Khan-un-Drum

Beirut Bound - part 3

2008-12-12T13:49:00.013+02:00

Photos & text copyright Yasir Khan 2008

The last time I briefly drove through the Bekaa valley, it was a piece of hell - cars and trucks abandoned by the roadside, plumes of smoke, stench of explosives, Israeli jets flying overhead, and tired, hungry, terrified families fleeing to Syria on foot.

This was in the summer of 2006, during the Israel-Hezbollah war, in which Lebanon took the heaviest beating.

Hezbollah still runs the valley today (see Cairomaniac's account of our encounter), and the scene here is the polar opposite of Beirut - Hezbollah flags, posters celebrating "martyrs", lots of mosques, livestock, and covered women (if we see any at all).

This time, I was a tourist. But as we drove north along the valley, to Baalbek, Francois pointed at bridges under construction - Israel had blown them up to sever road links between Lebanon and Syria. Foreign aid money is now paying to rebuild them.

It takes about 3 hours to drive to Baalbek from Beirut. We were here to see the temples of Bacchus, and Jupiter - possibly some of the best preserved Roman ruins anywhere.

I wonder what this is for...

2008-11-15T03:00:00.003+02:00

Photos & text copyright Yasir Khan 2008 (seriously)

Ah, the things you find during a grocery run.

Beirut Bound - part 2

2008-11-15T01:52:00.027+02:00

Photos & text copyright Yasir Khan 2008

Francois, our driver, drove us up the coast on day 2, stopping for a bit to see the stunning Jeita Grotto on the way. Hugh Hefner has nothing on this baby. Sorry, no pictures, though. They frown on that sort of thing.

So, onward to the 7000-year old port of Byblos - probably my favourite part of the trip, and my first visit to a crusader castle.

Here's the evidence:

Beirut Bound - part 1

2008-11-15T01:11:00.011+02:00

Photos & text copyright Yasir Khan 2008

There have been a lot of holidays lately. The last big one was the end of Ramzan/Ramadan - the fasting month, and Suf & I, along with Dr. Vorg & NS, went up the street to Lebanon.

Our first stop - Beirut, the Paris of the middle east. Rich, beautiful, sophisticated, and cosmopolitan. Beirut is at once the playground of Saudi philanderers and the home of Hezbollah. I didn't take too many pictures of the city because I was so busy sampling the fare at one spectacular restaurant or another (lamb kofta in sour cherry sauce at Mayrig in Gemmayzeh - to die for).

But here's a shot that pretty much everyone takes.

Khan-dom

2008-08-28T13:13:00.007+03:00

Lately, I found my ringtone to be boring as hell. So I changed it to the show theme from Get Smart. I changed Sufia's to the theme from Hawaii Five-O (I know, we're showing our age).

Then I got this from a friend in London - it's part of a HIV prevention campaign in India, by the BBC World Service Trust. They want to do it by promoting condom use. And they have a ringtone! This is what it sounds like:

You can download the ringtone here. Let me know if you think I should put it on my phone.

Back in the Saddle

2008-08-21T20:12:00.004+03:00

Photos & text copyright Yasir Khan 2008

Around the end of our first week in Canada (back in July), Suf & I turned to each other as we sat by the water.

"Do you want to go back early?"

She'd read my mind. We were already missing Cairo like mad.

I stayed away from Khanundrum on purpose. We've been in Canada for the last few weeks, and I thought I should give the blog a break - not that we had much time to write anyway.

Our time here's been filled with silence, clean air, parking tickets, weddings, people, kids (who might be people), concerts and airplanes (let's see... at one point or another, one or both of us were in Saint John, St. Andrews, Halifax, Montreal, Toronto, Brampton, Missisauga, Erin, Saskatoon, and NYC).

We loved every single one of those places (well, except for Mississauga). But none of them are the crowded, noisy, polluted, ugly, wonderful city that we now call home, and have come to love.

"Yeah!" I said. "Let's go back early."

The Mummy Daddy

2008-06-02T20:45:00.020+03:00

"So, what do you want?" Zahi Hawass thundered at my students.

They're a mix of Arab & American journalism students, who are here in Egypt (and later, Qatar) for a 3-week mideast journalism bootcamp. The course is made up of field trips and seminars. We were in Hawass' cavernous boardroom as part of an archeology field trip.

His official title is Secretary General of the Supreme Council of Antiquities and Director of the Giza Pyramids Excavation. He would much rather be called Egypt's Indiana Jones, complete with the hat.

Today, no monument or artifact in this country can be officially "discovered" by anyone other than this man. If your donkey falls into a hole and you find an ancient tomb down there, you call Hawass' office. His convoy blazes to wherever you are, and he discovers whatever you've found. So, in Egypt, this man is pretty much every mummy's daddy.

"What are you here for?"

"Well, Dr. Hawass..." one of us offered an explanation, and the students began their questions:

"What role does archeology play in boosting tourism, and thereby driving the economy?"
"What kind of environmental concerns do you have when it comes to preserving antiquities?"
"Do you worry about terror threats against the ancient sites?"
"What's the difference between the status of women in ancient Egypt, and modern Egypt?"
"How come most of our excavations are undertaken by foreigners, and not Egyptians?"

Hawass was loud, outspoken, and almost flippant:

"Tourism is the enemy of archeologists... I want to make tickets more expensive..."
"People are ruining our heritage by bringing in so many millions of visitors..."
"I told George W. Bush that he cannot bring democracy to the Middle East... these people need dictators... who kill people every now and then... to preserve stability..."
"The woman should take care of the house first..."
"I am writing letters to congressmen... fighting with museums... to recover the Rosetta Stone... and so many other artifacts that were stolen from us..."

