Talal Asad

I have just read an interesting interview by Talal Asad (Distinguished Professor of Anthropology at the City University of New York (CUNY) Graduate Center). He discusses human rights, secularism and the interaction between Islam and Western traditions. He makes very interesting observations about the interactions of the public and private in Islam. Here is an extract from his interview - an extract that highlights the importance of questioning what we mean by 'equality' and the benefits of individualism. I try to keep such questions at the forefront of my mind as I work within the world of human rights law:
"Of course there are people who are trying to rethink the Islamic tradition in ways that would make it compatible with liberal democracy. But I am much more interested in the fact that the Islamic tradition ought to lead us to question many of the liberal categories themselves. Rather than saying, "Well yes we can also be like you," why not ask what the liberal categories themselves mean, and what they have represented historically? The question of individualism, for example, is fraught with all sorts of problems, as people who have looked carefully at the tradition of individualism in the West know very well. The same is true of the question of equality. We know that the equality that is offered in liberal democracies is a purely legal equality, not economic equality. And the two forms of equality can't be kept in water-tight compartments. Even political equality doesn't necessarily give equal opportunity to all citizens to engage in or contribute to the formulation of policy. What do Islamic ideas about the individual, equality, etc., tell us about Western liberal ideas?
These are questions worth pursuing, I think. So instead of leaping up and saying, "Ah yes, we can all be liberal," I think it is more important to ask, for example, "What exactly does the liberal mean by tolerance?" It is easy enough to be tolerant about things that don't matter very much. That tends to be the rule in liberal societies. Increasingly what you believe, what you do in your own home, whether you stand on your head or decide not to, is up to you as an individual in liberal democracies. So who cares? The liberal tolerates these things because the liberal doesn't care about them. Yet tolerance is really only meaningful when it is about things that really matter. Even in ordinary language we talk about "tolerating pain". In other words, the kind of tolerance that really matters is something we ought to be exploring, thinking more about - and the ways in which the Islamic tradition conceives of tolerance (however limited that might be) helps to open up such questions."
http://www.asiasource.org/news/special_reports/asad.cfm

Egyptian men's obsession with their crotch

If you have read some of my other postings about the level of sexual harassment on the streets of Cairo, it will probably be no surprise to hear that Egyptian men love to hold their crotches. I only wish that this sight was as attractive as the picture I have added to accompany this posting...

When you are walking the streets, you are confronted with man after man nursing the contents of his crotch area. Every now and again, these men jiggle said contents around, or give them a good scratch. Particularly delightful is when you are in a taxi, and so are at eye-level with said crotches. You turn to look at the morning light over the Nile, and you are confronted instead with a policeman's hand firmly planted on his genitals. It's such a beautiful way to start the day... (and, in fact, was the way I started this Halloween morning).

Honk, Honk, Honk...

One of the most dominating, never-ending noises in Cairo is the beeping of car horns. At any point in the day or night, you can hear these horns being blasted without regard for the eardrums of the people around. If you are unfortunate enough to be standing directly next to a taxi when it honks, then you are (as I have discovered) temporarily deafened.

But the problem is not so much the trigger(beeping)-happy nature of the taxi drivers, but the nature of the driving. Taxis and cars just stop (or break down) anywhere. If they decide that they want to look at something, say hello to a friend, drop off a customer... then they stop. It doesn't matter if this means that a junction is blocked. Nor does it matter if they are in the middle of the road.

But, while I understand the need for the honking, I'm wondering if there is a quieter, more communally-minded solution. Maybe there is a way of quietly administering a very small electric shock to the driver who pays no heed to the flow of traffic? I'm talking very very small, of course., and this shouldn't necessarily apply to the people who break down.. but at least then my dreams wouldn't be full of honks and beeps, and I wouldn't find myself suffering temporary deafness when I walk the streets.

(Yes... I see all sorts of potential human rights abuses arising from this electic shock solution... but there must be some way of administering it in a fair and equitable manner ;-)).

The Usefulness of Literature??

I went to a very enjoyable Proust reading group this evening. The guy who was running it is working on a Ph.D. in comparative literature and had given some good thought to why he is pursuing a career in literary academia. All my old concerns and thoughts returned to me: why literature mattered, how anyone could justify a life studying and teaching fictional works. What he said really made me stop and think: We had been arguing for a while about the ‘usefulness’ of literature, but he paused and said that he had no problem with its lack of utility. In fact, he fully embraced the fact that literature was ‘useless’ and in no way integral to the process of staying alive. He wanted to teach literature precisely because it was viewed as useless within a capitalist society. He wanted to teach his students to stop and think and to spend hours reading just a few pages. He wanted to show them that life wasn’t all about making money and meeting deadlines. It was, more importantly, about learning to relate to other people and to spend time listening and empathizing. He believed this skill could be acquired through the process of reading (good literature) in a slow and deliberate manner. So, yet again, I find myself missing my academic life and wondering if I should return to a more creative path, or at least to a teaching career. Because I also deeply believe that people need to slow down and to spend more time really appreciating the interconnectedness of human beings, whatever their race, religion, nationality, gender….

