Posts tagged ‘fulbright’

Wednesday, 5 October 2009

The last few days have been slow and uneventful, so I thought I’d take the opportunity to provide some more social observations on life in Egypt or at least in Alexandria. All the Fulbrighters were told that things move at a more leisurely pace here in Egypt and I suppose that’s what I’m seeing just now. I was scheduled for a last round of meetings Sunday and Monday with those departments I had not yet met, but no one materialized at the appointed times. These meetings were to be the final ones before the various directors and unit leaders met with me to discuss where we go from here.

Since I’m without an office phone and because I haven’t been issued a pass card to get into the area of the library where the librarians’ offices are, I’m sort of at their mercy when it comes to arranging face-to-face meetings. I have the sense that they are ruminating over the possibilities that my presence offers and discussing the implications among themselves first, before they present a program to me for discussion. That’s the most generous explanation for the sudden decline in interaction; the nightmare scenario is that they have concluded I’m useless and not worth any more of their time. The reality no doubt lies somewhere between those two extremes.

This being the case, I’ve had a bit of time to observe Alexandrian life (or at least the little slice of it that is accessible to me) more closely and hopefully my observations will gain in nuance as I do this more. The first thing one notices here is that the tolerance for cleanliness and hygiene is considerably more lax here than it is in the States—outside of the average slum or college dorm room let’s say. Dust, of course is everywhere; the desert is never far away and the climate is dry, so dust is to be expected. Aside from that, however, is the general impression of a place that’s a bit run down, ramshackle, unkempt, crowded, poverty-stricken, and faded.

Garbage collection, for example, doesn’t seem to be done on any sort of regular schedule, as far as I can tell. One sees dumpsters parked everywhere, and they are almost invariably overflowing with trash, food waste, and the usual assortment of nastiness. Plastic garbage bags are fairly common but they don’t stand up to being backed over by who knows how many cars, or pawed through by the very poor looking for usable scraps of food, or simply are not strong enough to hold the mass of stuff packed into them. The result is that dumpster stations are foul and one regularly (at least in my neighborhood) has to navigate around them as one goes about one’s business in town. I do see garbage trucks, but the collection of trash was recently privatized in Egypt and, as with most instances where saving money is the object, the low bidder gets the contract and that means workers who don’t care (because they’re paid a pittance) and vehicles and equipment that are second-hand and poorly maintained.

Traffic I have addressed before but a word about the nature of transport might fit in to this particular rant, too. Yes, lots of cars, from the Lada taxis (the Yugo of the Middle East), Daihatsus, Fiats, Toyotas, Suzukis, and the like, to Peugeots, Volvos, and Chevy Tahoes (these being rather rare). They all compete for space in streets not engineered for automobiles (except the main thoroughfares and inter-urban highways) and burn fuel that wouldn’t pass EPA muster anywhere in the States. The result is air laden with petroleum by-products, diesel soot and every sort of chemical nastiness one might think of. But such is life in a “developing” country. On the other hand, I have run across one natural gas re-fueling station and there was a queue of taxis waiting to tank up there. This suggests that someone, somewhere is looking at alternate fuels in Egypt.

Trains—the urban trams, at least—have the advantage of running on electricity and have an efficiency of scale, carrying many more people on less energy than any other mode of transport. Maintenance and repair are another matter, however. The tourist trains, those that ply the routes along the Nile between Cairo and Upper Egypt (Aswan and Luxor, where the monuments of ancient Egypt are the major attractions), are the equal of any European rail line: modern, clean and quiet. The train I rode between Alexandria and Cairo last week was roughly the equivalent of a heavily used commuter line in the States: shopworn, a little dingy and in need of serious cleaning, but the air conditioning worked and the seats were comfortable.

The facilities for working Egyptians, however, are decidedly several rungs below this. While I was waiting for the Cairo train in Alexandria, an early morning train pulled in carrying farmers and their produce, the farmers anxious to get to the markets before the grocery stands opened (or so they could get space on the busiest pedestrian corners before other people looking to sell). That train had few windows, doors that didn’t close and was completely caked in mud. Okay, so it was a “working train,” if you will, but what was striking was the vast difference in standards for the working poor and those for everyone else. Tourists in Egypt often encounter resentment from certain Egyptians; when one sees the money the government spends on catering to non-Egyptians, it’s not hard to understand why such resentment exists.

