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January

January 2nd, 2004
    Yesterday I walked up the corniche, through some construction, and over the beautiful Imbaba railway bridge. This rusted monster stretches across the Nile north of Zamelik, affording beautiful views of the city. It has several large open walkways, and lanes for animals and cars. Only a few scatterd figures were crossing. I didn’t sense that the bridge was much used nowadays, except by trains. I seem to feel most at home in abandoned places. I walked down the other side of the Nile and got some funny looks and gestures, like “what the hell are you doing here?” not at all unfriendly, just surprised. Then I read the Al Ahram weekly on the east side Corniche, by the artificial mudbanks described earlier. Several more layers of black Nilotic mud had been added. I saw something frankly voluptuous in this mud, its soft, luxuriant oozings, black, heavy, lazy and wet. I scattered some seeds of a mandarin orange there.
    Today I walked in the opposite direction, down to old Cairo. The Coptic museum is still closed. I walked around back past cemeteries, and found a huge desolate plain where nothing grew. Garbage swirled across the packed dirt, and one lonely group made tea in the shelter of a wall. Near here I almost died getting hit by a car. After this I walked back home, stopping to read Hard Times along the way. I’ve read quite a few books recently: Vanity Fair, Four Gothic Novels, Lord Jim, The decline and fall Of theRoman Empire, The Tin Drum, The light in August, Don Quixote, some Shakespeare, Joyce and the Koran.

January 7th, 2004
    I just went through an interesting experience, the result of which I’m minus about LE35, but I learned to clean fish, and acquired a new pan, much needed. I was walking to the store to buy some fennel when a man accosted me from an ahwa. I’d seen him before- he’d talked to me about “wrasslin”- his interest in American professional wrestling. He invited me to have some tea with him. Normally I receive lots of this type of invitation, and always refuse, knowing they will lead to a papyrus and perfume shop, or some other tawdry scam. This time I accepted, for some reason. Perhaps it was because of an omen I’d received earlier today. I was reading Conrad’s Victory. As I read some line like “It’s a slow day” or “You don’t get out much” a bird flew into my apartment through the window, then wheeled around and flew out. I took this as a sign to get up and do something. Now I think it was a sign of another visitor I was to have today, the first in my apartment. Anyway, I sat down and had tea with this guy. He was an older man, but quite hale looking, vigorous and active. We talked about Arabic and football for a bit. Then he offered to help me buy my fennel, and I followed him along. When we left the store, he held the bag and headed off south in a determined manner. I followed. At this point, I just decided to play along with the dude, and see where it led. I knew from the way he kept repeating phrases like “good friend” that something fishy was up, but I resolved to see it out. We stopped in another ahwa and drank yansoon. I aksed him where we were going, and he said old Cairo to visit a mosque. He added that we could buy some fish and cook it at my house, to which locality he invited himself. He generously gave me a series of small coins and bills, totaling 25 piastres, as tokens of affection. He wrote our names in Arabic on a 5pt note. I gave him 1 US dollar. I arrived with $13 in cash, and for some time had been thinking of giving $1 away to make the total $12. 13 being a number of death and transfiguration it seemed like a good number to have for starting a new life here, but lately I’ve felt the need to settle down to a less dangerous 12, so I’d moved one to the front of my wallet.
    Anyway, I gave him the note and his eyes gleamed. I could palpably detect a distinct wave of excitement emanate from him. I’ve frequently seen Egyptians display this reaction to cash. Something like a tingling of their aura occurs. Soon we left this second ahwa, after the dude, named Sayeed, got his already glittering shoes shined. We walked south into the old part of town and inspected a fish and vegetable market. This place was pretty cool, and I’ll have to go back, as it was better than my local market, the tawfikiya souq. Sayeed told me would return after visiting the mosque. As we walked, he told me we might meet in heaven. He expressed a vague concern I might be bound for hell. We entered the mosque, and it was quite beautiful inside. He claimed it was 1000 years old. It was certainly medieval. He grabbed a Koran from the rack, and lead me into a side chamber. This was an amazing room, shaped like a bullet. Contemplating the vast obscurity of the dome was almost addictive. A long chain depended from the apex, and terminated in a chandelier over a tomb. We sat down on the green carpet. He mentioned me to sit closer. Then he gave me a small prayer book and opened the Koran, intoning intonations. I wish I could remember the exact words he used to demand money. Something about the children and hungry and not going to hell. Ah, the basis of organized religion is reassuringly homogenous across cultures. Guilt and cash. I placed LE5 in the Koran. He said this was not enough for the children. I continued filling the Koran with money, until it contained LE20. This was all the cash I had on me, but he refused to believe it. Something I’ve noticed is that Egyptians assume that all foreigners carry vast sums of cash with them at all times. Observing a few bills in my wallet, he demanded these for the shoe guard. In the midst of this sacred proceeding, he asked how we would buy our fish. He still couldn’t cog the fact that I had only LE22 on me. We left the mosque with extreme rapidity. After I repeated “m'andish floos dilwati” (now I have no money) he thought for a bit, then after a little more prodding for any remaining bills on my person, he asked if I had any floos at my beyt. I said yes, and he took me off in a taxi there. I observed that he paid with what looked rather like the starving children’s mosque money.
    He waited for me on Ramsis street while I went home and got money. I played my guitar for a few minutes, letting him wait. This gave me strength. I descended and met him. Now he demanded this additional fish money. He said he would go back to the market, return, and meet me at my apartment, where I was to wait. This was his first mistake, as there was no way he could possibly find my apartment on the info I’d given him. It was now obvious that he’d meant to run with the fish money. I insisted on coming to the market with him. When I insisted, it was as if he’d received a blow. He shrunk, and his eyes wandered aimlessly. He looked deflated. I felt like I’d taken a rook. We got in another taxi, with Sayeed talking quickly to the driver, apparently about me. I felt fine. At the market, he was forced to deny the starving children another LE5 for the taxi fare. I now distinctly hated him. We bought our fish and vegetables. I kept carefully explaining that I had no frying pan, but he seemed not to care. In his plans, the cooking of the fish was not to occur. But at length perhaps realizing that the purchase of a pan was perhaps necessary to the perpetuation of his lies, he at last found a store and bought one with my money, LE6. I felt that his continued attempts to fleece me of every last piaster were taking the form of a subtle conflict of alternate realities. In his, there was to be no fish, no vegetables, no cooking, and my wallet was to dispense endless cash. In his created fiction, we were friends, and would return to my house and dine together. In reality, we both hated each other, but where I pride myself is that I am sure he never suspected how I hated him. We returned by taxi to my house and went up. I accidentally called him my girlfriend “sayeeda,” to my bawehb, instead of my friend Sayeedi. We entered my flat at last, and he rested on my chair smoking. He inspected the rooms. He was now thinking how he could get more money from me and flee. Perhaps he already had a plan. Spying the vast collection of beer bottles, he offered to go to the store and get some beer. Odd suggestion from such a pious muslim. I again acquiesced and gave him LE10. He demanded more money, for an honorary inscribed cigarette package for his mother. Now I’ve yet to see an Egyptian woman smoke. I gave him the rest of my money LE3. He demanded LE 10. I refused. At this refusal, my first, he left, saying “I take asencir, I walk.” I said “ashoofak” I’ll see you again, and saw him start as he descended the steps. I waited half an hour, although I knew he would not come back. I then cleaned and cooked the now existent fish in my new pan. They were truly delicious.
    All in all, I gave him about LE53, but I got LE20 back in the form of groceries and fish. Plus he was forced to shell out about LE12 for taxi rides, so he made off with LE26 in total. Not bad for three hours of scamming- about $1.33 an hour. Well below minimum wage  in the states, but above average here. I somehow expect I will see him again sometime, in Cairo, if not in heaven. This form of theft is almost considered a virtue in Egypt, while outright stealing is very condemned. In the States and Europe, scamming is considered an especially debased profession. At least the burglar doesn’t have to lie.