The effectiveness of human rights..

I am constantly questioning and assessing the role of human rights discourse, particularly in the legal field, and whether it can really make a difference to people on the ground. I think it's important that I remain acutely aware of the discord that can emerge between legal cases and people's actual lives.
I am attempting to think of ways to approach my desire to improve human relations and to reduce suffering that will really have an impact on individuals. With my literature background, I am looking at the creative projects used to promote human rights...
Today I have been reading Richard Rorty who writes:

"In my utopia, human solidarity would be seen...as a goal to be achieved. It is to be achieved not by inquiry but by imagination, the imaginative ability to see strange people as fellow sufferers. Solidarity is not discovered by reflection but created. It is created by increasing our sensitivity to the particular details of the pain and humiliation of other, unfamiliar sorts of people. Such increased sensitivity makes it more difficult to marginalize people different from ourselves... ....This process...is a matter of detailed description of what unfamiliar people are like and of redescription of what we ourselves are like. This is a task not for theory but for [other] genres..., especially, the novel. Fiction...gives us the details about kinds of suffering being endured by people to whom we had previously not attended....gives us the details about what sorts of cruelty we ourselves are capable of, and thereby lets us redescribe ourselves. That is why the novel, the movie, and the TV program have...replaced the sermon and the treatise as the principal vehicles of moral change and progress."
I have put more of Rorty's work on the bottom RHS of this blog, under 'quotations from books/articles I'm currently reading.'

Wearing a Veil .. my readings on the issue (I)

I have begun reading a variety of articles and books on women in Islam, focusing particularly on the the wearing of the veil.
The article I am reading today describes the rise of "Islamism"--a political form of Islam-- and how educated, well-travelled women who are part of this movement decide to wear the veil as a symbol of pride and distinction. The author, Nilüfer Göle, (a prominent Muslim Turkish scholar) admits that it is a "puzzling issue, because they have become assertive by adopting a symbol of gender subservience and stigmatization." She describes the veil as a "stigma," but how it is now being used as a 'positive' stigma by many women:
"veiling as a sign that is seen as debasing women's identity - as inferior to men, passive and secluded in the interior family space -- is voluntarily adopted by women as a stigma sign, but struggling to become a new prestige symbol. In short, the meanings of the veil are undergoing a radical transformation by women who have had access to secular education and agency and claim their difference in spaces of modernity. The headscarf, symbol of backwardness, ignorance, and subservience for Muslim women in modern contexts, fights back to bcome, once again, as it has thought to be in the Islamic past, a symbol of distinction and prestige for urban Muslim women."
(Nilufer Gole, "The Voluntary Adoption of Islamic Stigma Symbols," 70 Social Research 810, 820-1 (2003)).

Female Sexuality... part I

I have been thinking a great deal about many universal, age-old topics as I tramp the streets of Cairo. One of these topics is “female sexuality”… who hasn’t written or thought about this?? Living in Cairo, I am experiencing my sexuality in a completely new way. There are many elements of the society here that want me to regard my sexuality as a dangerous and unwelcome force that I need to keep well hidden. Because this is a male-dominated culture, with men crowding the public spaces, my sexuality is seen as a source of public disorder. Men, it seems, are naturally sexual animals and so it is the duty of women to prevent the men from becoming too excited. Yesterday, I wore a t-shirt that was a little more low-cut than usual. No, you could not see a hint of my breasts. But it also wasn’t all the way up to my neck. The hissing from men doubled or trebled. And numerous women also looked at me and my collarbones with disgust. Otherwise, I was wearing a long skirt down to my ankles and my hair was tied back. I wasn’t wearing makeup.
Yes… I know that I am in a foreign culture with strong religious beliefs and, as a visitor, I should show respect for Islamic customs. I wouldn’t wear a short skirt and tank top. And I understand and respect the religious convictions of many people here. But my perspective is not religious because, well, I am not religious. And I can see clearly how sexuality is being used as a source of repression and how, in many ways, women are the more powerful members of society because they are capable of ‘entrancing’ men with their bodies. But because of the male physical strength, the men have taken over the majority of societies in the world and women are forced to ‘regulate’ themselves so that the poor men can cope.
Today I am reading an article about how the Taliban controlled women and the private sphere in Afghanistan. The autobiography of one Afghan woman recounts how: “Women were not allowed to laugh or even speak loudly, because this risked sexually exciting males. High heels were banned because their sound was also declared provocative. Makeup and nail varnish were banned. Women who failed to respect such edicts would be beaten, whipped, or stoned to death.” (From Juan Cole, “The Taliban, Women, and the Hegelian Private Sphere,” 70 Social Research 3 (Fall 2003).)
The Taliban was a particularly oppressive regime with shockingly anachronistic interpretations of Islam. But I can feel the same type of attitude here: that women need to ensure that they are in no way provocative, in order to save the poor men from their sexual urges. On my better days, I feel sorry for the men on the street and pity their need to hiss at me. It’s a pathetic attempt to seem ‘manly.’ On the harder days, I begin to feel their aggressive shouts and stares get under my skin and undermine my strength. Last night, after walking the streets in my shockingly provocative t-shirt (with sleeves and just below the collar-bone), I decided to head to the all-women’s section of the gym and avoid any male attention. Constantly pushing against the male assertions of dominance can get tiring and I needed a few hours to feel comfortable with my body and not feel judged or sexually threatening. But these all-female rooms shouldn’t have to exist… it should be the men who are made to regulate their bodies and potential sexual urges. And it should be the men who are made to feel embarrassed and ashamed if they find themselves incapable of controlling their excitement at the sight of a woman’s body.

