Here in Istanbul, its the same idea, but the athan itself sounds a little cleaner and crisper, if that's possible. And the reaction to this sound is not the same as I experienced in Cairo. When I was with my friend the other day, she remarked on how loud and annoying it was. "Can't they turn that down?" she complained.
Last night when we were out at a Nargile cafe, the athan for fagr (first prayer of the day) sounded, the cafe cut the music, and everyone went on chatting and smoking thier nargile as usual.
I personally love hearing the call to prayer. It doesnt bother me or wake me up as it does some people. In fact, I think it gives my day consistency and also reminds me of the time. For example, after a night on the town or wherever I may have been, I always know its about time to head in when I hear the first athan at about 4:30 AM or so. While I highly doubt that is what the first call to prayer is meant for, it does come in handy for Muslims and non-Muslims alike.
Before setting off on this epic Mediteranean journey of mine, I thought it would be easy to jump from one country to the next. I never thought about the connections I would make and also things I would have to leave behind as I left the country. If you told me 5 years ago that at one point I would actually miss the polluted, chaotic Cairo, Egypt, I would probably never have believed you. Now I find myself wanting to go back despite everything. Every day I was there I felt so many ups and downs --hating standing out, loving the food, hating the pollution, loving the people I met, hating the heat, loving the Red Sea and Mediteranean coast, etc, but in the end the love won me over.
Cairo is just such an exciting place where so many WIERD and unexpected things happen on a daily basis that life never gets boring. Its a place where you are learning something every day-- it could be a historical fact or a street smart skill. Its a place where there are no rules, a place where its all about who you know. Its in a country where you can never worry about tomorrow because you know you have such little control over what does and doesn't happen around you. Cairo is a city where you don't think twice, because by the time you do, your chance to cross the street, to get the bargain, escape the creepy man who's following you, is gone.
Cairo is interesting because being a foreigner/westerner sucks but at the same time makes you a superstar. You walk down the street and people greet you left and right.
"Hello! Welcome in Cairo! Welcome in Egypt!"
"How are you? Where are you from?"
But at the same time you are called at and hussled at every street corner.
"You have a nice ass!"
"Hello, come into my shop!"
"Hello friend, I make you good deal!"
On one hand you can pass by any check point, enter any hotel, mall, store, musuem with the flash of your American passport, no questions asked. Or just by opening your mouth and showing that you suck at the Arabic langauge, you're in. Need to use the bathroom? Make a quick stop at the Nile Hilton or Four Seasons. Want to enter a Synagogue? Just pull out your passport and show the guard. That is, only if its American. If you're an Egyptian man in a galabaya off the street, sorry, no luck. In fact, this story epitomizes this point:
The friends that I stayed with in Cairo wanted to go to a David Guetta concert (popular European DJ). It got to be the last minute and they hadn't yet bought their tickets. So, they come up with a scheme to get into the concert sans tickets. It was 6 people total, 5 guys, 1 girl. They were to act like they were Virgin Record representatives flying in from New York to see the concert. Each person had an identity: the DJ, the manager, the producer, the hot babe just along for the ride and of course the body guard. It helped that one friend was a bıg black guy who just got off of work and was still in his suit and who drives a really nice Audi. He also added a black ipod earbud just for the affect. He of course was the body guard.
So this group pulls up to the concerts, and demands to get in. At first the security was somewhat skeptical, but then as my American and British friends got increasingly heated and claimed that they they flew 9 hours from New York just for nothing, yelling that they were about to call some boss on their their Blackberry, the concert security let them in. And not just to the general concert which cost upward of 80 american dollars, mind you. They got into the VIP section, and then some got into the VVIP section later on. This was all while “normal” people outside were getting taisered by the concert security for being too pushy in line My friends didnt have to pull out their passports, but they did use “being Western” to their advantage.
One other similar story:
The first weekend in Egypt, a group of friends (British and American) went to the resort city of hurghada on the Red Sea Coast. Our friend Ali offered to drive. On the way down to Hurghada, driving through the Egyptian desert, Ali decided to pick up the pace since there weren't too many people on the road. We weren't aware that there was a speed limit until we got to a highway checkpoint and were stopped by the guards who said that we had been speeding. We were stopped by the guards, and Ali went out to talk to them. While I was starting to worry what these guys could do to us at 1 AM in the middle of the Egyptian desert, Ali came back in the car and declared everything was “sorted out,” as he likes to say. Due to Ali's job, he has a diplomatic license plate. An Egyptian guard popped his head in the window and apologized to us...for us speeding...
“I am sorry! Welcome in Egypt!” he said, and then let us on our way. Apparently, if we were not all Americans and if Ali didn't have a diplomatic license, then we would have been screwed. They could have ordered us out of the car and searched us for whatever they wanted. Its so strange to be so high above the law.
But on the other hand, you are treated like an American even when you don't want to. Egyptians see your light skin, light hair, uncovered body and automatically think you're a walking money bag. You try to pay a fair price for a taxi ride, but the cab driver gets out and shouts at you in Arabic, telling you that 10 pounds is not nearly enough (even though it really is MORE than enough). You ask how much a felafel sandwich is at a local, hole in the wall restuarant and they tell you that it is double the price that they normally charge Egyptians. Even though its a difference of 20 American cents, its really the concept behind it. At hotels in the tourist Red Sea cities and even in Cairo, someone bartering in Arabic with the hotel staff could get a hotel room for 20 American dollars, while some white kid in swim trunks and sneakers would only be able to get it down to 50 dollars or so. (That's why when we went to Hurghada, we sent in our British-Sudanese friend to do the bartering first and then once it agreed on a fair price, we would exit the car and lug in all of our crap, much to the surprise of the hotel staff)
Another downfall is not being able to speak the language fluently. I do speak some Arabic, and I can get by with what I know. However, its really hard to live a normal life if you cant understand the basics. For example—eating out. Since I was only in Cairo about three weeks, bouncing from city to city, apartment to apartment, I never really cooked for myself. I thought Cairo would be a really cheap city in terms of eating, but then I realized since I was choosing to eat at all the places with menus translated into English, it wasn't so cheap. Say that there are two eateries of some sort side by side on a street. One has an English and Arabic menu, the other just Arabic. If I couldnt read Arabic and understand the menu, I would be forced to eat at the more expensive restaurant with the English menu. And many times the price difference would be huge. You can eat at the all-Arabic menu place for under a dollar for a few felafel sandwiches, or you can eat at the English menu restaurant for 5 or more dollars. Even just being able to read “Sandawich felafel” and say “ I want this or that” in Arabic can make a world of difference when eating out.
It is annoying to think that you can never, ever fit into a society no matter how hard you try. Lucky for me I have darker skin and darker hair. If I dress the part (aka jeans, a turtleneck and heavy make-up in 100 degree weather) I can totally fit in. In fact many people would speak to me in Arabic thinking that I was Egyptian or Lebanese. I would would start speaking in a very basic, but grammatically correct Arabic and then the other person would go on, trying to make jokes or start a conversation with me. I was somewhat flattered, yet somewhat sad because it meant I had to let out the secret that I am in fact American, of no Arab descent.
But anyway, for fair skinned, light haired people, there's no hope. They are all doomed to a life of “Welcome in Cairo!” and “How are you, where are you from?” After experiencing that for just three weeks (since I didn't take the initiative to dress very Egyptian while I was there), I dont know some of the Western students put up with it for a semester or even a year.
Now, I must sleep, but more on Cairo coming soon...