We went on for over an hour. One of my students had to change an hour-long tape in her camera. Each answer was a lecture, a litany, a lament. Long and strong.

I wanted to ask a question: "You say you're trying to recover stolen treasures. Given the current state of the Egyptian Museum, and the poor condition that most of the antiquities there are kept in (badly built cases, no climate control, no labels, etc. etc.), how would you preserve the stolen artifacts that might be returned to you?"

For once, the man was silent... and then the answer: "I am doing that now."
"Okay..."
"That's it."
"That's it? That's your answer to my question?"
"Yes."
"Well, thank you for your time."

Applause, photographs, autographs.

Breathing Break: Hakuna Simba!

2008-05-30T13:10:00.017+03:00

Photos & text copyright Yasir Khan 2008

Willie and the other safari drivers in the Masai Mara were on edge for our first two days there. Nobody had seen a lion.

It's a safe bet that most people come to the Masai Mara to see lions. Hell, most people spend thousands of dollars on safaris, and if they don't see anything else except for lions, they will go home happy. Drivers like Willie take pride in finding lions for their clients.

It's hard to find lions in the spring, though - the Serengeti / Masai Mara grass is tall, and it rains frequently. So, for 2 nights, the talk at the drivers' dinner table centered around "hakuna simba." No lions. They took it personally.

But on the 3rd day, as we were wrapping up a giraffe, our CB radio began to squawk excitedly.

Kuja! (Look!)

Simba! Simba! Simba! Simba!

A mad rush across the Mara, with constant directions over the CB, led us to this big cat:

What I wasn't prepared for, were the paparazzi:

Photo copyright Sufia Lodhi 2008

For the next 45 minutes, camera shutters from 8 safari vans clicked with her every bored move.

The rest of the Mara thought we were the most ridiculous animals there. We barely noticed.

Breathing Break: Kenya pt. 4

2008-05-20T19:06:00.023+03:00

Photos & text copyright Yasir Khan 2008

On day 2, we drove over to Buffalo Springs National Park. We got stuck in the mud, were charged by an elephant, and ate lunch on a hill overlooking herds of these guys. Enjoy:

Breathing Break: Kenya & the Dik-Dik

2008-05-20T18:37:00.010+03:00

"The dik-diks... they are never alone," whispered Willie as our van crawled along the dirt road.
"And if one of them dies, the other won't live for too long."
I've been curious about the dik-dik ever since I read my friend Marie's book about her trip across Africa. They're elusive as hell, and will disappear before you can even say "dik-dik." I really wanted to photograph one for Marie, and tried a hundred times to click before they fled.
But perseverance has its payoffs, and I finally got mine. So here you go, Marie - meet Dik and Dik.

Photos & text copyright Yasir Khan 2008

Intermission

2008-05-19T19:48:00.005+03:00

Photo copyright Sufia Lodhi 2008

I am interrupting this Kenya love-in to inform you all that today is my birthday.
I have turned 17 for the second time.
My sweet mama wrote in with a prayer. She wants god to make me a wise man.I am resisting the urge to write back ...
... maybe god has already answered her prayers.
That's it. Back to Kenya.

Breathing Break - Kenya Pt. 2

2008-05-17T13:50:00.023+03:00

Photos & text copyright Yasir Khan 2008

"We're going past mount Kenya now."
Willie, our driver, woke us up to see Kenya's tallest peak.
"Soon we will cross the equatah."

We had been driving for a couple of hours, heading to the Shaba National Reserve - about 300km north of Nairobi, where we were to spend 2 days at the Sarova Shaba Game Lodge. Normally, we wouldn't be able to afford this palace in the wild. But these are special times in Kenya. The croc you see above was pretty much right outside our room window. Cairomaniac was convinced that crocs can jump, and issued many stern warnings for me to keep my distance. Obviously, she's watched a lot of When Animals Attack and not enough Animal Planet. Needless to say, the croc stayed put. Crikey!

When I tell people about crossing the equator, everybody asks about the water - does it change the direction of the flow when you flush the toilet? Sure enough, there's a guy by the equator sign with a jug of water and a plastic tub with a hole in the bottom.

"Would you like to see a demonstration?"
"No thanks."

I didn't want to pay money to see water go down a hole. Honestly, I'm not the least bit curious.

"Then maybe you can look in my shop? Buy something to keep us going? There have been no tourists lately."

Breathing Break: Kenya Pt. 1

2008-05-12T15:18:00.010+03:00

Photographs & text copyright Yasir Khan 2008

I'm a bit late on this. But we got back from Kenya a couple of weeks ago.

People warned us not to go because of the recent political shitstorm. But tickets were cheap, and safari prices were down by almost 20% since people had cancelled their Kenyan vacations en masse. So we went... and had a great time - great food, clean air, and loads of silence. Not to mention loads of wildlife.

Kenyans were on their best behaviour.

Details and pictures coming soon. In the meantime, here's a short video of our trip, courtesy of Sony PS2:

Told you we had a great time. Stay tuned for more.

Mugamma-thon: Running the Gauntlet

2008-04-18T12:21:00.006+02:00

Cairomaniac had her first experience with Egyptian bureaucracy yesterday. She needed to get her visa transferred to her new passport, and went to the dreaded Mugamma.
What a trooper! I've never dared to go.
Read about it here.

UPDATE: I went to the Mugamma with Cairomaniac a couple of days after reading this. Boy, was I surprised. Lots of people, lots of paper, lots of rubber stamps, lots of windows to go to, and a handful of actual computers. But, in that ugly, big brother building, things seem to somehow work. Read her entry here.

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

2008-04-08T00:58:00.031+02:00

Above photograph by Cairomaniac. Rest by various journalists, including Per Bjorklund.