Egypt's media defy Mubarak at their peril

An article from the Chicago Tribune describes the extent to which freedom of expression is being repressed in Egypt. The government is cracking down on any journalists (including bloggers) who are critical of Mubarak's regime. One major target has been Ibrahim Eissa, editor of the Al-Dustour newspaper. He reported in August of this year that President Mubarak (pictured opposite) was unwell, and rumours quickly spread that the president had died. The Egyptian government wasn't too happy about this!
The article is available at http://www.chicagotribune.com/services/newspaper/printedition/monday/chi-egypt_slyoct15,0,7285323.story
Eissa seems to be keeping his humour going. He wrote that he was pleased to hear that you could take his i-pod into prison with him:
"I've found out that I'm allowed to take my iPod," he said cheerfully. "This is progress in the Mubarak era. Yes, they do torture you in your cell, but they allow you to listen to your iPod!"

Spreading the condom joy....

My purse was stolen today and I had to cancel all my credit cards.... so I have been feeling thoroughly miserable. To cheer me up, a friend sent me a link to a great condom educational song from India ... watch it for yourself at http://digg.com/lbv.php?id=3835822&ord=1

This ludicrous, but highly amusing, video is very similar to initiatives that I saw in Papua New Guinea when I was there in March 2007. I was in PNG conducting interviews in remote highland villages. We were assessing the impact of a Canadian gold mine that is situated right in the middle of the highlands (owned by Barrick Gold). The conditions we found were shocking and deeply upsetting. But the wonderful condom/ AIDS awareness posters always made me smile (even if it seems to be only mildly encouraging men to actually use the condoms....). I loved this poster in particular... where the warrior condom man takes on the AIDS epidemic....

DONALD RUMSFELD CHARGED WITH TORTURE DURING TRIP TO FRANCE

"October 26, 2007, Paris, France – Today, the International Federation for Human Rights (FIDH) along with the Center for Constitutional Rights (CCR), the European Center for Constitutional and Human Rights (ECCHR), and the French League for Human Rights (LDH) filed a complaint with the Paris Prosecutor before the “Court of First Instance” (Tribunal de Grande Instance) charging former Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld with ordering and authorizing torture. Rumsfeld was in Paris for a talk sponsored by Foreign Policy magazine. “The filing of this French case against Rumsfeld demonstrates that we will not rest until those U.S. officials involved in the torture program are brought to justice. Rumsfeld must understand that he has no place to hide. A torturer is an enemy of all humankind,” said CCR President Michael Ratner.“France is under the obligation to investigate and prosecute Rumsfeld’s accountability for crimes of torture in Guantanamo and Iraq. France has no choice but to open an investigation if an alleged torturer is on its territory. I hope that the fight against impunity will not be sacrificed in the name of politics. We call on France to refuse to be a safe haven for criminals.” said FIDH President Souhayr Belhassen. “We want to combat impunity and therefore demand a judicial investigation and a criminal prosecution wherever there is jurisdiction over the torture incidents,” said ECCHR General Secretary Wolfgang Kaleck."That a criminal State representative should benefit from impunity is always unacceptable. Because the USA is the super power of the beginning of this century and, above all, because it is a democracy, the impunity of Donald Rumsfeld is even more insufferable than that of a Hissène Habré or a Radovan Karadzic", underlined Jean-Pierre Dubois, LDH President. The criminal complaint states that because of the failure of authorities in the United States and Iraq to launch any independent investigation into the responsibility of Rumsfeld and other high-level U.S. officials for torture despite a documented paper trail and government memos implicating them in direct as well as command responsibility for torture – and because the U.S. has refused to join the International Criminal Court – it is the legal obligation of states such as France to take up the case. In this case, charges are brought under the 1984 Convention against Torture, ratified by both the United States and France, which has been used in France in previous torture cases. French courts therefore have an obligation under the Convention against Torture to prosecute individuals responsible for acts of torture if they are present on French territory (1). This will be the only case filed while he is in the country, which makes the obligations to investigate and prosecute under international law extremely strong."
http://www.fidh.org/spip.php?article4829

On why my lungs are feeling so challenged....

