs National Park. We got stuck in the mud, were charged by an elephant, and ate lunch on a hill overlooking herds of these guys. Enjoy:

Breathing Break: Kenya & the Dik-Dik

"The dik-diks... they are never alone," whispered Willie as our van crawled along the dirt road.
"And if one of them dies, the other won't live for too long."
I've been curious about the dik-dik ever since I read my friend Marie's book about her trip across Africa. They're elusive as hell, and will disappear before you can even say "dik-dik." I really wanted to photograph one for Marie, and tried a hundred times to click before they fled.
But perseverance has its payoffs, and I finally got mine. So here you go, Marie - meet Dik and Dik.

Photos & text copyright Yasir Khan 2008

Intermission

Photo copyright Sufia Lodhi 2008

I am interrupting this Kenya love-in to inform you all that today is my birthday.
I have turned 17 for the second time.
My sweet mama wrote in with a prayer. She wants god to make me a wise man.I am resisting the urge to write back ...
... maybe god has already answered her prayers.
That's it. Back to Kenya.

Breathing Break - Kenya Pt. 2

Photos & text copyright Yasir Khan 2008

"We're going past mount Kenya now."
Willie, our driver, woke us up to see Kenya's tallest peak.
"Soon we will cross the equatah."

We had been driving for a couple of hours, heading to the Shaba National Reserve - about 300km north of Nairobi, where we were to spend 2 days at the Sarova Shaba Game Lodge. Normally, we wouldn't be able to afford this palace in the wild. But these are special times in Kenya. The croc you see above was pretty much right outside our room window. Cairomaniac was convinced that crocs can jump, and issued many stern warnings for me to keep my distance. Obviously, she's watched a lot of When Animals Attack and not enough Animal Planet. Needless to say, the croc stayed put. Crikey!

When I tell people about crossing the equator, everybody asks about the water - does it change the direction of the flow when you flush the toilet? Sure enough, there's a guy by the equator sign with a jug of water and a plastic tub with a hole in the bottom.

"Would you like to see a demonstration?"
"No thanks."

I didn't want to pay money to see water go down a hole. Honestly, I'm not the least bit curious.

"Then maybe you can look in my shop? Buy something to keep us going? There have been no tourists lately."

Breathing Break: Kenya Pt. 1

Photographs & text copyright Yasir Khan 2008

I'm a bit late on this. But we got back from Kenya a couple of weeks ago.

People warned us not to go because of the recent political shitstorm. But tickets were cheap, and safari prices were down by almost 20% since people had cancelled their Kenyan vacations en masse. So we went... and had a great time - great food, clean air, and loads of silence. Not to mention loads of wildlife.

Kenyans were on their best behaviour.

Details and pictures coming soon. In the meantime, here's a short video of our trip, courtesy of Sony PS2:



Told you we had a great time. Stay tuned for more.

Mugamma-thon: Running the Gauntlet

Cairomaniac had her first experience with Egyptian bureaucracy yesterday. She needed to get her visa transferred to her new passport, and went to the dreaded Mugamma.
What a trooper! I've never dared to go.
Read about it here.

UPDATE: I went to the Mugamma with Cairomaniac a couple of days after reading this. Boy, was I surprised. Lots of people, lots of paper, lots of rubber stamps, lots of windows to go to, and a handful of actual computers. But, in that ugly, big brother building, things seem to somehow work. Read her entry here.

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Above photograph by Cairomaniac. Rest by various journalists, including Per Bjorklund.

Khamsin sandstorms come quite abruptly. All of a sudden, it gets hot, and hard to breathe. You smell the sand in the air.

Sunday was one of those days. As the sky turned yellow, only 3 of my students showed up for class. The rest had taken the day off.

The ones I did see at school were quite shaken.
"Three of my friends were standing on the sidewalk and were arrested."
"I don't know where my friends are."
"A riot cop told me to keep walking or face the consequences."

It started out as a day of protest by underpaid textile workers, against rising food prices and low wages. But it quickly became a storm of resentment against this country's government. People talked of organizing mass gatherings in public places across the country.

The Egyptian constitution permits protests. But according to the law, any gathering of more than five people could be considered illegal. And consequences can be brutal.

So, pop quiz: Wages are in the toilet, bread is becoming pricier by the day, your people are upset about it, and they want to let you know. What do you do?

Answer:












Go here to read blogger Hossam El-Hamalawy's report.

All day Sunday, Cairo was crawling with riot police. Mind you, this is one of the most over-policed cities on the planet. But yesterday, they probably broke some police presence record. Many protests were shut down before they began. The ones that did begin were gassed and beaten out of existence.

Many bloggers were pre-emptively arrested.

By the evening, the khamsin sandstorm had blown over, leaving behind a dust-coated city, a horrible aftertaste, and millions who still can't afford bread that still costs too much.

Update: It's not over yet. More here and here.

He's dead!

Quick! Somebody take the gun!!



No idea what I'm talking about? Read more.
And, if you have time to waste, read this.

Pity the Fuul

Over a decade of journalism gives you bad habits. I've picked up a truckload.

