January 25th, One Year Later

A year ago today, on January 25th, 2011, Egypt rose up.  After 18 days of protests and close to one thousand deaths, Egyptians succeeded in ousting Hosni Mubarak after 30 years of dictatorship.   Today, millions of them returned to the country's square with the same courage, humor, and fervor that characterized their uprising a year ago.  Some were celebrating the glory and bravery of their revolution.  All were mourning the martyrs that were killed by security forces during those 18 days and in the ensuing year.  Many feel that their revolution is incomplete, and seek to reclaim it and topple the military rule that is plaguing the country.

In the weeks leading up to the year mark of the January 25^th Revolution, the debate swirled around whether the day should be one of remembrance and celebration, or one of renewed revolt and protest against what many see as the same fraudulent negligence, only wearing a military uniform.  It was clear to me that the energy that unified Egyptians for the 18 days before Mubarak’s expulsion was lacking, perhaps because there is no longer a common enemy.  Liberally inclined folks wager that the Supreme Council of the Armed Forces (SCAF) has struck an informal deal with the Muslim Brotherhood to ensure that both wield power, so they fire their criticism at both the military and the newly elected religious politicians.  A larger segment of society is also dissatisfied with the sloppiness that has distinguished the military-led transitional period, which has most glaringly included violent infractions that have left scores dead.  Then there is what many sarcastically refer to as the Couch Party, who don’t care much for politics, and merely want stability; some of them blame the revolutionaries for creating chaos.  Then you have conspiracy theorists who point fingers at faceless thugs (boltagiyya) who want to “burn and destroy Egypt” for no apparent reason, as my raving taxi driver explained to me yesterday.  Needless to say, when lots of Egyptians get together and talk politics, there is a lot of gesticulating and yelling and very little consensus, although everyone agrees on their love for Egypt.

When I met a group of Egyptian friends at Cairo University to march to Tahrir Square, the atmosphere was unmistakably political.  Many of the chants and signs demanded the military hand over power to a civilian government immediately and face punishment for its actions.  They were unmoved by the SCAF’s recent concessions, including the release of about two thousand political prisoners and the repeal of emergency law (except in cases of “thuggery”, which leaves the door wide open to interpretation).  These mostly young people were remembering, too, many of them wearing masks or holding photos of the martyrs who had been killed in the last year’s violence.  As we set off beneath the sun glinting off the red, white, and black of the Egyptian flag, the students’ voice rose escalated with demands of fair trials, freedom, a civil state, social justice, and the return of the military to their barracks. 

My friends and me in the march from Cairo University
 to Tahrir Square.  Photo by Amir Makar

I found myself reminiscing to my high school days of protesting the invasion of Iraq.  It is curious what societal traits transcend geographical and cultural borders and become universal; I guess fighting for justice looks about the same everywhere.  Signs with witty and powerful slogans and photos were all around us, and students scrambled onto each others’ shoulders to lead the crowd in chants, handing the megaphone to a peer when they lost their voice.  “Wahed, itnain, tasleem a-sulta fain?” (One, two, where is the handover of power?).  I heard the echo of “One, two, three, four, let’s end this stupid war” when I used to protest the Bush administration’s invasion.  In front of and behind me, all I could see was Egyptians, their numbers as thick as the Cairo pollution, and I was reminded of looking on crowds of my fellow American protesters twisting around New York City’s blocks.  At one point, people all around me raised their hands in the peace sign and observed a moment’s silence for the martyrs.  The energy was electric, rippling around the neighborhood stores, reaching up into apartment buildings where onlookers waved at us with tears in their eyes, and weaving its way amongst these young revolutionaries.