"CAIRO, Oct 19 (IPS/IFEJ) - Air pollution is so bad in Cairo that living in the sprawling city of 18 million residents is said to be akin to smoking 20 cigarettes a day. According to the World Health Organisation, the average Cairene ingests more than 20 times the acceptable level of air pollution a day.A 2002 World Bank report estimates that pollution causes 2.42 billion dollars worth of environmental damage each year, about five percent of Egypt's annual gross domestic product. Industry is to blame, in part, the worst offenders being factories that burn mazot for power. Mazot is the heavy oil left over after more valuable fuel products have been extracted from crude oil; when burnt, it emits substantial amounts of the greenhouse gases said to cause global warming. The Ministry of the Environment continues to promise new measures to hold industry culprits accountable for air pollution, but has failed to put teeth into enforcement."
http://www.ipsnews.net/news.asp?idnews=39730

Kushari... how to get fat in Egypt

There is a delicious concoction that you can buy in small shops in Cairo called "kushari". It’s a mixture of rice and pasta, and a small amount of lentils and chickpeas, and some dried onion and tomato hot sauce. One of the women at work told me that all foreigners like this mix… so I’m a predictable foreigner. It’s a good way to get some bellydancing pounds on my waist.

On wishing I had stocked up at duty free...

In its infinite wisdom, the Egyptian government has banned the sale of all foreign alcohol. I don’t think you can get though life in this city without an occasional stiff drink, so I have been driven to try out Egypt’s finest… Tonight I am sipping on Omar Khayyam’s “Vin Rose.” Usually, I don’t go for a rose. But I thought some additional sweetness would mask the ethanol overtones. Omar Khayyam was an Egyptian poet and there is a small extract of his work on the back: “Dreaming when Dawn’s Left Hand was in the Sky/ I heard a voice within the Tavern cry/ ‘Awake my little ones, and fill the Cup,/ Before Life’s Liquour in its Cup be dry’.” (random capitalization verbatim).
Khayyam allegedly was a big drinker, and would continually be pulled before authorities who condemned him for his immoral ways. But he argued that wine was a necessary joy in life… and I wholeheartedly agree.
This wine is, so the bottle says, celebrating 125 years of production. That would be 125 years of headache-inducing hangovers. I haven’t even tried the Egyptian vodka that I bought this evening. My roommate said it might make me blind… But as long as it helps me sleep through the morning prayers, I’m a happy woman! The beer is also not that bad. I've stocked my fridge with Sakara at the moment ...
But next time I pass through duty free… I’m going to load up on Scottish whiskey, British gin and any vodka that won’t make me blind…

Sunsets over Cairo

I walk home from work every night - an hour walk along crowded pavements and hectic, traffic-laden roads. I love to see the other people also on the street--business men in suits, people carrying home loads of tea or wood on their heads, college students in jeans and tight t-shirts (with a veil if they are women)... What I really love, however, are the sunsets over the Nile. My favourite part of the walk is when I cross a bridge over the Nile and I stop to stare into the swirling water below, lit up by the orange sky. There are numerous fellucas (small sail boats) out on the water and equally numerous, but less attractive 'disco boats', all lit up in gaudy colours with music blaring. The hour ends up passing very quickly...

New starts and finding the comfort of habit

Moving to a new location is always a difficult and strange experience… I should know by now! Over the last fifteen years, I’ve lived in a small village in Wales, a small village in Nepal, Oxford, Dulles in Albania, San Diego, Berkeley, New York, London and Boston and, now, Cairo. At the moment, I am in the difficult stage of transition where everything seems foreign, I have no routine and I know few people. But gradually the layers of strangeness are peeling off and I’m beginning to see the trees for the forest… I’m beginning to realize that not all the men (of course..) are hissing at me. Many are yelling at their friends or a stranger across the street. I’m beginning to notice which streets are cleaner and easier to walk along. I’m building enough confidence to start looking at people rather than just staring at the floor. I know how long the prayers will last at the mosque, at what time the people in the apartments around me will start yelling at each other or slamming their windows. I know the more comfortable side of my bed and the way to get my shower at the right temperature.
Last night, I was reading Proust’s “In Search of Lost Time.” He described how his mind strained to feel comfortable in its surroundings. How, when you move to a new place, you are “convinced of the hostility of the curtains and the insolent indifference of a clock.” Finally, however, everything falls in place:
“Habit! That skilful but slow-moving arranger who begins by letting our minds suffer for weeks on end in temporary quarters, but whom our minds are none the less only too happy to discover at last, for without it, reduced to their own devices, they would be powerless to make any room seem habitable.”
I am waiting for habit to arrange my life here so that I can begin to feel more comfortable and more at home. It takes time, but familiarity always ends up arriving at some level…

