Othering

An academic term used to describe the socially constructed difference and distance between peoples.  The "US" versus the "OTHER."

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German Friend once brought up an interesting point about our traveling lives.  When we write home and talk about the new cultures we visit, do we lessen them, even if we mean it as compliment?  For example when one marvels at a Latin American's dancing skills and sexual appeal, are we representing them as more impulsive and instinctual than our rational selves?  Why do we always ignore Central Americas fascinating political history as tourists?  It is so easy to attribute "unsavory" traits of a society to "lesser development," and completely ignore the different and yet complex intellectual circles, political happenings, and artist communities.  Maybe some of these traits as simply "different" rather than "unsavory."  It is so easy to say that "they are 50 years behind," but that suggests that our development is linear (and constantly improving), and other cultures are following the exact same path.  

Have you heard of "poverty tourism?"  Where western tourists visit famous slums and poor communities, sometimes as a mission of volunteer trip, but often to satisfy their curiosity and verify their difference from The Other.  But I have to wonder if it is wrong to want to see this Other if it contributes to their economy?  Why wouldn't someone be amazed by a way of life and standard of living so different from their own.

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When I expressed concern about the prospective male roommate to my school the immediate response was, "But you're American?"  It took me a while to convince landlord and school that I was not just this label of "American" without boundaries.  I am a person, a female person, and most importantly I was directly expressing discomfort with the situation.    I was put into this box of Other and it made things very difficult for me.

This goes both ways.  When the fella showed up at my door, and I had expressed my discomfort once again he said, "You know I'm American, right?  I'm not one of those Egyptians."  He felt the clarification was nessicary because he could speak Egyptian Arabic, and was ethnically Egyptian.  I found this insulting.  I have many Egyptian friends, and I trust them more than I would trust a generic unknown American male any day.  Looking at statistics of sexual assault and rape, being American is by no means a get-out-of-jail-free card.  There is this general understanding that Egyptian (maybe even all Arab) males are sexually repressed and more dangerous.  But in my personal encounters with people I know, I trust an Egyptian guy to look out for me ten times more than I do an American guy.  Maybe this is because Egyptians come from a communitarian culture and the USA has a fend-for-yourself kind of culture.  All this being said all Egyptian women will agree that harassment in the streets of Egypt is a major problem.

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Read this blog entry "Don't Trust What You Read" by a friend of mine on Othering in journalism.

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Ultimately, this rambling fragmented blog is me thinking out loud about balance as a traveler in a globalized world. 

I want to visit some NGOs that work in a Zaballeen settlement, which is a community of impoverished garbage collectors here in Cairo.  (They recycle 80% of what they collect compared to "developed countries" 20%!)  I enjoy the haphazard markets I stumble upon on poorer areas, and my favorite places are the dingy dirty 'ahwas set up in the streets.  Is that bad?  Am I one of those tourists?  Or am I one of those students that studies these foreign peoples like they are some rare species of ape whose behavior patterns can not be decoded?

When I start to question my motivations for studying in Cairo, I have to force myself to really consider what makes me love this place.  Though I enjoy the 'ahwas, I love my friends and family here.  Though I find the rugged underbelly of society enticing I am also fascinated by the ever changing politics.  I love following Egyptian art, music, and literature which spans popular, underground, historical, current, high society, and lower class.   I love the rusty yellow glow of the streets at night when everyone comes out.  I am drawn to the hectic unplanned and unfinished developments, but I am also made breathless by the impeccable craftsmanship of Cairo's mosques and churches.  I don't love the people here for being “poor and irrational;” I love them for being sarcastic and generous.

I don't have answers to my questions.  I don't know if I love Egypt for the right reasons.  (I think about this more and more as I keep being asked, "Do you think you'll move here some day?" Funny, I thought I had already moved here...)  I don't know if there will ever be a way for people from different cultures to not only see each other objectively, but also see each other as diverse protean nebulas rather than oversimplified Others.  I think the only conclusion I can come to is that I and any other traveler must be open to complexity,  and the possibility that large portions of the Other might not be so different after all.

I can also conclude I think way too much.

Word of the Day

maHalee - local

One month

Tomorrow marks the one month anniversary of my committed relationship with Egypt.  I am getting sentimental as I sit drinking my tea (Egyptian style with too much sugar) on my balcony.  I am nearing the end of the tin of cookies I bought on my way from the airport.  I remember stumbling stupidly through the super market with Sherif, baffled at what exactly I might need to survive.  I was immediately drawn to the tins of cookies, a favorite part of my first Egyptian host family’s home.  I always called them tea cookies, but the can says “Butter Cookies.”  I always associated this tea and cookies snack as an Egyptian phenomenon, but now, after a month long engagement with this cookie tin, I see that the brand is “Americana.”