Schools and universities opened this week, the start of the school year having been delayed one week because of the fear of an outbreak of H1N1 (swine flu). One campus of the University of Alexandria (there are at least two, if not more, scattered through the city; one, the College of Agriculture, is just down the street from my apartment building) is situated right behind the library and the number of young people—students—has increased markedly since Sunday. The reason I mention this is that I gave an estimate in an earlier blog about the percentage of women who dress in “hijab” in Egypt. I have to say that the number of young women I now see on the plaza outside the library (a favorite gathering place for the university students before, between, or after classes) wearing some degree of veiling is much larger than I originally saw.

In a period of an hour and a half, perhaps a bit more, spent in the café observing the pedestrian traffic during lunch hour, I would say that easily more than half of all the women I saw were wearing at least a head scarf; many of those were also wearing what I think of as the next grade of concealing attire, the knee-length blouse. These garments come in all colors and patterns and there are obviously fashion statements being made in each case. It’s also relatively easy to distinguish between the “K-Mart” togs and the ones that come from hijab “boutiques,” so there is a class distinction apparent in these garments as well. The number of women in complete hijab, the black floor-length dresses with long sleeves and veil that covers everything but the eyes (and frequently gloves that cover the hands, as well!) do not predominate, but I saw several groups of three or four women all wearing such apparel in that period of time. Groups of women wearing varying degrees of concealment are also common. One group member will have only a head scarf, the next head scarf and long dress, another the whole nine yards.

At the same time, I saw many pairs, women and men, in which the woman was wearing some sort of hijab and they would be holding hands. It was clear that in public at any rate, such behavior is not seen to violate any social prohibition. The matter of male-female relations is obviously much more complex and nuanced than the veil would suggest, at least in Egypt. A posting, earlier this week, on a moderated list for scholars in Egypt talked about an instance when two young women in head scarves were denied entrance to a popular night club. They were told they could enter if they pulled their scarves back behind their necks so that only their hair was covered. The exchanges that followed this report ranged from outrage that the women would be forced to make such a compromise, to calls for scrapping the idea of hijab altogether.

During the tour of “Old Cairo” last week, I learned from one of my Fulbright colleagues that one of the biggest influences on Egyptian sensibilities about the proper public behavior and appearance of women comes from Saudi Arabia. The Saudis apparently are seeking to export their Wahhabism to other countries in the region and have the resources to publicize their message in an effective way. This was something I had not understood before and it goes a long way toward explaining some of what is happening in the social life of Egypt. One has the sense that Egypt is very much at a tipping point in terms of its social and economic life. The tensions between the “haves” and the “have nots” are subtle but strong. The difference in terms of income alone (many Egyptians earn as little as 300 Egyptian pounds a month (ca. $60) while a fortunate minority earns 5000 pounds (ca. $1000) or more. Where such pronounced disparities in income exist, economic strains are bound to exist. In such a situation, the appeal of a religion-based solution to perceived social inequities is very tempting.

I took an extended walking tour (self-directed) of part of Alexandria yesterday; I headed west in the general direction of the library, but took Abu Kir Street, a road that runs parallel to the shore, more or less, but a few blocks distant from the coastline. This is a wider street with nice wide sidewalks, for the most part, and lots of shops. There are malls along the way, too, but they are generally smaller than those in the States, confined to one building in one block. Small shops still dominate the commercial landscape here, although some groceries are chains.

What I noticed on that walk was that a considerable number of buildings from the 1920’s and 1930’s are still standing. Most, if not all, of these were built as single family residences back when the population of Alexandria was much smaller and decidedly under more European influence. These buildings are (or were) mansions. All are at least two and most are three stories high, with balconies, porticos and tall shuttered windows. One near my apartment bears a cornerstone engraved with the name of its European architect. They are invariably set back from the street, surrounded by masonry walls containing gardens, palm trees and paved walkways. They are often crowded by twelve to fifteen story buildings on either side, but these are obviously later structures and it is frequently easy to envision what the cityscape might have looked like seventy or even fifty years ago.

