Why I Watch the BBC

The last few weeks have not been kind to me either on a computer front or the internet. My hard drive in my laptop began making sounds more appropriate to an angry dog, not a comforting event. I could barely work with email, much less my usual news sources, most of which are on the net. I use Google News a lot when I want to get a variety of viewpoints on a particular issue, but my daily news usually comes from Reuters or the BBC. My opinion of the North American news is not the best and I find that Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert do a fairly good job on the political issues there.

When something happens like the recent Israeli demolition of Gaza, the North American news is not the place that I look to for information, since my experience is that it will not be reasonable coverage. I've been bombarded with invitations to join Facebook groups in support of the Palestinians who have been first imprisoned in Gaza and now are being slaughtered there. I've read notes on line talking about demonstrations in support of the Gazans in Egypt, although to be honest the demonstrations I've seen have been extremely orderly and low key. On one hand, one would imagine that the obvious thing to do would be to open the borders at Gaza to let people out of the conflict but with that tiresome ability to see shades of grey that comes with aging, I can also see the incredible problems that Egypt would face were it to do so. This isn't simply being caught between a rock and a hard place, but being surrounded by them. I'm not going to suggest that I have answers. I don't. It breaks my heart to hear of the suffering of the Palestinians and I have to admit to little sympathy for the Israeli's who feel that the death of a few of their people justifies the destruction of so many others.

A friend sent me this Youtube video and I feel that it makes some very good points that people need to be aware of. And that's why I watch the BBC.

copyright 2009 Maryanne Stroud Gabbani

Learning From A Master

My neighbour decided that it was time to finish building his house and put a second story on it to provide a study for his wife and a spare bedroom. The project was complicated by the fact that when his built the first floor, he'd put a dome over the living room to help circulate the air and to evacuate the hot air that we are so good at collecting during the summer. He decided to remove the dome on the first floor and add one to the second floor immediate over the original to do the same job and to create a sort of atrium.

His design was very clever since he planned the stairs to be built outside so that all the work could be done without breaking into the part of the house that he was living in during the construction. The final thing to be done would be to break the original dome and put a railing around the space where it had been. He brought the same master bricklayer who had built the original dome to build the new one and Tuha, the bricklayer, brought his son to help and to learn how to do the work.

Tuha is a marvel. He built my barbecue for me, entire buildings for others and a gorgeous barbecue for a neighbour. You describe what it is that you want and he simply constructs it free hand. After watching ordinary construction workers, you realise that you are watching an artist. The only way to learn to do this is by doing it and his son is learning the family business after spending a number of years in school to learn to read and write. While this may seem strange, it does make some sense since the schools in the countryside are really nothing that marvelous and having a skill like his father's will assure him a good living.

Tuha, having built the main dome, put his son to work on the smaller dome for the stair well. Under his guidance the boy learned how to place the bricks precisely in place to create a slowly decreasing circle of brick that would form the dome. They work from the center of the dome standing on a wooden platform that closes the space beneath them. This platform will be removed when the dome is completed. This method of construction is the traditional architecture of Egypt and is cheaper than the non-traditional forms. A building made with the domes and barrel vaults from brick without concrete columns cannot easily be built upon to make a second floor, however, so many people like my neighbour mix it with the modern construction, making use of the air conditioning features of the dome and vault. And it never hurts that they are beautiful as well.

copyright 2008 Maryanne Stroud Gabbani

Islanders Win For Now

An article in the Daily Star today revealed that the courts had ruled in favour of the islanders on Qorsaya
who had been fighting off military dredges on their island and eviction orders. A previous suit by the islanders against the Potable Water Company asking for service to provide water had been denied because the courts ruled that as a protectorate the island wasn't entitled to civic services. This worked against the encroachers when again the island was declared to be a protectorate and immune from industrial or commercial building.

This is hardly the last word on the subject, but it is heartening.


copyright 2008 Maryanne Stroud Gabbani

A Blessing On Us All

I woke this morning at 6 am wanting to turn on the BBC to see the results in the US elections, but almost afraid. My mobile phone beeped at me and I found a simple message from my daughter in New York. "Obama wins!" As I spoke to her on the phone we both were thrilled with the event. I listened to his acceptance speech and found for the first time in many, many years tears in my eyes, tears of joy and hope from the words of a politician. Any of you who have read my note on my blog about what I feel is important in life know that politicians are not, on the whole, my favourite people. But the succession of Barack Hussein Obama to the United States presidency is of vital importance to the world as well as to the American people.

I was born in the US and was, in many ways, the quintessential American. My mother was a British war bride and my father was from an old Scots/Irish family who had emigrated to North America before the revolution. But to be honest, even when I was so very young there were things that made me quite uncomfortable about the United States. Not the least of these was the fact that in California in the 60's and 70's my interest in learning Spanish, in reading Spanish literature, was considered suspect. As has become even more the case, more recent immigrants to the US were resented. It was not considered to be useful or desirable to speak a language other than English, an attitude that as someone who considered a career in translation, I thought was terribly short-sighted and frankly rather odd. I also was a serious opponent to the war in Vietnam, a military action that I felt was nothing short of disastrous for the place of the US in the world. When I moved to Canada to continue my university education, university in California having become too expensive for me, I was enchanted by the completely different attitude towards immigrants and their heritage in Canada and I decided, having the possibility to immigrate there, to stay.

