The Dystopian Men

At the start of our contract, we were told that we may be hit by the Spleen Baudelèrien and by the theory of habbits.

At the time, the Spleen was dodged but it has grown on me, which probably explains why it is getting increasingly difficult to write about this country. On one hand, it feels like the outside chaos has contaminated my mind, feeling as though all the drawers in my mind and my emotional wardrobe have been left open, with the sandstorms throwing them all around in my head. On the other hand, the prospect of leaving is getting more and more real, leaving me on a fun emotional rollercoaster ride…

Lately, ANGER has been predominant, especially after a recent walk in Khan El Khalili. I once tried to establish a grading scale to explain how bad a woman will be harassed, depending on her attire but also on her marital status: 

" I also have to point out that there seem to exist different status, which work kind of like a ladder:
5 : Egyptian and conservative married women
4 : Egyptian married women
3 : Egyptian single women
2 : foreign married women with one or several children
1 : foreign married women
0 : foreign single women"

Well, a year and a half later, it is time to update it.

Here, in our glittery, “quiet” and “clean” bubble, harassment is mild – except for my favourite bunch of workers, but even they are now down to a little whistling or today's special which I named "the breeding courtship dance", which I have also learnt to accept. In Khan El khalili, Al Azzar Park and Islamic Cairo,  you don’t see many blond heads, with tight trousers and this time, as you stroll around with your husband “only”, you don’t get the extra point of respect because you bore two children.

So how do they look at you? Most will start by your feet, perhaps because the conservative ladies ( the 5 points worth ladies) wear long galabeyas, which hide their legs… Then, they will work their way up, all the way to your face. Some will painstakingly linger in certain areas, whilst whistling, grinning, and grunting or for the desperate ones, they will bump into you for physical contact. Their last move in this filthy, disgusting and demeaning ritual is a final lock on your eyes with a smile, as if after taking your pride, they could now extract some more of your light through them. The climax of the anger is when all those animals have just been released from Friday's most important lunchtime prayer. They are camouflaged under the flag of piety and respect to their God, and can not seem to respect a fellow human being, who is from the same gender as their own mothers and sisters.

The question is who are those men? Well, they range from the age of 10 to late fifties in my experience. Evidently, we are not talking about men, we are talking about mere shells, filled with lust, oppression, aggressiveness, and misconceptions about relationships with women, and this mix sprinkled with a huge serving of ignorance. 

Despite the occasional enchanting sound coming from the city’s minarets, the beauty of some of the buildings, the peace of the deserts and the Red Sea creatures, there is nothing that can redeem Egypt for some of its male population. 
Having felt it personally is one horrible feeling, but imagine that if we should ever settle here for good, this could happen to my daughter, my blood boils to the point of madness. 

One has to bear in mind, though, that there are a lot of decent, “normal” men in Egypt, such as the young minds I am fortunate to teach, their fathers who have offered more than once to come and give a nasty talk to the workers I cross path with daily. And there are many more...

Happy birthday?!

As an Estonian tradition was suggested to me, four years ago, I started developing a very unhealthy habit of cooking different cakes, monthly for our first boubou, until he turned one. After enduring the stress, this ritual became yearly and doubled once we multiplied once more with our second boubou.

As a parent, I always take pride in making those, not for the general appreciation, but for the Buls reactions - those are priceless and precious - making those anxious months of preparation and mad hours of baking all worth it. 

As a parent, we all strive for the best for our children, even though our definition of best varies, we all strive towards giving them the best start in life. The emotional daily ride that takes us from the best to the worse feelings is part of the rollercoaster and birthdays have an incredible signification. As a mother, my Boubous' birthday remind me of the day they came into this world, the unfathomable shower of emotions that splashed all over me, but it also reminds me of my own mortality and how each of those birthdays is precious. Each must count, because you never know when the three Moirai will cut the thread.

Well, having skillfully dodged a few, we all know that we will end up sitting at another child’s birthday party. From experience, here in Egypt, the first faux-pas would be to arrive on time – please be fashionably late.  Some birthday parties are hosted at home, and some people have the most lavish and capacious villas and yards… As you come in, not knowing whether to be dazzled or judgmental, you will find the yard ahead, it may be punctuated by a swimming pool, fruit trees or more importantly, immense blown up castles, organised for the children, along with a magician and several other games laid out all across the garden. At those Gatsby like parties, there are about 15 people slaving around, who have been temporarily or permanently employed by the family.

It becomes unhealthy when the birthday child tells you that she will not pick up the popcorn she spilled on the floor, because it is her house and her maid is going to do it for her...