Many of these buildings are in rough shape, with the masonry falling off and shutters hanging askew; derelict, in other words. Others have been converted to commercial spaces, government offices, or broken up into apartments with a story or two added on top of the original structure. Some no doubt belonged to wealthy Egyptians; the Egyptian King Farouk had a seaside summer residence in Alexandria which has since been turned into a tourist attraction. Some other mansions have become museums of pre-WWII high life or of art. The museum of fine art is housed in one such place.

Together with the Islamic monuments and buildings, the Greek and Roman remains and the even rarer Egyptian antiquities, one gets an idea of the length of time there has been human settlement here, and how modes of living have changed over that time.

Thursday 1 October 2009

There were supposed to be more meetings for me this morning with the directors and unit leaders to discuss my work program for the next four months, but as I was leaving the apartment, Hend, Sohair’s assistant, called and said that they would have to postpone those meetings. I wasn’t given a reason and it wasn’t really necessary to have one, I suppose. I headed off to the library anyway and settled into my cubicle to do some computer work. I caught up on some blog entries and checked my e-mail.

Around noon I set off for the café next to the library for some lunch. Unfortunately, there was some special event there involving USAID, so the main part of the café was closed off. All the tables on the veranda were also occupied; guy at the door said sorry, no more room. So, another day without lunch. For a big city there are remarkably few restaurants around—other than the ubiquitous fast food joints that one finds everywhere these days—and surprisingly none anywhere near this huge institution. I will either have to lower my standards or go a little farther afield when I go looking for an eatery.

Back to my office, then, and tried to keep busy for twenty minutes or so, until the main event of the day, a lecture and presentation by some people from the US Embassy in Cairo. According to my schedule, they were supposed to be talking about a new program, the “ALA Sister Libraries Program” and giving a presentation entitled “Libraries and the New Media Technologies.” I had run into Mohamed El-Gohary earlier in the day and had asked him where the auditorium was. I hadn’t seen any signs for it, nor had its location been revealed to me in any of my tours. He told me where to find it and at the appointed time, I went and found a seat.

Mohamed and Bassma El-Shazly had apparently organized this event and Bassma introduced the three embassy people: Henry Mendelsohn and Barbara Conaty from the Information Resource Office at the embassy in Cairo and Matt Whatley, an information technology consultant who helped set up twitter feeds for President Obama’s Cairo speech earlier this year. A fourth guy, who was introduced as a former librarian, tiptoed around taking pictures of the audience and speakers.

Mr. Mendelsohn opened the session with a presentation about a new program launched by ALA that seeks to establish formal relationships between libraries in the US and libraries abroad. Partner libraries may then share resources—lending or borrowing materials in foreign languages for example—or arranging exchanges of personnel. There were some questions at the end about the exact nature of the program: how to identify a suitable partner library, how to apply for the program, and so forth. There seemed to be a fair amount of interest in the program from the fifty or so librarians in attendance.

The next part of the program focused on electronic information sharing, specifically social networking sites and how librarians might exploit those kinds of tools in their work. “Second Life” was also introduced to the group as a potential way of drawing attention to one’s library, conducting virtual conferences and such things. There were some questions posed about these web sites and software, but the most substantive query came from the librarian for the Taha Hussein Library; she wanted to know what resources were available for the visually impaired. Well, the embassy folks didn’t have a direct answer for her but talked more generally about resources for “disabled” people in general. I felt that this was an unsatisfactory response. Although well-intentioned, it was not the appropriate reply.

The presentation concluded after about ninety minutes and people dispersed to their workplaces again. I went back to my little corner, collected my things and headed for home. Not having eaten since breakfast, I was in need of tucking into some groceries, which is what I proceeded to do.

30 September 2009

Okay. So I’m up at 5 AM, before the alarm and long before the sun. I step out on the balcony and realize that it has rained overnight. Not a lot, but the balustrade is wet and I can see the streets shining and slick under the streetlight on the corner below. There are still clouds in the sky and I wonder if maybe I should take a rain jacket. I decide no, Cairo is a couple hundred miles south and I seriously doubt that they will have had the same weather.