Photo by Amir Makar

I was baffled that Tahrir Square could hold us all: it was to the point of bursting, with marches from all over Cairo gushing in to occupy Tahrir once again.  The square’s mood seemed to contrast somewhat with the tenacity of the march.  That is not to say that there was not an aura of enthusiasm and protest in the famous throne of the revolution, but there was more of a sense of celebration and happy nostalgia than anything else.  As dusk descended on the square, so did disappointment on the faces of my Egyptian friends.  They expressed frustration that the Muslim Brotherhood had control over the most visible and audible stage, belching out lies about having been present in the square at the onset of the uprising.  Although individuals from the Brotherhood stood by their fellow revolutionaries a year ago, the organization discouraged its supporters from taking to the streets at the beginning of the revolution, and those who did broke were younger members who broke with the older cadre of leaders.  It seemed a usurpation of a revolution that belonged to young people, liberals, and your everyday disgruntled people with no political claim.  Nonetheless, the day’s turnout was extraordinary, a true testament to the force that is the Egyptian people.

Tahrir from above
Photo by Amir Makar

By the late night and early morning, only those dedicating themselves to a sit-in remained.  Perhaps Egypt’s squares will once again fill on Friday to ensure that both the SCAF and the new Parliament know they are under watch.  That is where I feel street pressure must now be focused.  The SCAF has promised to step down and hold presidential elections in June.  If they do not meet these promises, Egyptians must save their strength to rise up again.  I do hope pressure is also maintained on the SCAF so that they are held accountable for their wrongdoings, including military trials for civilians, torture, and the massacres committed at Maspero, Mohammad Mahmoud St., and the Interior Ministry.

A common refrain during marches and protests is “a-soura mustamerra”, the revolution goes on, and that it does.  Of course, it is debated that what took place a year ago in Egypt was not a full-scale revolution, in that only the head of the system was overthrown, as opposed to the entire political order.  But a revolution also signifies a dramatic change in the way people think about how their country works, and that is indeed underway in Egypt.  Never before would millions have descended into the streets in opposition to the status quo.  Never before would so many have voted in relatively clean elections.  So although many of yesterday’s protesters felt that the revolution’s goals have yet to be realized, there is certainly a dramatic transformation that deserves celebration as well as fighting for.  

Shehab's Revolution

Blood streams from my arm like the River Nile, and saline tears roll down my cheeks like Alexandrian winter rain.  No, I have not been shot with a rubber bullet by the Egyptian Central Security Forces and their military cronies.  No, I have not been inhaling tear gas made in the USA and exported to Egypt.  That’s a few kilometers up the road, in the beating heart of the revived Egyptian Revolution, Midan Tahrir.  There, young revolutionaries are losing their eyes, or worse, their lives.  There, volunteer doctors are treating cases of asphyxiation in a makeshift field hospital in the square’s mosque.  There, Egyptians are pouring in by the second, the mood one of both hope and foreboding, dedication and exhaustion.

No, I am not there, although my heart and spirit no doubt are.  I am lying in a hospital bed, the tube linked to my arm’s vein slurping up my donated blood, doing the least I can for these brave Egyptians.  I am not crying because it hurts.  My tears are for Shehab.  Shehab and I met earlier in the safety of the Midan’s rebellious spirit on one Friday afternoon earlier this fall, thousands of protesters surrounding us with chants and demands.  Later that evening, chaos would again descend as protesters furiously attacked the Israeli Embassy.  Naturally, we talked politics.  Palestine, Egypt’s Supreme Military Council, America’s nuclear weapons, you name it.  It was one of those tireless exchanges where energy incessantly flows back and forth between two people.  I was so struck by his cleverness, his passion, his commitment to Egypt - he is the Egyptian youth that rose up in January, and he is the youth who will rebuild it.  Or he was.  Now Shehab’s vivacious spirit will have to guide his comrades.  Shehab was killed yesterday in his beloved Midan Tahrir, at the hands of Egyptian security forces.  A photo and video circulating the web shows military police dragging bodies over to a pile of trash: I recognized the shirt he wore the day we met.