January 12th, 2004
    I was offered a job finally, at the Berlitz school, so lately I’ve been going up there to be trained in their methods. I’m trying hard not to be a freak, but sometimes things will come out.

January 16th, 2004
    I started teaching last night. It was level 1-total beginners, consisting of two Egyptian businessmen. The regular teacher’s father died, so I’m taking her class for a little while. Starting on Sunday I’ll be teaching more advanced students. Working at this Berlitz place has opened new windows into the depths of Egyptian managerial incompetence. Whatever. Most of the teachers are Arab-American and speak a funny mixture of Arabic and English, using Arabic words in nglish sentences, and vice versa. My favorite sentence so far: “Yani mish nuclear physics.” Theres one other American American there named John. I find it intereseting to note how frequently misunderstandings occur when talking to even very fluent Arabic speakers of English. Usually I start to ask a question about something slightly abstract, like categories, classifications or terminology, and as soon as they think they understand, they start off on a torrent of speech about the things classified.


    In other news, there have been further arrests of people charged with using shoe polish to dye green olives black. Levels of small time scamming and cheapness scarcely imagined in the west are fully exploited here in Egypt. For example, I recently bought a bag of popcorn that did not pop! It just burns in the pan. I also bought a package of AA batteries that contained enough power for about 45 minutes of AM radio listening on my walkman. AM radio uses almost no energy to receive and amplify into headphones.

January 21st, 2004
    I’ve been teaching four classes, two each day. Its way more than I wanted at first, but I’m getting to sort of enjoy it. We have a good time in class and laugh a lot. Today was a strange day-the city was shrouded in dense exhaust pollution. The Nile was still and mirrorlike. Occasionally, strange bubbles would burble up. Usually the Nile is very dynamic and flows really fast. Weird plumes of mud can be seen. Thunder.

January 23rd, 2004
    I finished my first week of teaching finally. Today I had a good exploring walk in the warrens North of ezbeyaya gardens. I also got to climb onto the roof of a mosque being repaired in Khan Khalili.