As a dutiful mother, and more importantly because I love to play with my Boubou, I am the one that stands besides the castle, watching the children play. Later, more children will come with their mothers (because evidently, daddy is busy working) and there is an additional person with each of them. Those ladies are black African ladies or from the Philippines, they are the children's nannies. Why would one want to see her offspring play with others, bounce with a dashing smile and sit on the grass? It feels much better to sit on a throne at the other end of the garden, struggling with your expensive heels dug in the grass! The nannies, on the other hand, will; as we all know, if you have a Black African nanny, she will do a much better work at carrying a chair for you (if you fancy watching your child for a minute) to the castle than you would yourself. Some skills you simply just don't have...

As you are sitting on the grass, cast away from the glittering ladies, you could meet “Jessie”, who shares her origins between Uganda and Rwanda. A lovely lady, who, like the other nannies, kept a maternal eye on the boy she minds, despite his disgracefully rude attitude towards her. This is my crowd, the one I would choose to sit with, in the midst of opulence, bathing under the sun, on the grass of that very lovely yard.

Despite many self questioning about parenting ability, those days, you truly feel like the mother of the year, sitting by your child (and all the others who will join us because you care about them), playing and chatting with them, as well as laughing and rolling on the floor. Is it worth hiring a whole horde of clowns and entertainment when you will watch it from the distance, through the eyes of another person? I'd rather keep baking!

In the midst of all this, I heard my son say: "I cannot believe there are no balloons filled with water to throw at each other" or “do you think her mummy made that cake for her?”.  Ah, children, they don't know about those non waterproof Gucci bags and the busy schedule of pedicures... And I am so proud of my boy for that!

The game

One of the downfall of expats is the hunting season, a period when your heart oscillates between comfort and wanderlust. Initial contracts being 2 years for teachers, as you land in a new destination and despite all the information splashed at your face, one part of you feels at peace  – the knowledge that you do not have to waltz the international dance, the mad whirling, twirling and pirouetting through burning circles of interviews.

However, as soon as the end of your initial contract looms, the season starts. It feels like a creeping feeling that grows as the days, months pass; like the sword of Damocles. Once the season opens, there are steps to take. One necessary step is to register with various agencies, to be on the “market” and start selling yourself. If you are fortunate, somebody will catch your file on the online myriad and contact you.

Some of us feel very much in control and believe we hold the sword in our hands, assured that you are simply practicing or testing your options. Recent technologies have made this stage very easy and Skype is a wonderful way to first introduce yourself. If this is unsuccessful, you will have to sign up for job fairs. There, awaiting you is the sheer pressure of hundreds of colleagues, all attending in the hope to obtain their dream job. There are some lovely supportive people but the most common feeling is similar to a meat market: you look around, check out what is competing with you and then the Western motto becomes yours: every man for himself! From my past experience, I cannot say that this stage is the most beautiful human connection of a lifetime but it is a necessary step to increase your chances.

I have played the game 3 times now, and the past two times with two children and a trailing spouse. This is often not an advantage on a CV, especially because of the extra tuition fees and visa issues that are entailed by our circumstances. As a mother, you face the fact that it is not only about who you are as an educator, and that your family choices have somehow impeded your professional achievement, despite the fact that both topics are completely disconnected!

A few months ago, I entered the hunting process, sharpening my academic resume and  throwing arrows towards the East. In the meanwhile, riding the emotional and pride roller coaster of an educator on the market with my three precious heavy chains around the hands, Africa called again.

Writing this with tears flooding my eyes, we will leave Khufu, the amazing friends, my incredible students and all the wonders that have filled our heart with love at the end of this year. We are staying on the same continent and unexpectedly will move west, to Tunis, at the Northern tip of Tunisia. You should be careful for what you wish for, because it might happen.

Isn’t it frightening to be able to quantify… Here is to 7 more wonderful months in Egypt…

Come and visit!

"Come and visit!"

There was a time when those words were taken up, before their echo ever reached the walls of the room - those were the times of the Ottoman Istanbul. I recall those sparkly, curious and interested eyes inquiring about the life at the gates of the Asian world. Those days were the days of visitors, every trimester and an entire program was prepared around them, including public transports such as the dolmus (mini buses), walks around the city for hours and if you have a baby with you, hundreds of occasional "Mashallah, cok tatlı sana" ('Thank God for making this happen', you are very sweet) as people pinch their cheeks. The language was accessible thanks to the Latin alphabet and readings and conversations were easier to sustain.

4 years of happiness, swimming at will in our compound, overlooking the Black Sea, a sight breathtaking to any visitor.

