Countryside Impressions

The Egyptian countryside, الريف (irreef), had been an area of interest for her since her arrival in Egypt. Like the countryside in all countries, it is where old traditions still have continuity. It is the seed, the roots of a country. No matter how hospitable a country or culture, the hospitality found in the countryside is greater, deeper, and always genuine. The Egyptians harbor some of the same negatives about the countryside as many westerners. They regard some of the traditions and conservative sentiments as backward, uneducated, unsophisticated. But it is still the root, the place where many return home every weekend to be in the house of the family. Where on Fridays, الجمعة, the smell of mashi cooking in every house can be smelled throughout all the streets. The stuffed squashes, small eggplants, peppers, grape leaves, and cabbage leaves were some of her favorite foods here. And in the country, everything was fresh, picked that day, eggs laid by the chickens and ducks on the roof, the meats freshly slaughtered. The butter, cheeses, and breads were made by the household. In fact, she was not sure if anything in the house was store bought. If there is truly love to be found in food, then there was more love and bonds of family in food such as this than in any she had ever eaten. It was sad to think that joys such as truly fresh food were few and far between.

She came to them, the family of her friend, in their garb. The higab in place like she was Egyptian, the gilbaab worn to lose the definition of any womanly curves. They had never met a foreigner before, and certainly not an American. Like most Egyptians they had a satellite dish and access to hundreds of channels, both Arabic and Western. They knew parts from American movies; this was their exposure to American culture. Well, that and the great war against Muslims in Iraq and Afghanistan. But Barack was president now, and everyone knows he’s actually a Muslim. These thoughts of course run simultaneously with the known fact that the rich Jews and Israel actually run the United States. In fact, many were sure it had been Israel or Bush himself that had planned the events for September 11th. It was a great conspiracy so that America had the pretext to go to war against Islam. And didn’t Bush even say that this was a holy crusade?

But here she was, dressed as them. Here she was, quiet and humble, but friendly and warm. She always thought to herself, thank God I come from the South, the center of hospitality in the US. She was not uncomfortable with giving or receiving in this manner. And although it was thickly accented and they had to speak slowly from time to time, she spoke arabic. Not just classical arabic, she spoke egyptian arabic. She knew the religious sayings for greetings, eating, and all other occasions. She had put for effort to learn their culture. The folds in her higab were perfectly correct and in egyptian style. She participated with the women in the kitchen, was eager to learn the techniques for cooking in the egyptian style, and sat like a student thirsty for every word they might say about their world. This was not the arrogant American they had all expected. She was glad she had waited until she knew many of these things and the language before she ventured out to meet countryside Egyptians.

They were warm and deep people. Expressive people. Loud and vibrant when they argued about family matters, proud and confident in their life. The father was full of personality, and full of love for all his children. There were smile and laugh lines around his eyes. He was proud of his strong wife who had born him six children through the years. They were grandparents now, and beamed with pride. Two of their daughters were university educated and the other was well on her way. The sons worked in Kuwait for good money, and would be home later to live on the upper floors of the building when they started their families. The second floor flat was reserved for the eldest son and his family, the third floor for the second son, and the roof kept the chickens and ducks they used for livelihood. Families generally occupied one building together for their entire lives.

She walked the streets with the mother, arm and arm as her daughter. Until she spoke, no one knew she was an agnabeya. Her accent was still very thick, but she was happy people could understand her. Children could play in the streets here. The traffic was mules, bicycles, and pedestrians. Everyone knew each other and their children. Every one watched the children to ensure no harm came to them. She makes it to a shop with the mother who purchases gifts for her daughter, son in law, and grandson. She gives the man no money, this is not necessary. The bill will be settled later when the shop keeper meets up with the husband. There is music echoing from various parts of the village, there are three weddings that night. The people will celebrate well into the night until the dawn. Other families in the village take their tea and look out across the rooftops of the houses watching the celebrations. She is arm and arm with the younger sister who is talking with a gleam in her eye about the brides. The music will get louder when they arrive, that’s how you know the bride is present. The minarets call for Isha, the evening prayer. The father is behind them, turned towards Mecca conducting the prostrations. It reminds her sometimes of yoga and the sun salutation.

The tea is full of sugar, like most Egyptians take it. She used to have almost no sugar, but after half a year she began to drink it like the Egyptians. She tries to dress like them. She plans to observe Ramadan in the summer just to feel what it is like. Her cultural anthropology field work classes are coming back to her now. She will never be Egyptian and never understand the culture fully. She knows this. But she takes pride in thinking that she is surely trying to give it her best effort.