I eat breakfast and about half an hour before train time I head downstairs and look for a cab. At this time of day, there aren’t many of them, but yesterday I asked the cabbie who drove me home what time the cabs start rolling in the morning and he said they’re always around. I took him at his word, hoping I wouldn’t have to walk (or run) to the train station. It’s a bit too far to do that. I had a short wait and a yellow and black came into view. Most cabs in Alexandria, and in Egypt in general, are painted black with yellow doors, hoods and trunk lids. Virtually all of them are Ladas, Russian POS’s that have the advantage of being cheap, maneuverable, and able to take a serious beating and keep on rolling. They’re also dirty, loud, cramped and often smelly. But we don’t sweat the small stuff. They get you from A to B.

I get dropped at the station in good time and am directed by friendly early risers to the right platform. The train rolls up right on time and I head for my second class coach. I find my seat, surprised to learn that the car is air conditioned, and settle down. It’s not crowded and it’s fairly comfortable. The air conditioning has the car a bit too cool for my taste, but not too bad.

We set off, rumbling through the outskirts of Alexandria and then farm land. I’m seated next to a guy of about fifty-five or so, who reads the Koran for the whole journey. His recitation is barely audible over the sound of the wheels on the tracks and it’s easy to ignore after a while. I take out my Blue Guide to Egypt and start reading about the Islamic city, which is the main focus of the Fulbright tour today. The guide book has easily fifty pages on Islamic Cairo and I wonder how much of that we’re actually going to see in a six-hour walking tour.

The two and a half hour trip is over before I know it. We pull into Cairo on time and I try to find a cab. I intend to avoid the customary vultures who lurk near the station’s exit. They prey on the ignorant: “Taxi, Mister? Where you go?”

“Mat’haf al-Qibti (the Coptic Museum). How much?”

“How about fifty pounds?” In a pig’s eye.

"La, Shukran (No thanks)." I paid only 85 pounds for a 200 mile train ride. Get real. I walk away.

Outside the price drops to 30 pounds and I wonder if that’s the best I’ll be able to do. I don’t know Cairo and I don’t know the distance between the train station and the Coptic Museum. The train station is on Ramses (yeah, the ancient Pharaoh) Square. The square is actually a roundabout with a viaduct running overhead for part of its circumference. With the arrival of the train from Alexandria, the competition for cabs has gotten fierce and I wait for ten minutes or so before an empty one comes along. I hop in and tell the driver where I want to go. He doesn’t understand my Arabic the first time around and when I repeat myself, adding a few details, like “Old Cairo (al-Qahira al-‘adeema),” he nods hesitantly. Fortunately, Hend Rasmy, the Fulbright person who is leading the tour, had told me to expect this sort of thing and has instructed me to call her cell phone if the driver were uncertain. I do this and hand the phone to the driver. He and Hend converse for a minute and then we're on the right track.

It’s quite a long ride and during the time the driver and I are together, I learn that the he is an Orthodox Christian. He shows me a small tattoo of a cross on the inside of his right wrist. He wants to know if America is a Catholic country. No, I reply; mostly Protestant.

“Oh, Protestants,” he nods. “My wife is a Protestant.” Religion is a testy subject in Egypt. The country considers itself Muslim, but there is a sizable Egyptian Christian (Coptic) community, some Catholics, and some Eastern Orthodox Christians, as well as a miniscule and dwindling Jewish presence. The Copts have long been discriminated against, not officially, but as a matter of practice in certain segments of the population. They are true second-class citizens, although one brave Coptic soul is currently running for president. His pitch is (I saw his statement in a Cairo newspaper before I left for Alexandria), “I’m an Egyptian, so why shouldn’t I be a candidate?” Lots of luck. A snowball would have a better chance of surviving Summer here.

We reach the Coptic Museum and I pay the fare. Thirty pounds. Probably way too much but what the hey; I’m here. Now I have to find Hend and the group. I call her again and she tells me they’re in the Hanging Church (no one was hanged there; it’s built in a manner that makes it appear to be hanging from a wall, I think. I’m too late for the guide’s explanation). I don’t see her so I walk back toward the museum entrance. Not there either. I call again and she says “Turn around.” There she is, waving. Okay. I’m connected.

I enter the church and meet the other folks. There are seventeen of us, about half students and half “scholars.” Our guide is Dr. Chahinda Karim, an art historian. We’re just finishing the “Coptic” part of the tour and walk out of the Hanging Church to a small structure known as the Church of the Holy Family. Copts believe that Joseph, Mary and Jesus were buried here in a crypt beneath the church. This part of Cairo existed before the city of Cairo itself. The Arabs founded a settlement in this area when they invaded Egypt in 641 AD. Fustat, as it was called, was almost completely destroyed by two separate fires, the second one about the time of the Crusades (1168 actually), and it was never rebuilt. Modern Cairo recovered the area over time so that now it’s part of the city.