And then, in the blink of a move, visiting stopped and the lights that had once burnt with panache were extinguished at the sound of the new destination: the dreadful Cairo.

What would we do, if you, my dear friends, would come and visit?

Well, you would have to embrace the cultural impact, because unlike the lovely comfort of Europe, there are several things that will certainly upset you.

Indeed, the roads here and the driving culture are horrendous, all around Egypt. We could sit and argue about it until the end of time, yet there is nothing we can do. So, as you would arrive at Cairo airport, stepping out of the baggage gate, and once you have crossed the innumerous amount of concerned taxi drivers offering you a taxi, you will probably find Ahmed, or Mahmoud, or Ashraf, the drivers we use daily. They will be expecting you at the door with your name on the sign and I trust they will take good care of you until you reach my home, after about an hour (Inshallah) from the airport. On your way back, Cairo will reveal itself to you, with all his sandy coloured buildings and welded wires sticking out - its garbage laying around, where the donkeys share the highways with cars and mini buses and you might catch a glimpse of Khufu, my redeemer. 

Once you arrive, we shall relax and enjoy the tranquil and quiet welcoming party that my Buls will throw you and we will discuss your first impressions.

A good plan would be to visit Giza, as a starting point. After a thirty minutes taxi ride, we could enter the belly of Khufu and descend into several other tombs or stare at the Riddler eyes together. You will like that, it would give you awe, for a few minutes but those are precious. If we are lucky, we will be followed around by a bunch of local children, wearing the most colourful garments and curious to hear your name, eager for you to photograph them with their friends.

The best suggestion is to come for 2 weeks, so that we can organise a 5 days Nile Cruise for you, which would be very enjoyable, since most tourists have deserted Upper Egypt (with the exceptions of the birds, who have nested every temple's wall, singing in unison) and most of them will be empty, for your full appreciation.

And after your visit, why don't we plan a brunch in the desert, near Saqqara, the first pyramid ever built! You may meet Hossam, who has the most amazing smiling wrinkles ever granted to a man's face.

I would insist we visit Mokattam, in other words Garbage city. You will need to prepare yourself to witness another level of living, another mean to an end and welcome the brightest smiles. We would visit the Association of Protection for the Environment, the training areas, the recycling units, the sorting out, the shops where your money supports a group of working ladies, and their education. As we exit the Zabaleen area, it is a sense of satisfaction that will wrap itself around you, for agreeing to leave the comfort of your first world and discovering how things work here in Egypt, in an unpatronising way.

If you wanted to, Dahab and the Rea Sea would also be on our agenda, for you to feel the weightlessness and the quietness that your whole soul can experience under water; I would recommend a sunrise or sunset dive in the Canyon, for you to see another beauty of this country.

Once we have experienced the liquid element, a night in the whale bone desert would be a wonderful addition, to reflect under a sky lit with stars at the incredible signification of our lives on the planet and how little time Chronos has granted us.

But would you like this, my dear friends?

To dwell in garbage to fully appreciate what you have? To be stuck in traffic and fear for your lives during some rides? To be unsure of the possibility of Health care emergency services, as the pace of this country is unknown, even to its own people? To experience the third world inconvenience of power cuts, water shortage and internet complete unreliability? The incredible frustration of not being able to read or make sense of the language? The frequent reminder that you are a foreigner, by the way people lay their eyes on you or try to get to your money?

My friends, how would you have reacted when I saw a little boy's leg being slashed by a rope that was supposed to mark the streets (that are being destroyed and rebuild in front of my compound) and was pulled away violently by a car?

Will you judge us for having agreed to come here and stay, returning to your safe heavens, pitying us?

So, how's life in Cairo? Why don't you come and see for yourself...!

Qu'on est bien chez soi!

A l'aube de notre vie, lorsque l'on passe de quatre à deux jambes, comme le dirait le Sphinx, nous avons tous des rêves et des ambitions. L'école, avec de la chance, nous aide à les former et réaliser ou elle les rend impossible. Soudainement, on se retrouve devant des idées de carrières afin de rejoindre le monde merveilleux de l'argent et du profit! Etant moi-même d'une petite ville, perdue tout en haut de l'hexagone Européen, les limites de ma maison étaient clairement définies et c'est là que les plus beaux souvenirs d'une vie resteront à jamais.

A l'époque, avec une vision limitée par les frontières invisibles de mon manque d'ouverture culturelle, la France Méditerranéenne me paraissait exotique, de par son dynamisme mais aussi pour son rythme de vie. C'est encore un de mes endroits favoris en France: le paysage est incroyable et comme cette destination n'est pas trop près de la cote, les villes ont toujours leur attrait local et les meilleurs produits de saison. Là-bas, il ne faut pas réfléchir deux fois avant de sortir de chez soi en jupe, mais il faut se préparer au cout de la vie Européenne.

