My father
is the quiet philosophical type.Once,
while I was road tripping with him through an especially picturesque part of
America, he turned to me, as we were ginning down the highway, and said, “The
really interesting thing about traveling is that it gives a person the
opportunity to realize that the place he’s from is not all that special or pretty.”
I recalled
his comment during a recent trip I took with Azza to Rome, Italy.As my father had aptly noted all those years
ago, The Eternal City is the sort of place that could make any traveler see his
hometown in a new light.Every city I’ve
ever lived in pales in comparison to Italia’s capital.
When one
family member asked me to sum up my feelings about the city at the conclusion
of our trip, I replied, “Walking around Rome is like taking a stroll on a movie
set, one built for the most romantic film of all time.”The experience of visiting the metropolis is
somewhat unreal.How could a real place,
where real people live and work and do all the mundane things that real people
have to do, be so outrageously beautiful?
The
pictures I’ve included here don’t do the city justice, but that’s not a
surprise because travel pictures can never capture what the photographer was
thinking and feeling about his subject at the moment the image was forever
captured.
Back in May
I blogged about my impending marriage to Azza Omar, an Egyptian I met while
living in Maadi, a leafy suburb of Cairo.Well, given everything that’s happened in recent weeks, I can see that
an update is in order.
The
nuptials took place, as advertised, back on the evening of the last day of May,
and then the two of us set off on an extended trip that has been part honeymoon
and part opportunity to introduce Azza to her new American in-laws.
Our first stop
was in Rome, Italy, where we ate enough pizza and pasta and bruschetta to add considerably
to our beltline circumferences.In an
attempt to minimize our weight gains, we spent the daytime hours wandering the
cobblestoned streets and alleys of The Eternal City.We soaked up the sights like two thirsty
sponges.(By the way, I’ve got photos
and videos of the place that I’ll eventually post.)
After that,
we flew, with the Delta Airlines bunch, to America, making stops in New York City
along the way.We eventually ended up in
Austin, Texas, where my dad and stepmother live.Actually, they reside in a bedroom community
called Georgetown, which is just up I-35 from the Lone Star State’s capital
city.
From there,
we set off to the hinterlands, otherwise known as West Texas.Actually, what I really want to share with
you is a couple of photos I took of my maternal grandmother (aka “Memaw”) who
will (inshallah) celebrate her ninety-sixth birthday next month.Memaw—yes, I know it sounds terribly down home
to refer to her that way—resides in a little town that you’d be hard pressed to
even find on a map.If you don’t believe
me, pick one up and try to locate Christoval, Texas.(Hint:it’s not far from San Angelo.)
When Azza
and Memaw met and hugged one another, it was like the meeting of two
civilizations that had hitherto never encountered one another.Azza is Muslim and from the Middle East, and
Memaw is an American WASP who couldn’t tell you what Islam is if her life
depended on it.Anyway, despite those
glaring differences, the two hugged and bonded like there was no tomorrow.It warmed my heart to see it happen too.
The other
photo, I suppose, is pretty self-explanatory.
Speaking of
serendipity, I was getting ready to write about this episode of The World
Tomorrow when I happened to run across an interesting sentence in Flight, a novel by Sherman Alexie.It’s spoken by Justice, an evil boy genius
who befriends Zits, the book’s juvenile delinquent, first-person narrator.Justice says, when speaking to his new best
buddy, “Remember, revolution is not about spontaneous combustion.The true revolutionary must set himself
aflame.”
What
Justice said reminded me of Julian Assange’s conversation with these Occupy
activists.Of course, I couldn’t help
noticing how often they kept referring to “the Arab Spring.”Living in one of the countries where this “flowering”
is taking place, I felt like I wanted to comment on Justice’s quote, the London
conversation, and Egypt’s current situation.
What
happened last year in Egypt felt like spontaneous combustion, especially since
it all transpired so quickly.When the
flames finally died down, the ashes of an old political arrangement could be
seen in many different places.
Today’s
Egypt is definitely aflame.In fact, I
would say that the country is inflamed.It’s swollen and fevered.Now,
instead of ashes, we have, once again, a white-hot heat.
Last year,
when Mubarak stepped down, I felt energized and enthusiastic.I wanted to contribute to the making of a new
Egypt.This year, I find that I’m very
tired.The strain of the current
uncertainty of things is exhausting.When I talk with others about Egyptian politics today, I’m reluctant to
give my opinion.I don’t know who is
right and who is wrong and which way the country should go.In short, I feel befuddled and paralyzed.
It occurs
to me that revolutions are very romantic in their early stages.Later on, there is a great potential for
tragedy.
Three times
this past spring semester, the bus I was on in morning, the one taking me to
work at the university, came to a stop on the highway.That’s because the road, up ahead, was being
blocked by a mob of angry, young men, some of whom were throwing stones and
generally causing mayhem.The second
time this happened I was sitting next to a visiting professor from
Chicago.I turned to her and said, “It sometimes
feels like Egypt is becoming unhinged.”
“How long
have you been here?” she asked.
“Nearly four
years.”
“Well, I’ve
been here only one, but I generally get that sense too.”
In the days
that followed, I have repeatedly asked myself these questions.Were these youths doing a good thing (or not)
in expressing themselves this way?What,
specifically, were their grievances?What
are people to do when they feel powerless and frustrated?What is their best course of action?
