A number of things occurred to me as I took the cleaner of the two metro lines from Mohamed Naguib station to Doqqi for dinner and on the way back (I returned on foot): one, I haven't written a particularly personal entry related to my experiences here lately; two, a lot of the way I see Egypt has been colored by my struggles with anxiety rather than Egypt itself; and three, Yemeni food is delicious.
Though during my scholarship period I attempted to keep my entries upbeat and look for the silver lining, I'm sure there were more than a few that revealed some, shall we say, acerbic sentiments about my host country and its people. It reached the point where I could see nothing but chaos and filth, dishonesty and decay, corruption and inefficiency. I saw my return home and to Europe for the summer as something of a prison break and harbored a deep resentment of Egypt that fed an utter dread of returning.
When I did return, I sought refuge in my air-conditioned room, seldom went out and blocked out Cairo with my iPod and a determination to be bothered by no one. I tried to live in Egypt without actually living here (which is essentially what Egypt's upper class does by retreating to desert compounds and gated communities). There's something to be said for preserving one's sanity, but what I was doing wasn't healthy either. I carried this feeling to Turkey, constantly pointing out Egypt's shortcomings in comparison (i.e. my last entry).
Last night though, something shifted. Walking down Tahrir in the direction of Abdin Palace, I forced myself to ask the question, "Is Egypt really how I think it is?" I wiped the standard dour, standoffish expression of my face and descended into the metro station. On the train, I didn't recoil dramatically or sigh loudly with exaggerated exasperation every time I got jostled. One man turned to talk to me and I tensed up. I didn't understand his Arabic and another passenger translated "Are you getting off at the next stop?" I replied in broken Arabic that I wasn't and realized that they were making sure I was close enough to the door to be able to maneuver through my fellow sardines. The rest of the evening was filled with equally mundane little attempts to recognize and respond positively to the good things I'd convinced myself didn't exist here: instead of scowling at a little kid who yelled "hello," I turned and smiled, etc. etc. Perhaps the most significant indicator happened this morning, however. My landlord, he who inspired near panic-attacks and sleepless nights before, came to collect rent. Already calm from the evening, I went to bed without worrying about what the morning would bring too much, but when the doorbell rang sometime before 11, I felt my stomach lurch and my stress level rise. I was ready to fight over anything. Restraining the force within that almost caused Mohamed not to renew our contract, I allowed for the possibility that maybe he wasn't the evil, weasely man I'd always assumed (by association with his brother, mostly). Lo and behold, our brief meeting was more than pleasant. He apologized that the rubbish collector had been harassing Cynthia and told us he would take care of it and that, instead of us paying the man directly, Mohamed's relative upstairs would take care of it for us.
I realize this is all very minor-sounding, but being able to take into account that the lens through which I view my surroundings makes all the difference is priceless. Demonizing or idealizing serves no one's interests, I don't think. So, dear Egypt, sorry for the bad rap I've given you in some circles. Here's to hoping the Cairene chapter of my life story will end happily.

News & Issues

• Egyptian armed forces to construct factory that will produce H1N1 vaccine
• Security beefed up in North Sinai in anticipation of Bedouin protests
• The Giza Zoo, everyone's favorite place to bribe a guard and hold an animal, was overwhelmed with visitors during the 'Eid with children shooting animals with pellet guns and trying to force their way into cages.
• A Shorouk (in Arabic) poll of online readers finds that some 77% would refuse to conduct business with Israelis.
  
• Cairo's metro to increase fines (article in Arabic): 15 EGP for not having a ticket and 100 EGP for street vendors and beggars. Really? You're going to fine a beggar 100 EGP? I'll bet the one-eyed woman who sells packets of Kleenexes is just flush with cash. Thankfully, to fight congestion, the trains are meant to begin running more frequently as well. And, for your added convenience, swine flu announcements over the loudspeakers.
  

Another bomb in Cairo

Less than a week after the Khan bombing, a mentally-ill Egyptian man who had spent time in a psychiatric hospital stabbed an American teacher there and then, today, a firebomb was thrown into a metro station. Thankfully no one was hurt in the attempted metro bombing because the device failed to explode. The motivations are unclear, but it's strange to me since it's not as though they were targeting foreigners. As is clear from the stares I get when I ride the metro, that mode of transportation is usually the domain of Egyptian commuters, not tourists. Halmiyat al-Zaytoon, where the bomb was thrown, was one of the stops along my ride to Ain Shams when I taught English there.
As for me, I'm doing fine. I didn't venture out today until later to meet Erin for dinner in Zamalek. We both worked diligently on reaction papers for law class beforehand to make ourselves feel as though Saturday wouldn't be for naught. When I did set off into the night, it was raining again and not just a mist or a light rain, but real rain. It was surreal to be sitting in traffic in Tahrir Square with raindrops on the windows. Aside from schoolwork, I did a bit of looking into where I might travel over spring break. Tunisia and Lebanon are both contenders at this point. In the nearer future, I'm joining my fellow ambassadorial scholars for a Rotary event on Tuesday. Dinner and a lecture by a Rotarian who is a doctor on one of the riverboats in Zamalek on the Nile.

News:
Foreign Policy article on the release of Ayman Nour
Secretary of State Clinton on her way to the Middle East
Netanyahu fails to persuade Livni to join coalition government in Israel

December? When did you get here?

