Bureaucracy Egyptian Style

Bureaucracy Egyptian Style

In every ex-pat's life, there comes a day when s/he must pay a visit to the Mugam3a, the embodiment of pure, bureaucratic evil in Cairo. It is a imposing, Orwellian monstrosity in Midan Tahrir, where people go to get vias, report lost passports and generally get lost in endless hallways. Waiting. Getting bounced from window to window to window. Getting photo copies of passport pages. Buying little stamps to pay visa fees.

Since my non-touristic visa expired at the end of June, I was there to see if I could pull off the coup of renewing my visa. I started by inquiring at window 12, where I was told I need to go to window 28. Window 28 does not exist. So, I asked at window 27 and was told to go to window 40.

Unfortunately for me, the rather large woman perched behind window 40 (NON-ARAB FOREIGNER VISAS) seemed rather indignant at having to assist two Xawaggas in a row. She was not pleased by my request, especially since I had no documentation to show why I needed a non-tourist visa. She barked at me to get photocopies of my iqama (resident visa) and front page of my passport and then to come back. I did. Then she thrust a form at me. I filled it out and came back. Then I was told to go buy eight guineas in stamps. I padded down to window 32, bought my stamps and came back. Then she stuck the stamps on my form, stapled my photo (thank goodness I at least had those) to it and without even looking up said, "Four days."

Presumably, this means I have succeeded in...something. I'm not quite sure what I'll get, but I guess that's part of the fun of going to the Mugam3a. As long as I don't get booted out of the country, I guess it will be ok.

In other news, it's been just about three weeks since I officially started job hunting and I think I'm already starting to go insane. Having a boarder in the apartment doesn't help my mood, even if she is completely lovely and no trouble at all. I feel bad for Blake. I just applied to do a ten-day Vipassana meditation course in Northern Italy in two weeks, so we'll see if they still have space. Given that my one job prospect at the moment has been stalled thanks to the total blockade of Lebanon, I just feel like I need to get the hell out of here and clear my head for a few days. Ten days of complete silence ought to do the trick.

Wheeee!!!

Wheeee!!!

So I ran into my friend, Jonathan, yesterday at the library, just as I was about to poke my eyes out from boredom. I've been dying to get him to take me for a ride on his motorcycle, which he shipped over from the states a few months ago, and wouldn't you know, Thursday was my lucky day.

I never imagined driving in Cairo could be fun, but seeing the city from the back of a motorcycle is something not to be missed. I hadn't been on a bike in maybe three years and it all came back to me very quickly as to how freaking fantastic they are. Speeding across the Nile or along the corniche, the city just looks better somehow.

To top it all off, we went to TGI Friday's for lunch. Go ahead, laugh. I would, too. But in my defense, I needed to escape from Egypt for an hour or two, and TGI Friday's (which is located on a huge boat docked on the Nile) definitely did the job. You can not imagine the crap someone paid a lot of money to ship from the states in order to trick out the restaurant American style. The only things out of place were (1) the male waiters wearing leather Harley Davidson vests covered in "flair" and (2) the Fifty Cent soundtrack blasting in the background. Only in Egypt, I tell you.

I'm Sorry I'm Not More Entertaining

I'm Sorry I'm Not More Entertaining

I'm feeling particularly bored and sullenly insular today. I notice that while my friends with blogs in other random third world(ish) countries have interesting, insightful or at least mildly amusing anecdotes peculiar to their location to write about, I...frankly, I got nothing.

Yesterday I didn't even bother leaving the apartment all day because I was too busy hiding under the covers like a depressed, unemployed person (Hey! How about that!) all morning, and then entertaining Egyptian dinner guests (who didn't actually eat any of the dinner we set out for them - and it wasn't even our cooking! We ordered from our favorite Lebanese restaurant!) all night because Blake wouldn't let me hide under the covers again til morning.

Quite an exciting day. Yep.

I did start writing a little short story about doorbells, though. Yes, doorbells. In Egypt, doorbells do not go "ding-dong." They go "CHEEPCHEEPcheepcheep...cheep...chee...ch..." Like a killer sparrow has just divebombed past your head. That sort of thing.

What Would You Have Done?

What Would You Have Done?

So news is starting to trickle out about Zinédine Zidane heat-butt incident and no surprise, many people believe his actions were motivated by a racial slur delivered by Marco Materazzi (the unfortunate recipient of Zidane's bald head). As I argued with friends on Sunday night, someone of Zidane's stature, experience and Zen-like composure doesn't snap in the crucial final minutes of what will most certainly be his last World Cup final appearance over nothing. Wayne Rooney, maybe, but not Zidane. Granted, this was not always the case. As it's been noted in the press, Zidane has been ejected 14 times in the span of his career and has been known to have a bit of a sparky temper. But to throw it all away...for what?