Cats, cats and more cats

If you are a cat lover, then Cairo can be tough on the heart. My roommate left the house yesterday and passed two dead kittens on the doorstep of the opposite apartment. She said they had been torn apart, probably by another cat. One small kitten was left alive and lay huddled next to its siblings.
When I got home this evening, this small kitten was crouched at the foot of my door. I tried to feed it, but it wouldn’t eat the food I left out. Instead, its mother arrived and ate the food and I later saw the kitten feeding from her. I wish I could adopt the little fluff of orange and white. But we already have a cat… and you just can’t adopt all the strays on the street.

"The Lost Boys of Cairo", Caroline Moorehead

The Prologue to Caroline Moorehead's "Human Cargo" is called "The Lost Boys of Cairo." It documents her interactions with mainly Liberian refugees who are hiding in Cairo. It is a powerful piece of writing, with incredible snapshots of the stories of individuals who have lost everything and whose future is generally bleak:
"Fear, memory, expectations, endlessly deferred, rule in the quicksands of Cairo's refugee world. Psychiatrists say that it is important for peace of mind to live in the present, to come to terms with daily existence, and neither brood about the past nor attach too much meaning to the future; but the refugees trapped in Cairo today, haunted by terrifying memories of loss and savagery, seduced by a longing for a world they perceive as stable and fulfilling, cannot accept the present. Cairo is a prison sentence, to be endured because there is no option. They simply wait...
Cairo is not just one of the most polluted cities in the world; it is dirty, intensely overcrowded, broken down and full of rubble, with roads built up on legs above other roads in an attempt to dispel the traffic jams that paralyse the city for all the day and most of the night. Occasionally, between the brick and the cement, you catch glimpses of filigreed minarets, delicately carved porticoes and arcades, stately facades and the traces of sumptuous courtyards, earlier Cairos of the Islamic mastercrafstmen and Coptic merchants, when the city was a splendid place of pleasure garden and cool palaces, civil servants in their red fezzes strolled along tree-lined avenues and visitors drank sherbet in famous tearooms. It is the utterly derelict nature of the city today that partly makes possible its absorption of so many refugees - 200,000? 500,000? No one can say for sure. Around the city's edges, entrepreneurs keep constructing identical breeze-block buildings in ever-widening circles, leaving the top floor unfinished so that other floors can be added year by year. From the top of the buildings along the Nile, on the rare moments when the smog evaporates and the setting sun lights up the horizon, you can see the Pyramids of Giza, framed by the jagged edges of yet more unfinished blocks. Wherever the buildings are most derelict, the electicity supplies most sporadic, the water least reliable, there the refugees live." (pages 8-9)

A Refugee Story from "Human Cargo" by Caroline Moorehead

One day a man in a country in Africa was arrested and accused of belonging to an illegal opposition group. He was sent to prison and tortured. In his cell was a very small window. By standing up very straight in the far corner of the room, he could just see a field outside. From time to time, cows came to graze in it. As the weeks passed, he grew to recognise their shapes and colours. One in particular pleased him, and he gave her a name. From that day on, whenever she passed his window, he talked to her. He told her about his wife and children who had disappeared, about his house and his parents, and the village where he grew up.
The day came when he was freed. He left his African country and went into exile, taking his cow with him. In his new country, he was offered an appointment with a doctor to talk through his experiences. On the first day, he arrived in good time, leading his cow behind him. When the receptionist ushered him into the consulting room, he made sure the cow had plenty of room to follow him. Week after week, the man and his cow attended sessions together.
Several months went by. One day, the doctor suggested that the moment had come for the man to bid farewell to his cow. He replied that it was too soon. Several more months passed. Then the morning came when the man accepted that he could keep the cow with him no longer. That day, he was extremely sad. He brought the cow with him as usual, and then, crying, told her that the time had come for her to go home. Saying goodbye to his cow made him weep more than he had wept for many years.