The historic sites we are visiting are at least ten feet below the present ground level so we have to go down stairways to reach the ancient street level. There has been some reconstruction here which is intended to give one a sense of what the city was like 1500 years ago. The one restored street is narrow and rather winding with the usual tourist shops on either side. At the far end of this street we enter a very old building. It is a synagogue which is reputed to have been built on the site where Moses was retrieved from the bull rushes along the Nile. The person who supposedly recognized this site was a Rabbi who came from Palestine in the time before the Muslims. His name was Ben Ezra and the synagogue bears his name.

The importance of this building, aside from its historical value, lies in the fact that in the late 1800’s a Cambridge Hebrew scholar named Solomon Schechter came to this building and was shown a depository where centuries of discarded paper had been stored. Jews of that day believed that anything bearing Hebrew text (the sacred Jewish language) could not simply be discarded. It had to be ritually buried, just in case any of the writings included the name of God. Schechter retrieved crates and crates of documents from the room and spent the rest of his life researching them. They form the basis for our understanding of life in Fustat-Cairo for the medieval period. It was such a treat to stand in that building knowing that Schechter had been there as well.

Our final stop in this part of town is the Church of St. George, he of dragon-slaying fame. He was martyred and his relics are located here. There is a small shrine to which one gains access via yet another flight of stairs. Coptic nuns still live in the cloister attached to this church.

From the church we returned to the parking area outside the Coptic Museum and boarded a bus waiting there for us. Our guide pointed out the first mosque to be built in Cairo as we pulled away and then we were headed to the old city of Cairo proper. Fifteen minutes later we were outside the Mosque of Husayn in classical Islamic Cairo. The Fatimids (a Tunisian Shi`ite dynasty of the tenth century) founded Cairo and built the first city wall and other structures. The Mosque of Husayn is one of the earliest of their buildings. We don’t go in here, though; it’s already nearly lunch time and we have reservations at the Naguib Mahfouz Coffee Shop. A short walk into the Khan al-Khalili, Cairo’s famous (and now tarted up) traditional market area, brings us to the eatery where Naguib Mahfouz, Egypt’s most famous novelist and winner of the Nobel Prize for literature, used to take his daily coffee break. We go in and are led to a long table in the back where we sit down to eat.

Lunch includes all the foods I have been wanting to eat since I arrived in Egypt, but have been unable to find in Alexandria. We are served by fez-wearing waiters, who bring puffy freshly baked pita bread, hummus, stuffed grape leaves, Baba Ghanoush, puff pastries filled with spinach, and kibbe (ground lamb and spices formed into little cones and deep fried. Mmm!). I order a glass of mango juice; when it comes, it is thick with pulp and tastes very healthy indeed. Lunch itself is a carnivore’s delight: lamb chop, kebabs, roasted pigeon, skewered chicken and rice with pine nuts. We eat and talk for most of an hour.

Up from the table (some people moan about taking a nap) and back outside. We turn right and walk to one of the main thoroughfares of Islamic Cairo. It has been restored and cleaned up considerably. The intent is to give an impression of what Cairo looked like in the 13th and 14th centuries. There is a small mosque called the Mosque of al-Salih Ayyub, which we enter and, in the shade of one of its arcades, our guide gives us an explanation of this simple style of mosque: a square building with arcades around the walls and an open space in the center. We spend a delightful half hour or so talking about the place, and members of the group begin to ask Dr. Karim about being a Muslim woman. She expresses unreserved dislike for the whole veil thing; she considers herself a “good Muslim woman,” but she’ll be darned if she’ll were a hot old head covering.

She says that she wears what she considers modest attire: a long blouse over trousers that are not tight fitting (“I’m a grandmother,” she says, by way of explanation.). Her hair is uncovered. She tells of being confronted, on a trip to Saudi Arabia, by one of the religious enforcers who make sure Muslim women (and men) are obeying the dress code. He's carrying a stick with which he punishes transgressors on the spot. She had her head and hair covered, since that’s the law, but the guy with the beard and the stick wanted her to cover her face. In short she told him to buzz off or she would put his stick where the sun don’t shine. He left. In a hurry.

