Much Ado about Everything

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about the recent protests in response to the film, Innocence of Muslims, or whatever they’re calling that piece of inflammatory garbage.  First of all, those taking place in Cairo have been very small and limited to the environs of the American embassy.  There has been no widespread rioting.  I know this because I live in Maadi, a neighborhood located a few miles from downtown, where there have been no public expressions of anger, at least none that I’ve been aware of.  This means that those actually involved comprise no more than a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of one percent of the eighteen million people (or so) who call this city home. 

On principle, I try to limit my exposure to mainstream Western news media, but I’ve been turning on my TV in recent days to watch France 24.  What I’ve been seeing has been somewhat disappointing.  At one point, the network put together a panel of experts to discuss the situation.  The group consisted of an American, a Dane, and two citizens of France, all of them rather WASPish in their background and outlook.  I listened carefully to everything that they said, trying to see if any of them had ever stepped foot outside their North American-European cocoon.  As far as I could tell none of them ever had. 

I can only imagine what’s being shown on American TV news.  For such an incredibly diverse nation, very few alternative perspectives are ever aired there.  Some would argue that radical Islamists are the biggest threat to America.  Forget that.  Groupthink poses the most potent danger to the health and wellbeing of the nation. 

Religion certainly has played a part in the recent embassy protests in the region, but so has poverty and American foreign policy.  I’m aware that many of my fellow citizens are bound to take issue with such a pronouncement.  What can I say to such people except that the truth sometimes hurts?   

I was born into a fairly traditional family in Texas, a traditional part of the United States.  While growing up, I was taught the old-fashioned lesson that “actions have consequences.”  This certainly has to be true for nations too, doesn’t it? 

Prior to the invasion of Iraq, gloriously marketed as “Shock and Awe,” many warned that such an action would radicalize many in the Middle East.  Of course, there’s also the continued occupation of Afghanistan to consider.  Lately, the use of drones, and all the “collateral damage” that occurs during such strikes, has been capturing the headlines in this part of the world.  I almost forgot to mention America’s longstanding, seemingly unconditional support of Israel, a nation that Jimmy Carter has referred to an “an apartheid state.”  Of course, this list is very far from being complete. 

Along comes a hateful movie and the outrage sparks off.  It’s impossible to look at all this anger, roiling so many different places, without suspecting that other deep-seated grievances are also at play.

I want to finish by sharing a really intelligent letter.  (I wonder if it’s gotten much airplay in Europe and North America.)  Additionally, this Thom Hartmann video provides a new way of thinking about the ongoing instability in this part of the world.  I’ll leave you to have a read and a look. 

I’m a Regular Mister

One of the things I like to do, when I'm not at work at The American University in Cairo, is frequent a place called The Green Mill, a cafe-restaurant located in my neighborhood, a suburban district called Maadi, which is located several miles to the south of the city's loud and chaotic downtown.  Because I spend so much time at The Green Mill, I have earned the right to be called a "regular."

The Green Mill doesn't sound Middle Eastern or Egyptian.  Sometimes, though, when the many nearby mosques start up with the call to prayer and the Muezzins' voices are bouncing off of everything outside, creating an echo chamber effect, I'm reminded where I am.  I'm situated once again.

All The Green Mill servers here are pleasant Egyptian men who ride bicycles to work.  I sometimes see them peddling down the street.  To a man, they always sit on their seats with straight backs, looking very dignified and with their legs pumping, but slowly.  I nod and show them my smile, and they say, in passing, "Hi, Mister."  For some reason, it's always "Hi Mister" even though they all know my name.

The eatery has a TV mounted high on one of its walls.  Sometimes it's turned on, sometimes not.  Often, at night especially, when there's a football game on (we Americans would say soccer) the waiters spend an inordinate amount of time in its vicinity.  When there's a score, some of the fellows celebrate and others turn their backs and walk away in disgust.  On such evenings, I always feel a little guilty asking for a second cappuccino or whatever.

The Green Mill management decided a while back to put in wireless, so I often bring my computer.  I'm always amazed at how I can sit in a cafe in Cairo, and bring up the Austin-American Statesmen (I'm from Texas) with just a few clicks.

Because Maadi is a very international district, people from every nook and cranny of the planet frequent The Green Mill.  I know it's always risky to make generalizations, but I'll go ahead and take the risk anyway.  When the Egyptians come, they drink Turkish coffee and smoke cigarettes.  When the Europeans come, they order vegetarian meals and hold their eating utensils a certain way, fork in one hand and the knife in the other.  When the Americans come, they order the "Green Mill Burger" and talk loudly, often about very personal things, things the Europeans (and others) would keep secret.  When the Canadians come, they act like Americans but they are quieter and a touch less confessional.  When the Japanese come, they order soup and lean toward one another and speak in near whispers. 

One of the beautiful things about coming to this little cafe, is that I can learn about the world and its peoples over a steaming cup of tea or while dipping Arabic bread into a bowl of delicious foul.

***

Epilogue

I wrote this piece a year or so ago.  I intended to try and publish it with NPR, one of their “All Things Considered” pieces, but never got around to it.  I might still try to do that.

I discovered it recently when I was going back through a bunch of old folders that were crammed with unpublished writings. 

It’s a bitter-sweet piece now.  That’s because Green Mill closed a few months ago.  Today, when I thought about publishing this piece on my blog, I walked over to the old place, now in shambles, and took a couple of photos, which aren’t that impressive.  (I guess pics of this sort would tend not to be.)

I’ve included them here.  I took one through the plate glass window, which turned out to be saddest. 

I guess eateries are just like people—both seem to come and go in our lives.

     

Neti Pot Love

I’d like to blog about my neti pot, an item that’s near and dear to my heart.  As a matter of fact, I don’t know where I’d be today if I didn’t own my little Aladdin’s lamp look-alike.

In August of 2008, I moved from Ankara, Turkey, to Cairo, Egypt, the Mother of All Mega-Metropolises.  Not long after my arrival, I started having a series of respiratory ailments.  I wasn’t entirely surprised by this sudden ugly turn of events because I’d read up on the place and had learned all about its notorious air pollution, including its dubious distinction of being a “brown cloud” city along with places like Beijing and New Delhi. 

It didn’t help that it was located in the middle of a desert and that the wind would often get up, sending a lot of that grit airborne and headed for my nostrils.  As a result of this double whammy—pollution and dust—these sicknesses became more common and acute.  At their worst, my entire nose would close up and I’d end up gasping for breath.  As you might guess, I began taking extreme measures, which included swallowing medicines and smearing my face and body with all manner of exotic and strange-smelling ointments.  I even started seeking advice from others and would often find myself in the odd position of discussing my snot with mere acquaintances.

I eventually ended up where I always end up when I’m desperate—on the internet.  After a bit of creative Googling, I discovered something called the neti pot but was unable to find one in Cairo, so I constructed a facsimile out of an empty water bottle.  Such an improvisation wasn’t perfect, but it got me by until I was able to get my hands on the real McCoy.

Today, I’m like the world’s greatest neti pot evangelist.  I tell anyone and everyone who’ll listen about the value of pouring salty water through one’s nasal passages.

Two last thoughts.  For those of you unfamiliar with the art and science of neti potting, I’ll include a videotaped demo.  And finally, the neti pot is really an ancient device that has a very interesting history.

P.S.  Yes, that is an interesting hat on my head!