Time oh time

So I have hit a bump in the road, and I am pushing myself to remember how lucky I am.  What a wonderful life I have.  What wonderful friends and family I have.  And to regain the positive feeling for life.

In the past few weeks, there has been a lot of people around me that have passed away.  And I am reminded that life is precious.  It cannot be wasted.  Especially when I have my health and ability to live.  To put one foot in front of the other, and enjoy the happiness around me.

I will not punish myself for feeling sad, but I will not allow the sadness to consume me, it is a waste of my time.  And truly, I constantly come to the same conclusion.  It is all about time.

It has been quite an experience here in Cairo for me with Time.  People don't see it the same as how I was raised to see it.  When there is a meeting set for 12 at work, it most likely won't happen until 4.  When people invite you over to hang out, it is normal for arrivals to be 3 hours late.  When you're meeting up for dinner, it isn't crazy that someone is an hour or two late.  Things are different here.  There is tons of traffic and changing of plans 5 minutes before they are supposed to happen.  And people normally don't stress about it.  They appear to be so used to it.

Of course for me, coming from a world where Time is everything, I was very concerned about being late or canceling plans.  But truth be told, I am slowly (quite slowly) learning to understand this way of life.  And to try and go with the flow.  What is ironic to me is that in the States, I was always the late one.  By 15 minutes though.  And it drove everyone crazy.  I guess this is my karma:)

There is something nice about not worrying about Time.  And I wish I was better at it.  Every time I feel myself rushing, people around me tell me not to worry, and to just take my Time.  I like that.  It takes a lot of pressure off of things.  It allows you to feel more at ease.

Time will heal.  Time will help.  Time will tell.  Oh time.   Time runs out.  So for me, it is important to go after what I want during this Time.  And not to tell myself, "oh, ill just wait a bit and give it some time."  No, the time is now.

I spent the last months worrying about my future.  Worrying about what will happen next.  Rather than enjoying the moments I was in.  Rather than living the life I wanted, I was worried about the life that didn't exist.  We do that so often.  We worry about things that aren't even there.  We plan for things that never happen.  During my travels through South America, what made the trip so wonderful was that there was no plan.  It was moment by moment.  And that attitude is how I want to live my life.  Living my moments.

In the year before moving to Cairo I feel like I had gotten very good at that practice.  I lived my days living, and when I began to feel depressed in my moments, I knew it was necessary to change.  So I did.  It took some time:), but it happened.  And now here I am.  6 months later, in Cairo.

And in the past months, I have lost that sense of my moment.  And I have begun to focus on my future.  And it has made me so unhappy.  And now I realize I just want to live.  I want to go back to living now, and not think about the Time.  Think about my moments, and learn to just get back to going with the flow:)  Because in the end, we don't know how much more Time there will be.  And that is the truth.  No matter what, we really have no idea what every new moment will bring, so it is imperative that we learn to appreciate the moment we are in.

Growth

Change is difficult.  Change creates growth.  I question why I moved to Egypt...what exactly I am doing here.  I am questioned daily on my decision to leave the incredible place I was living.  And it pushes me to think about my life, who I am, and why I make the decisions I do.

For me it was time to understand who I am more.  To connect with the Egyptian in me.  So much of my home life I didn't understand growing up in the States.  And here I am discovering where certain traits of my personality have developed.  I have noticed that many ways in which I act are Egyptian.

In the States, I am asked where the origin of my name is from.  And I am identified as an Arab.  In Egypt, people are confused to hear my name, in disbelief that I could be an Egyptian.  People stare at my face and say it isn't possible.  But alas, it is.

So I have begun to tell people I am Amani.  I am not one nor the other, and it is not necessary to figure me out.  I feel very lucky to be who I am, to have been born where I was born, to have been raised how I was raised.  I am happy to be Amani.

And along this journey I have begun, I have encountered many "like" me.  And shared experiences of confusion, displacement, difference, and pride.  And it is with these feelings, and these connections, that I feel growth.  Growth in understanding myself, where I have come from, where I am, and that there is absolutely no need to be a specific part of anything.  

It Truly is About Time - Educational Injustice Worldwide

It is About Time that the people stand up against all the injustices in the world!  It is an incredible moment to be alive, and to witness the voices of the people.  It is so difficult to continue daily with positivity and hope, with all the inequality and abuse surrounding.

I have been opened to the public education system here in Egypt.  I cannot explain how horrific it is!  Just as in the US, it's all about the dollar, and in this case, the pound.