Khamsin sandstorms come quite abruptly. All of a sudden, it gets hot, and hard to breathe. You smell the sand in the air.

Sunday was one of those days. As the sky turned yellow, only 3 of my students showed up for class. The rest had taken the day off.

The ones I did see at school were quite shaken.
"Three of my friends were standing on the sidewalk and were arrested."
"I don't know where my friends are."
"A riot cop told me to keep walking or face the consequences."

It started out as a day of protest by underpaid textile workers, against rising food prices and low wages. But it quickly became a storm of resentment against this country's government. People talked of organizing mass gatherings in public places across the country.

The Egyptian constitution permits protests. But according to the law, any gathering of more than five people could be considered illegal. And consequences can be brutal.

So, pop quiz: Wages are in the toilet, bread is becoming pricier by the day, your people are upset about it, and they want to let you know. What do you do?

Answer:

Go here to read blogger Hossam El-Hamalawy's report.

All day Sunday, Cairo was crawling with riot police. Mind you, this is one of the most over-policed cities on the planet. But yesterday, they probably broke some police presence record. Many protests were shut down before they began. The ones that did begin were gassed and beaten out of existence.

Many bloggers were pre-emptively arrested.

By the evening, the khamsin sandstorm had blown over, leaving behind a dust-coated city, a horrible aftertaste, and millions who still can't afford bread that still costs too much.

Update: It's not over yet. More here and here.

He's dead!

2008-04-07T23:30:00.006+02:00

Quick! Somebody take the gun!!

No idea what I'm talking about? Read more.
And, if you have time to waste, read this.

Pity the Fuul

2008-03-16T22:36:00.013+02:00

Over a decade of journalism gives you bad habits. I've picked up a truckload.

For instance, we journalists are obsessed with the pithy phrase - the all-encompassing 2-3 word expression that we think crystallizes what we want to say. Like "the new normal", "terror links", "the Arab street", "the Arab world".

Here's a tall claim: there's no such thing as "the Arab world." This monolith doesn't exist. Why? Because everybody in the Middle East looks down upon everybody else.

The Kuwaitis don't like the Jordanians, who hate the Syrians, who dislike the Lebanese, who might not like Egyptians, etc. etc.

Almost nobody likes the Palestinians. And the Saudis? Well, they're god's gift to the world, and pretty much don't like anyone.

All of which begets humour like this:

A Saudi and an Egyptian are at the airport, waiting for their flights.
"You Egyptians," says the wealthy, white-robed Saudi, "are no better than animals."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, let me explain - what did you eat for breakfast?"
"Fuul," is the immediate answer.
"And for lunch?"
"Well... fuul."
"Dinner?"
"Hmm... er.... um... fuul?"
The Saudi leans back.
"So tell me, then, what separates you from the animals?"
"Ah, that's easy!" exclaims the Egyptian. "It's the Red Sea."

Fuul is the middle eastern poor man's food - mashed fava beans with olive oil and spices, eaten with bread. It's cheap (a fuul sandwich is about 10 cents), delicious, and sits in your stomach for the whole day.

Everybody has their own recipe - the Lebanese make it with garlic, lemon and parsley, the Egyptians add tomatoes and spice it up, the Syrians throw in some chick peas, some other folk add eggs or onions or tahini.

But the wonderful thing about fuul is that everybody enjoys everybody else's recipe. Maybe this is what will unite the... Arab world?

Signominy

2008-02-29T13:16:00.006+02:00

All text & photographs in this post copyright Yasir Khan 2008.

Finally found a store I can relate to.
Haven't gone in yet, but they probably have everything I will ever need.

Go West

2008-02-27T23:51:00.020+02:00

All photographs & text in this post copyright Yasir Khan 2008.

If you live in Cairo, you seek out opportunities to get out every now and then for some clean air.
So, last week, we took a trip out into the western desert. Here's the evidence:

And, as true Canadians out in the rocky wilderness, we just had to build inukshuks:

Obviously, some of them worked out better than others.
But we're bloody proud of them all.

In case you're not sure what they want...

2008-02-23T23:50:00.009+02:00

All text & photographs in this post copyright Yasir Khan 2008

... it's MONEY!

Spotted this in a roadside cafe on our way back from the western desert. More on that coming soon.

Choke

2008-02-15T23:36:00.014+02:00

All text & photographs in this post copyright Yasir Khan 2008

"Min fadlak," (please) squawks the loudspeaker on the roof of the puny-looking ambulance, in between the woo-woo of an equally puny siren.

"Please get out of the way!"
"We have a very sick person inside."
Woo-woo-woo-woo

A few seconds later:
Woo-woo-woo
"Please! We have a very sick person in the ambulance."
Woo-woo-woo-woo

Nobody moves. They can't. Traffic has ground to a halt on the the Kasr El Nil bridge. We've been standing still for about twenty minutes now.

From my cab, I see the paramedic jump out of the ambulance and run to the cars ahead. I see his hands making wild, pleading gestures. I see him run back to the ambulance, and shut the door.

The decal on the door reads "A gift from the people of Japan."

He gets back on the the loudspeaker.

"Please move to the side..."
Woo-woo-woo-woo...

Nothing is predictable in this city of 20 million people - not the cab fare, not the price of a cup of coffee, not the direction in which a car will drive down a one way street. Everything is negotiable. You have to be 'on' at every instant. You have to be thinking. You have to be alive.

Except when you're stuck in traffic - Cairo's predictable, non-negotiable monster. It will choke you to death.

There are more than 2 million cars on Cairo's streets, very few traffic lights, and extremely bendable traffic rules. The city is like a heart in a state of constant cardiac arrest.

Woo-woo-woo...