Cairo Metro

The metro in Cairo was a wonderfully pleasant surprise – it beats London and New York for cleanliness and speed. And it only costs 1 Egyptian pound (around 10 pence in the UK..) What made the ride so pleasant was the fact that there is a women’s-only carriage at the front of the train. Finally I could stare at people to my heart’s content and not get immediately propositioned for sex…!! What a great thirty minutes of freedom!
The carriage was full of women and children dressed in all sorts of colours and to various degrees of conservatism. There were women dressed from head to toe in black, with sheets of material covering their whole body, with only a small slit for the eyes. These women even wear gloves… they made me feel extra hot as I stood in my trousers and shirt and felt beads of sweat trickling down my back.
The majority of women, however, were in a regular hijab – a headscarf that covers all the hair and frames the face. Some of these scarves were bright, decorated in sequins and small beads. Others were very plain and somber. The majority of younger women wearing the niqab had on jeans and tight tops—though the sleeves almost uniformly went to the wrist (a favourite style is a long-sleeved top with a little tank top over the top). The older women, however, tended to be wearing loose tops and long ground-length skirts.
One woman in particular stood out: a strikingly-beautiful young woman in an aquamarine scarf draped only loosely around her head. She was much darker than the other women and almost certainly wasn’t Egyptian. Her hair was in tight braids and her silver jewelry shone against her skin. Egypt is full of refugees fleeing from the numerous civil wars further south in Africa. The majority of cleaners hired by Westerners seem to be from African countries south of Egypt: Somalia, Sudan, Liberia, Eritrea (see AMERA, an NGO working in Cairo with refugees, link on the RHS of this blog). I wondered about her story and whether she felt as much of a foreigner as I did, standing amongst chattering families and schoolchildren trying to finish their homework.
Generally, I think it will be hard to meet Egyptian women. Everywhere I go, there are crowds of men, but very few women. But I had so many questions I wanted to ask the women on that carriage: How do they deal with the aggressive Egyptian men? How do they feel when they are covered beneath so many layers of hot material? What do they think when they look at me with my t-shirt and uncovered head? What do they think of President Mubarak? If they had one wish, what would it be?

Fresh mango juice!

There are numerous fruit stalls around Cairo that mash up the most delicious fruits... my new favourite is a glass of thick mango juice that only costs around 3o UK pence. I haven't got sick yet (touch wood, throw salt over my shoulder, don't look at a black cat etc etc)

Mobile phone stalkers - an Egyptian male obsession

Egyptian men are not content with merely cat-calling and hissing. They also, I realise, all make sure that they have cameras on their mobile phones so that they can store images of "Western hotties." I dread to think what use these fuzzy pictures are being put to... eugh. I'm feeling more and more committed to "the right to privacy" as each day passes...

bellydancers, dwarfs and a strange Egyptian night...

I'm slowly (or maybe quickly!) being introduced to the strange intricacies of Cairo nightlife. On Friday, I began the night at the lovely rooftop Nile Hilton bar, "Mojitos". This is a new bar with an incredible view over Cairo. And there are plenty of Egyptian women there, dancing away in skimpy outfits. Halleluiah!
But the Nile Hilton was not where I was able to discover the truly bizarre, seedy side of Cairo nightlife... That awaited me in full form in a bellydancing club (read whore-house) that we went to after Mojitos. Saying goodbye to the glitz and glamour of the Hilton, we meandered through the streets of Cairo to a small brown door with very few markings. I was expecting a dimly-lit, smokey dive with lots of little booths. Think again. Smokey it was. But it was more like a greasy-spoon cafe, with bright neon lighting and small tables pushed up against the wall. The place (of course!) was crowded with men. As we stepped into the place, hands went to pockets and the mobile phone camera sessions began (see my posting on this Egyptian obsession).
We sat down at a table next to a group that included a sheesha-chain smoker and a dwarf. Yes, dwarf. This small guy was attracting the most attention from the bellydancers and they kept dragging him to his feet so he could shake his booty for the rest of us... very very weird. The women were generally dressed in somewhat boring tight jean/ low top combinations. But the makeup on every single woman's face was fit for a drag queen. Then the drag queen herself emerged (though I think she was female - if not, then I praise the surgeon who managed to construct those breasts and hips and stomach). She wiggled her way, stomach leading, over to our table, allowed us to stuff handfulls of notes into her cleavage, and then strutted her stuff. I was mesmerized. Cristina, my roommate, got up on her feet and did a wonderful dance-off with the queen. But, as the dwarf got in on the action and the bellydancer's bum wiggled in curious treble-beat time... the Egyptians definitely won the night. Multiple photos of my slightly horror-stuck face are probably stored in a number of Egyptian mobile phones around Cairo. I just hope that they haven't made it yet to any seedy porn sites...

