Over the Bridge Downtown

This picture is from Lonely Planet. I'll change it as soon as I get a better one myself.

Steve Franklin was a Knight Fellow at the university. I never met him - he left before I got here. But I find his business cards all over my office.
I've been reading his blog lately. The other day, I found something on it that I had to steal.
See, it gets dark here around 5 these days. As I cross the Qasr el Nil bridge over the Nile, on my way home, I witness a scene that you can write novels about (people here have).
Back in August, Steve quoted an article from the LA Times (by Jeffrey Fleischman) about this scene, on his blog. Here's an excerpt:

CAIRO — The lovers and the fishermen, the street kids and the cops, the veiled girls and the flower sellers, they all come at dusk to the bridge over the Nile, stealing kisses and tugging their lines, escaping the heat and hoping for magic, the boys whispering promises bigger than their pockets as moonlit boats glide beneath them.

Hotel lights glow along the corniche in the distance and somehow Cairo’s grit and poverty are gone; night makes everything pure. That’s when dreams and memories unfold on the bridge.

Ibrahim Adel, a waiter, tells his fiancee, yes, he will one day own a restaurant. Yehia Helmi, a barber, lifts his grandson to the railing and points to a sail flickering in the darkness. Samir Shawki skitters with his buddies through the traffic. And Ali Mohammed Hussein, a sturdy man with a bent nose, sells wilted roses in cellophane.

The Qasr el Nil Bridge carries tens of thousands of cars a day, but at night its wide sidewalks are shoulder to shoulder with Egyptians. There is no sweeter spot for a cheap date, a refuge from big families and crowded apartments. A brush of the hand, a smile, all the subtle rituals of Muslim romance play out in tiny dramas amid the call to prayer and the river breeze.

Shanghai Hardcore

Few things are more daunting than an audience of forty 18-year olds. That's my 2nd year Mass Communication class at the university. I teach them for an hour every Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday, and it's probably the most labour intensive part of my job.
I am probably the only professor they have who is not their parents' age. And every class, I put on a performance. I show up with things I want to put in their heads.
They stare, listen, and occasionally doze off.
Sometimes, their eyes light up. That's when I talk to them about hip-hop. This is house and techno country (besides the local pop scene), but quite a few people do listen to hip-hop.
I brought up Kanye and Fifty, when I talked to them about the power of mass media, and more recently when Rolling Stone had those two on the cover.
The initial reaction was hesitant giggling, almost as if to say,
"are we supposed to talk about this in class?"
Next came a talk on advertising and product placement. Ludacris was the example: Cadillac grills, Cadilac bills... I think they liked it.
Pretty soon, I was being asked about my favourite songs on the new Kanye record.
Next week, we'll be dealing with the recording industry, and of course, hip-hop. Check out what I found while I was researching for it:
That's the Iron Mic '07 - an annual Chinese rap battle in... wait for it... Shanghai!
Who started it? A 32-year old black Muslim dude from Detroit.
Word.

Fayoum

All text & photographs in this post copyright Yasir Khan 2007.

"Have you been out of Cairo yet?" My friend Ameena's tone was more insistent than curious. Yes, Ameena, I have. And here are the pictures to prove it.
Lake Qarun - Egypt's own Dead Sea - lies about 80 kilometres away from Cairo. A short distance from it is the Fayoum - a large patch of ultra fertile land on the bank of the Nile, said to be the birthplace of agriculture.
Went out there with my colleague John Swanson and his Greco-Roman archaeology class, which was a treat. We completely bypassed the modern city of Fayoum , and hit the salty lake, some tiny villages, and wonderful ruins of old Greek towns that date back to just after Alexander's conquest of Egypt.


The great thing about going to these places with John is that he tells you stories. Among the ruins, he read a letter that was written thousands of years ago in that very town. It was from a rich Greek man, addressing King Ptolemy. The man complained about an Egyptian woman who had emptied a chamberpot of urine on him. When he protested, she cursed him, spat in his face, and ripped his toga. There were a lot of witnesses.


"Punish her," he fumed, reminding Ptolemy that he was Greek, while she, a mere Egyptian.
Thousands of years later, many expats' attitudes haven't changed. They still expect to be treated better than the locals. More on that later.
For now, here are some pictures of the heavy security that accompanies us expats on such trips. The Egyptian government takes no chances after some crazies shot up a tourist bus 10 years ago, and again in 2005.

Short, Short Man

Not everyone can say they know someone in the Guinness Book of World Records.
Back in 2002, my friend Tharanga Ramanayake was a producer/editor at Much Music. He created the world's shortest TV commercial.
It just went up on youtube:


And I have no idea who that host guy is. I hear he don't work at Much no more. Somebody should give him a job.

Ramadan Blues

All pictures in this post copyright Yasir Khan 2007.

The sun sets. You eat. And then you talk about the fast. Out pours a day's worth of lamentation, and wisdom cooked in the depths of empty stomachs:
"You know, I swear, it's harder this year!"
"Why are we not allowed to drink water? Your body needs water! Surely, god understands that."
"The prophet said this religion is supposed to be easy. It's not supposed to be torture."