Half an hour later, we're still in the same spot. The paramedic's loudspeaker pleas have become less frequent. He's stopped jumping out.

Forty minutes into the jam, I decide to walk to work, and get out of my cab.

As I cross the bridge over the Nile, I turn back to look at the hopelessly stuck ambulance.

The driver turns off the siren.

Champions of Africa?

2008-02-11T17:58:00.001+02:00

All text & photographs in this post copyright Yasir Khan 2008

Ask most Egyptians if they're African. You'll hear a resounding "la" (no). They're Egyptians. Not Africans. Not Arabs. People here proudly proclaim they're different.

They're descendants of the Pharaohs.

But last night, after their 6th victory (2nd consecutive) in the African Nations Cup (football), Egyptians were definitely Africans... and damn proud of it. This nation of party animals kept us awake until the wee hours.

The evening belonged to Egypt's star player Mohamed Aboutraika. He scored the only goal in the finals against Cameroon, in the 77th minute of a very tight game, and became the lord of the streets for a night.

Aboutraika was a political hero here a few days ago. He earned a yellow card in the game against Sudan. After scoring a goal, he lifted his jersey to show an undershirt inscribed with the message “Sympathize with Gaza”.

The yellow card was for for violating a no-politics rule. But to the people here, he was a champion for the Palestinian cause.

At that time, Egyptians were Arabs. I think.

Light Blooded Egyptians

2007-12-24T23:42:00.004+02:00

All photographs in this post copyright Yasir Khan 2007

As we drove by the presidential palace a few days ago, my taxi driver pointed to the large, treed compound that was surrounded by guards, and smiled.

"Look mister! Look all ze security!"

"Zey keep zem here to protect us from our president."

If good humour comes from great pain, then Egyptians have got to be some of the funniest people in the world. This is a country where things are just barely bearable. Just barely.

And just enough effort is made by the powers to keep it that way - if there's too much prosperity, people no longer depend on the government, and bureaucracies become irrelevant; too much poverty, and you will have a revolution on your hands.

There's virtually no middle class here. Just the very rich, and the very poor. About 44% of Egypt's 80 million people live on $2 a day. Every year, Egypt's free universities churn out thousands of graduates who can't find work. Engineers make about $300 a month, and usually have second jobs. The police force and most government institutions are make-work projects so unemployment won't spiral out of control.

They call it ad-damm khafif, or "light blood". It's the Egyptian term for a sense of humour. Every day, I see Egyptians' light, acidic blood work its magic. And they love to turn it upon themselves.

Take for example, the local english language music channel here. It's called Melody Tunes. They play the usual MTV/VH-1/BET fare, and are fairly up to date.

The best part of watching the channel, though, are their promo videos - hilarious 30-second spots where ordinary Egyptians make complete fools of themselves with popular western songs in everyday scenarios. And they sing them in their heavy Egyptian accents:

Sometimes I'll watch Melody Tunes only for these.

There are a few more on youtube.

Putting the "G" in Sovereignty

2007-12-20T20:04:00.001+02:00

I'm sorry I've neglected Khan-un-Drum lately. Final exam season just ended here. I've been busy.

I stand accused of keeping this blog only for the purpose of impressing my wife while she was away from Cairo. This charge is spurious. I categorically deny it. On with the show:

A few weeks ago, my friend Mr. Yosri Fouda invited Suf and me to dinner. Post meal, we went to the uber-posh Garden City Club for drinks, and ran into an animated conversation:

"But it's ours! Why should we not use it? Leih??" The woman's bejeweled fingers made a questioning gesture. Her fingers on the other hand flicked a cigarette.

"Ya'ni I know that," said the man in the dark suit, shelling a pistachio. "But people will get confused."

The argument was about geem - Egyptians pronounce the "J" (the arabic letter "jeem") as a "G" ("geem"). So, Jamal becomes Gamal. Jezira (island) becomes Gezira.

Sometimes, the geem finds its way into english. The result can be comical. Take a look at the restaurant menu in the picture.

The woman was arguing with two TV journalists that Egyptian broadcasters ought to pronounce the geem on air, as they would normally, when talking to fellow Egyptians.

Egypt is the Hollywood of the Arab world. Egyptian movies, sitcoms, and news shows are watched by millions from Morocco to Muscat. Egyptian arabic, then, is the most well-known dialect. No matter where an Egyptian goes in this part of the world, everyone will understand him. He, on the other hand, will have no clue what they're saying.

Regardless, Egyptian broadcasters will switch to modern standard arabic, when they're on air, and a jeem will no longer become a geem.

The guys at Garden City Club thought that pronouncing the geem on television would alienate their pan-Arab audience.

"Bas, the geem is ours. We should be proud of it!" ranted the woman whose country receives the largest amount of US foreign aid after Israel.

"It's a question of Egyptian sovereignty!"

Monks & Mountains

2007-11-24T17:20:00.001+02:00

All photographs in this post copyright Yasir Khan 2007

Suf and I took a university trip out to the eastern desert this weekend. We hung out in Ain Sokhna, by the Red Sea, and checked out a couple of monasteries. Here's the evidence:

Saint Anthony: The monastery is at the foot of what I think is the world's tallest mountain - at least that's what it felt like while I was climbing it.

After visiting the monastery, a group of us dared the over-600-metre climb to Saint Anthony's cave. It's basically a slit in the rock face, that leads to a dark, damp womb. I was the last one out of all of us to make it up there. The reward - Tiffany's German chocolate. Benny, please make her a saint.

Saint Paul: He's the one on the left, raisin' the roof in the picture above. Paul is said to have been an absolute hermit, with a much more austere lifestyle than Anthony - he made his own clothes from palm leaves. If you ask me, he had the better cave. And when he died, he was buried by lions.
Now that's gangsta!

