Showing posts with label French. Show all posts
Showing posts with label French. Show all posts
Monday, December 15, 2008
Couscous in Garden City
I'm perched on my couch, set to launch into a rousing several hours of paper-writing again, but thought I'd update briefly before doing so. Yesterday, after pounding out a few pages, I went to the Khan with Ross to try and finish up the bulk of my Christmas shopping. I won't detail my purchases (because so doing might ruin surprises), but I will say that haggling and joking around with the merchants was great fun. Whenever anyone asked me where I was from, I made them guess. I got the sun, Canada, Germany and the US. I'm not sure what being from the sun entails, but one of the guy's that picked America said he had so guessed because only Americans wouldn't tell people where they were from up front. Ha! Ross and I grabbed a cab a little ways from the Khan, but still didn't manage to avoid the sketchy kind of cabbie that lines up outside tourist sites. He demanded 10 LE and we told him we absolutely weren't paying more than 6. In the end, we paid six and that was that. Before going home, we stopped in a bookstore that had some really cool 50s-ish looking story booklets in Arabic and a number of other languages, so we bought a few. Working a bit more on my papers for a while, I had to be back into the streets of Cairo a couple hours later to make my way to Garden City for what turned out to be an excellent dinner of Lebanese and Moroccan food at the home of some French acquaintances. Though I often have occasion to speak French here, last night truly reminded me that I've been gone from France for nearly a year and a half. I was the only American in a group of nine francophones, seven of whom were French and two of whom were Egyptian. We spoke French, naturally, for the entire dinner. I think my mouth and tongue have become unaccustomed to making the kind of sounds necessarily for good French pronunciation. Anyway, the toum and hummus were tasty appetizers and the couscous was great. Homemade dessert, French mœlleux au chocolat, topped of the meal. After dinner we chatted and tried to guess which theme music corresponded with various TV chose and movies, mostly American. I think the French had a better sense of American pop culture than I did. It was funny to hear them reel off the names of American series in French (as they're often quite different). Alas, the time soon came for me to put my nose back to the grindstone and I stayed up 'til 2:30 adding more bulk to my torturous essay. I am off to try and do the same.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Bevet Breizh!
You linguists out there will have caught that my title is in Breton, not Arabic. It means "Long live Brittany!" more or less. Brittany is the region of France where I spent my junior year of college and also the birthplace of crêpes and their savory counterparts, galettes. Why on earth am I talking about this when I'm residing in Cairo? Because today, I went to lunch with my Egyptian friend, Reham, and fellow American, Rebecca at the French Cultural Center. Though my cheese and mushroom galette with salade verte more closely resemble a cheese quesadilla, the French-speaking staff and a Breton flag lifted my spirits. Even better, while my (dessert) crêpe itself was lackluster, it was filled with crême de marrons, or chesnut spread in English. This was the halawa of my France days--I ate it allll the time with yogurt, on bread, or by itself. I plan to stock up during my extended layover in Paris on my way back to Cairo in January.
Prior to my lunch outing at 2, I had been up for hours already, having been awoken by the maddening doorbell-ringing antics of yet another Egyptian wanting money. The trash man, the man who "cleans the floor," and the landlord are all bereft of any concept of doorbell propriety, pushing the button incessantly thinking it will somehow hasten us to the door. To cope, I only answer the door when some knocks (inevitable my American or French neighbors) or when someone rings once (or twice if I'm feeling tolerant). More than that and they're out of luck. Anyway, the morning sunshine and Ross's company were the upsides to the decision I made to get up and going, capitalizing on my early-rising misfortune as an opportunity to reset my body clock. Running on four or so hours of sleep, I felt eerily optimistic and pleasant and productive. I even scrubbed down the kitchen sink. God knows why. It was in this mood that I polished up my outline for class today and then set off on the twenty-minute walk to Mounira, where the French Cultural Center is located. I lugged along my big camera and snapped photos along the way and, as I neared my destination, was suddenly swarmed by school children. I spoke to them in broken Arabic and they shared their few English words with me: "rabbit, carrot, nose, donkey" and other very useful vocabulary items. It occurred to me after a few minutes resting against a wall by the Center that next to it was a girls school. Headscarf-wrapped heads popped out of screenless windows on the top floor and giggles erupted. If you're tempted to envisage young Egyptian ladies as somehow demure and reserved, you're quite off the mark. I was the object of blown kisses accompany by kissy noises, dramatic princess waves, and even notes dropped from the window. The notes, sadly, were all blown off course by the wind. One girl yelled "Oh my God" rhyming God with flood, likely the only English phrase she could think of to get my attention. After this, another roar of giggles. Reham and Rebecca rescued me after about a quarter of an hour at which point we enjoyed our quasi-French food and had really good discussions about Islam and Christianity, theology, the Qur'an, gender roles, and more. I'm thankful that Reham's excellent English gives me a view on Egypt and the Islamic world that my obscenely rudimentary Arabic cannot afford me.