I think I’m doing pretty good.  I have survived happily living alone without any major meltdowns (knock on wood).  I have been studying and I really love my school.  I have seen my host family as much as possible.  I have seen two/three major tourist destinations I didn’t get to see last time: The Black and White Desert, and Coptic Cairo.  I have also visited a destination that wasn’t nearly as famous when I was here before: Tahrir Square.  (I passed through today and bought a little flag on my way to renew my visa.)  I have watched the Euro Cup at a wust el-balad (downtown) ‘ahwa (cafe), and I have ridden the metro.  Six more months baby.  I can’t wait to see what’s in store.

Word of the Day

titfarragi - you (f) watch (i.e. television)

WHAT A DAY

Oh my gosh.  I can’t handle my life. So good.  So awkward. And then so blah.

Classes were a blast today because my normal ECA teacher is on vacation, so his brother is standing in.  OH MY GOSH the man is crazy.  My normal teacher is great, but this brother... It is fantastic, he is so enthusiastic, yelling all over the place, but the best part is that he makes us actually speak.  A LOT. 

Then after classes, I went home.  Usually, if I go straight home, I just stay in until I am invited to go out because it is alway hot and I am lazy.  But today I convinced myself that it was necessary to go to the ATM.  Once out, I decided to take some streets I hadn’t been on before just around my neighborhood.  An intense craving for tomatoes overcame me.  I had to get some delicious flavorful Egyptian tomatoes (much better then the huge, dry, flavorless tomatoes we have in the US).  Daily, I see carts selling vegetables milling around my neighborhood, but I quickly became aware the vegetable carts are a morning thing.  Only fruits were being sold out on the street.  But I kept looking.  On my way my nose lead me to a fantastic bakery near my house.  Hopefully, they are open early enough that can get pastries before class for breakfast.  There are also a lot of neat cafes that I hope to take my friends to when they visit (I am not quite out-going enough to go alone).  I had almost given up, but then I ran into a fella who lives in my building.  He pointed me in the direction of a huge market down further than I had ever ventured before.  

I went and broke through to THE OTHER SIDE of Mohandessin.  Where I live there are wide streets and it is relatively quite, but when you go past Sudan St everything is bustling with life.  The streets are jam packed with people all scurrying about, cars honking, and stalls over-flowing with produce and merchandise.  It was dirty and crowded in a way that makes a person (or maybe just me) feel comfortable, like you know this place is really LIVED in.  It is so amazing that a place like this actually exists.   It is just so foreign to me and my (relatively) quiet and organized Minnesotan-Scandinavian upbringing.  

And the people walking around were so diverse: hijabee (hijab or scarf-wearing) women, uncovered Egyptian women in T-shirts and jeans, men in galabayas, and men in suits.  Right when I crossed over to THE OTHER SIDE an assertively friendly Egyptian man introduced himself and offered to show me to the market and help me buy tomatoes.  His skin was so dark, at first I didn’t think he was Egyptian, but he was.  His family was from Aswan.  Another testament to how diverse Egypt is.  We walked and talked together for quite a while.  He invited to me to his family’s home (which I politely turned down, saying I didn’t have the time) and he gave me his number.  I am considering giving him a call and asking him to be a language partner.  There are plenty of public cafes in the vicinity, so I could meet him and still maintain my privacy and anonymity.  We’ll see if I even have time for that.

When I got home I was very proud of myself.  I adventured with fruitful rewards.  Literally: I got my tomatoes.  But then things went from the best to the most awkward.  I had previously mentioned my dude roommate.  I was trying to be easy going about everything, but I slowly realized as I told my friends and family, that this is situation was quite unacceptable by Egyptian standards.  My school and landlord were treating the situation as though being American made me impervious to everything, even though I expressed discomfort with the situation.  I realized that I would not agree to live with a guy I didn’t know and had never met in the US, so why on Earth would I agree to it in Egypt?  I thought I had sorted the issue at school, but then this evening my landlord turned up at my door with the fella.  Awkwardness ensued for maybe two hours.  My landlord insisted that he would move out by the 14th.  That was still unacceptable and I said I would go stay with my host family (my Egyptian dad was very involved by this point).  And then the landlord suggested the fella stay at a full apartment of boys, but he rightfully wanted his own bed, not someone’s couch.  It was just very awkward, because I have nothing against the guy personally and I know he was exhausted from traveling.  I was very Egyptian about the whole ordeal.  I made him tea, and offered to let him use my phone and computer, all while “suggesting” he get out of my house.  Finally, after my host father had arrived at the apartment to pick me up, my landlord decided it would be best if the boy didn’t stay at all (not for one night, not for three, not until the 14th) and I get to stay in my apartment.  SO here I am.  Alone in my apartment.  There was lots of awkwardness, but my landlord was understanding, and now it is sorted.

And then the power went out.  What a day.

Photo of the Week

I present my new zoom lens!

Word of the Day

Ana bahebbik - I love you