DukeEngage | Duke Center for Civic Engagement

 POLITICO

TEACHING

Jon and I wanted to administer our first test today. Things have been going so well with Ayan, Saharo, and Jamila. These girls can be exceptionally shy, but they’re smart and have huge personalities. (I want to be there when (Ayan’s eyes finally fall out of her head). 

Unfortunately, I think Saharo and Jamila were scared off by the prospect of a test. Jon and I were incredibly disappointed, more so than we thought we would or should be. We were going to grade them on a curve and host a review session before reading “Go, Dog, Go!” Luckily, Ayan was just an hour late and we were assigned Brittany’s students after lunch. Shafi and Ayanle are as relaxed and eager as Ayan, and they even volunteered to take our exam. It was just satisfying, and it’s satisfying everyday that we have a group of students who enjoy our company and want to learn from us.

I now have very few anxieties about teaching. I no longer feel as if lives hang in the balance from 7 weeks of tutolage. A few days ago, the airless German bomb shelter in which we work was upsetting my stomach and my nerves. I almost got a little qiy’ (vomit) as I was reciting the D sound for Jamila, who insists on saying “chuh.” But she returned the next day, and we finally got that D down. My goals now are now smaller, more focused and feasible.

COPTIC CAIRO

The beauty of the edifices in Coptic Cairo, aged tens of thousands of years old, was so riveting that I think I might actually revist religious studies, a subject I lamented for 11 years in parochial schoool. 

I had this epiphany while in The Hanging Church, the 1100 year old Coptic church. The church is suspended on the Romans’ Babylon Fortress and is ornately decorated inside with more than 100 icons of St. George, St. Mark and others. The extensive displays of iconography in the church were so striking.

Intricate arabesques represent the Holy Trinity, continuity. Fish represent Christ. Columns that hold the pulpit stand for the apostles and the Lord, God, and Spirit. Visitors kiss glass that house the relics of saints dismembered and impaled. I was both overwhlemed at the effects of each icon on my own memories of the bible. Suddenly I could recall St. Mark’s travels through the Middle East and the explanations of divinity and humanity in the Catholic catechism. 

When you’re inside the church, (maybe as in all churches), there is a sense of sanctuary.  And given the tumultous history of Copts in the ever-Islamisizing Middle East, there is something special about this particular house of worship. Both Gamal Abdel Nasser and Boutros Boutros-Ghali have been involved in systematic efforts to eliminate the Copts of Cairo. The former led a coup and the latter expanded obstacles for the construction of Coptic churches. Arrest, torture, and vigilate justice are ongoing occurances, especially with the rise of Islamic conservatism and fundamentalism in Egypt in the past forty or so years. 

The Saint Baraba Church is located next to the Coptic church along the Babylon Fortress of Coptic Cairo. Coptics believe that Mary and Joseph stopped there on their way through Egypt. It is certainly statlier than the Hanging Church.

But the Baby Moses was found at the Ben Ezra synagogue in Coptic Cairo, and it is beautiful. Sadly, I feel it has been consecrated by the lack of Jews in modern Egypt. While I was there, I purchased a picture on which one can see God and other sacred phrases written in both Hebrew and Arabic when flipped either way. Obviously, it’s supposed to represent the continuity of life and belief that exists between the people of the book, but the pulpit is not in use, and I think that speaks volumes.

Finally, we went into the least ancient house of worsphip in Coptic Cairo, Al-Aqmar Mosque, a wide expanse of stone with the most beautiful call to prayer I’ve ever heard. Because we had no scarves, the women were forced to wear kelly green polyester robes before they entered and to give 5 pounds at the door (more tourism than religion, i’m sure). We looked like prize fighters.

Before I begin my first blog post for DukeEngage, I must admit: I am in awe of many things about Egypt- among them, its beautiful falouka rides and unexpected diversity in sights, sounds, and people. But I was not bowled over by Egypt. Neither am I so ineffably shocked by the things that I've seen and heard that I need to compare them to my home in New York. Instead, I want to introduce myself by talking about the service that I have done and the service I hope to do, and how it weight on me.

Egypt has a long and sordid history with refugees, of which I admit I know little, but I do know that the government reported the presence of 700,000 refugees before 9/11. And since then, the war in Iraqi has sent millions of middle-class Iraqis fleeing to other Arab nations, the nations of the their brethren. And the situation in Somalia has escalated to unfathomable levels of death and poverty at a rate beyond that of Darfur.