With Shehab (left) in Midan Tahrir

When my friend Mohamad told me the news this evening amidst sobs, I clumsily told him in emotionally faltering Arabic that this is how Shehab would have wanted to go.  “But why?  Why are they killing us?”  He asked me, pained.  I responded that I didn’t understand, I didn’t know.  But what I do know is that al-soura mustamerra, the revolution goes on.  There is a type of energy at the moment that my friends tell me is reminiscent of the uprising earlier this year.  The urgency is certainly there, as the list of crimes of the Supreme Council of the Armed Forces (SCAF) only grows.  Military trials for civilians have continued to the tune of 12,000 since the fall of Hosni Mubarak.  Investigations into egregious massacres like the bombing of an Alexandrian church or the recent murder of 24 mostly Copts are not taken seriously, most likely because they have state fingerprints all over them.  A timetable for the transition to civilian rule has not been firmly set and any promises have been dishonored.  The parliamentary elections (scheduled to start this Monday) have been despicably organized and there is fear of military deals with the Muslim Brotherhood.  The military is trying to impose constitutional amendments that would guarantee their economic foothold and protection from the law. 

If there is a time to stand up again and fight, it is now.  I cannot say whether or not this will transform into the wave of might and power that rippled across Egypt this past January, nor whether the SCAF will make the concessions demanded of it.  As I speak, the civilian cabinet is trying to hand in its resignation to SCAF, but is so far being refused.  Clashes continue unabated into their fourth day in not only Tahrir, but also Alexandria, Qena, Aswan, Suez, and other cities.  Calls for a million-man march tomorrow afternoon are spreading around the country.  People are organizing on a massive scale, planning police resistance tactics, march and escape routes, drop-off points for medical and sit-in supplies.  It is extraordinary to see, and while I want no more young martyrs to suffer Shehab’s fate, I want more than anything for Egypt to achieve her revolutionary dreams.

One of the blood drive doctors stopped at the foot of my hospital bed.  “Leih keda?”  He whispered softly, tilting his head in concern at my glistening cheeks.  Why the tears?  I told him of Shehab.  “Rabena Yastur,” he muttered, head bowed.  May God protect us.

----

On a personal note, my classes have been moved to a different location, since the most intense clashes are literally taking place outside my campus.  Life in the rest of Cairo goes on relatively normally, although people are always tuned into the square and the politics.  My program and the American University in Cairo are taking the right precautions, as are my friends and I.  Here is a list of links to articles, news sources, and photos with more details on what is currently taking place in Egypt.

Arabist's Notes from Tahrir, great blogger

Egypt's Civilian Government Submits Offer to Resign, NYT

Cairo Jumps the Rails, Marc Lynch

Al Jazeera's Egypt Live Blog

Photos of the Clashes
Description of the last few days, the Atlantic

Tear Gas (a particularly nasty, perhaps new brand is now being used)

Egyptian Chronicles Blogger (very detailed, somewhat graphic)

Cairo Snippets

I'm still out of sync with politics, so here's a portrait of the Egypt life I've been living for the last few months.  Enjoy!

8/25

Ventured out briefly today to meet Cairo.  She returned my call by dumping sweat down my back, although she wasn’t as noisy and crowded as usual.  There was no running commentary, no hisses or honking or stares.  Ramadan gives me a special moral shield to walk around with.  With it, I fend off shameful stares and comments, forcing them back into their owners’ minds.  It’s not my shield, in actuality, it belongs to their Allah and the holy month of fasting and refraining.  Either way, I feel a little  more comfortable in Cairo’s streets.  She is often daunting and sometimes cruel, so her subdued demeanor is much appreciated.

9/16

Juice!

It’s sometimes hard to muster the courage to descend from my 10^th floor haven, but it is always rewarding when I do, tonight being a smashing example.  The festival we discovered is exactly what Egypt needs more of.  Young people in colorful clothes meandered stalls of books and grassroots organizations.  Children and adults alike painted a mural with bright paint while various musical acts performed for an enthusiastic crowd.  It was a place and atmosphere promoting creativity and acceptance, both of which this society could use more of. 

My friends and I then made our way to the shaby (folky, local, popular) hood of Imbaba, where we sat down for liver - the camel’s was chewy - and rice pudding!  Despite the undying noise and trash littering the air and roads, the place had character.  A multitude of weddings passed by our meal, and men crowded ‘ahwas (cafes) for the Egypt-Tunis match.  On our way back home, we stopped for mugs of freshly squeezed juice and sweet milkshakes, which has become a mainstay of my friends’ and my Egypt experience.