Just to educate you...there are three tiers of schools here; private, national, and public.  In the private sector, children pay 24,000 pounds (the one i visited) a year.  Think of it like 24,000 dollars a year, which is what parents pay for private schools in the US, at least in San Francisco they do.  A teacher salary is 3000 pounds a month.  These classrooms consist of 20 students, and can have as many as 2 assistant teachers.  They also have a music, PE, and art teacher.

Then you move to the National Schools.  Within these schools, students are paying 7000 pounds a year.  Teachers make 400 pounds a month (to give you perspective - i pay 1250 pounds a month in rent for my half of a 2 bedroom apartment/10eggs, 10 slices of cheese, 9 pack of yoghurt, 10 pieces of bread, few cans of tuna, couple of cans of fool, some veggies = 100 pounds, which my sister and i finish in a a weeks time - no fat jokes please; always gotta have a sense of humor:)).  Teachers actually bribe parents for proper grades, and tutor students after school, in order to make enough money for survival.  Their classrooms consist of 45 to 60 students, with one teacher.  There is no music, art, or PE teacher.  The teachers walk around with rulers, hit the children, and are maintaining "crowd control."  There have been many cases of child abuse in classrooms, as well as actual killings of children due to teacher violence.

And the public school, which I have little information about, and cannot seem to get into.  I am still working on that.  I can only imagine what goes on behind those closed doors, as this is a FREE institution provided for our PUBLIC!

Talk about social injustice.  This is absolutely unacceptable!!!  Our priorities are absolutely skewed and utterly awful.  Why do we pay an actor millions of dollars, fund soldiers to die, and continue wars of corruption?  At what point do people stop thinking about themselves and realize that everyone around them is human, has a heart, has a pulse, has emotion, exists?

I know that there are so many incredible people out there.  Honest, giving, hard working, dedicated to make change!  I choose to see those people, and to surround myself with those people, and to continue having hope for our present, and for our future.  Keep spreading the word, plugging away, and holding your head up!:  What you do is appreciated:)

  

October 9th, 2011

Anger, sadness, stress, fear, disgust, confusion, loneliness...everything i am feeling.


last night, on the way home from work, i witnessed the fighting that erupted during a peaceful coptic protest.  the streets were completely chaotic.  i was over in zamaleck working, and needed to take a cab home in order to get back downtown.  i was refused by several drivers before finding someone who was willing to take what would be a ride that will forever be imbedded in my memory.


the route to arrive to my destination was the very bridge that violence was occurring on; 6 of October Bridge.  I suggested to the cab driver to take an alternate bridge further down the road, but he insisted that everything was ok and he would get us home safe.


as we approached the bridge, cars were being turned away by civilians, insisting they not head up the ramp.  my cabbie decided that it was best to head over to the off ramp, and head against traffic.  many cars followed.  together we drove head on towards trucks and cars, swerving in and out, until we reached a surprisingly smooth flowing stream of traffic.


the cab driver looked at me in his mirror and asked, "is that good? are you ok?"  "yes," i said.  "i have an egyptian father who has been driving like that my entire life.  i used to think he was crazy, but now i realize that it is just the way egyptians drive."  we both had a nice laugh.


as we rode along the bridge, people were stopped everywhere, standing and staring below.  we pulled over and stared down at hundreds of people throwing rocks and bottles at one another.  "do you smell that?" my cabbie held his hand over his nose. i inhaled. i felt a strong sting in my nose, and immediately realized it was tear gas.  people around us began to run down to underneath the bridge, and it was at this point that my cabbie and i looked at each other and decided it was best to go.


we drove through more chaos, trying to turn down roads to reach my home that were blocked by civilians telling us to find an alternate route.  it became obvious that he would be incapable of getting me to my doorstep, so i thanked him dearly for caring for me and asked me to drop me off in a square a few blocks from my home.


i exited the cab, and began walking down streets of absolute chaos.  people were driving madly, reversing down roads against traffic, making uturns in the middle of streets, running, yelling.  the tension in the air was indescribable.  i decided to take alternate streets home to avoid the masses, and to my surprise, found absolute calmness right around the corner.  my entire walk home felt like another world.  there were people sitting in coffee shops, laughing, chatting, as if not to realize what was occurring blocks away.