And there are the sheepish admissions:
"I'm just pretending now. I go to work, skip lunch, and nobody knows."
"My assistant was so energetic the other day. I asked her, 'Are you skipping the fast too?' And she started to giggle."

Among elites and expats in Cairo, this is the great Ramadan Conspiracy. And a tremendous source of Ramadan Guilt.
At recent iftar in a posh neighbourhood, our non-Muslim expat host held court on his balcony. He needed a drink. But he was surrounded by Muslims who had just broken their "fast." And Muslims who do normally drink, tend to give it up during Ramadan.
So, we talked. Conversation about global and regional politics raged until it came to a logical end. A few seconds of silence, and then...
... "Alright, who would like a drink? We've got juices, water. We also have some gin, and wine."
Silence... hesitant looks...
"Ya'ni, it's Ramadan... er... but sure I'll have some wine."

To Serve & Protect

All pictures in this post copyright Yasir Khan 2007.

It's supposed to be autumn/fall here. As far as I'm concerned, it's still summer: 35 celsius during the day!
So, going out into the desert, to see pyramids, temples, etc., is a high-temperature proposition.
But imagine having to do that day after day.
That's the job of the "tourist police" here - to be out in the sun, and protect us tourists from things like terrorism, falling boulders, and accidental demands for freedom of speech, expression and movement.

As you can see, it's a pretty tough gig. They do it for less than minimum wage, plus some baksheesh.

Moving Rock

All pictures in this post copyright Yasir Khan 2007.

I thought I'd remain a pyramid virgin until Suf got here. I thought it would be special if we both saw them for the first time, together.
But everybody I know is going now. So, in the last couple of weeks, I crumbled under peer pressure... and went to see a lot of pyramids:



That's a lot of rock. And I've been reading that the more rock a king moved to build a pyramid, the greater he was thought to be.
The Ontario provincial election happens in about 5 days.
And the Pakistanis go to the polls today.
I hope we hold our leaders to higher standards than moving rock.

Khan-Ye

Suf and her colleague Brad have been listening to the new Kanye on the way to work. That cleared up my Nickelback-related anxieties a little. And my anxieties about the Ontario Liberals (have you heard the music they play at their rallies?). Thank god at least a handful of them are paying attention to some good tunes.

It will be a while before the music channels here start playing Kanye. Right now, they're obsessed with curvy, Chanel-clad, tone deaf, eye candy like Haifa Wehbe, or the perpetually yearning Nick Carter.

And, of course, lots of religious music.

Well, here's some real religion:

Cleopatra is for commoners

Bassel, my TA, was horrified today. He discovered I am smoking Cleopatras - the local brand.
Like most other things here, they're cheap (about $1 a pack), and they do the job.
Foreign brands cost twice as much - a whopping $2.
"But why?" asked a wide-eyed, perplexed Bassel.
"I just wanted to try them."
Now I was perplexed. What's the big deal with Cleopatras?
So I asked one of the guys who helps us around the office.
"He's right, doctoor," said the smiling, gentle, Egyptian man.
"Cleopatras are for the lower class people."

Ramzan & the Khan

All pictures in this post copyright Yasir Khan 2007.

Ramzan (ramadan to many of you) turns Cairo upside down.
You sleep when it's time to eat, eat when you're supposed to sleep, work when you normally go home, and go home during work hours.
Traffic takes a break too. Normally, by 6pm, all roads here become exhaust-filled parking lots.
But not tonight, when Ahson and I decide to check out ramzan in Khan-al-khalili (aka the Khan).
We drive through a dead city, to a dead market.
It's iftar: time to break the fast. So everybody's either eating, praying, or waiting for the post-iftar stampede.


Ahson and I make our way to the Al Fishawy cafe.
I've read that Naguib Mahfouz would come here to write.

As we smoke shisha, and sip mint tea, the post-iftar stampede begins.
Traffic, touts, temper tantrums.
A girl tries to sell Ahson keychains, while balancing a newborn.
A Somali dude named "Mark" shares his Chapelle's Show DVD.

Shame

Suf writes to me today and tells me a deep, dark secret (well, not so deep, dark, or secret anymore):
"I like a Nickelback song... and the video."
I question my marriage in my head, and ask her where we went wrong.
Should we have moved to Barrie instead of Cairo?
Not so fast, she says. Take a look at it.
So, I youtube the bloody song, and against my better judgment, I actually like what I see and hear!
I am so ashamed of myself.

Baghdad Needs Banksy

The American plan for stemming sectarian violence in Iraq is to now build walls between Shia and Sunni neighbourhoods. It's worked in one way - Shias and Sunnis are actually protesting against it... together.

The Yanks are call it a "concrete caterpillar". It is already 2km long, and is intended to protect a Sunni neighbourhood from attacks by Shia militia.

Here's the kicker, though: AFP's reporting that the Baghdad city council is hiring artists to paint "calming landscapes and scenes" on the wall, "depicting Iraq's natural beauty."