We got up after a while and wandered back out to the street. Waiting there for us was our unofficial body guard. A guy in his twenties, wearing a brown polyester suit, complete with tie. One unusual accessory was the machine pistol he carried under his jacket. Not very unobtrusive but rather business-like. He wasn’t attached to our little group, but he was just keeping an eye on us, making sure the riff-raff didn’t give us any trouble.

Dr. Karim pointed out several more of the Mamluke buildings along the street (the Mamlukes ruled Egypt from the beginning of the 14th century until the Ottoman Turks came along in 1516). They left an incredible architectural legacy and their buildings are more numerous than those of any other Egyptian Muslim dynasty. At the end of the street, we passed through one of the gates in the ancient city wall and found our bus waiting for us. We didn’t see our security detail after that.

A bus ride of about twenty minutes brought us to another part of Cairo that was more familiar. We were now in the shadow of the citadel where we had enjoyed dinner after our orientation session two weeks ago. We descended the bus steps and found ourselves in between two massive buildings. One was yet another Mamluke structure, the Mosque and Madrasa of Sultan Hasan, built in 1356, the second an Ottoman Turkish building dating to 1906.

The Sultan Hasan mosque was the first structure of its kind. Instead of being simply a place of prayer, this mosque had a school (madrasa) attached to it. The madrasa had room for about 400 students, two or three to a room, who would study under sheikhs at the mosque and pray their daily prayers without having to go outside. The foundation document for the building states that, in addition to the Koran and Muslim law, astronomy and mathematics were to be taught here as well. In addition, there was a small medical clinic appended to the building so that students could study medicine. We had a look around this massive place and then walked across the plaza to the second building. This is called the Rifa`i Mosque and was built at the beginning of the 20th century by the Ottoman Turks. The Turks didn’t build many large mosques in Cairo because it was only a provincial city to them; their capital was Istanbul. However, this building is interesting because it resembles a Christian church in its form. The first Turkish mosque in Istanbul was a converted church (St. Sophia) and Turkish architects used that as their architectural model when they built mosques elsewhere. There are also tombs in this building. Two Egyptian kings, Fuad and his son Farouq (the last king of Egypt) are buried here as is the Shah of Iran. I had always wondered where he had been planted, and here he was. Apparently, the decision to bury him here was made because his first wife was Farouq’s sister, so he was sort of family.

So, enough of mosques and minarets and all that. We re-boarded the bus and were dropped in the Dokki District just next to the Fulbright office. I thought the area looked familiar. I asked a couple of people what they thought was the best way for me to get back to the train station: cab or subway. I opted for subway just for the experience and four of us bought tickets and jumped on. My companions were heading in a slightly different direction so they got off after a couple of stops to make their connection. I stayed on until the Mubarak Station and then got off. The station was huge and the passageways maze-like, but by asking for directions a couple of times, I found myself back above ground and standing in front of the Cairo train station. Inside, I went to the information kiosk and asked for the platform for the Alexandria train. “Thamani,” the man said. Number eight. I found it and the train was waiting.

First class for the ride home in the evening light. Air conditioning up too high again, and no decent light to read by. I napped briefly and watched night slide past the windows. We flew down the tracks until we were just outside of Alexandria and then we came to a halt. For the next half hour we crept along and pulled in about a half an hour late. Everyone needed cabs so there was a bit of a wait again, but I managed to snag one after about five minutes. In another ten I was home and crawling into bed.

Tuesday, 29 September 2009

One learns to be flexible in Egypt. Very flexible. I awoke at about 6 AM and went about the usual morning chores: shower, breakfast, coffee and the like. I sat down on the couch and studied some Arabic for a while and was thinking about setting off for the railway station for my tickets when the cell phone rang. It was Bassma El-Shazly calling to ask if I were in the library. “No,” I said. “There was no schedule left for me so I assumed that I wasn’t needed today.”

“No schedule?”

“None.”

“Well, but we set up meetings for you today with the instructional services people and our continuing education person.”

“Fine,” I said. “I have an errand to run and I’ll be there in an hour.”