so what led up to this...on September 30th, St. Georges Church in the village of Al Marinab of the province of Edfu, located in upper Egypt, (http://www.copticworld.org/articles/373/) was attacked and burned by a group of fanatic muslims.  Following the attack,  "Aswan Governor Mostafa al-Sayed appeared on television...and said that the custodians of the St. George Church were just as much at fault as their attackers because they had broken building regulations by constructing a dome more than four meters tall." (http://www.almasryalyoum.com/en/node/501407) 


And so, after these comments by Sayed, the Coptic Christian population was rightfully enraged, and believed that Sayed should resign immediately as Governor for condoning violence, and the people responsible for the burning of the church should be brought to justice.  This led to the peaceful protest of Coptic Christians yesterday; October 9th, 2011.  It is said that as the protesters marched toward the state television building, where they regularly protest, they were attacked by unknown assailants throwing rocks, bottles, and firing pellets (http://www.globalpost.com/dispatches/globalpost-blogs/the-casbah/egypt-2-dead-after-violent-clashes-cairo).


http://www.arabawy.org/2011/10/09/army-and-police-massacre-protesters-at-maspero/


http://aljazeera.com/news/middleeast/2011/10/2011109155853144870.html


It is strongly believed that those behind the attack were hired by the military, SCAF members (supreme council of armed forces, a group of 17 military officials headed by the "acting president" Tantawi), and extremists.  


And from these attacks, 24 people are confirmed dead and over a hundred injured.  These numbers are rising...

Settling In

For the past two weeks, I have been settling in.  I really can't believe so much has happened in such a short period of time.  I have already begun working; I am currently tutoring 2 students that both go to American schools.  They are Egyptian born, but both speak perfect English.  One is a 14 year old boy who I am tutoring Algebra and Chemistry to.  The other is an 11 year old girl who I am tutoring English and Math. So these two gigs for now are supplementing my income as I begin to do the volunteer work and projects I hope to do while I am here.

It turns out that the mother of my 14 year old student is the principal at a private American School here.  That is some luck!!!  In the times that I have come to her home, I have been able to discuss projects I am interested in doing here in Cairo in the school system and orphanages.  I introduced her to Khan Academy, which if you haven't checked out, you must (khanacademy.org)!  She is thrilled about it.  I discussed doing a pilot program in her school as a way to begin my own practice of using this tool in the classroom, and then bringing it into the orphanages in Cairo (teachaclass.org).

I have also discussed with her the possibility of doing some sort of exchange with the students from the US and the the Egyptian students in her school.  Maybe penpals, emails, skype dates, not sure just yet, but working on it.  I want the students in the US to understand that Egyptians don't ride on camels to school, and for Egyptian students to understand that Americans aren't rolling around in money.  For some reason I have the perception that this is how these students feel.  I don't know if that is true.  I guess we need to ask them!

I have also discussed with her if the school has done any work with the children on the uprising and current revolution.  If they have had discussions to see how they are feeling, how it has affected them?  She says they have not.  I think that it is imperative we reach out to these kids and discuss with them how they see what is going on, and document it.

I have visited the low-income area here that my sister works at, Artellewa.  The artist in residency that she co-runs (with Hamdy) used to have an art workshop for children to voluntarily come to on Fridays (these children do not have art in their schools).  It hasn't been happening, so i am really excited to say that I will be running this workshop now.  I will be finding artists in Egypt to run workshops for children who wouldn't otherwise have this available to them.

My sister, Hamdy, and I discussed bringing the American school children together with the students in Artellewa to do a joint art project.  These children live only miles from one another and they most likely will never cross paths due to their economic statuses.  I have thought about them doing an art project reflective of their experiences in the revolution.  Maybe a mural!  I have also discussed this with the principal, and she is excited about this idea!

Today, Hamdy and I will be visiting an NGO, "Women in Society."  This NGO has been working to get into the public school system here in Egypt; specifically in all girls schools in Artellewa.  Our goal today is to find out information of how to enter these schools and the challenges that come along with it.  I want to bring art into these schools because unfortunately it isn't offered, and art workshops that Artellewa used to offer, the girls have stopped coming to (a main reason is that parents do not want their maturing girls to socialize with boys).  So let's bring it to them!!!

So in the "time" I have been here, this is what I have been up to.  I would love suggestions, brainstormings, feedback on my ideas!!! Please, the more thoughts flowing, the better these projects can become.
 

