The bellboy in Alexandria.

From canon afrika byron july 2009

-.  I feel like I’m in some creepy Alfred Hitchcock movie.  What a freak.  He followed me like a puppy, two feet behind me.  Then followed me into my room and wouldn’t leave.  He didn’t speak English, but smiled a sly smile the whole time, like he was about to pull some trick or rob me.  He reached for my bag and I pulled it away.  He motioned that he just wanted to see what I had.  I decided maybe I was over reacting to this weirdo and opened up my bag and pulled out a few things.  I didn't have much, nothing too expensive: a compass, a watch, cards, stuff like that.  He saw the cards and wanted them.  I told him he could have them if he would leave me alone.  He hugged them and stood there.  It was 1 a.m. and I was tired.  I motioned for him to leave. He finally left, bowing a dozen times as he backed out of my room.

5-28-09

Walked around Alexandria today.  Wow.  There were open mosques and prayer speakers blaring in the streets everywhere.   Open markets with fish, fruit, bread and everything else you can imagine.  Huge markets that span half a mile along narrow streets covered with canopies--just like in Aladdin.  When I wear normal cloths I fit right in and nobody looks twice at me.  I saw a table of about 30 rabbits, no cage, just placed on top of a table about 4 ft. off the ground.  They hopped all over each other like mice trapped in a mason jar.  At any time they could have jumped off, but none of them did.  They must have vertigo, because it was only a 4 ft drop to freedom.  As I walked by, the butcher came out of his little shack wielding a large cleaver in one hand. With rough hands he snatched one up by the back of the neck, and carried the kicking rabbit back into the recesses of his shop.

There were so many rugs for sale, hand-embroidered rugs of every color and pattern, metal working shops, grain and spice shops, still using scales that look like they came from the 1800s. 

One evening, I was feeling adventurous, so I decided to take a train across town (in a town of millions, across town takes a while.)  I went to a small stop and let the first train rumble by, just to observe how things were done.   I noticed nobody paid until the train started to rumble away, so no ticket was needed.  When the next train came by, I jumped on.  Just as it started to rumble away, I noticed that there was no one on the car except women and children.  They were all staring at me, which was strange because normally I fit in very well.  Something must be wrong.  Just then, a man yelled at me and waved.  He looked mad.  At about this time I realized I must have got on a woman-only car.  I jumped off as fast as I could and hopped on the next car just as the train was rolling away.  Close call, but no harm done. 

Later that night I was walking around the city and passed a section of barber shops.  I figured I needed a decent haircut so I found one that looked clean and went inside.  It looked fairly clean, and ended up being the best grooming I’ve ever had.  For $3, I got my hair washed and conditioned, a very careful haircut, and even my nose hair trimmed (which was a little weird).  The guy used an old school slapstick razor blade in some places and that made me nervous, but I could tell he was very experienced, so I relaxed after a bit.  Initially, they tried to talk to me in Arabic, but they quickly realized I didn’t speak enough to communicate.  Their English was meager as well, so we communicated in smiles, laughs and hand gestures. 

I walked the streets for about 6 hours that night.  I admit; I was lost for most of that.  I was never really concerned though, as long as I knew which direction the Mediterranean was.  I could tell by the direction of the sea breeze which way I was supposed to go.  I wandered through busy areas that became more and more crowded as the night grew cooler.  Around midnight everything was in full gear.  I walked by so many mosques.  I usually slowed and sometimes stopped to watch the devout in their prayers; but not for too long, I didn’t want to draw too much attention to myself.  The prayers and songs blaring on loud speakers, echoing down the narrow streets made for an eerie feeling that you had been transported back in time to a different world. 

I figured out that I could make most food purchases without even saying a word, thus taking the worry out of being ripped off.  But being ripped off there is relative, paying a dollar extra for something isn’t a big deal to me, but it makes their day.  Since I fit in so well, all I would have to do is act casual, hold up what I wanted or point to it and smile, then hand over the currency I thought would be sufficient.  I could read Arabic numerals, but prices are rarely marked, so it took a while to figure out the appropriate value of certain items.  But my silent method worked very well. If I didn’t give them enough, they would look at the bill and make a questioning face then wait for me to give them more.  If the bill was big enough, I would just wait for my change.  I had many conversations with people, generally young people in small cafes or stores.  They always wanted to tell me how great Egyptians thought Obama was and how he would be bring peace to the world.  Whenever it got out that I was American I would really attract a crowd sometimes.  The girls seemed especially intrigued and everyone wanted to exchange email addresses. 

If I wanted to travel anywhere that I couldn’t walk too, I used public transportation.  I watched an observed people on the main route to see how it was done.  Dozens of small minivans drive the main roads honking their horns.  If you want to get on one, just make eye contact or wave a hand.  You don’t pay until you are about to get off.  There are always two people who work a van; the driver and the money taker.  You don’t talk to the driver.  Fifteen cents will get you a twenty minute ride.  When you want to get off, just hand the money taker a bill, wait for your change, then hop off.  Sometimes they packed them in really tight; it wasn’t uncommon to have someone sit on your knees for a few stops. Women had buses just for them and men couldn’t get on with them.  Women, however, could get on any bus they wanted. 