Il y a dix ans, j'ai décidé d'ouvrir la porte et d'aller chez mon voisin, l'Angleterre. Alors que je me promenais dans les rues, complètement perdue face au fait que personne ne marchait avec des cannes ou des chapeaux melons et que mon Anglais, parfumé de Français, n'impressionnait personne, c'est le Spleen Baudelairien qui m'a recouverte. Son nuage de dépression ne s'est dissipé que lorsque j'ai accepté d'ouvrir toutes les portes et les fenêtres de mon âme et d'y laisser entrer une autre lumière. C'est à ce moment la que la maladie du voyage s'est développée.

Une nouvelle connexion s'est alors établie en haut de la pyramide Baltique, dans un pays fort peu connu, que l'on peut traverser en moins de trois heures.

 

En  été, on y retrouve ses meilleurs attraits: le soleil ne s'y couche que pour quelques heures, rendant ces longues nuits estivales encore plus langoureuses. Pour les apprécier, la foret et la nature autour de vous est à porter de main, et votre sens olfactif sera enivrer par l'odeur du bois qui brule, qu'il s'agisse d'un feu de camp ou du cœur d'un sauna. Cette expérience physique et purifiante est encore mieux en hiver, si le climat est fidèle à ses vieilles habitudes, et que l'on peut se jeter dans un mètre de neige, revêtant le costume d'Adam et Eve.

Après avoir vécu au Caire pendant une année, il est en effet surprenant se sentir la pluie sur soi lors d'une promenade dans une foret de pins, cueillant des mures à volonté. Dans ce pays, qui a été opprimé maintes fois et s'est délivré avec la puissance d'un million de voix d'un ours rouge belligérant, tout fonctionne rapidement et efficacement. Les gens sont encore plus chaleureux lorsque la vodka a réprimé certaines inhibitions et il n'y a que très peu d'étrangers ou d'immigrés qui y vivent.

En revanche, c'est au Caire que nous sommes pour le moment; aujourd'hui, je traverse la ville avec un bon air de musique et un regard positif sur cette ville, ou j'appartiens un peu aussi.

Quelquefois, je croirais même être dans le sud de la France, lorsque mon esprit me joue des tours et je me prends à confondre un tuyau d'arrosage percé pour un criquet Méditerranéen! Cependant, je comprends vite mon erreur lorsque cette illusion auditive est rompue par les commentaires courtois de la bande d'ouvriers que j'ai toujours le plaisir de voir en rentrant chez moi quotidiennement. J'ai créé pour eux une collection de messages colorés et plein de ressentiment, que je tape sur mon téléphone lorsque nos chemins se croisent!

Dahab est aussi l'une des plus belles facettes de l'Egypte. Dans le Golf d'Aqaba, on doit se détendre, et ce n'est pas toujours facile pour tout le monde, mais avec une bonne amie, tout est possible.

Ayant plongé récemment, les trois plus belles expériences furent le Canyon (durant le jour, une expérience à couper le souffle trente mètres sous l'eau - la nuit, un sentiment proche de celui qui contemple l'univers), le Blue hole et aussi "Bob", ma première tortue de mer nageant paisiblement sur la tapisserie bleue.

Chaque destination, personne, ami(e), étudiant(e) et aventure sont comme des briques. Vous verrez ma maison de loin: Solidement basée sur les traditions Françaises et les influences Belges, elle est ensuite recouverte d'une section de briques venant tout droit d'Angleterre avec beaucoup plus de portes et de fenêtres encore grandes ouvertes et au centre de cette pièce, se trouve mon rocher Estonien. Au dessus, et tout autour, une section entière dédiée à la vieille ville de Constantinople, un endroit ou une partie de mon cœur restera pour toujours; c'est aussi la plus belle pièce de ma maison, car c'est la que furent construits deux des plus précieux mur-porteurs de ma vie. Tout en haut de ma maison, se trouve la pyramide. Dans cette pièce, l'électricité ne fonctionne pas toujours, pour vous rappeler d'allumer une bougie et de lire un livre, plutôt que de rester scotcher à un écran. Le sommet est garni de briques rouges d'ou sortent des barres métalliques soudées - et toutes ces pièces ont fait de moi qui je suis et nous sommes encore en construction.

Alors telle une feuille guidée par le vent, voyons ce que le futur nous réserve! Pour le moment, encore une belle année en Egypte en perspective!