Me Read Arabic Kwayyis

2007-11-10T15:22:00.001+02:00

This photograph copyright Yasir Khan 2007

This sign says "manhole", even in arabic. I found it at the construction site of the university's new campus in the middle of the Egyptian desert.

I've been reading arabic quite fluently since I was a boy - result of a religious upbringing, wherein I was taught the Qur'an. It's the speaking part that I'm trying to get a handle on now.

This next picture is from my colleague Tiffany Vora. She found it while shopping for moisturizer. I hear this product is popular with those of us who are here without our significant others.

Bis-mil-lah no! This smoke has got to go!

2007-11-06T15:34:00.001+02:00

A great day. Big Islam is finally weighing in on clean air.

Every year, from September to November, Cairo is plagued by something called the Black Cloud - a thick blanket of smoke that hangs over the city, and makes the sky, well a little more hazy than it normally is. The cause - farmers burning plant refuse on their rice farms to prepare the soil for next year's crop. The result - breathing in Cairo is no longer equivalent to smoking 20 cigarettes a day. You're now smoking 40.
So the beards and turbans at the so called House of Fatwa (I have dibs on that name for my band) - an outfit linked to Egypt's Chief Mufti - have issued a, well, fatwa: "The Koran forbids such acts that are considered a social nuisance."

Thank you, House of Fatwa. You've hit upon the one and only reason why Cairo's air is unbreathable - farmers burning hay for 2 months. The rest of the year, we're fine.

FAT-WHAA??
An aside: Ever get the sneaky suspicion that there are just too many fatwas flying around? You're not alone. Read more.

Za Bollywood & Za Beoble

2007-11-04T15:08:00.004+02:00

I have no idea how fast my taxi was moving this morning. The speedometer was stuck at 120 km/h even when we were still. But, at times, we were flying.
The driver glanced at me in all of his 8 rear view mirrors as we hurtled across the Qasr El Nil bridge, towards downtown Cairo, and asked the inevitable question:

CABBIE: Anta min-ein? (Where are you from?)
ME: Min al hind. (from India)

I've stopped telling random people that I'm from Canada, because ultimately I'll have to tell them that I'm originally Indian. So why bother?

CABBIE: Ah! Hindi! Naas kwayyis. (Indians are good people)
ME: Shukran. (Thanks)
CABBIE: Mitabbitshan? (????)
ME: Effendim? (excuse me?)
CABBIE: Mitabbitshan! Mitabbitshan! (WTF??????)
ME: Aasif. Ana mish-fahim. (sorry, I don't understand)

At 120 km/h (or whatever the real speed was) the man let go of the steering wheel and started to punch the air.

CABBIE: Mitabbitshan! HA! HA! HAAAAA!
His arms were flailing by now.

CABBIE: Aflam hindi! (Indian films!)

Of course! He was talking about "Amitabh Bachchan", the small "g" god of bollywood cinema! I'd heard that Egyptians love Indian films. They've even hired bollywood actress Celina Jaitley to be "the face of Egypt." When Bachchan visited Egypt in the '90s, it was pandemonium. Kids skipped school, people skipped work. Everyone lined the streets to get a glimpse of him.

ME: Aiwa... Amitabh Bachchan! Ta'arif hu? (do you know who he is?)
CABBIE: Tab'an! Ragl halwa 'awi! (Of course! Great man!)

Our brief Bachchan love-in ended as I paid, got out of the cab, and walked in to my office. There was a notice on my desk about the university's Desert Development Center (they research desert agriculture, among other things). They had fresh honey for sale at their kiosk, and I thought I'd check it out.

ME: Izzayak? (how are you?)
HONEY MAN: Alhamdulillah. Ayyi Khidmah? (Thanks to god. What can I do for you?)
ME: Endak 'asl taaza? (do you have fresh honey?)
Honey Man looks up at me as he's packing my jar of honey.
HONEY MAN: Hadratak min ein? (where are you from, sir?)

Oh brother...

ME: Min al Hind...
HONEY MAN (smiles): Min al Hind? Mitabbitshan?

Over the Bridge Downtown

2007-10-31T08:29:00.001+02:00

This picture is from Lonely Planet. I'll change it as soon as I get a better one myself.

Steve Franklin was a Knight Fellow at the university. I never met him - he left before I got here. But I find his business cards all over my office.
I've been reading his blog lately. The other day, I found something on it that I had to steal.
See, it gets dark here around 5 these days. As I cross the Qasr el Nil bridge over the Nile, on my way home, I witness a scene that you can write novels about (people here have).
Back in August, Steve quoted an article from the LA Times (by Jeffrey Fleischman) about this scene, on his blog. Here's an excerpt:

CAIRO — The lovers and the fishermen, the street kids and the cops, the veiled girls and the flower sellers, they all come at dusk to the bridge over the Nile, stealing kisses and tugging their lines, escaping the heat and hoping for magic, the boys whispering promises bigger than their pockets as moonlit boats glide beneath them.

Hotel lights glow along the corniche in the distance and somehow Cairo’s grit and poverty are gone; night makes everything pure. That’s when dreams and memories unfold on the bridge.

Ibrahim Adel, a waiter, tells his fiancee, yes, he will one day own a restaurant. Yehia Helmi, a barber, lifts his grandson to the railing and points to a sail flickering in the darkness. Samir Shawki skitters with his buddies through the traffic. And Ali Mohammed Hussein, a sturdy man with a bent nose, sells wilted roses in cellophane.

The Qasr el Nil Bridge carries tens of thousands of cars a day, but at night its wide sidewalks are shoulder to shoulder with Egyptians. There is no sweeter spot for a cheap date, a refuge from big families and crowded apartments. A brush of the hand, a smile, all the subtle rituals of Muslim romance play out in tiny dramas amid the call to prayer and the river breeze.