That was agreeable to her so I dressed, got a cab to the train station, bought my tickets, and then got another cab to the library. Shortly after I arrived, Amira Hegazy, the head of instructional services, knocked on my door and led me to her office where I was introduced to her colleague Halaa. We sat down and Amira launched into her description of the instructional operation of the library. She and her department are responsible for planning, designing and offering all the information literacy courses for library users EXCEPT the users of the Taha Hussein Library for the Visually Impaired, which has its own instructional effort run by its librarians. Amira draws on various other units and departments for instructors for her programs. People from collection development, reference and other areas serve as instructors. She is responsible for training her own instructors, but the unit has also taken advantage of a UNESCO “training the trainers” workshop to develop librarians into effective teachers of information literacy.

Amira’s group has designed five different courses which address the needs of users at all levels. There is a basic introduction to information, an introduction to the internet and databases, a library science workshop directed at technical services librarians and students, a course on citations, an advanced course on the internet, and one on writing a paper. The courses are offered on a monthly basis and run over a two-week period. They meet for between three and seven two-hour sessions each.

One of Amira’s biggest problems is motivating students in the courses her department offers. Those who complete a course are given a certificate indicating that they are now proficient in whatever skill is being addressed in that course. A certain percentage of those in attendance show up but do not bother to pay attention or otherwise fail to participate. Even when quizzes are given as a way of judging competence, such students fail to develop the targeted skills. I suggested a couple of ways that she might address this problem but I told her that I would want to see how the courses are taught before making any substantive recommendations. In addition, I told her that my Fulbright project had information literacy as one of its foci and that I expected to spend a considerable amount of time working with her and her instructors. We agreed to follow up and she escorted me to my next meeting.

Amira introduced me to Mohamed El-Gohary whose responsibility is to develop and provide “continuing education” courses to all employees of the library sector. He gave me a brief history of his time at the library and how he arrived at his current position. His original job was as an electronic resources specialist; he has been in his current job for a year. He is still without a budget, so everything he does or tries to do must be done with resources begged borrowed or stolen (probably not…) from other areas. A shoestring operation in other words.

In addition to training for employees of the BibAlex library operation, he is being asked to develop training programs for librarians and library employees of libraries in other Arabic speaking countries. Such training has already taken place on a small scale, but given BibAlex’s aspiration to be a supra-national library resource for Africa and the Arab world, he expects to be doing much more of that kind of work in the future. To this end, he produces many of his own educational and training manuals, borrowing heavily from previously published materials (these are for internal use only and are often composites of several works). Formal publications for certain topics are being planned as well. The library has a robust publications program and this will likely be expanded to include training materials in addition to the edited scholarly works, exhibition catalogues and the like that the library already publishes.

Mohamed is in desperate need of guidance, he says, because he hasn’t found anyone who has a job like his anywhere in the library world. He recounted his experience at the recent IFLA conference in Italy, his first time at a major librarian conference, telling me that he was unable to find anyone with analogous responsibilities there. His conclusion was that there is no model for what he is being asked to do. I concurred that, because of BibAlex’s unique position in the library universe, he probably would not find such a person.

Mohamed is very bright and capable and I have no doubt that he will develop a creditable program. He explained to me his approach to solving his problem and showed me some of the courses and lectures he was planning to offer. His starting point is knowledge management with an emphasis on knowledge sharing. The overall aim of his program is to engage library employees in the execution of the library’s purpose by offering ongoing training so that employees might address any shortcomings they have regarding their current jobs or their future career ambitions.

Parenthetically, I find BibALex to be a singular institution in terms of the opportunities it offers dedicated employees. Many of the department and section heads I have spoken with started their BibAlex careers as technical professional employees and moved up the organizational ladder as they developed more sophisticated skills and a more solid grounding in librarianship. I find the level of professionalism and commitment to library ideals truly remarkable in this institution, where the great majority of librarian-level employees have no MLS’s or MLIS’s on their resumes. They are, in a sense, throwbacks to the apprenticeship model once found in the medical and, until quite recently, legal fields, where people were trained by practitioners. It is easy to forget when speaking to these folks that they have, at best a BA level formal education in library science. Their mastery of and dedication to librarianship is very impressive.