I’m glad I went out into the Cairene night.

9/17

These Cairo days accumulate a pattern, or I have inclined them to do so at least.  My sleep is always late, nowhere before 2am, and sometimes with the sun’s greeting.  I sit on the balcony after the sun has set, looking south and west at the concrete slabs encircling for miles, peaking into neighbor’s florescent-lit windows, pondering things, absentmindedly patting away Cairo dust.  

Sunset from my balcony

During the week, I have succumbed to the Arabic workload, evening managing to enjoy myself.  I do more interesting things on the weekend, plus some vegging out, and I’ve begun to insert exercise into my schedule.  The adjustment since Turkey has certainly been more challenging than I expected it to be, and I feel somewhat as though my initial infatuation with Egypt has worn off.  I have a much shorter fuse when it comes to stares and comments in the streets; in fact, I fight back a slew of stereotypes in my mind each time I face that. I imagine it will be more difficult to maintain the giddy enthusiasm that has often reigned over my Egypt life, but I’m up for the challenge.

9/20

My apartment has secured a special place in my heart, as many of my settling places tend to do.  I am unequivocally drawn to the spaces I inhabit, and I have a natural instinct to care for them, clean them, and make them welcoming.  I enjoy taking the creaky elevator up to my flat, closing the humidity-lain door with a bang on the trash-ridden hallway and entering the royal air-conditioned living room.  I don’t even mind the discomfort of my armchair, or my bed, although the cold showers will get old now that summer’s heat has burned off.  I adore our miniature stove and our gargantuan refrigerator, and our balcony has quickly become to me what my Alexandrian dorms’ rooftop once was, though the view is not quite as extraordinary here.  Of course, Nour the kitten makes it all the more my home.

Nour (light) of my life

9/23

My dinner with Ahmed Tuesday night reminded me why Egyptians have made such an impression on me.  We never run out of topics to talk about, because we are both so genuinely curious about each other’s culture.  We discussed politics, pop culture, love, and all the while, I felt at ease.  He feels like my Egyptian brother.

9/24, Alexandria

Cairo hasn’t won me over like Alex did.  Alex forever has a piece of my heart, most notably for being the first city I lived in outside of the US.  I feel acutely nostalgic when I roam her horizontal streets, remembering a time where everything was new and I was fueled by curiosity. 

There are the blaring comparisons to Cairo, like how I can actually affirm that the sky is blue, and indeed not grey, here, or how I can breathe soundly without wanting to vomit my insides out.  Tonight, as I walked back to my friend’s apartment, things were calm, not too much noise, few cars, but Alex still manages to retain an energy that makes her come abuzz.  It’s the late-nighters, men preparing for the next day’s load, the young people going to and fro from ritzy cafes.  It’s the Mediterranean, washing up years of history into Alex’s bosom and spraying her dwellers with refreshing mists.  Then there’s the proximity to nature, despite being in a city.  The ocean makes this place who she is, and every time I let my thoughts wander to sunsets on the Corniche, my chest fills up with a passionate sort of pain that makes me want nothing more than to return to Alex and never leave.  Like I said to my friend Mahmoud today, when I see the sun set behind the Alexandrian harbor, I have no doubt that there is a God.

Of course, part of my love affair with Alexandria is that when I lived here, I was surrounded by a community of both Americans and Egyptians with whom I shared everything: evenings spent driving aimlessly listening to techno, food outings, hardships, trips around Egypt, discoveries.  I sorely miss that, and would instantly trade the happening life in Cairo for it.

10/1

Rosh Hashana and birthday cakes in an open apartment hugged by the Cairene breeze.  Party full of internationals in an unreal Garden City apartment and improv-ing on its royal balcony.  Last night was a reel from a well-soundtracked film about living the exotic abroad life.