The Canadians, at least in the 70's and 80's when I was living there, were much more aware of the fact that they were a country of immigrants than the Americans were. If a school had a certain percentage of children from an ethnic group enrolled, lessons in that language were required to be made available to these children after school hours. There was no question that French and English were the official languages, but there was an acceptance and understanding that Canada was a mosaic of many languages and cultures, unlike the attitude south of the border that if someone came to the US they came to become an American and should change and lose the past that had made them what they were when they emigrated to the US. I was much more comfortable with that idea and Diaa and I used to joke that we the absolute perfect Canadians, a Sudanese/Egyptian immigrant and an American/British immigrant. I took Canadian citizenship in the mid-70's with no qualms whatsoever.

Yesterday Americans remembered that the essence of the United States is that it is a country of immigrants...everyone there has come at some point in their short history from somewhere else. Now this is true of a good part of the world, including the British, French, and Germans and even the Egyptians...the history of mankind is a history of migration and conquest. But the United States is a young country and it is so totally a country of immigrants from diverse backgrounds. It's time for the country to remember this. Barack Hussein Obama is the true American, black/white/European/Kenyan/Muslim/Christian.

This morning, along with much of the world, I feel hope for the United States. This morning I feel comfortable with my American past, proud of it for the first time in many, many years. I pray for the safety and success of President Obama and Vice President Biden. Watching the two families embracing on the podium in Chicago live on the BBC this morning I could only think how this is truly a marvelous opportunity for healing in this country that has so much possibility for good, but that all too often has used its power without thought or conscience. Barack comes from the Arab "Baraka" or blessing. May he be one.

copyright 2008 Maryanne Stroud Gabbani

Only In Egypt

In my constant scanning of other blogs about Egypt, I've found a new one today called Life in Cairo. The author doesn't post often but she had a total gem in her August post, some YouTube videos from Egypt. I went to YouTube to get one of them. Some of the humour is definitely local, with the humour only in Arabic, so this isn't a foreigner laughing at the locals but the locals laughing at themselves, which Egyptians do with great frequency, bless their hearts. But do check her blog.

copyright 2008 Maryanne Stroud Gabbani

Going Out With A Bang

Although they are illegal and quite dangerous, Egypt has a thriving fireworks industry at a cottage level. Small factories make what we used to call cherry bombs (wads of paper with explosive powder and a bit of grit in them that explode when thrown against something), rockets and firecrackers, all of which are part of traditional festivities on the feasts and at weddings in the rural areas. The people who work in these industries suffer injuries fairly constantly and the users of the noisemakers also are injured with great regularity. So when the police get the chance to impound fireworks they do...but one could truly wish that they'd do a better job.

A couple of days ago one or two truckloads (depending on to whom one is speaking) were seized by the police in the area near Shubramant. Concerned that they might be explosive...I would imagine that they would be...the police rather haphazardly hosed down the cargo with water and then dumped it. Where was it disposed of? In the desert, most likely near the Giza Municipal Dump just up the road from us. Day before yesterday, innumerable grain bags of illegal fireworks were appearing all over the area between Abu Sir and Zawia/Shubramant to the delight of the children of the area. After all, most of the garbage in the dump is checked over for recycling, so why not recycle it, right? From about 4 pm on Wednesday to the present the air has crackled with explosions fairly constantly. The first night it went on all night, with a lot of very crabby adults wandering around the next day.

Of my ridiculously high dog population, probably 90% are terrified of the noise of fireworks, so I have about a dozen dogs running in circles all day barking at the unseen threat or running for shelter under my legs, in my bedroom, in the shower, in the kitchen...wherever. After two days of this nonsense, they are no longer barking at explosions more than about 300 metres away, thank heaven, but a neighbour estimates the supplies at sufficient for about two more days of this lunacy. Who knows, maybe this will get them so overloaded with fear that they will stop being frightened? I'd rather not be using the technique however.

Of even more concern with the vast quantities of these fireworks being used is the fact that children are being injured by them in the villages. I saw one boy not more than about seven years old clutching a round cluster of rockets in his fist and showing them to friends with delight. Heart-stopping. My housekeeper confirmed that there had been injuries to children in the Abu Sir area and the local omda did try, although unsuccessfully, to stop the spread of the illegal bounty at the beginning of the siege. But there were simply too many to collect and they were already too widespread. One would truly wish that when the police do something for the public good, it really would be for the public good. Frankly, it would have been better to send those trucks on their way than to spread these things around the villages the way they did. Unfortunately, until a child is injured, the fireworks are seen as being relatively harmless by most parents who grew up with their use.

copyright 2008 Maryanne Stroud Gabbani

We Are Indeed All Laila

There is a wonderful website that unfortunately is largely in Arabic, Kolena Laila...we are all Laila..a site for women in the Middle East that I wish had more English in it. Perhaps soon. Recently they had a Day for Laila and sent out a questionaire to women throughout Egypt, including me. Two of my assistants here at the farm (men, of course) had the fun of reading the questions to me and putting them into words that I was familiar with and making sure that my answers actually correctly indicated my beliefs. They found it most interesting and quite entertaining.