Shanghai Hardcore

2007-10-30T16:44:00.001+02:00

Few things are more daunting than an audience of forty 18-year olds. That's my 2nd year Mass Communication class at the university. I teach them for an hour every Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday, and it's probably the most labour intensive part of my job.
I am probably the only professor they have who is not their parents' age. And every class, I put on a performance. I show up with things I want to put in their heads.
They stare, listen, and occasionally doze off.
Sometimes, their eyes light up. That's when I talk to them about hip-hop. This is house and techno country (besides the local pop scene), but quite a few people do listen to hip-hop.
I brought up Kanye and Fifty, when I talked to them about the power of mass media, and more recently when Rolling Stone had those two on the cover.
The initial reaction was hesitant giggling, almost as if to say,
"are we supposed to talk about this in class?"
Next came a talk on advertising and product placement. Ludacris was the example: Cadillac grills, Cadilac bills... I think they liked it.
Pretty soon, I was being asked about my favourite songs on the new Kanye record.
Next week, we'll be dealing with the recording industry, and of course, hip-hop. Check out what I found while I was researching for it:
That's the Iron Mic '07 - an annual Chinese rap battle in... wait for it... Shanghai!
Who started it? A 32-year old black Muslim dude from Detroit.
Word.

Fayoum

2007-10-20T23:20:00.003+02:00

All text & photographs in this post copyright Yasir Khan 2007.

"Have you been out of Cairo yet?" My friend Ameena's tone was more insistent than curious. Yes, Ameena, I have. And here are the pictures to prove it.
Lake Qarun - Egypt's own Dead Sea - lies about 80 kilometres away from Cairo. A short distance from it is the Fayoum - a large patch of ultra fertile land on the bank of the Nile, said to be the birthplace of agriculture.
Went out there with my colleague John Swanson and his Greco-Roman archaeology class, which was a treat. We completely bypassed the modern city of Fayoum , and hit the salty lake, some tiny villages, and wonderful ruins of old Greek towns that date back to just after Alexander's conquest of Egypt.

The great thing about going to these places with John is that he tells you stories. Among the ruins, he read a letter that was written thousands of years ago in that very town. It was from a rich Greek man, addressing King Ptolemy. The man complained about an Egyptian woman who had emptied a chamberpot of urine on him. When he protested, she cursed him, spat in his face, and ripped his toga. There were a lot of witnesses.

"Punish her," he fumed, reminding Ptolemy that he was Greek, while she, a mere Egyptian.
Thousands of years later, many expats' attitudes haven't changed. They still expect to be treated better than the locals. More on that later.
For now, here are some pictures of the heavy security that accompanies us expats on such trips. The Egyptian government takes no chances after some crazies shot up a tourist bus 10 years ago, and again in 2005.

Short, Short Man

2007-10-11T16:10:00.001+02:00

Not everyone can say they know someone in the Guinness Book of World Records.
Back in 2002, my friend Tharanga Ramanayake was a producer/editor at Much Music. He created the world's shortest TV commercial.
It just went up on youtube:

And I have no idea who that host guy is. I hear he don't work at Much no more. Somebody should give him a job.

Ramadan Blues

2007-10-09T15:33:00.001+02:00

All pictures in this post copyright Yasir Khan 2007.

The sun sets. You eat. And then you talk about the fast. Out pours a day's worth of lamentation, and wisdom cooked in the depths of empty stomachs:
"You know, I swear, it's harder this year!"
"Why are we not allowed to drink water? Your body needs water! Surely, god understands that."
"The prophet said this religion is supposed to be easy. It's not supposed to be torture."

And there are the sheepish admissions:
"I'm just pretending now. I go to work, skip lunch, and nobody knows."
"My assistant was so energetic the other day. I asked her, 'Are you skipping the fast too?' And she started to giggle."

Among elites and expats in Cairo, this is the great Ramadan Conspiracy. And a tremendous source of Ramadan Guilt.
At recent iftar in a posh neighbourhood, our non-Muslim expat host held court on his balcony. He needed a drink. But he was surrounded by Muslims who had just broken their "fast." And Muslims who do normally drink, tend to give it up during Ramadan.
So, we talked. Conversation about global and regional politics raged until it came to a logical end. A few seconds of silence, and then...
... "Alright, who would like a drink? We've got juices, water. We also have some gin, and wine."
Silence... hesitant looks...
"Ya'ni, it's Ramadan... er... but sure I'll have some wine."

To Serve & Protect

2007-10-06T02:42:00.002+02:00

It's supposed to be autumn/fall here. As far as I'm concerned, it's still summer: 35 celsius during the day!
So, going out into the desert, to see pyramids, temples, etc., is a high-temperature proposition.
But imagine having to do that day after day.
That's the job of the "tourist police" here - to be out in the sun, and protect us tourists from things like terrorism, falling boulders, and accidental demands for freedom of speech, expression and movement.

As you can see, it's a pretty tough gig. They do it for less than minimum wage, plus some baksheesh.

Moving Rock

2007-10-06T02:15:00.001+02:00

I thought I'd remain a pyramid virgin until Suf got here. I thought it would be special if we both saw them for the first time, together.
But everybody I know is going now. So, in the last couple of weeks, I crumbled under peer pressure... and went to see a lot of pyramids:

That's a lot of rock. And I've been reading that the more rock a king moved to build a pyramid, the greater he was thought to be.
The Ontario provincial election happens in about 5 days.
And the Pakistanis go to the polls today.
I hope we hold our leaders to higher standards than moving rock.