January 24th, 2003
    A few days ago there was a tremendous thunderstorm around the time of pre-dawn prayer. It woke me up briefly. According to my students, this is very rare in Egypt. Some of them were afraid to come to school the next day, and called ahead to ask. I taught them the words thunder and lightning. Tonight I drank two beers and watched a football match. After it was over, I listened to the Donnas and Black Sabbath on a new cassette player I bought today. While listening, I came to realize how strikingly absent here is the god Thor, or even Dionysus. In Egyptian culture, and in Islam, I sense a real lack of that will to unbounded power for creation and destruction that is associated with the old gods, with alcohol, and with rock music. The local aesthetics run to the baroque, gilded doodads, and finicky embellishments. A dashboard Kleenex box encased in golden ornaments, tea drinkers with glittering shoes, long strings of pleasantries. Apparently, heavy metal music is actually illegal here. No wonder the thunder caused such consternation. These meditations led me on to remember tales of Neo-pagans, Carl Jung, and the Nazis.

January 27th, 2004
    So, the incredible and inconceivable has occurred. I not only regularly enter that most repugnant of all abominations, the Mall, I have actually sought and obtained employment in one. That being the case, I suppose I ought to offer some description of this malevolent malformation, for it differs in important ways from American examples. Like so much here, this mall is a demented image of something born in the West. Instead of spreading out in long corridors, and offering extensive vistas, this mall is tall, with at least eight levels nested in a vaguely concentric fashion. A huge vacuity is surrounded by accreted layers of capitalist crap, like an inverted ziggurat. Three slow and irregular elevators offer the only hope of ascending to the higher levels. On my floor, the 6th or saydis floor, a horrific sort of Egyptian Chuck-E Cheeze can be found, called Fun Planet. This is exactly the sort of dark, cold plastic place I used to be very afraid of as a kid. The mall is dead during the day, but gets crammed late at night. The other night when I came out of my work and surveyed the scene there, I was really overcome with a sense of deep weirdness. It happened that at that moment all the women I could see were wearing Niqab-full black veil. There is something really disturbing and fascinating about this costume that I can’t get used to. The simple hijab seems totally normal-in fact women without it look unusual to me now. Yet the niqab is really weird-something about being out in public under total disguise. Looking at this almost grotesquely American mall, filled with these dark, shuffling masked figures was shocking. Its also weird to see a woman wearing niqab driving a big old station wagon through crazy traffic, laying on the horn, with pedestrians fleeing on all sides.
    In other news, the festival of slaughtering is coming up. I’ve been seeing a lot of sheep in the streets, tied to lampposts or corralled in pens between parked cars. The festival is to commemorate Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his only son. I can hardly think of a more horrific and inhuman story in the bible. Its very popular with the submissionists. All the petty vindictiveness, demented scheming, and paltry gloating of Yahweh is summed up in it. All the marks of a minor daemon running amok. To confuse such a being with the One is surely blindness. Anyway, I think all these sheep will be sacrificed in a massive bloodbath, which I confess I’m very interested to see. I’m not sure when it happens. A lot of the meat will be given away to the poor, and other parts given to friends. Bleh.

January 31st, 2004
    Today is one of the most beautiful days I’ve seen here. Its perfectly clear and crisp-slightly cold. I took a long walk out to the Medieval part of Cairo and down to the old Southern walls. A half moon rose into the deep clear sky. First I walked down past the Abdeen palace and the Islamic museum to my favorite spice shop, where I got quantities of filfil and kurkum. Along this narrow street are shops specializing in seasonal household goods. Last fall it glittered with millions of Ramadan lanterns-now it glitters with knives. Endless rows of butcher blocks, ranging from small sections of stumps to massive tripod tree trunks were on display, and knives of every variety and size were heaped upon and stabbed into them. I walked down the tentmaker’s street, and through the long, narrow and perpetually clogged avenue that follows. Sheep, goats, and the occasional cow were being driven through the thronging masses. Everywhere bloody dismembered carcasses hung dripping from hooks. A wizened old woman held aloft a bleeding skinned sheep’s head and haggled vehemently with its vendor. I continued past the Ibn Tulun mosque and into unknown territiories to the south. Many beautiful buildings were here lapsing into decay, their warped wooden doors straining to hold back mountains of fossilized garbage. I noticed a young woman, veiled all in black, whose brilliant golden hair escaped down her back. At one point I came across a notable pinnacle of weirdness. A tent had been set up over a metal framework, from which hung hundreds of bleeding carcasses. On heavy tables below, men hacked frantically into mangled bodies, piling feet and heads into gruesome pyramids, which were pawed by a mob of eager shoppers. On a raised platform, a boy stood yelling into a deafening sound system, which amplified his voice into an incomprehensible wall of echoing noise. It was impossible to hear anything within 50 yards of this pavilion of death. Ten feet away was an identical pavilion, with an identical boy screaming into a maxed out pointblank echoplex amplification assault system. Standing in front of this tent, inhaling the scent of fresh death, observing the wild butchery, and being utterly deafened by the echoing noise was clearly a treat for the senses.

February Journal


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