Shia leader Moqtada Al Sadr, meanwhile, has other ideas: "Draw magnificent tableaux that depict... sedition, car bombings, blood that (the US) has brought upon Iraqis."

Where the hell is Banksy when you need him? He did a heck of a job with the Israeli wall.

Photographs from www.banksy.co.uk

Bargain Basement Sociology

All pictures in this post copyright Yasir Khan 2007.

A colleague at the university recently told me that you can tell the socio-economic status of a Cairene neighbourhood by looking at the roofs of buildings.
The more satellite dishes you see, the more affluent the residents.
Poorer neighbourhoods usually have one or two dishes per building.
These are pictures from my balcony.
Does this mean my neighbours are rich?

Boxes!

Our shipment arrived, about a month after I put it on a truck in TO.
It's all there, and it's all in one piece (except for a few mandatory bruises). Not bad.

From Cairo to Springfield?

This is me at my most narcissistic.

Saw a link to the Simpson's Movie site on Strombo's page. Turns out you can simpsonize yourself.

You can see George "Simpson" Stroumboulopoulos at the bottom of his page.

This is the best I could do for myself.

Does this look anything like me?

... and Khufu shuffled his feet...

A friend had warned me when she gave me the invitation - "I have no idea what her music is like."

"It's by the pyramids," I thought. "They probably don't let just anybody perform there."

Last Friday night, Hurricane Chantal hit the sphinx like a brick wall. At least that's what it sounded like.

A sinfully curvy Chantal Chamandy put on a show replete with awesomely hot dancers, gorgeous backup singers, a helium balloon moon, and the Cairo Symphony Orchestra.

For about an hour and a half, I was amazed at how someone so pretty, and so well-produced, can be so many notes off key, in so many different languages (english, french, spanish, and arabic), so consistently.

No matter. I'm a lyrics man, myself. And Chantal's songs about "war" and "love" (when you kiss me there my body thaws, like an ice cream cone...) did not disappoint. They were the stuff that greeting cards at Zellers are made of.

Chantal transformed a packed crowd of Egypt's finest - young specimens of Arab manhood, who are normally shy and reserved. On Friday night, they whistled, howled, swayed, and made some seemingly genuine offers to augment her gene pool.

Yup, she won over some hearts and minds that night. And behind her, in his pyramid, Khufu was already downloading her off iTunes.

Where are you from, really?

This wouldn't be a blog about living away from the home country, if I didn't write about this.

But then again, I'm asked this question even in Canada.

For the most part, Egyptians think I'm a local. How do I know this? Well, if I'm with other obvious foreigners, I am completely ignored. I could be a driver, a gopher, or anybody else who can be loosely defined as "the help." The only question I'm usually asked (in Arabic) is in the "what are you doing here?" range.

If I'm by myself, the advantage is that I end up paying local prices for almost everything.

That is, until I open my mouth. Instantly, I get service, along with a suitably jacked-up price. And the question: "Where are you from?"

Inta min ein?

Min Canada.

Ah! Canada kwayyis! Wa lakin, aslak eih? (Canada's good. But where are you from really?)

When that happens, I feel like I never left home. Canada, that is.

Beep Beep Beep

Marie finally got her smoke detectors!

No idea what I'm talking about? Go here.

The Colonialist and the Cretan Woman

Mujib and I were done with the mosque fairly quickly.

I'm not one for grand mosques. They're all basically the same - big, once opulent, built more to glorify the builder, rather than who the builder prays to.

Houses, I can spend hours in. And the House of the Cretan Woman (now known as the Gayer Anderson Museum), next to the Ibn Tulun Mosque is a real gem.

Actually, it's two 17th century houses joined together. Used to belong to a couple of wealthy ladies, one of whom was from Crete.

When the brits were here, a major by the name of Gayer Anderson (an unfortunate first name in the schoolyard, I'm sure) took over the place, restored it, and filled it with quite a bit of stuff - kitsch, stolen artifacts, and lots of paintings of himself.

Everything in this place - from furniture, to cushions, to books - is over a hundred years old, and in really good shape.

I read somewhere that part of the Bond film The Spy Who Loved Me was also shot here. Couldn't tell you what part, though.
Look it up.

All pictures in this post copyright Yasir Khan 2007.

The Mosque of Ibn Tulun

I spent my second day here with Mujib Khan (no relation) - the managing director of AIG Egypt (the insurance company). I was introduced to him in Toronto by my friend Atique Azad of Butler's Pantry. Mujib's moving to Dubai, and wants to do a quick tour of Cairo before flying off.










So we meet up at the uber posh Conrad Hotel in the downtown area, hop into a chauffeured SUV, with his lovely guide Dina (almost all the Muslim Egyptian women I've met here so far are Dinas or Monas or Hodas), and head out to the Ibn Tulun mosque in old Cairo. Dina tells us it's the oldest surviving mosque in Egypt - all the way from 879AD.

All pictures in this post copyright Yasir Khan 2007.