Khan-Ye

2007-09-30T09:34:00.001+02:00

Suf and her colleague Brad have been listening to the new Kanye on the way to work. That cleared up my Nickelback-related anxieties a little. And my anxieties about the Ontario Liberals (have you heard the music they play at their rallies?). Thank god at least a handful of them are paying attention to some good tunes.

It will be a while before the music channels here start playing Kanye. Right now, they're obsessed with curvy, Chanel-clad, tone deaf, eye candy like Haifa Wehbe, or the perpetually yearning Nick Carter.

And, of course, lots of religious music.

Well, here's some real religion:

Cleopatra is for commoners

2007-09-24T21:51:00.001+02:00

Bassel, my TA, was horrified today. He discovered I am smoking Cleopatras - the local brand.
Like most other things here, they're cheap (about $1 a pack), and they do the job.
Foreign brands cost twice as much - a whopping $2.
"But why?" asked a wide-eyed, perplexed Bassel.
"I just wanted to try them."
Now I was perplexed. What's the big deal with Cleopatras?
So I asked one of the guys who helps us around the office.
"He's right, doctoor," said the smiling, gentle, Egyptian man.
"Cleopatras are for the lower class people."

Ramzan & the Khan

2007-09-21T17:55:00.001+02:00

Ramzan (ramadan to many of you) turns Cairo upside down.
You sleep when it's time to eat, eat when you're supposed to sleep, work when you normally go home, and go home during work hours.
Traffic takes a break too. Normally, by 6pm, all roads here become exhaust-filled parking lots.
But not tonight, when Ahson and I decide to check out ramzan in Khan-al-khalili (aka the Khan).
We drive through a dead city, to a dead market.
It's iftar: time to break the fast. So everybody's either eating, praying, or waiting for the post-iftar stampede.

Ahson and I make our way to the Al Fishawy cafe.
I've read that Naguib Mahfouz would come here to write.

As we smoke shisha, and sip mint tea, the post-iftar stampede begins.
Traffic, touts, temper tantrums.
A girl tries to sell Ahson keychains, while balancing a newborn.
A Somali dude named "Mark" shares his Chapelle's Show DVD.

Shame

2007-09-17T21:25:00.001+02:00

Suf writes to me today and tells me a deep, dark secret (well, not so deep, dark, or secret anymore):
"I like a Nickelback song... and the video."
I question my marriage in my head, and ask her where we went wrong.
Should we have moved to Barrie instead of Cairo?
Not so fast, she says. Take a look at it.
So, I youtube the bloody song, and against my better judgment, I actually like what I see and hear!
I am so ashamed of myself.

Baghdad Needs Banksy

2007-09-15T15:50:00.001+02:00

The American plan for stemming sectarian violence in Iraq is to now build walls between Shia and Sunni neighbourhoods. It's worked in one way - Shias and Sunnis are actually protesting against it... together.

The Yanks are call it a "concrete caterpillar". It is already 2km long, and is intended to protect a Sunni neighbourhood from attacks by Shia militia.

Here's the kicker, though: AFP's reporting that the Baghdad city council is hiring artists to paint "calming landscapes and scenes" on the wall, "depicting Iraq's natural beauty."

Shia leader Moqtada Al Sadr, meanwhile, has other ideas: "Draw magnificent tableaux that depict... sedition, car bombings, blood that (the US) has brought upon Iraqis."

Where the hell is Banksy when you need him? He did a heck of a job with the Israeli wall.

Photographs from www.banksy.co.uk

Bargain Basement Sociology

2007-09-13T18:32:00.001+02:00

A colleague at the university recently told me that you can tell the socio-economic status of a Cairene neighbourhood by looking at the roofs of buildings.
The more satellite dishes you see, the more affluent the residents.
Poorer neighbourhoods usually have one or two dishes per building.
These are pictures from my balcony.
Does this mean my neighbours are rich?

Boxes!

2007-09-13T18:22:00.001+02:00

Our shipment arrived, about a month after I put it on a truck in TO.
It's all there, and it's all in one piece (except for a few mandatory bruises). Not bad.

From Cairo to Springfield?

2007-09-11T11:19:00.001+02:00

This is me at my most narcissistic.

Saw a link to the Simpson's Movie site on Strombo's page. Turns out you can simpsonize yourself.

You can see George "Simpson" Stroumboulopoulos at the bottom of his page.

This is the best I could do for myself.

Does this look anything like me?

... and Khufu shuffled his feet...

2007-09-09T20:24:00.002+02:00

A friend had warned me when she gave me the invitation - "I have no idea what her music is like."

"It's by the pyramids," I thought. "They probably don't let just anybody perform there."

Last Friday night, Hurricane Chantal hit the sphinx like a brick wall. At least that's what it sounded like.

A sinfully curvy Chantal Chamandy put on a show replete with awesomely hot dancers, gorgeous backup singers, a helium balloon moon, and the Cairo Symphony Orchestra.

For about an hour and a half, I was amazed at how someone so pretty, and so well-produced, can be so many notes off key, in so many different languages (english, french, spanish, and arabic), so consistently.

No matter. I'm a lyrics man, myself. And Chantal's songs about "war" and "love" (when you kiss me there my body thaws, like an ice cream cone...) did not disappoint. They were the stuff that greeting cards at Zellers are made of.

Chantal transformed a packed crowd of Egypt's finest - young specimens of Arab manhood, who are normally shy and reserved. On Friday night, they whistled, howled, swayed, and made some seemingly genuine offers to augment her gene pool.

Yup, she won over some hearts and minds that night. And behind her, in his pyramid, Khufu was already downloading her off iTunes.

Where are you from, really?

2007-09-02T16:22:00.001+03:00

This wouldn't be a blog about living away from the home country, if I didn't write about this.