The Bibliotheca of Alexandria. 
Apparently it is built close to the site of the ancient library from Roman times.  It was here that I saw my first tourists in 3 days.  There was a single, giant bus that stood out like an elephant among all the mini Peugeot and Korean cars.  The tourists looked so scared and out of place!  They huddled together like sheep and kept a wary eye out for anything that might hurt them.  They all had full khaki gear; one older lady who looked particularly sour even had a full mosquito net draped over her head, despite the fact that I hadn't seen a mosquito all week.  I guess she didn't get the memo that there is no malaria in Egypt.  They looked pretty silly.  They snapped a few pictures, listened to their tour guide give an explanation of the library, and then scurried back to the safety of their air conditioned tour bus.  Because I looked Egyptian, I stood-bye unobserved.  Although arguably less safe than their mode of travel, I couldn't help but wonder at how different my experiences in Alexandria must be from theirs. 

5-29-09

I took the train to Cairo this morning.  The ride was comfortable and slow.  The computers from the 1980s at the train station in Alexandria weren’t working, so I almost missed the only train for that afternoon.  I found a small place stay about 20 minutes' walk from Ramses train station called the African hotel.  It is a hotel only in the broadest sense of the word.  On the way there I stood out like a sore thumb because of my bag.  A gentleman started talking to me and offered to take me to my hotel.  When I got there he hung around because he wanted to take me on some tours.  The attendant at the little hotel warned me that they had a lot of problems with this guy ripping people off, so I shouldn’t trust him.  The guy did seem a bit dodgy so I told him I would be able to find my own way around. 

The building was partially unfinished, like most of the buildings in Egypt. It seemed as though in their recent history, there was a prosperous era of quick construction, which somehow suddenly stopped.  Judging only by the architecture, I would say this era of prosperity came to an abrupt stop sometime in the ‘70s.  This comports with history and the war with Israel which devastated the economy here.  I thought it was interesting how simply observing the architecture of the city could tell a person about its history.

Other things:

-It made me smile to see super conservative women dress with the full veil and gloves, but then they sport fancy sunglasses.  Goes to show you even they want to look good, even if no one knows who they are.

-Sometimes I would be walking down the street and see a lady with her veil on, completely covered in black, from her head to her feet. The veil was done so well, you can’t see any part of the eyebrow, eyelid, or bridge of the nose; just the dark shine of an eye.  Every once in a while I would lock eyes with one of these ladies.  Sometimes I could tell she was very pretty and it felt strange that I could sense that she was attractive without seeing anything but her eyes.

-All the small restaurants and shops play MTV.  Rappers with fancy cars and half-naked women dance around the screen.  Guys throw money into the air like its confetti.  If this is what they think of Americans, then I don’t blame them for thinking us people of poor moral fiber.  (MTV would be played on most TVs throughout my trek across Africa; and every time I cringed.)

-The train stations have separate lines for men and women.

-At prayer time, the men press their thumbs against their foreheads or prostrate themselves on the ground such that a mark is permanently place in the center of their forehead.  I talked with several people, and they told me that any man with this mark must certainly be a very faithful man.

-For all the fertility in the peninsula, I was surprised to see so few tractors.  Most of the plowing was being done with cows.

People live and act partly according to their own ideas, and partly because they are influenced by the ideas of others.  The extent to which they do one or the other what differentiates men.  Some people mostly play at thinking: their minds are like a fly-wheel that has had the belt removed and spins freely but drives nothing.  Their actions are determined by other people’s ideas- by custom and social norms, tradition and laws. –Resurrection pg. 473.

I saw something today that gave me hope in humanity.  I’ve been in Cairo several days now.  I found a group of backpackers to hang out with.  Two are from Germany and two from Canada. Walking around with them is a major drag because they stick out like a sore thumb.  I can’t go anywhere with them without getting hounded to buy something from somebody.  They are constantly getting ripped off because they are so obviously not from here.  I keep silent when we go buy stuff and that helps them out because shop keepers think I’m Egyptian and assume I’m actually their tour guide, and not a part of their travel group.

$1 = 8 Egyptian Pounds

One Canadian girl was particularly distraught by the perceived lack of honesty in business transactions.  We argued many times about it.  I was always defending them and saying that bargaining is part of the culture, and bargaining requires that one party try to maximize profit, while the other party tries to minimize their cost.  Unfortunately most tourists aren’t very good at the negotiation process.  I argued that the “ripping-off” of tourists doesn’t have anything to do with the morals of the Egyptians, but rather a divergence in the business norms between two cultures.  Well, one day, I was getting some lunch at a local shop that I had been to several times and trusted.  The shop owner was a jolly old man that always greeted me warmly and said, “America! Obama, good! Bush, bad!” He would give the appropriate thumbs up or thumbs down for each president.  I smiled and had small broken conversations with him about what I had seen that day and he would politely pretend to understand me.  He always made it a point to shake my hand whenever we said goodbye.  One particular evening, I stopped by his shop and to my surprise there were two young foreigners in the store trying to buy a bunch of food items.  I was surprised to see them because I was far from any touristy neighborhood and foreigners were a rare site, especially in this small store.  They were Canadians and were convinced that they were being cheated and were trying to bargain with the owner.  They insisted that their LonelyPlanet guidebook allowed them to bargain wherever and whenever they wanted, and that they should never trust an initial price quote.  I tried to convince them otherwise, and explained that only certain sizes of shops participate in the bargaining game.  This shop was big enough that prices were fixed and marked.  Being familiar with the numbers and prices, I then acted as intermediary between the Canadians and my friendly shopkeeper.  He was desperate to defend his prices to me and I could tell he was sincerely hurt by their assumption that he was being dishonest with them simply because they were tourists.  The shopkeeper frantically scribbled down the price of each item on a piece of paper, I translated the numbers for the Canadians.  They asked me if it looked right to me - I verified it - it looked OK and everyone was happy; especially the shopkeeper, mostly because his reputation as an honest man was now preserved in the minds of two young Canadians.