A sleepless night: domestic abuse

I barely slept last night. I think the barrage of sights and smells and noises in this city has over-stimulated my mind. I drifted in and out of a light sleep until morning prayers at 4am. These prayers begin with “god is good, god is good….” And then something like “It’s better to be praying than asleep.” At that very moment, I would have preferred sleep. Just as the prayers fell silent, a woman began screaming and pleading and crying in one of the apartments either below or opposite me. I opened my shutters to try to see her, but she herself was behind closed shutters – in the “privacy” of her own home. This is why so many feminists and domestic violence activists have resisted the idea of a “right to privacy.” There is concern that it is a right that will be used to block interventions into the home when women and children are abused. But this is not what we are working on at EIPR. Instead, the right to privacy is seen as a vital individual right that includes the right to health care, housing, and food. It encompasses the freedom to enjoy a balanced emotional life and to choose a religion without state interference.
How anyone defines this right was, of course, no help to the woman who continued to cry for over an hour. Her screams were all the more upsetting because of the quiet morning darkness. I just hope that some of my legal work can ultimately contribute to bringing greater protection to vulnerable individuals, and to shifting the often grossly-distorted power balances that exist between human beings.

A guide to Sheesha… the ubiquitous Egyptian water pipe…

A guide to Sheesha… the ubiquitous Egyptian water pipe…
1) Ensure that the mouthpiece is not encrusted with too much nasty crap. Those with particularly weak constitutions can request a plastic cap to cover the mouth bit (but that means you’re a total wimp… )
2) Breathe in deeply so that the water bubbles into a fury
3) Try not to choke (particularly if, like me, you don’t generally smoke) as you allow the caustic apple/ watermelon / lemon flavoured smoke to attack your throat and lungs
4) Blow out and gasp for oxygen
5) Repeat a few times
6) Finally get extremely dizzy and put your head against any available pillar/ chair/ friend
7) Don’t think too much about cancer – living in Cairo is in any case equivalent to smoking 30 cigarettes a day…. So what does an extra carcogenic kick matter?

Right to Privacy... any ideas?

It was my first day at work today. Over the next 10 months, I will be focusing principally on "the right to privacy." I want to find out as much as possible about both the philosophical and practical foundations of this right... so if anyone has any ideas or research tips, please let me know!

An evening walk home in the rain...

I walked home from work tonight. It took an hour to go from Garden City, where my office is located, across a bridge spanning the Nile and up the length of Zamalek, the island where I live. The wind was rough, and as the call for prayers rose from one of the mosques I passed, the dust was whipped into my hair and eyes. The sky was glowing red from the pollution – it reminded me of sunsets I’ve seen over Los Angeles… And the pavements and roads were packed. People (but mainly men) were everywhere – hanging over the bridge staring into the Nile, swinging off the street lamps, rushing into the traffic-jammed streets. Whenever you are out in Cairo, it is impossible to forget that this is a city of 20 million people. You just can’t need or expect much personal space.
Such large quantities of people can be reassuring in some ways. Despite the constant harassment, I don’t actually believe I will be attacked. Maybe this is over-confidence – but I’ve already seen how, whenever any kind of altercation or accident occurs, people swarm around to sort things out, mediate, intervene. So I assume at the moment that people would also instinctively prevent any potential attack on me.
So I felt safe as I walked. But also a little melancholy. It’s hard settling into a new city when you have no routine and few friends. And even harder when you have to walk past horses that are barely alive, so thin that you can count their ribs—horses that are being used to pull carriages for mainly Egyptian families, and are whipped until they finally gallop along any stretch of open road. I hate even looking at the boys/ men who own these carriages, because it seems to encourage them to ‘show off’ by whipping their horses even more. It makes me so angry… And, of course, there are the hundreds of emaciated cats that lurk under every parked car and in the corridors of every building.
Thirty minutes into my walk, it started to rain, and the smell of horses, and dust, and car fumes was intensified. So I put in my ipod and walked home in the rain—in a surreal world of Bob Dylan and damp Egyptian smog. I think I will increasingly need this kind of musical escape… Cairo is a demanding city and unless I’m careful, it could drain every ounce of my energy. So I need to make sure that my ipod is always on hand so I can remember to ‘shake it like a Polaroid picture’ ;-) …

Gold's Gym, Cairo - a Nile view!

I'm about to join Gold's Gym in Cairo, which actually floats out right onto the Nile - a sort of gym boat... It's a little expensive but it has an incredible view of the river. You can run on the treadmill, check out the most steroid-pumped men in Cairo and watch the boats run up and down the Nile. It's beautiful! A real inspiration for working out... which is good because I need to get rid of as much stress as possible by pounding on the exercise machines!

Harassment on the streets...

Should I dress like the women on the billboards or the women in the street??