Wust al-Balad, Downtown Cairo

10/23

Got lost in a couple books today, one finely decorated with Arabic curls, the others mere distractions from my homework.  I was relieved that our weekend novel was not dealing with the tired Egyptian themes of sexual tension and the clash between east and west.  I felt oddly drawn to this novel, The American Granddaughter, about an Iraqi girl turned American citizen who goes back to Iraq to do translating for the US military in 2003; themes of identity crisis and twists in relationships with the military - that’s my thing!  It fell somewhat short, seeing as the main character didn’t really change the way I wanted her to, but it was an exhilarating read nonetheless (albeit at a turtle’s pace - imagine 200 pages of Arabic in 3 days!)  I love the way I can read through a full page and create a picture with time and place, even I if there are certain words whose meaning I don’t fully grasp.  It is incredibly rewarding, for all the daily frustrations this language presents me with.

10/26

I slipped on my flip-flops, asking my roommates if they needed anything from the pharmacy or corner store, yelling that I’d be back in 5 minutes.  Little did I know that an attempt to buy toothpaste would turn into an hour-long conversation with the Coptic pharmacist about the proclaimed impossibility of love before marriage, the Bible, the 5-10% of Muslims he claimed were good people, and the events of October 9th, Bloody Sunday, where the Egyptian army ran over Coptic protesters with tanks.  I returned to my apartment beaming at my new friendship and the new opportunity to practice my colloquial. 

Last night, I went down to pick up some medicine for the kitty, this time prepared for a marathon talk session.  Nabil was thrilled to see me, and I didn’t refuse his offer of tea.  We passed the time discussing parliamentary elections in Tunis and Egypt, Qaddhafi’s death, and the history of Puerto Rico.  A stream of different neighborhood characters popped through for various reasons, introducing themselves to me, marveling at the fact that I spoke Arabic (and laughing raucously when I proved I could even write it), and teaching me nonsensical Egyptian proverbs.  I feel remarkably at ease in my corner pharmacy, a safe nook where I can inquire and explore.  This weekend, I will go to church with Nabil, his wife, and their four children.  It promises to be quite the occasion.

Where is Egypt Going?

by Carlos Latuff

On the evening of October 9th, the Egyptian people tried to tear themselves out of the army’s iron grip.  The facts will assuredly be debated in newspaper columns and cafes for weeks to come, but as of now, 25 Egyptians, mostly Copts, were brutally killed, and around 300 were injured.  Coptic Christians, 10% of Egypt’s 85 million, have faced state-sponsored persecution throughout Egypt’s ancient and modern history.  Although they stood by their Muslim brothers in the height of the revolutionary days, they have since feared a possible Islamic government.  Old sectarian grievances have been stirred, recently in the form of a burned church in the south, where much of these tensions are sown.  Local Muslims purportedly prevented it from being rebuilt, a common episode over the years.  Copts in the Cairo neighborhood of Shubra started a protest toward downtown in the afternoon, only to be heaved into a one-sided battle versus the army’s live ammunition and rampaging tanks.  There is disturbing footage all over the web.  This took place upon reaching the abhorred state television building, Maspero, which spent the evening spouting more lies.  Muslims, too, came out, some in response to state TV telling them to defend their army, others to stand by their Coptic compatriots.  Thugs in plainclothes were rumored to be inciting clashes.  Soon enough, downtown Cairo was aflame with burning cars and tear gas, and the Coptic hospital was flooded with the blood of its children.  Accounts of the nightmare still feel muddled, and I am no journalist, so I leave you with a number of eyewitness accounts and commentaries:

Ursula Lindsey in the Daily Beast

Sarah Carr in al-Masry al-Youm

Jack Shenker in the Guardian

Although the facts are important in that they must lead to justice served (and many are calling for a non-military investigation), the “facts” of this tragic incident are being abused as a tool of distraction from the real issues at hand.   Furthermore, few disagree that the Supreme Council of the Armed Forces (SCAF), which now runs Egypt, fomented this incident in order to justify their continued implementation of the emergency law.  The emergency law was the centerpiece of Hosni Mubarak’s dictatorship, and he wielded it to forbid other political parties, stifle freedom of speech, and arrest and torture any dissenters.  SCAF has since beefed up this scandalous law, which is nothing short of an insult to the Egyptian people and a nod to Mubarak in his cushioned jail cell.  And the SCAF is indeed using this law to shut down media outlets airing footage of its tanks running over protesters on the night of the Maspero protests, try civilians in military trials, and stay in power.