The story doesn’t end there.  In the “hotel” I was staying in, there was a worker named Ibrahim that seemed envious of the guests and was always looking for a tip.  If he had been a nice guy, that would be one thing, but he wasn’t.  He was lazy and made the other workers do most of the work.  With a greasy grin, he would hungrily stare at the girls in the hotel and make them feel uncomfortable.  Two of the girls told me that they were having a few drinks one evening in the lounge when he came in and sat on the couch across from them.  He didn’t say anything, but just watched them for a while. They were shocked when they noticed that he wanted to make it very obvious to them that they excited him.  Nobody liked him; not even his co-workers.  I asked him once how much it was to do a load of laundry and he said 20 pounds!  I asked another worker later on and he told me the rate was no more than 5 pounds.  Not only was he rather disgusting, he was dishonest and greedy as well.  In my opinion I think it’s safe to say that Ibrahim was more or less a bad character.

One morning I was down at my favorite shop getting some food for the day.  After exchanging the usual cheery greeting with my friendly shopkeeper, I noticed Ibrahim was also there, buying some supplies for the hotel.  He immediately recognized me and smoothly feigned his friendship (he did this well).  I almost cringed as he shook my hand and offered to help me buy whatever it was I needed.  I told him I didn’t need his help, but thanks anyway.  He insisted, so I told him all I wanted was the two croissants I was holding in my hand.  Ibrahim slyly held up my croissants to the shopkeeper and told him a price to charge me.  No sooner had Ibrahim said the price, than the shopkeepers face turned red with rage and he slapped Ibrahim hard across the face.  My shopkeeper changed in an instant from happy and cheerful to a man on fire with anger.  I was stunned as I watched him berate Ibrahim like a child. Ibrahim in turn could only stand there and look at the ground, embarrassed and scared to be so humiliated in front of all the people in the shop.  Finally, after the shopkeeper calmed down a bit, he turned to me, his face still puffy with the residue of his wrath, and held up four shaky fingers.  He looked me straight in the eye to make sure I understood, then with a heavy accent and quivering voice he said, “Four pounds only!” 

In an instant, I knew what had transpired and no explanation was needed.  Unbeknown to Ibrahim, I had bought these croissants many times before, and knew their price to be two pounds each.  Ibrahim had invited the shopkeeper to be dishonest, perhaps hoping for a cut of the overcharge.  The shopkeeper was insulted, to say the least.  I looked quickly at Ibrahim- he had tears of embarrassment in his eyes and shuffled his feet but didn’t dare leave the shop.  Even I was slightly unsure about what to do after seeing such a spectacle.  I quietly gathered my croissants and took the correct and full change from my shopkeeper.  I smiled and gave him a respectful nod of gratitude.  He made sure to give me an especially strong handshake and reverent bow as I left his small shop and stepped out into the bright Egyptian sun.

-Our tour guide for the Pyramids was a young man.  He had horses and somehow some random policemen got in a big argument with him about his horse.  They pulled out a gun.  We stepped back.  Then our guide pulled out his gun.  We took a few more steps back.  They argued a bit more and five minutes later they were laughing like friends.  Welcome to Egypt.

-I’m transcribing this from my journal in chronological order.  At this point, I’m about to go in to Ethiopia and I write a note, stating that there is an important journal I’ve been keeping about my life back home on my computer; just in case I die.  (Looking back, it sounds kind of morbid, but I really thought there was a small chance it could happen).

In the airport leaving Cairo I watch parts of Obama’s speech on TV.  Most people are crowded around the TV as well, eager to see what he has to say about Egypt and America’s relationship with the Muslim world.  It must not be that interesting to them, as after a while they lose interest and move on to other things.

In Ethiopia I arrive without a map and would be without a map the entire trip across the country.  I’ve been known to be a poor planner, and I suppose if not having a map was a real concern I would have found one, but it wasn’t a big deal.  I needed to head south to Kenya, and that was all I really needed to know.  I was going to get one while in Cairo, but nonessential things are a bit harder to come by in the market places and I never took the time to find a modern bookstore so I never bought one. My hand and a pen work just as well. 

June 5, 2009, I arrived in the capital city of Ethiopia, Addis Ababa.  I like the sound of that; it sounds like it’s from Aladdin.