Shopping at Alfa Market the other day, I ran into this lonely-looking Santa Claus in the back of the store, but even the gaudy Christmas decorations in stores that cater to foreigners didn't prepare me for today. What is today you ask? The 1st of December! I cannot believe that it's the month of Christmas and New Year's Eve and that I've been here in Egypt for over a quarter of a year now. Holiday planning and my trip to France and Belgium are underway. My month away from Egypt promises to be quite busy.
My stomach is being a bit more agreeable today and I've managed to make some headway on my paper (over 3,000 words at this point). I went back to Ain Shams tonight to teach English as usual and I sincerely regret not having brought my camera. In the run up to Eid al-Adha, the bloody holiday that will take place a week from today, more and more goats and cows have been appearing in the streets. In one particularly disconcerting display, a butcher-shop was brightly lit with the equivalent of Christmas lights that descended from the roof a multi-story building across the street. Flashing pinwheel lights and a host of different colored bulbs illuminated dozens of carcasses hanging on meathooks. And right next door were penned in cattle and goats, lowing and bleating in blissful ignorance, though I could have sworn that one exceptional cowlooked on with something like suspicion at the grotesque sight.
Class today involved prepositions and how they changed the meanings of various verbs like "put" and "take" and "turn". My student who'd been arrested came tonight and was actually one of the most eager to participate. After watching a video in law class yesterday on the rather bleak state of affairs regarding the rights of Sudanese refugees, I wished there was something more substantial I could do to improve their prospects of a better life. Tito, my best student, the one who'd ask me to help him learn French but hadn't come to class the last couple of weeks, showed up with his little brother who couldn't have been too much different in age from my won little brother. It's always sobering to think about just how different our lives are. The time I spend with refugees and studying their situations and experiences as well as living here in Egypt has transformed my vague theoretical awareness that the majority of the world lives in poverty and dysfunction into something much more viscerally real. And, as some of my classmates would point out, we don't even live in the "real" Africa. Spending time with family over the holidays, I'll be all the more appreciative of my life at home, but certainly painfully reminded that I can't blissfully assume everyone everywhere is just as happy, well-fed, and secure.
After teaching, I came back to my apartment with the noble intent of pounding out some more of my essay but since then have only managed to watch Al-Jazeera International and order and eat some pizza from Maison Thomas in addition to answering important emails. The hawkers on the metro have arrived at a new level obnoxious. One was trying to sell flashlights which he shined in people's eyes. Now, in my opinion, blinding people and trying to send epileptics into seizures just isn't a good salse tactic, but the deep sense of guilt Egyptians have toward the poor brought about a few transactions.

News:
An article about the Cairo Metro
Increasing ire at alleged police misconduct
High prices, low demand complicate cattle sales as Eid al-Adha approaches

Brunch, a Bagel Store, and a Brezel

Seeking respite from the noise and stares of Cairo, Amanda and I again found ourselves at Lucille's, this time with Erin. Among the three of us, we had pancakes and waffles with maple syrup, hash browns, fried potatoes, toast, and omelets. Miraculously, we were able to order the omelets with egg whites only. Try that anywhere in Egypt and see what you end up with, I dare you! Basking in the Americanness of the restaurant, and the relative quite outside, we ended up shopping a bit after our meal. We wandered from one grocery store and fruit stand to the next, and eventually to a German-style bakery where I scored a free "brezel" (pretzel in German). Finding a bagel store was another pleasant surprise as was the courtesy of the man behind the counter. Amanda and I invested in some carrot cake for tomorrow which we plan to eat after dinner (hopefully Ethiopian food). The weather was sublime, probably in the upper 60s. A light rain fell, the first time I'd felt precipitation in Cairo that wasn't a leaky air conditioner. As if unsure how to descend because of their rarity, the raindrops weaved about in the air crazily rather than falling straight to the earth which, despite being in an upmarket neighborhood was covered in litter and stalked by mangy cats and dogs. The whole experience was refreshing, but we were reminded all too soon as we wandered north and found ourselves back in an even more trash-dense neighborhood replete with gawking, whistling men harassing my friends, and with obnoxious drivers honking the more negative aspects of living here. Collecting the money for tickets, I went up to the counter to buy one for each of us and had the man taking the money refused one of the 50 piastre notes that Amanda had given me. It was darkened as if burned, but not to any significant degree. I peered at him and slid the bill back under the window and he shook his head and said "change." Not giving in, I raised my voice and asked, "ay da!?" (What's this!?/What do you mean!?) He kept saying change and I told him that I had none and that it was legal currency and that, therefore, he was obliged to accept it. The volume of my voice increasing proportionally with the increasing length of time I was made to stand there and he tried to hush me at one point, put his fingers to his lips. Determined not to back down, I ended up screaming to the point where I was attracting attention, had a very kind Egyptian man trade me a 50 piastre coin for the haggardly note, and purchased the ticket. This is but one example of the bizarre obsession with the appearance of banknotes in Egypt. It's as though the cleaner and more pristine they are, the more valuable. Rather than blaming Egypt again, I reminded myself that the man who delivered me from my predicament was just as Egyptian as the man behind the counter and furthermore, recalled the time when, at a train station in Rennes, a snooty French ticketseller refused a bill. Ma'alish.
I am now back at home, reading a bit more for class and catching up on the news. Below are some links, as usual, to the goings-on of Egypt and the Middle East.

American student arrested and detained in Iran
Smuggling tunnels between Egypt and Gaza mean booming black market business
More on the man convicted for molesting a woman in the street, an exception to the rule of unchecked sexual harassment in Egypt