Why?  As I cry for Egypt and her stolen children and revolution, I ask myself why the SCAF is doing what it is doing.  I wonder what they want.  I see only greed.  The military controls anywhere from 30 to 40% of Egypt’s economy (official statistics are rarely available for anything in Egypt), in the form of factories that manufacture weapons, toy, and even food products.  Safe from investigation, it is hard to fathom how its generals must lavishly live.  The Egyptian military also enjoys top of the line war toys, as it receives 20% of its military budget from the United States.  Coupled with the military’s greed is total political ignorance, in that these generals have never had to answer to the people and release political decisions.  In that vein, I wonder why they want to say in power, when their mandate to do so (granted by the post-revolution March referendum) has run out.  People are ready for a civilian government, and they want a timetable as to when that will happen.  Instead, SCAF is stating that presidential elections may not happen until the end of 2012.

I recently saw a short video that is a brilliant allegory for the chaotic traffic jam that is Egyptian politics today.  It tells the story of a group of Egyptians who get on a bus, all heading to the neighborhood of Imbaba.  When the bus driver, who is just trying to make a living, overcharges for the fare, one passenger refuses to pay, so the driver stops the bus in the middle of the street, and what ensues is a classically Egyptian argument, with everyone talking at once and trying to express their own needs and priorities.  They all share the same goal - to get to Imbaba - but they cannot agree on a common path to get there.  It is generally understood that most want Egypt’s uprising to blossom into a functioning democracy.  They want the end result to be a civil state couched in Islamic values.  They want jobs, security, and their human rights.  But agreeing on how to get there?  Well, that’s another matter.  The video is in Egyptian colloquial, but I suggest you watch a bit - Egyptians convey so much, even if you don't understand the language.

Now, I fear that this bus carrying Egyptians toward Imbaba is being rammed on all sides by military tanks.  Instead of continuing their quest, the bus has been stopped in its tracks by violence and hatred.  Even if it takes them years to get started again, the yelling match amongst the bus’s passengers must go on.  There are so many issues to discuss in order to ensure they make it safely to their destination.  Now is not the time to let the military dictate traffic.  I pray that Egyptians will unite, not in their demands for how they want Egypt to look, but in their opposition to a military that is not “one hand” with its people, as the refrain commonly says.  They must oppose the dangerous distractions the military is trying to divide them with, and they must move forward with discussions about the electoral law, the new constitution, the inclusion of minorities in civil society, workers’ rights, and so much more.

I leave you with two requests.  I ask that you keep Egypt in your thoughts - her murdered children, but more importantly, her way forward.  I also ask that you think about a question my Egyptian friend asked me the other day: what about the Americans’ bus?  Where does it want to go, and what’s the best way, Wall Street, or what? 

The Key to 9/11

One of the most vivid images I have of September 11^th, 2001, is a TV screenshot of people in the Middle East celebrating the successful terrorist attacks on American soil.  I was too young at the time to comprehend the intricacies of bin Laden’s network, the crimes America had committed to warrant this attack, or the way international relations had just shifted forever.  But with the clarity that only a pure young heart can possess, I was dumbfounded by the hatred fuming through America that day.