It Was A Strange Day In My Life

Last night, my sister and I went for a walk with an Egyptian friend of hers.  The three of us settled ourselves in a tea/shisha hangout frequented by locals, many of which are artists, in the neighborhood.  We sat in chairs lined against the wall below several trees.  And throughout the entirety of our stay, felt bird droppings fall on our heads and laps.  "It's good luck!" We reassured each other.  My sister informed me it was the "cool" spot to sit, as we could view people walking back and forth on the street ahead and all the people sitting and socializing in the cafe.

It wasn't even ten minutes into the conversation that the 28 year old graphic designer began to talk of the Uprising and the current Revolution (January 25th is considered the Uprising. All the days thereafter, which include today, are the Revolution). With absolutely no questions from myself nor my sister, he began to recall the happenings of January 25th.  I had my audio recorder in my bag and thought to pull it out, but quickly realized that this was not a conversation to be recorded.  I have chosen not to write his name as a protection to his identity.

He began his story by saying, "I remember running.  Running through the square.  I had never smelled that smell before.  I had never seen what I saw that day."  He shook his head back and forth and looked to the ground.

"What smell?" I asked.  "Tear gas."  He responded.  "I was running and I fell to the ground, on my face.  And then I jumped up again and kept on running."  He told us that he came upon a car, and decided to walk around the backside of it over to the passenger door.  To this day he said he doesn't know why he decided to do that, because as he approached the passenger window, someone in the driver's seat hit the gas.  He watched people get run over and die right before his eyes.  He shook his head again and looked to the ground, taking a puff off his shisha.  "If I had gone the other way I would have been killed.  I just don't know why I didn't go that way."

"I have lost four friends," he said.  He described two of them in more detail.  "One was a male who worked for the Opera, the other a female.  Both of them around my age."  He continued to shake his head.  "Friends tell me things I did that day that I don't remember.  Ways I acted that I can't believe I acted.  It was like someone gave me a shot of anesthesia."  He pretended to inject himself with a needle. "I had no power over my body, but it was doing things."

"It was a strange day in my life,"  he said.

It was very apparent to me at that moment the trauma that this man had endured.  It has been 8 months, and he spoke of it as if it happened yesterday.  And he wanted to speak, he needed to.

My sister turned to him and asked, "Do you remember seeing me on February 1st?  I was walking into the square, you were walking out?"  "Yes." He responded.  "Do you remember you told me that you carried people out of the square whose brains were hanging out of their heads?"  Emotionless he responded, "Yes."  "Do you remember that you began to cry?" My sister asked.  His eyebrows lifted, "No," he said.  A smiled filled his face, "I cried?!"  "Yes," my sister said.

"It's good to cry."  I said.  "You should cry."

The table was silent for a bit.  We watched the people chatting around us and walking back and forth, an occasional poop dropped from the trees above.  And then he began to talk about how after the Uprising, he was called into the Army to serve.  He told us how he was really unhappy to go, but after being there for two months, he feels he has a purpose in life.  That before he was lost, didn't have any direction, and now he does.  He doesn't want to fight, but the routine he has been given keeps him aligned, and to him it feels good.

"They popped my head like a balloon and sucked out all the air." He took his finger and poked his head and made a hissing noise imitating a popped balloon.  "I don't have to think anymore, the Army has taken all of it out of my head.  It is very nice."

This idea was very interesting to me, but the conversation had taken its course, and it came to an end.  Another day, another day.  He thanked us for the conversation, shook our hands, and excused himself from the table.

You’ve Made Your Bed, Now You Must Lay In It

What the hell kind of a saying is that?  It’s a statement that completely takes a person’s power away.  So I make my bed, and then that’s it?  It’s over?!  I have to sleep in it!  Why couldn’t I just choose to sleep elsewhere; on another bed, on the floor, in a tent?  Or why couldn’t I just remake the bed and sleep in a different form I shaped it in?  Just like I rewrite or respeak my words, I can remake my bed!

So the idea behind the saying is if I have chosen a path, I better go with it.  No matter what affects that choice has had on my life, good or bad, I must stick to it.  That absolutely frustrates me!

As of late, I have crossed many paths with people who have said this message, maybe not in these exact words, but pretty much that they are helpless to the choices they have made.  This saddens me.

Let’s step back, look straight on into our choices, accept that we made our bed, and decide if it is comfortable to sleep in.  And if it is not, let’s find a different comforter, better pillows, or silkier sheets.  But let’s not succumb to the uncomfortable bed that this saying most definitely eludes to us sleeping in!