I had a hard time staying awake in class because of my fatigue, but was glad to be able to turn in my outline. I'll have feedback next week and then be able to get started on my paper. Afterward, I declined some invitations to go out, grabbed koshary, and headed here, to the apartment, to send some pictures along for the Rotary newsletter. After some readings for an irregularly scheduled class I have on Saturday morning (the one I'm presenting in), I hope to hit the sheets early.
News:
In wake of row over whipped Egyptian doctor, Egypt halts doctor visas to Saudi
Egyptian president to visit India for the first time in a quarter century
Egyptian bystanders, emergency services duped by German art installation at Goethe Institut
Prior to my lunch outing at 2, I had been up for hours already, having been awoken by the maddening doorbell-ringing antics of yet another Egyptian wanting money. The trash man, the man who "cleans the floor," and the landlord are all bereft of any concept of doorbell propriety, pushing the button incessantly thinking it will somehow hasten us to the door. To cope, I only answer the door when some knocks (inevitable my American or French neighbors) or when someone rings once (or twice if I'm feeling tolerant). More than that and they're out of luck. Anyway, the morning sunshine and Ross's company were the upsides to the decision I made to get up and going, capitalizing on my early-rising misfortune as an opportunity to reset my body clock. Running on four or so hours of sleep, I felt eerily optimistic and pleasant and productive. I even scrubbed down the kitchen sink. God knows why. It was in this mood that I polished up my outline for class today and then set off on the twenty-minute walk to Mounira, where the French Cultural Center is located. I lugged along my big camera and snapped photos along the way and, as I neared my destination, was suddenly swarmed by school children. I spoke to them in broken Arabic and they shared their few English words with me: "rabbit, carrot, nose, donkey" and other very useful vocabulary items. It occurred to me after a few minutes resting against a wall by the Center that next to it was a girls school. Headscarf-wrapped heads popped out of screenless windows on the top floor and giggles erupted. If you're tempted to envisage young Egyptian ladies as somehow demure and reserved, you're quite off the mark. I was the object of blown kisses accompany by kissy noises, dramatic princess waves, and even notes dropped from the window. The notes, sadly, were all blown off course by the wind. One girl yelled "Oh my God" rhyming God with flood, likely the only English phrase she could think of to get my attention. After this, another roar of giggles. Reham and Rebecca rescued me after about a quarter of an hour at which point we enjoyed our quasi-French food and had really good discussions about Islam and Christianity, theology, the Qur'an, gender roles, and more. I'm thankful that Reham's excellent English gives me a view on Egypt and the Islamic world that my obscenely rudimentary Arabic cannot afford me.
I had a hard time staying awake in class because of my fatigue, but was glad to be able to turn in my outline. I'll have feedback next week and then be able to get started on my paper. Afterward, I declined some invitations to go out, grabbed koshary, and headed here, to the apartment, to send some pictures along for the Rotary newsletter. After some readings for an irregularly scheduled class I have on Saturday morning (the one I'm presenting in), I hope to hit the sheets early.