For instance, we journalists are obsessed with the pithy phrase - the all-encompassing 2-3 word expression that we think crystallizes what we want to say. Like "the new normal", "terror links", "the Arab street", "the Arab world".

Here's a tall claim: there's no such thing as "the Arab world." This monolith doesn't exist. Why? Because everybody in the Middle East looks down upon everybody else.

The Kuwaitis don't like the Jordanians, who hate the Syrians, who dislike the Lebanese, who might not like Egyptians, etc. etc.

Almost nobody likes the Palestinians. And the Saudis? Well, they're god's gift to the world, and pretty much don't like anyone.

All of which begets humour like this:

A Saudi and an Egyptian are at the airport, waiting for their flights.
"You Egyptians," says the wealthy, white-robed Saudi, "are no better than animals."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, let me explain - what did you eat for breakfast?"
"Fuul," is the immediate answer.
"And for lunch?"
"Well... fuul."
"Dinner?"
"Hmm... er.... um... fuul?"
The Saudi leans back.
"So tell me, then, what separates you from the animals?"
"Ah, that's easy!" exclaims the Egyptian. "It's the Red Sea."

Fuul is the middle eastern poor man's food - mashed fava beans with olive oil and spices, eaten with bread. It's cheap (a fuul sandwich is about 10 cents), delicious, and sits in your stomach for the whole day.

Everybody has their own recipe - the Lebanese make it with garlic, lemon and parsley, the Egyptians add tomatoes and spice it up, the Syrians throw in some chick peas, some other folk add eggs or onions or tahini.

But the wonderful thing about fuul is that everybody enjoys everybody else's recipe. Maybe this is what will unite the... Arab world?

Signominy

All text & photographs in this post copyright Yasir Khan 2008.

Finally found a store I can relate to.
Haven't gone in yet, but they probably have everything I will ever need.

Go West

All photographs & text in this post copyright Yasir Khan 2008.

If you live in Cairo, you seek out opportunities to get out every now and then for some clean air.
So, last week, we took a trip out into the western desert. Here's the evidence:






And, as true Canadians out in the rocky wilderness, we just had to build inukshuks:


Obviously, some of them worked out better than others.
But we're bloody proud of them all.

In case you're not sure what they want...

All text & photographs in this post copyright Yasir Khan 2008

... it's MONEY!

Spotted this in a roadside cafe on our way back from the western desert. More on that coming soon.

Choke

All text & photographs in this post copyright Yasir Khan 2008

"Min fadlak," (please) squawks the loudspeaker on the roof of the puny-looking ambulance, in between the woo-woo of an equally puny siren.

"Please get out of the way!"
"We have a very sick person inside."
Woo-woo-woo-woo

A few seconds later:
Woo-woo-woo
"Please! We have a very sick person in the ambulance."
Woo-woo-woo-woo

Nobody moves. They can't. Traffic has ground to a halt on the the Kasr El Nil bridge. We've been standing still for about twenty minutes now.

From my cab, I see the paramedic jump out of the ambulance and run to the cars ahead. I see his hands making wild, pleading gestures. I see him run back to the ambulance, and shut the door.

The decal on the door reads "A gift from the people of Japan."

He gets back on the the loudspeaker.

"Please move to the side..."
Woo-woo-woo-woo...

Nothing is predictable in this city of 20 million people - not the cab fare, not the price of a cup of coffee, not the direction in which a car will drive down a one way street. Everything is negotiable. You have to be 'on' at every instant. You have to be thinking. You have to be alive.

Except when you're stuck in traffic - Cairo's predictable, non-negotiable monster. It will choke you to death.

There are more than 2 million cars on Cairo's streets, very few traffic lights, and extremely bendable traffic rules. The city is like a heart in a state of constant cardiac arrest.

Woo-woo-woo...

Half an hour later, we're still in the same spot. The paramedic's loudspeaker pleas have become less frequent. He's stopped jumping out.

Forty minutes into the jam, I decide to walk to work, and get out of my cab.

As I cross the bridge over the Nile, I turn back to look at the hopelessly stuck ambulance.

The driver turns off the siren.

Champions of Africa?

All text & photographs in this post copyright Yasir Khan 2008

Ask most Egyptians if they're African. You'll hear a resounding "la" (no). They're Egyptians. Not Africans. Not Arabs. People here proudly proclaim they're different.

They're descendants of the Pharaohs.

But last night, after their 6th victory (2nd consecutive) in the African Nations Cup (football), Egyptians were definitely Africans... and damn proud of it. This nation of party animals kept us awake until the wee hours.

The evening belonged to Egypt's star player Mohamed Aboutraika. He scored the only goal in the finals against Cameroon, in the 77th minute of a very tight game, and became the lord of the streets for a night.

Aboutraika was a political hero here a few days ago. He earned a yellow card in the game against Sudan. After scoring a goal, he lifted his jersey to show an undershirt inscribed with the message “Sympathize with Gaza”.

The yellow card was for for violating a no-politics rule. But to the people here, he was a champion for the Palestinian cause.

At that time, Egyptians were Arabs. I think.