My group and I work primarily with St. Andrew's Church, a non-profit organization that works independently of the United Nations Human Rights Council to offer services to refugees and "unaccompanied minors," (refugees aged 18 U.N. and 21 U.S.). In a crowd, busy section of Cairo, we teach English in a white-washed church 4 days a week for 4 days.

Today, during our break (Ishtariyya), I asked a girl of about 18, who is in my group of non-literate, non-English speakers, if Somalia was a beautiful country. Because Somali is very similar to Arabic, asking this was no great trial, but she could only give simple answers and I could ask only simple questions.

"Somalia was beautiful, but now there is war," she said, speaking without hesitation, but tugging at her hijab.

"I know," I said. "I have learned from reading and watching the news. It is a very long war."

"What do you think about it?"

"It makes me sad. I want the people of Somalia to have good lives.... Do you understand?"

"Yes. Me too. I want to have a good life." I was reminded of her sister's questions, earlier in the day. She is older and speaks English. She was impressed that my parents were Jamaican and that I went to the same school as the students in our majority-Caucasian group. When I looked into her face, I could see that she was genuinely happy for me. She and her sister are very unhappy in Egypt, like most other refugees.

Every day that I walk under the white gate of St.Andrew's, I feel as if I'm walking into another world, leaving the regional Arab one and walking into the sub-Saharan one. The faces that peer at us, some speaking English, are dark-skinned men, dressed like Christian serving the Sabbath. And while the the women are veiled (as is the popular preference for most Egyptians in the post 9/11 and post-Nasseritic world), and are slight, without the shrouded, rotund figures of a lot of older Cairene women.

Yesterday, we met with Barbara Harrell-Bond, an expert in refugee studies and activist on behalf of her own organizations. Through an intimate discussion in her living room/public work space, she smoked excessively while speaking to us about the UNHRC's outdated laws regarding the resettlement and assistance of unaccompanied minors (like my students-18 U.N. &21 U.S.) and other refugees. Through two documentaries, she tried to illustrate the lives of refugees in ethnically and nationally-segregated slums like October 6th. Often, they live like animals, and when they are not, they are treated as such by the government. Relegated to poverty by bans on primary schooling and no financial assistance. We are also introduced to the information on the proliferation of Sudanese gangs in these refugee neighborhoods. It seems they have assumed the guise of American hip hop, performing music about their lives and the impotence they felt and how it led them to violence. Apparently, their numbers are great, their mentality based on loyalty, and their loyalty given to no one but their immediate members. Violence against the Sudanese community by Sudanese gangs is greatest. They do not hurt Egyptians, only other refugees. I fear for my students, even those who don't show up everyday. Especially those who don't show up everyday.

And I'll fear for them after I'm gone, with the English we have taught them has left them sidelined to the service and tourist industry in an Arabic nation. When they continue to be banned for attaining work permits.

Right now, everyone in the group is worried about how to put forth their 200USD into helping one of the other 2 NGOs at our disposal. The general favorite Ebnati (my daughters), is located on the outskirts of Cairo. It is a home for girls without suitable guardians. I think there are upwards of 60 girls living on this government-funded compound with these women who care for them as if they were their own. There are girls of all ages there, and they have such a spirit and such drive. The oldest one is 16 and is currently working to get into college, of course. Her exam grades are excellent, and she chances are good. Without a traditional family income base, her intelligence and dedication are the only things on which she can rely for professional success. Ebnati rescued these girls....There is also Resala (letters or message) which has several branches and provides services for the blind and deaf or mentally handicapped children. This is actually my personal favorite. I feel that Ebanti has emotional and financial support, even if more is always required, especially with the ongoing admittance of new girls, but Resala branches operate out of narrow, cramped spaces, and act on behalf of those who are even less desired in society. For example, while Islamic law places a taboo on the adoption of (unrelated) children, especially girls, Ebnati was not constructed as an adoption center or shelter, but as a "safe-home" in the fullest sense of those words. Those who come to Resala have few others in their lives. Their emotional and financial supported is not as grounded. When women bring their children into Resala for the day, they are shrouded in the burka, the slits of which expose their shame as they hug their small, handicapped child. I can't forget that look. Sometimes, it hurts so much to be here. There are so many people who need your help, and there's so much pressure on you, not only to give it, but to save their lives. I don't want to fail them, but I don't know how to help them.