But then again, I'm asked this question even in Canada.

For the most part, Egyptians think I'm a local. How do I know this? Well, if I'm with other obvious foreigners, I am completely ignored. I could be a driver, a gopher, or anybody else who can be loosely defined as "the help." The only question I'm usually asked (in Arabic) is in the "what are you doing here?" range.

If I'm by myself, the advantage is that I end up paying local prices for almost everything.

That is, until I open my mouth. Instantly, I get service, along with a suitably jacked-up price. And the question: "Where are you from?"

Inta min ein?

Min Canada.

Ah! Canada kwayyis! Wa lakin, aslak eih? (Canada's good. But where are you from really?)

When that happens, I feel like I never left home. Canada, that is.

Beep Beep Beep

2007-09-02T14:39:00.001+03:00

Marie finally got her smoke detectors!

No idea what I'm talking about? Go here.

The Colonialist and the Cretan Woman

2007-08-30T12:47:00.001+03:00

Mujib and I were done with the mosque fairly quickly.

I'm not one for grand mosques. They're all basically the same - big, once opulent, built more to glorify the builder, rather than who the builder prays to.

Houses, I can spend hours in. And the House of the Cretan Woman (now known as the Gayer Anderson Museum), next to the Ibn Tulun Mosque is a real gem.

Actually, it's two 17th century houses joined together. Used to belong to a couple of wealthy ladies, one of whom was from Crete.

When the brits were here, a major by the name of Gayer Anderson (an unfortunate first name in the schoolyard, I'm sure) took over the place, restored it, and filled it with quite a bit of stuff - kitsch, stolen artifacts, and lots of paintings of himself.

Everything in this place - from furniture, to cushions, to books - is over a hundred years old, and in really good shape.

I read somewhere that part of the Bond film The Spy Who Loved Me was also shot here. Couldn't tell you what part, though.
Look it up.

The Mosque of Ibn Tulun

2007-08-29T17:18:00.001+03:00

I spent my second day here with Mujib Khan (no relation) - the managing director of AIG Egypt (the insurance company). I was introduced to him in Toronto by my friend Atique Azad of Butler's Pantry. Mujib's moving to Dubai, and wants to do a quick tour of Cairo before flying off.

So we meet up at the uber posh Conrad Hotel in the downtown area, hop into a chauffeured SUV, with his lovely guide Dina (almost all the Muslim Egyptian women I've met here so far are Dinas or Monas or Hodas), and head out to the Ibn Tulun mosque in old Cairo. Dina tells us it's the oldest surviving mosque in Egypt - all the way from 879AD.

Where there's no smoke detector, there's no fire.

2007-08-29T13:15:00.001+03:00

Drove out to the boonies with Marie and Craig last night to try out the "world's best hamburger". Took us a while. Our driver Mohyi, a sweet guy, was completely directionless... and perhaps a little intimidated, since Marie's his boss' boss.

The burgers at Lucille 's were good. No question. Maybe even the best I've had in the last little while. But I know I've had better.

Next, it's on to Carrefour, a "hypermarket" further out in the boonies. Marie needs to buy smoke detectors for her new office so she could insure the place.

Trouble is, no one here knows what the hell a smoke detector is. And why should they? Everyone smokes like a fiend. Everywhere. Smoke detectors would be an absolute nuisance.

It's 10pm by the time we get to Carrefour, and the place is jumping. It reminds me of Mecca during hajj season.

Craig and Marie decide to soldier on, and after some time, we find a clerk who doesn't understand what we want. I point to a smoke detector on the ceiling. Marie makes beeping noises.

In my broken Arabic, ask if he has any. No. The only place we might get them is somewhere called Bavaria in downtown Cairo.

But there's a Radio Shack right outside, so we try them. And what we think is a smoke detector, turns out to be a spy camera. They do have a real one on display. We tell them we need four. About 20 minutes of frantic searching ensues. But it turns out to be the last smoke detector "in the whole company." For the record, here's a picture of the last smoke detector in Radio Shack's entire Egyptian inventory.

Our new digs

2007-08-27T16:28:00.002+03:00

Talk about royal treatment. I was picked up at the airport, whisked thru customs, and driven to my new apartment building by about 4am on Friday morning... only to find the street pitch dark.

"Ya doctoor Yasir! Zere is no electric," said a voice. My eyes adjusted to a short, very dark dude - Mohamed from faculty housing. So we spent an hour outside on the street, me sweating, Mohamed telling me how he'd worked for the the university since he was fourteen.

Lights came on after about 1/2 an hour, and I was ushered into an elevator, and taken up to the 14th floor to our new home in Cairo.

"Zis is very unusual doctoor Yasir," said the other housing officer who gave me a tour of the place as I staggered around (no sleep for 24 hours - can't sleep on planes). "Zamalek is full of embassies. Special area. Lights go off only in poor areas. Very unusual."

Zamalek, my new neighbourhood, is on an island in the middle of the Nile. It's supposed to be the greenest part of the city, and quite posh.

In the past, it's been home to the city's aristocrats, princesses, businessmen, etc. There are stories about nazi sympathizers, as well as wealthy jews living around here.

More thoughts on the place as I discover it. Been walking around a fair bit (it's pretty small - smaller than Toronto's downtown core).

My street is quite interesting - the Cuban embassy used to be in my building, the Libyans are right beside us.

And pre-wwII, the Deutsches Archaelogisches Institut used to be about 5 doors down. It closed during the war. The villa was bought by a Jewish businessman, who later leased it to a former queen of Egypt.

Then, it was sold to the Canadian government, and turned into the ambassador's residence.

Don't have a cell phone or an internet connection at home yet. Things take time here.

Here's an article that helped me figure this place out. Here's another.