I visited Cairo for two weeks as a tourist with a mission: to physically
experience a real Islamic city, and hopefully make connections to Cairoeans
with Internet access (muslims, christians, whatever) for future discourse.
In this respect, I suppose that during my two week stay I was a prime candidate
for Negreponte's "digital", with both flexi-time and time to spare
: time to browse - but I left my computer at home!
I encountered three types of guides during my stay (apart from the castrated
clickable information computers placed in the lobby of the more top -notch
hotels). They endevour to help tourists with their holiday browsing time,
and are mostly self appointing. Common to all is an unbelievable stamina,
and a standard opening phrase
So - there are guides demanding 'baksheesh' immediately (baksheesh being
the unofficial backbone of the egyptian economy: a monetary donation for
services rendered). They generally want to take tourists directly to The
Pyramids - and to "Sphinxy", and will inform you that things are
'very old'. Then there are the ones who follow the standard 'welcome' phrase
with, for example;
The conversation seems tailor-made to suit just little you, appealing
to your weakspot, your compassion, your wallet-conciousness, or your sense
of adventure, and you consequently follow your guide into a small shop,
or to an awaiting taxi. By gentle probing, this guide finds out what service
you are most likely to buy and strives to accomodate to the best of his
means. Baksheesh is not the first words on his lips, but seems to be the
ultimate aim.
The third variety is much more difficult to define, blending the qualities
of the types described above with those of a true friend. At first you will
not notice his approach, but after a short time you will be vaguely aware
of being followed. He will approach you subtly, so subtly that you may not
connect his approach with your sensation of being followed. He will ask
how long you are staying. He will invite you to drink tea at a café
and engage you in conversation, drawing you into discussion. He will most
probably preach Islam, subtly and intellegently. You will be fascinated.
You will learn a great deal, and you will also pay for his tea. He will
show you photos of his family and friends, and you will talk about yours.
He will slag off the tourist industry and guide you to sites of interest
and wonder that you would not have found otherwise. He will arrange good
prices for taxis, café bills and entrance tickets, but you will pay
for his friend as well. He is efficient. He offers sound advice at all times.
He will notice that you are weary, or hungry, or thirsty and will provide
a suitable resting place. He anticipates the next move, the next ten moves,
drawing all the time on your interests - the information you feed to him.
He is in total control.
Nothing is left to chance. You will become blind and he will give you the
gift of sight. You may become exhausted. You may also become frustrated.
You may long to wander, and explore the city alone - to browse once again.
How do I know this? Because from what I can assess of you, (as a reader
of F.eks, and baring in mind that you have continued to read this article)
you are like me ...................... and if you disagree on this point,
I can only say that I am the author (which maybe be fact or fiction, hopefully
both). I am therefore deciding that from this point on, you the reader,
are a woman and are about to visit Cairo for the first time. I am your personal
agent, and I know what's good for you - basta! So let's get the show on
the road.
I have decided that it is in your best interest for you to discover from
the web that the American University of Cairo (AUC) is connected to the
Internet with its own server. This marks the first post on our mission.
Now. I think it is best for you to get on a plane to Cairo. I really do.
We'll skip the flight and the first night at the hotel, etc,etc, and move
straight onto the next day, remebering that you are a tourist with a mission.
You will enter a car from among the swarms of honkytonk yellow, horn blowing
taxis flowing across the streets and be driven to the AUC. You enter the
courtyard of the AUC and discover an oasis in the midst of a dusty city,
where students are watching a basketball game, sipping capochinos in their
western garb, broken only occasionally by a bescarfed female. Discover also
that only one 14.4 modem is available for student use, and that all student
projects must be approved by Dr Mona M. Kaddah, director of Academic Computing.
Even though you may not agree, I know that it will be good for you at this
point to meet a brick wall in your mission to meet Cairoeans with Internet
access. You have been censored. Keep yer pecker up, I know what I'm up to.
Trust me. I will send you out on foot now. I do feel that you could do with
some exercise.. As you navigate the crowded streets you will notice, from
the corner of your right eye, an apple with undisputable horizontal stripes
in red, green, yellow and blue hanging amongst the many hand-painted advertising
posters and signs. With fingers itching for the clickety click sound of
a keyboard (c'mon - I know what you're like) and a mission to purchase the
Arabic system for Macs (you didn't mention that one at the beginning of
this article did you. It slipped your mind, but I, your built-in agent,
remembered) you scribble down the street name printed below the source of
Eve's temptation.
Taxis hoot.
A girl-child, bare-footed, bedraggled and covered in dust, says
and grins. Baksheesh? Of course. You like to feel generous, don't you.
You will stop a passer by and ask directions to the most profiled Mac trading
centre in Cairo (the address you have scribbled down), and will be met with
friendly, helpful response. No baksheesh this time.
Q. How come computers aren't used for office work here? - No, because they're not.
Q. Does this office have Internet access? - Yes. there is an account. It is not used in this office. At home I have a personal account. I have a homepage. I do not have Netscape. I can't see it.