It has always been my belief that we are more alike than we are different, and I believe that this is especially true of women...maybe this is because that's what I am. I will admit to some confusion when I'm trying to fathom the thoughts of men, but women usually make sense to me though sometimes I have to work a bit at it. I think that women work more at understanding each other and that this is one of our great gifts. This is why when I get emails from women who want to visit Egypt and have what I feel are rather dismal and strange reasons for not coming, it makes me very sad. Not long ago I had one woman tell me that she didn't want to come because she didn't want to be harassed on the streets and treated badly. Where would she get this idea from anyway?

The answer to that is from the net and the media. Recently there have been a spate of stories about how women have a problem being sexually harassed in Egypt. I'm not going to say that it doesn't happen because it does and it is a problem. But the fact that it is being publicised is actually a huge step in the right direction. The harassment varies in intensity from the annoying "psss, psss, psss" so commonly heard by women from bored policemen ("psss, psss" being the same sound used to communicate with babies and cats, ironically) to actually being groped to the roaming gangs who were problems in Mohendessin over the feast as noted in the Al Ahram article. In the past it's been argued that somehow the women were at fault, but when the men attack veiled women too as they did over Eid el Fitr, this argument stops holding any water.

Does EVERY woman walking down the road have to beat off men trying to abuse her? No, of course not. To be honest, in twenty years I've only had to deal with a few instances myself, but as one of my daughter's friends noted on a trip to a Friday market with me, I don't exactly invite nonsense having a rather "fierce" aura. I had to laugh but there's probably something to it. I don't tolerate bad behaviour around me, I am polite and I expect politeness from others and I suspect that this shines through because that's what I usually get. But there is more to the problem and my suggestion in this regard may not be very welcome in some circles.

When I first began traveling to Egypt my constant companion was my young son who learned very early that "no" meant exactly that, that whining or crying wasn't going to change things, that politeness mattered a lot, and that the reasons why these things were true would be discussed, but that the balance of power in decisions rested firmly in adult hands. I caught a lot of flak from my mother in law who felt that I was entirely too tough on a little boy...such harshness would "break his spirit"! Ha! Not too likely. When my son was about seventeen, my mother in law shocked me to my toes when she quietly admitted that although she had thought my child-rearing methods were crazy when the children were young, she'd decided that maybe I actually knew something. Frankly most young boys in Egypt are spoiled rotten and never taught to be responsible members of society. They are usually given most that they want when they want it and are not taught any delay of gratification. In my mind, delay of gratification is one of the most important lessons of childhood. You might get what you want, but it may not be now and you may actually have to work for it.

I remember sitting having coffee one morning with a group of women, Egyptians and foreign, who were married to Egyptian men. As is the habit of women everywhere, we were laughing and crying over the foibles of our husbands and sons, commiserating and complaining and supporting each other's frustrations and worries. One of the women, however, said one of the most profound things that I believe I have ever heard. She suggested that until each one of us could honestly say that we had raised a son that we felt was qualified to really be a good husband to a good woman, we frankly had nothing to complain about. The behaviour of the men of Egypt is in the hands of the mothers of Egypt and it's time for them to insist that boys learn to obey, that they treat women with respect and kindness. This isn't something that one can insist on once the child is a teenager. It is something that you must build into his character from the very beginning as he is learning to walk and talk.

There is a corollary to this as well and a story for it. When I was about thirteen I recall standing in my mother's kitchen listening to the chat of the women who had gathered there to cook a communal lunch for about five families who had gathered in our home. Each of these women had been raped or molested, usually by a male relative such as an uncle or cousin, when they were young and each of them had taught their daughters that while good little girls were polite and considerate, they did not have to be polite or considerate when certain boundaries were crossed. Not one of their daughters had ever been raped or molested. I was astonished to hear such a thing and it obviously made a huge impression on me. When my children were young they learned that they had the right to expect appropriate behaviour from adults and the right to complain forcefully if this was not forthcoming. This was another sore point with my Egyptian family because my daughter was not as quiet and docile as Egyptian girls have been traditionally taught to be...but it's more than time to change that pattern. One needn't be docile to be polite and most fathers would want their daughters to be safe as well as polite. The fact that women are now beginning to demand their day in court to prosecute criminally rude men is a sign that the tide is turning as well it should. We are, indeed, all Laila, and when Laila is safe and respected her brothers will be happier as well.

copyright 2008 Maryanne Stroud Gabbani