Thursday night I was finally able to get to the mall to have Mobinil make my cell phone work (turned out I was using an expired sim chip). I was once again amazed at the feeling of detachment from the world outside that seems to be the mall's hallmark. One thing I noticed this time was the (to me) strange juxtaposition of east and west one can find there. Especially noteworthy is seeing women in the full veil, revealing only their eyes, wandering around. In their dress, they in some ways personify the mystery and fear the West associates with the Middle East. Yet here they are, not on television screens but a few feet away, with children, husbands and friends indistinguishable from any other shoppers in tow. They tote fashionable handbags and linger at the same displays as women wearing decidedly un-Islamic dress. I don't think, having seen these women in person, in context, humanized, I can have the same when I see them depicted in the media. Behind the veil, I've come to see, are actual women, not symbols, living actual lives. This is sort of obvious, I suppose, but on the other hand, assuming you watch the same western media I do, when have you ever associated veiled women with the title of "mall patron"?
Friday, everyone went over to the houses of other host parents to learn how to cook traditional Egyptian food. Unfortunately, when I arrived at my assigned house I was told everything had been finished two hours ago. The other guests and I wound up being treated to a lunch of Koshari and then whiled away the time playing videogames with our hosts' children. At least I learnt an important lesson: maintaining my pride and dignity probably requires me to never touch a Playstation ever again.
Later that night, we brought all the food over to a pier along the Nile, where we had a party. We all donned galabiyas, traditional Egyptian costume we had been instructed to wear for the occasion. I felt rather silly and touristy wearing it, but I have to admit it's better suited to the climate than western clothes. I politely declined all requests from laughing Egyptian bystander to take a picture with me, the Stupid American. All in all, however, it was a very nice evening. We ate and danced and even got to watch as a wedding procession made its way into an adjacent ballroom, accompanied by loud singing and drumming. Apparently, weddings are almost always held in the summer here, which would explain why I seem to see one every few days and at least 4 or 5 of my friends have gone to one just in these past 2 weeks.
The next day proved to be an exciting change of scenery. We set off for the country home of one of the host families, about 1 ½ hours outside Cairo. It took a long time for the endless apartment blocks to finally give way to (some) fields, and even then the landscape was dotted with absurdly out-of-place apartments sprouting among the corn stalks. We arrived at the house to find a cluster of women assembled around smoking wood ovens, stretching dough into circles and then loading them into the fire. Within 20 minutes, all of us were sitting down to a simple, traditional Egyptian lunch of fiteer, served hot right out of the oven. Fiteer is sometimes known as the Egyptian equivalent of pancake or pizza, but these comparisons are way off. It is a circular food consisting of many layers of philo dough stacked on top of one another and coated with butter. It is flaky and cruchy and chewy and unbelievably delicious with honey, cheese, yogurt sauce or even plain. I had had it a few times before, but nothing compares to having it freshly baked. I pledged that when I returned to the states I would start searching for a bakery that made fiteer and, having done so, would immediately invite everyone over for a reunion. The response to my promise was universally positive.
We spent much of the rest of the day hanging around the homestead, drinking tea (surprisingly, plain old Lipton, but brewed with ginger root and with just the right amount of sugar added) and riding donkeys (mildly thrilling). We also shucked corn and threw it into the oven, and within a few minutes had roast corn, a very popular snack here (vendors, with their tiny charcoal grills, can be found all over Cairo). We were then loaded up on the bus for a short drive to the mayor's house. I'm not really sure how the mayor managed to figure out our presence, or why he would want to meet us, but we nevertheless spent 45 minutes being shunted from sitting room to sitting room before taking a group picture in the blinding sunlight and shaking hands with the mayors fan, silent son. Tha man himself, it turned out, was not there. We left with a distinct feeling of having wasted time. Small town politics, Egyptian style.
Later that night, I had my first real cultural misunderstanding with my host family. I came home exhausted, and was looking forward to sleeping, when close friends of the family arrived. I sat and talked with them for several minutes, but eventually my host parent noticed I could barely keep my eyes open and told me I could go to bed. I got up and went, relieved, but soon found myself unable to sleep. I could hear the TV and the radio, along with talking, coming from the living room, and the noise was keeping me up. The fact I had my door open (traditionally, you don't close your door unless you're changing clothes) didn't help. I eventually got up and went into the living room, where I groggily asked my host brother to lower the volume on the TV. He agreed and told me I could shut the bedroom door. When I returned to the bedroom, I noticed something strange: complete and utter silence. I cursed silently. Clearly, I had screwed up big time.
The next morning, I had my host brother explain what unfolded to me. First, they interpreted me as being very loud, almost screaming, when I was really just trying to speak over the TV. Second, they interpreted me through the lens of a culture in which communication is all about what isn't said. Although I thought I was asking for the volume to be lowered, they took that as me DEMANDING the TV be turned off. Furthermore, since the noise was a result of the visiting family, and under the rules of Arab hospitality your first concern as a guest is not to disturb anyone in the house, by lodging a complaint I was strongly suggesting that they should leave. I therefore acted extremely rudely, embarrassed my host family and basically kicked several very nice people out of the house (whom my host father had to call and apologize to).
This problem occupied my thoughts all day. I was absolutely mortified and determined to set things right. On my way home today, I bought a bouquet of flowers for my host mother and presented it to her with profuse apologies. I then also apologized to my host father, and my host siblings. Both my parents said they understood it was a difference of cultures, that they weren't mad at me and couldn't stay mad at me because they considered me their son, and that I should consider the issue over and done with. I'm sincerely glad that this, my first real test of cross-cultural conflict, was resolved successfully. I can only hope I avoid such problems in the future and, if I can't, my family will be as amazingly understanding and empathetic as they were today.
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