News:
In wake of row over whipped Egyptian doctor, Egypt halts doctor visas to Saudi
Egyptian president to visit India for the first time in a quarter century
Egyptian bystanders, emergency services duped by German art installation at Goethe Institut
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
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
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
Monday, November 3, 2008
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
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
Friday, October 10, 2008
From Korea to Kandahar in Cairo
Yesterday was quite a full day. Our classes, now that Ramadan has ended, last three hours and the difference is quite palpable. I got koshary to go and left for my Intro course where I turned in my reflection paper on the refugee régime and its relationship with states' security interests and the language of humanitarianism. A couple of my classmates and I, after escaping from the fluorescent torture chamber, decided to get dinner. A nearby Lebanese place didn't have any room for the likes of us non-reservation holders, so we wandered to the Cleopatra Palace Hotel where one of us had heard there was a good Korean restaurant. I was skeptical as we rounded the corner and came upon the dodgy façade, but was pleasantly surprised inside. The kimchi was delicious as was our main course, bibimbap. Jamie, one of our group of three, had lived in South Korea for a year. She opined that the food in this Egypto-Korean joint was quite good, but that perhaps the rice was a little on the Egyptian side. The presence of dozens of Korean tourists ostensibly confirmed the authenticity or at least acceptability of the cuisine.
It was after ten by the time I returned home, but my evening was just beginning. My next stop was a house party in Mounira at an apartment near the French Cultural Center. Appropriately, there were a lot of francophones, affording me yet another opportunity to socialize in my second language. The rest of the number of guests were Canadian, British, Sudanese, Ethiopian, Iraqi, Lebanese, Italian, American, etc. I had a humorous conversation with my Ethiopian chum, Ammanuel in which he was earnestly trying to discover what American women really mean when they say "I don't know."
Finding myself still there, lost in conversation at 3 AM, I decided I probably ought to go home and sleep. A small herd of new acquaintances and one of my classmates had other plans and convinced me to join them at Odeon where we remained until sunrise. Honestly though, with the way my sleeping pattern is, it was worth it. The conversations I get to have and the experiences people share are truly unique.
Currently, after having slept in quite late, I've been buckling down and doing reading on whether people who are military deserters or trying to dodge military service obligations can qualify as refugees. In less than a couple of hours, I'll be heading to dinner at Kandahar which, though named after a city in Afghanistan, serves Indian and Lebanese food. Don't ask, I have no idea.
News of Egypt:
Education in Egypt
Rice not content with condition of human rights in Egypt
Egypt, Syria, and North Korea only three countries that ban commercial GPS
8 Egyptians charged in 'Eid sexual assault
It was after ten by the time I returned home, but my evening was just beginning. My next stop was a house party in Mounira at an apartment near the French Cultural Center. Appropriately, there were a lot of francophones, affording me yet another opportunity to socialize in my second language. The rest of the number of guests were Canadian, British, Sudanese, Ethiopian, Iraqi, Lebanese, Italian, American, etc. I had a humorous conversation with my Ethiopian chum, Ammanuel in which he was earnestly trying to discover what American women really mean when they say "I don't know."
Finding myself still there, lost in conversation at 3 AM, I decided I probably ought to go home and sleep. A small herd of new acquaintances and one of my classmates had other plans and convinced me to join them at Odeon where we remained until sunrise. Honestly though, with the way my sleeping pattern is, it was worth it. The conversations I get to have and the experiences people share are truly unique.
Currently, after having slept in quite late, I've been buckling down and doing reading on whether people who are military deserters or trying to dodge military service obligations can qualify as refugees. In less than a couple of hours, I'll be heading to dinner at Kandahar which, though named after a city in Afghanistan, serves Indian and Lebanese food. Don't ask, I have no idea.
News of Egypt:
Education in Egypt
Rice not content with condition of human rights in Egypt
Egypt, Syria, and North Korea only three countries that ban commercial GPS
8 Egyptians charged in 'Eid sexual assault
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