Q. What about Internet providors? Where do you have your account?
- there is the AUC. I worked there before. I have an account there.There is the government server which costs LE1000 a year with unlimited access. There is censor of Internet here.. There is "Touch", a
private company run by Dr Mona M. Kaddah. (!)
Q. Is there a speech manager for the Arabic system? You know, a computer
voice that reads written text? - no. It is difficult. Many
Arabic words look the same, but the way we say them makes their meaning.
It is difficult to find shapes for words. IBM is working on it. To find
shapes for words that look the same but do not sound the same. It is difficult.
O.k, let's move directly now to the Mac office. In the office a 'make -yourself
-comfortable' Macintosh poster hangs on the wall. On the opposite wall an
even larger Microsoft poster dominates the space. This IS a Mac trading
centre? The desert sand has also crept in here, along with the polution,
coating the once white walls with a layer of gray. Notice the lack of computers?
There is not one hint of a modem here. The book keeping is being carried
out by clerks with small pencils and huge hard-backed accounting books.
The Arabic system is being copied for you onto several discs from a harddisk
held together with cellotape, by a reserved man with the title of ........
don't be impatient, I'm getting to it. You ask;
Q. what's your job here? - I'm a Customer Support.
Customer Support softens up. You ask about IRC net chat and he positively
glows. - My nickname is WCW - you will find me at #egypt, and #islam. I
have many friends. You can always find me. At night. WCW - the all Egyptian
boxing champion! Mostly at #egypt. Here is my email.
He smiles, hands you a card. You have made your connection! You have the
Arabic system plus some bonus fonts on six disks. Doesn't that make you
feel good. You should now join some Cairoeans Downtown in their favourite
passtime. Window shopping! Join the family groups and friend groups along
the sidewalks. Proud fathers with babes in arms and wives at their sides
stop to admire and discuss the wares in their favourite shops. They point
and discuss and point again. Young men walk in couples or groups, arms placed
affectionately around shoulders, hips, or holding hands. It is quite touching.
The hardening economic times in Egypt have made marriage, and therefore
hetrosexual relations an unobtainable goal for many young people. Sexual
experiences are restricted to members of the same sex - but homosexuality
does not exist, apparantly. As you saunter down the road, and in addition
to the cat calls, and welcome to Cairo's, men call after you; "Aids-aids".
You seem to them to have the deadly western disease of decaying moral values
that will obviously lead to an eventuall horribly painful death.
I register that you are feeling uncomfortable with all the attention you're
raising. Next time you go out alone, cover your blonde hair with that scarf
I advised you to wear. The darkness closes in on Downtown Cairo, and the
streetlights, neon signs and christmas tree lights that decorate the shop
fronts, and backstreets are illuminated. Around 11pm the women and children
disappear from the streets as if by magic.The Arabian nights feel like a
constant male dominated tivioli. To you, anyway. I do know how you feel,
you know. You watch men enter the dubious belly dancing joint on the opposite
side of the street from your hotel balcony on the fifth floor. You watch
as cars drive up, park.
Baksheesh changes hands, and guests are either welcomed with handshakes
and kisses, or rejected. Hands gesture.
Men hang out, leaning against parked cars, scanning the streets for possible
meetings.
Baksheesh passes from hand to hand and the sidewealk infront of the nightclub
is swept clean.
A potential fight seems to be errupting between two men, and a policeman
steps out of the shadows. He talks calmly to the offenders, and seems to
resolve their conflict in a peaceful manner, eventually putting his arms
around them and kissing them both. Again, it is very touching.
You sleep lightly, registering the call for prayer at five am, and again
at sunrise.
You hear the soft buzzing of a mosquito around your head. Reaching down
to the floor, you grap the pink American and the green English March editions
of "Wired" magazine and sandwhich the mosquito between the two
with a smack.
At dawn a woman is hanged for stabbing her mother-in-law to death. Tommorrow
you will meet Mr Cairo 1957 in the bar of the Hotel Windsor and feel his
iron stomach. A waiter will ask to borrow the pink "Wired" edition,
which you previously purchased at the bookshop of the AUC. He will return
it promptly, mistaking it for an interior design magazine. You will remember
the leader of the student union informing you that "Wired" is
not available in Cairo - censorship you know! (His agent knows what's best
for him!) You will also remember (fondly) the timid Customer Support in
his tiny office with his taped up harddisk, and look forward to meeting
him again in the clandestine space of cyberland, as WCW -the all Egyptian
Champion. (You've got me under your skin.
I will be with you in your dreams, on your screen, when you make love or
war. Do not expect paradise, do not expect an easy ride. We are still partly
human, you know.) Welcome to Cairo. It is a strange and beautiful city.
Did you enjoy your trip? I knew you would. Baksheesh? We'll talk about that
later. Go home now, and connect.
Islamicity