Far away in Hay al-Ashr

Yesterday I had lunched with my Togolese-French neighbor, Ablavi, who is doing research for CEDEJ (Centre d'études et de documentation économiques, juridiques et sociales) on the denial of public education to Sudanese children in Egypt. Under international law, the children should have full access, but the reality on the ground is much different. Following my lentil soup and ta3mayya with eggs, I came back with Ablavi to our building and then set to reading one of the chapters of a book we're discussing today in Comparative Migration Law. It deals with the concept of "effective nationality" and moral links between a person and his or her country as opposed to merely nominative associations.
Later on, I joined the head of the project through which I teach English, and another volunteer teacher for a forty-five minute cabride to Hay al-Ashr. This place is a whole different world than downtown Cairo. It's much more diverse; Sudanese, Somalis, and many other African migrants and refugees are interspersed among Egyptians. They live in dozens upon dozens of buildings that look exactly the same, built, I'm told, as government housing projects. In many of the windows there is no glass and many of the structures are far from finished and never will be. A burnt-out charter bus marks the right turn to the anonymous-looking apartment complex where we will be teaching this semester. The kids are younger this time around, in their mid- to late teens. I'll be teaching the highest level courses as I did in Ain Shams. After setting some things up and meeting some of the students, the three of us went to a small room with bright blue walls on the third floor of a building a few streets over from the "school". There my companions enjoyed Sudanese food. The ride back was on a bus rather than a taxi; my first experience with the dodgy public buses of Cairo. The seats were falling to pieces, stares and whispers ensued and continued the whole way back. At one point, an elderly man got on the bus and began shouting a recitation of the Qur'an, wandering up and down the center aisle. Every bump sent us nearly out of our seats with no handle or other means of bracing ourselves to be found. I didn't mind it though, but I fear I'll never be able to find my way to such a bus in the middle of Hay al-Asher at 9:45 PM. The only way you really know where the bus is going is from the shouts of a kid who stands in front. I could make out "Tahrir", so maybe I'll figure it all out eventually.
Once back, I made dinner and then hung out with Phil and Ross for a while–we went to get juice. Phil talked to me about the development class and how much he enjoys it and I edged ever closer to trying to switch out of psycho-social and into Migration and Development and fully commit to the Master's. I have looked into fellowship opportunities but would need to apply by March 1st which means I'll have to formally switch from the Diploma into the Master's ASAP. I plan to talk to Ray, the head of the program, today. I have Law in a couple of hours and then the CMRS seminar immediately after. Philip Rizk is coming to speak tonight about the situation in Gaza and his film, This Palestinian Life. It should be interesting and, I hope, an opportunity to hear more about the other blogger and activist, Diaa Gad, on whom there is very little information.

News:
New York Times article on the state of the freedom of speech in Egypt
Abbas indicates flexibility toward Hamas on eve of reconciliation meetings in Cairo
Egypt to send troops, police to Congo as part of UN peacekeeping mission