A number of people have asked me what I'm wearing here in Egypt... I did consider wearing a veil before I flew over here. I'd heard that the harassment of Western women who walk on the streets is getting worse and wearing a headscarf can minimize this nuisance. But none of the Western women I've talked to here wear anything on their head. Most just wear what they'd wear back at home (though you're not going to see mini skirts/ boob tubes etc!) I'm definitely leaning more to the conservative side.. I try to cover my legs and most of my arms, despite the fact that it is so hot and sticky. I'm also trying to avoid anything that hugs my figure. You become extremely aware of any VPL possibilites when you know you're being stared at all the time and thought of as a semi-prostitute...

Overall the harassment is a complete pain. Men are continually hissing, making comments about 'sex/ riding me (ie sex)', clicking their tongue... I've mastered the skill of staring at some nondistinct point in the sky or around knee height. I'm also wearing my big sunglasses as much as possible so I don't accidentally catch a man's eye. It's tiring and a real nuisance. It's horrible to be objectified as a sex object - any feminist instincts I have are being doubled by the minute ;-)

The beauty of morning prayers

This is a daylight picture of the mosque opposite my apartment. There's a night-time photo below of it lit up for Ramadan.

I was a little worried about the noise levels of the 5am prayers, but it was wonderful to hear them floating into my sleep this morning. It was haunting and deeply spiritual: a rhythmic call to the heavens that made god seem very present. It's Ramadan here at the moment and people's faith is very much evident - as the sun sets, everyone turns to food and drink after a day of fasting. Taxi drivers stop in the street to grab a glass of water from the pavement; families gather together around tables set up in public spaces to share their meal together. It is an incredible communal experience.

A'isha

Ok... I'm truly in love. With a cat. My maternal instincts have been touched - I just want to take photos of A'isha whenever she moves. She's naughty, with a real street-cat attitude - she's continually pouncing on me, my flatmate, and anything else that moves. But isn't she cute???? When I'm on the computer, she finds a bit of my leg to perch on, and then also tries to crawl under the computer and stick her head up between my legs. In the photos here, I have my computer on my lap and she's sitting on my legs. She's like a toddler that needs constant attention... (oh... do I sound like a new mother?? Is this boring to everyone else?? Will this blog become a tribute to a cat? ahhhhhh)

Her name is A'isha, who was a wife of Muhammad.

In the wise words of Wikipedia:

Aisha bint Abi Bakr (Arabic عائشة `ā'isha, "she who lives", also transcribed as A'ishah, Ayesha, 'A'isha, or 'Aisha, Turkish Ayşe, Ottoman Turkish Âişe etc.) was a wife of Muhammad. In Islamic writings, she is thus often referred to by the title "Mother of the Believers" (Arabic: أمّ المؤمنين umm-al-mu'minīn), per the description of Muhammad's wives as "Mothers of Believers" in the Qur'an (33.6), and later, as the the "Mother of the Faithful", as in Qutb's Ma'alim fi al-Tariq (pps6). She is quoted as source for many hadith (traditions about Muhammad's life), with Muhammad's personal life being the topic of most narrations.
Aisha is a controversial figure because of differing portrayals of her in Shia versions of Islamic history and her role in the First Fitna (first Islamic civil war) at the head of an army against Ali ibn Abu Talib in the Battle of Bassorah.

My new apartment in Zamalek, Cairo

These are some pictures of my new apartment in Zamalek. Zamalek is a small island in Cairo - I'm in the far north of the island, where it meets at a point, so I have the Nile on either side of me! My flatmate (Cristina) and I have a mosque directly opposite our apartment (see photo!) It's all lit up for Ramadan at the moment - I wait to see how well I cope with the 4am daily prayers!

We have the cutest little cat. My flatmate called her "Aisha" - which is the name of one of Mohammed's wives. Some stricter Muslims aren't too happy with this choice of name (one taxi driver shouted at Cristina when he heard the name). But it's a beautiful name... and I'm beginning to learn to pronounce it properly...

Aisha likes to follow us around at all times. She has been collapsing on my computer all night, and then digging her claws into my leg. I hope she'll grow out of this....

Ok.. this is a random photo of me that has nothing to do with Egypt. It's a photo my sister took of me in Italy this year. But I have to post it here so I can put up a profile picture ....

Learning to play chicken on Cairo roads

It's the end of my second full day in Cairo and I'm getting a little more confident at crossing the roads here. I've learned to pick out a strapping man who is also quick on his feet (this is a skill in itself), to position myself on his left-hand side, and to then run across the road when he does.... The traffic is just like this in India, but I'd forgotten how much you take your life into your own hands when you cross these types of roads. You literally have to confidently step out into speeding traffic and dodge around the various layers of oncoming vehicles. If you hesitate at all, then you are lost....