When I tell people I study Arabic, they always ask me why, or what I hope to do with the language, expecting to hear a well thought-out answer about the CIA or something.  I shrug my shoulders, and all I can muster is that, for me, language is the key to culture, muftaah a-saqafa.  How else can I sit with Ahmed, a traditional Egyptian man, discussing love and politics, only to have him tell me that he never thought he would be capable of liking an American?  How else could I have lived for months with Muslim girls whose conceptions of America once revolved around only Twilight and fashion?  How else could I have animatedly discussed Israel & Palestine with my revolutionary friend in Tahrir Square the other night, only to walk away still friends afterward?  My ability to show these Egyptians America’s true values of diversity, family, service, and compassion - and not just plundering capitalism and tyrannical foreign policy - is derived from my capacity to communicate with them.  Each word we share in the course of our exchange vanquishes ignorance and wariness, both of which lead to hate.  If I never again use Arabic in my professional or personal life, I will be satisfied knowing I used this treasured key, language, to unlock our commonalities.

This is what we, as Americans and global citizens, must strive to do in order to prevent another act of hatred like 9/11.  We can no longer afford to see only the other, and I mean that in terms of both our wallets and our souls.  Whether it’s through language, traveling, teaching, eating, praying, laughing, or writing, I ask that you dedicate yourself to overcoming the boundaries between America and other cultures.  I know many of you already do this in your daily work, and I am in constant admiration of you.

I was planning to write on my proximity to the protests at the Israeli Embassy the other night, but I refuse to have my spirit trodden upon by that sad event today.  Today, I want to hold my head high, as an American and as one of the world’s children.  I want to reflect on the sorrow, yes, but also on the gratitude I carry for what I have been given:  I have so many people to love, and I have the ability, the key, to make this world a better place.

So many questions, so little Turkish!

Turkey has got it down.  Tilled farms or undiscovered hills and fields juxtapose clean cities with lively central squares.  Wind farms dot the horizon, and I hear of plans for hydro energy.  The men don’t stare, nor do the women for that matter, and they are eager to welcome me with an extra piece of gratuitous fruit.  God mostly stays in the mosque, the home, or the heart, and it seems that your faith is not decided so much by what you wear or how you love.  The government carries flaws, particularly in regards to censorship and human rights issues, but clean elections seem like a good place to start.

Travertines at Pammukale

Our journey led us in a crazy eight around Turkey’s landscape for almost the whole month of Ramazan.  We hopped from seaside village to city on the west coast, swimming in the Aegean’s tides and soaking up her salt while gazing upon Greek islands in the horizon's hot haze.  We visited sites brimming with history, including the Gallipoli Peninsula, where Ottoman forces bloodily fought back Allied forces in brutal trench warfare that eventually cost both sides 340,000 casualties in WWI, and Ephesus, where the legendary ruins truly allow one to visualize the ancient Greek/Roman city’s grandeur as a pillar of trade and royalty in empires of old.  We scrambled up limestone travertines shelved in the village of Pammukale, and climbed into rock chimneys converted into churches in Cappedocia, both in central Turkey.  We then headed east to Kurdish territory, where we paid a visit to the ruins at Ani, once the ancient Armenian capital, now on the modern nation’s border, as well as a volcano’s caldera on Lake Van’s shores in the southeast.  From Diyarbakır, capital of the Kurdish world, we flew to Ankara, where Atatürk, father of the Turks, established his state’s capital and an ostentatious mausoleum to himself.  We bid farewell to Turkey after 4 days in Istanbul, a magical world sitting on the most coveted waterway in history, gracefully spanning both Europe and Asia.  The city is a tantalizing mix of antiquity crossed with cosmopolitan sass, with aging Ottoman minarets cropping up from her cobblestone streets while the trendy meander her rich cultural life.  And so I irrevocably fell in love with another city.

Istanbul

Cappedocia, by friend Chris Opila 

Turkey had so much to offer that Egypt cannot.  The gastronomical odyssey we took was much too flavorful and lacked far too much oil for Egypt’s street food; we ate clay kabaps, herb cheese, clotted cream, Iskander, Turkish delight, and kumpir.  My roommate and I wore sleeveless and short things no sane woman would wear in Egypt.  Buses left on time and cars stayed in the lanes, both impossibilities in Egypt’s chaos.  On vacation from Cairo’s noise and pollution and traffic, my friends and I kept a never-ending list of things that were better in Turkey, and when we guiltily tried to make a list of the reverse… well, let’s just say we didn’t need more than one hand to count the few things we liked better in Egypt.