If indeed Materazzi called Zidane a "dirty terrorist" - this seems to be the most popular claim so far - then I have to admit, I can't help but in my heart to continue to stand by Zidane. Was it shocking, inappropriate and violent behavior that had no place in an international sporting event? Yes, of course. Was it a disgraceful way to end a brilliant career and tarnish his name forever? Undoubtedly.

But if you were in Zidane's shoes, what would you have done?

If you were the son of Algerian immigrants living in France (not exactly the bastion of racial equality and harmony), an outspoken anti-racist who has fought against bigotry inside and outside of sports, a man in the twilight of his career who is looked up to and admired for carrying his team to the World Cup finals with dignity and poise, how would you stand up to the pressure? In a world where having the wrong name will bar you from a flight, or subject you to unwarranted detention, search and surveillance, how do you find the resolve to maintain your calm? When people regularly hurl racial slurs at you, spit at you or physically assault you on the street because of the way you look, how do you not react?

I know, violence is not the answer, it is never the answer. But let me tell you, I've never had to deal with half the inexcusable garbage any of my Arab, Pakistani, Muslim and/or African-American friends have, and I can't even count the number of times I've wanted to beat the shit out of someone on the street for the way they've spoken to me just because I look Asian. If I were Zidane and some asshole had the balls to call me a terrorist in the middle of the World Cup, I probably would have punched his nose right into the back of his head. And then probably added a Rooney to his crotch for good measure. But, hey, that's just me and I do not have a tenth of the composure Zidane has.

So what now? Zidane has to make a statement this week as to what actually happened. And when he does, you better believe shit is going to fly. People have already made statements that Italy should give up the Cup if the accusations are true. I wouldn't be surprised if protests and a boycott on Italian goods took place here à la the Danish cartoon incident. Materazzi, in my book, should be banned from international competition. Maybe that seems overly severe to some people, but if FIFA really wants to "Say No to Racism," they need to punish Materazzi appropriately and put their money where their mouth is.

The Slutboxing Begins

The Slutboxing Begins

So, I had my first interview this morning. More of a vetting, really, to see whether or not I am qualified to even be granted a real interview. Having passed that test, my resume has been forwarded on to the centralized recruiting...machine, let's call it, and some committee will decide whether nor not I continue on in my quest for indentured servitude with this particular firm. I'm trying to not focus on the particularly demoralizing nature of being seen as a less respectable life form because I don't have an MBA (I always thought it worked the other way around, personally), but it's hard.

And then there's the waiting.

Beached on the couch in my office this afternoon, I finished David Sedaris' Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, which was great, no surprise. He has the uncanny ability to make you burst out into hysterical laughter one minute only to notice the twisted knife in your belly the next. I am perpetually amazed, however, at how writers like him are able to ruthlessly forage for material straight out of their personal lives. I'm too paralyzed by the barrage of hate-mail and dead rodents I imagine finding in my mailbox to ever attempt such a thing. I think. I mean, are we talking low or high six-figure advance?

On a totally unrelated note, World Cup is over at last! Now I can resume my regularly scheduled unemployed lifestyle. But did you see Zidane headbutt the Italian off his feet last night? I haven't seen violence like that since I saw a horse get punched off its hooves by a Viking in The Thirteenth Warrior.

Job Hunt Update

Job Hunt Update

Egads - I just got a phone call asking me to come in for an interview tomorrow morning with a major management consulting firm that recently opened an office here in Cairo. I feel pukey and terrified.

It's Nearly Mid-July and Nothing's Spontaneously Combust Yet...Izaay?

It's Nearly Mid-July and Nothing's Spontaneously Combust Yet...Izaay?

I don't get it. It is now July 9th and the weather in Cairo has suddenly turned *pleasant* the past few days. I've actually managed to sleep with no a/c the past couple of nights now and it's starting to creep me out. I just have visions of August rolling up like a giant fireball crashing through the streets of Cairo, 'aams spontaneously combusting on street corners...poof! I've been thinking of getting out of dodge at the end of the month to do a ten-day Vipassana meditation course somewhere (anywhere), but this whole job search thing is making it awfully hard to plan anything. At the same time, that would be precisely the reason I could really use ten days of silent meditation right about now.

It was a fairly uneventful weekend, with the exception of the Cairo Scholars dinner that I helped to organize on Friday night. We had about twenty mostly fresh faces show up, which, for those of us who are crusty old-timers in comparison, was a real treat. Invigorating, really. After dinner, we went out to a private party in Mohandiseen (or "MoHo" as some of our more capricious friends have taken to call it, I don't know why) which was so gay, my eyes hurt from all the sparkly rhinestones. It was fabulous.

Btw, the picture above is a view from a restaurant in beautiful Al-Azhar Park, which was designed, built and has been administered since last spring by the Aga Khan Foundation. It's an impeccably manicured fluffy green grass and milky white marble haven which I don't get to visit enough. I think the Aga Khan Foundation is handing over administration of the park to the Egyptian government soon, which is all the more reason for me to spend time there sooner rather than later.