Lowered Ears and French Favors

So I thought ordering in from upscale restaurants was quite something, but this evening, I ordered in a haircut. This wasn't a product of the Egyptian way of doing things (in which doctors still regularly make house calls and where you can order drugs sent to your door that aren't even available over the counter in the States), but rather the work of an acquaintance originally from Wisconsin. Now, those of you who know me well know that I'm finicky about my hair and rarely every pleased. I can only hope that the implicit trust I placed in my new friend is justified. My first few glances in the mirror revealed that nothing horrific had happened, but we'll see what I think tomorrow. As it is, I was rather impressed by the degree of professionalism.
Prior to my haircut, I'd been in Ain Shams where I spent the better part of two hours teaching about when to use "going to" and "will". My gosh, I have new-found respect for English teachers (including my mom). Tito, the one who's catching on the fastest, coaxed me into arriving early before class next Monday to give him a basic run-down on French. We'll see how that goes, ha! Teach French to an Arabic-speaking Sudanese guy in English in Egypt seems as though it could be an uphill battle. Later in the evening, during my haircut, I was also asked for a bit of French-tutoring.
The balmy weather (still in the 70s) and the teaching session lifted my otherwise stormy spirits. I'd been trapped in my apartment all day trying to assemble an annotated bibliography for one of my papers and got a case of cabin fever after about six hours. On my way to the metro, I wore the most impassive face I could muster, shoved in my earphones, and tried to ignore the world. Arriving at Tahrir Square, I passed an American couple trying to pleasantly turned down an obnoxiously persisent Egyptian man trying to get them to visit "his shop". As much as we talk about racism directly against Arabs, racism runs rampant here too. Egyptians on the whole are racist against black people, but also against whites. There's this view that we're these decadant infidels with gobs of money that can afford to be ripped off and therefore should be. I got into an argument with an unscrupulous cabdriver one night who asked me for twice the price an Egyptian would pay to go to my destination. I told him it was outrageously high and he didn't deny the price was high. Instead he goes, "but is it a problem for you?" suggesting that I could afford his inflated fare. Naturally, I found a more reasonable cab driver. Anyway, I left the American couple to fend for themselves after shooting them some sympathetic glances giving them an out to approach me if they wanted to. I next passed by a man getting his shoes shined in the street and contemplated how degrading shoe-shining is, or at least appears to be. I don't mean in places like George's shoeshine parlor in downtown Peoria, but rather where someone who is clearly impoverished is forced to bend over someone else's feet for a period of time attending to the shininess of their footwear. It is often the case that the shoe shinee here, be he a cop or a businessman, perches proudly and takes up as much space on the sidewalk as he can while this process takes place. Perhaps I'm not explaining it well, the site just struck me as off-putting and has the last several times I've beheld it.
On the way back from the metro, I went to get bread from a corner market only to find that, instead of whole wheat "Rich Bake" there was, in fact, a cat on the shelf. This was my second unexpected animal encounter of the evening, the first being in Ain Shams when walking to teach. As I passed an internet-café, an electronics shop, and a dry goods store of sorts, I suddenly found myself surrounded by goats. They were just sort of their, half-corralled, half-freely wandering among the cars and trucks. I don't ask questions anymore. Especially not questions like those inspired by the butcher shops in Ain Shams, such as, "Huh, that's an interesting tail on that carcass, I wonder what kind of animal that used to be?"

News:
Facebook activism in Egypt (with a video worth watching)
Egyptian president Mubarak visits Sudan
Egyptian woman killed by bulldozer while protesting the demolition of a home in Qena

English lessons and a Danish evictee

I've just gotten back from a few hours of teaching English to south Sudanese students in Ain Shams–my first official class session. Ok, the just part is was only true before I was dragged across the hall to be told some shocking news and after I had three squares of dark chocolate.
Despite the reports I've heard that certain NGOs won't work with the students I'm teaching because they belong to "gangs" and are incorrigible, all of them were exceedingly polite. I'm called "teacher" rather than by my first name. This sign of respect is afforded me even though the students are essentially my peers, ranging in age from 18-30 with most in their late teens and early 20s. We covered negation in the singular and plural–including some versus any, and how to read a map and discuss where certain things are located. Someone brought up Obama, so I also briefly explained the legislative branch of American government and what senators were. Though I was nervous I'd not be able to properly convey the concepts in my lesson plans and be effective in my teaching, things went very well. One student, Tito, asked me after class if in the future I would mind giving him French lessons on the side. After all the upheaval in his life, I'm amazed at his drive and determination.
On the way there, my best efforts to look calm, collected, and disinterested with my iPod playing and my distant stare not inviting "welcome to Egypt"esque remarks were all thwarted when I got my fore-arm stuck in the closing metro doors which, for some reason, had not opened all the way in the first place. It wasn't particularly painful, and my fellow passengers were quick to help me extricate my limb from the door. I shook it off wedged myself into the sardine-can tightness of the train. The way back was much less congested; I even had a seat to sit in.
Upon returning, I found that I had been copied in an email from my landlord (who now seems certifiably nuts) informing everyone in both the flats on our floor that the Danish girl who lives with Catherine is being evicted tomorrow because of a contary email she sent. Up in arms, Catherine contacted an attorney at the American embassy and also looked up relevant laws in the Egyptian Civil Code, replying to Ahmed's various threats with a barrage of counter-threats and demands. The evening turned from astonishment over the events to normal conversation, affording me the opportunity to chat in French again with the Dane, her French boyfriend, and a Togolese-French girl who's just moved in. So apparently both Camilla and Catherine are moving out tomorrow. I myself wish I could find a reasonably-priced place that was a bit nicer than this with a landlord who didn't fall into the categories of flake or crook–Ahmed definitely being the former, though thankfully not much of the latter. It will be interesting to see how all this drama unfolds. It was nice to get to know my new neighbor a bit and to be told again that I had presque pas d'accent (nearly no accent) in French. Just when I get worried I'm losing my language skills from having been out of French for a year and a couple of months, something like that comes my way, and it's great.

News:
Former Sudanese president dies in Egypt
"Paradox of Power" in Egypt
Egypt to build nuclear power plant, likely with aid of US firm
Freedom of speech still not so free in Egypt says BBC
Another migrant murdered by guards at Israeli-Egyptian border