The most significant thing Egypt gives me that Turkey cannot is access to its people.  This trip reaffirmed for me how key language is to even scratching the surface of a society.  Without Turkish, there was only so much I was able to comprehend about Turkish culture, a fact exacerbated by my blinders as a tourist.  In Egypt, I have been painstakingly working at just this - accessing Egyptian culture - for years, and I am just now realizing how rewarding it is, aided in no small part by my ability to speak Arabic.

If I had spoken Turkish, I would have asked more Turks about Atatürk.  Do all see him as their savior and the guider of modern Turkey, as the mainstream national narrative puts forth, or are there those disillusioned by the government propaganda (such as Kurds and the array of other ethnicities in the east and south)?  One man in the small town of Göreme in central Turkey described to me feeling as though Atatürk was his father, even though the leader died over 70 years ago.  The notion of a nation and its founder feeling like parents is fascinating to me, and I hope to explore this national obsession with Atatürk more in an upcoming blog post, perhaps by comparing him to other revolutionary leaders such as Gamal Abdul Nasser in Egypt or Fidel Castro in Cuba.  If you care to know more about the man whose knickerbockers and fountain pens are on display in national Turkish museums, read M. Şükrü Hanioğlu’s intellectual biography of Atatürk, which I am currently in the process of devouring.

If I had spoken Turkish, I would have asked Turks what they most feared for their country’s future.  As I arrived in Turkey, a handful of top military brass stepped down in protest of the civilian government’s witch-hunt of military personnel accused of attempting to orchestrate a coup against them in the early 2000s.  It seems as if Prime Minister Erdoğan and his Justice & Development party, which recently won by a landslide in elections, have finally sidelined the Turkish military, long an overseer of the country’s politics.  I would have loved to find out Turks’ reactions to the news.  Or perhaps they are frightened by recent Kurdish rebel activity in the southeast, which resulted in 9 Turkish soldiers killed and a subsequent and ongoing Turkish incursion into northern Iraq to seek retribution.  A friend living in Istanbul recounted on her blog a protest she saw today downtown, in which Arabs and Turks protested the Assad regime in Syria - perhaps spillover from the Arab Spring is what Turks fear the most, in the form of both refugees and sentiment.

If I spoke Kurdish, I would have asked Kurdish Turks in the southeast how they felt toward the Turkish government.  Do they feel like equal citizens, are they now allowed to listen to radio in their own language?  Do they feel close to their brethren over the arbitrary border in northern Iraq?  Are they as outraged as the rest of the world seems at the Turkish military’s recent use of force?  What do they want a Kurdish state to look like, or has their allegiance to Turkey indeed grown?  As if to evidence my point about language, my travel buddy Mike had an interesting encounter with an imam in Diyarbakır - check out his tale here.

If I spoke Turkish I would have asked one of the women in the northeastern mountain village of Yusufeli what her dreams were, that farmer in the undulating eastern steppe about his daily tasks, and my waiter in Van when mutton’s head was traditionally eaten.  So many questions, so little Turkish!

Cairo is doing her best to remind me why I chose to study Arabic and not Turkish.  In all honesty, this city is challenging to readjust to, what with the sensory intensity (smog, heat, car horns) and the constant commentary from the male peanut gallery whenever I decide to step foot outside.  Egyptians are now celebrating Eid al-Fitr, the end of Ramadan, so the streets are relatively calm, as is the political scene.  I am looking forward to the fall's renewed political drama - protests have already been called for 9/9, and parliamentary elections will be in November.  I will also start intensive Arabic classes again this Sunday (a novel a weekend, yes, in Arabic, eep!)  The routine will be comforting, and I'll soon be reanamored with Egypt.  My new role as a Mami will also be fun - I am adopting 2 kittens tomorrow!  And thoughts of visiting home for the holidays keep me afloat, too - I can't wait to see you all!

Check here for more photos from Turkey!