Among Mohamed’s programs is a course in advanced English and a course in speed reading which is aimed at improving the skills of reference and catalogue librarians in rapid foreign language comprehension. As I have mentioned elsewhere, turnover is a major problem here so ongoing training is crucial for those who must often pick up the slack caused by sudden departures. Management skills are lacking in many librarians who are frequently asked to become administrators, so courses in that area are important as well.

In a way, what Mohamed is doing is redundant; many of the sections—reference and information technology in particular—have their own training programs and many of those courses are available to all BibAlex employees as well. The institution is thus very rich in training and educational opportunities. However, Mohamed’s work seeks to address a perceived need for training and education that not only produces better trained employees, but seeks to enhance their potential I confessed that I was not certain that I would be able to help him very much; my “expertise,” such as it is, lies elsewhere, but Mohamed insisted that I could be of use to him and his program. I agreed to review his materials and to follow up with him on possible points of collaboration. With that we concluded our meeting.

I went back to my office and had just gotten settled when there was a knock on the door and Lamia Abd al-Fattah introduced herself. Lamia is responsible for the special collections unit. This includes art history and criticism, mixed media and film, the UN depository library and music. We walk and take the elevator down to her office on the lowest level of the library and are joined by Lamia’s colleague, Silvia Stavridi, who does selection for these areas. We talk about the organization of the unit and what problems they face. The issue of gaps in the collections comes up again, so this is obviously something that I will have to spend time with everyone on. Selection tools—or their lack—seems to weigh on everyone’s mind and where should one go to find reliable information about non-print materials most specifically. Lamia stresses that this is especially true for the core titles in the multi-media collection.

We talk for a while and then Silvia excuses herself and Lamia and I take a quick tour through her departments. We spend a few minutes in each one, looking at the collection, observing activity at the reference desks, going into work areas where we can see what is happening “behind the scenes.” Everywhere we go, there are workmen doing something, either installing wiring, building walls, running cables, or making noise for some unknown reason.

One of the most heavily used and important special libraries in BibAlex is the Taha Hussein Library for the Visually Impaired. Taha Hussein (1889-1973) is the Egyptian Helen Keller, in a way. Although blind since the age of three, he managed to enter Cairo University and eventually earn a PhD in Arabic Literature. He was also the founding Rector of the University of Alexandria. Along the way, he earned a second PhD from the Sorbonne in Paris. The Taha Hussein Library not only provides reading materials for the visually impaired, it also trains the blind in the use of software so that they can learn to use computers. The head librarian is herself blind; she gave me a very interesting demonstration of the computers and software available for the use of visually impaired Alexandrians. Her English is excellent; she holds a degree in English literature from the University of Alexandria. She pointed out one elderly man who had come to the library unable to read or use a computer. He is now completely keyboard fluent and extremely adept at using the various tools the library has. Soon to come is a text-to-speech machine that will be able to read both English and Arabic. Another dedicated and competent librarian working beyond her resources.

Our last stop is the UN depository library which also includes documents from other supra-national organizations, the Arab League in particular. One of the foci of the collection is development issues, but the library collects most of what these organizations publish.

Time to head for home and prepare for a tour of Cairo on Wednesday. I’m a bit apprehensive about the reliability of train service here and am anxious not to hold up the rest of the group on the tour since I’ll be joining while the tour is underway in Cairo.

Monday, 28 September 2009

Up and out the door at 8:15 or so in order to be at the library in time for my 9 AM meeting with the collection development people. According to the schedule slipped under my office door the previous day, we were supposed to talk about how the Bibliotheca Alexandrina might deal with the issue of electronic resources, particularly electronic periodicals, and whether they should go digital or continue to carry print subscriptions to journals.

In addition to Nermin Bahaa, who heads this section, those in attendance included Eiman El-Noshokaty, the Electronic Resources Coordinator, Shirine Kader, the Serials Manager, and Shirine Eid, who does collection development for reference. Eiman began the meeting by giving me an overview of what her role in the collection development enterprise was. She, like each of the heads of section or units I had met with so far, had a PowerPoint presentation on her desktop. Using the graphics and text in her presentation, Eiman proceeded to tell me about her work and how it fit into the collection development process. More to the point, she, as the person responsible for providing electronic information services to users of the library, wanted to talk about the place of electronic materials in a library that aspires to be a cultural institution as well as a provider of current research. The question in brief: should the library continue to subscribe to print journals or should they purchase access only via electronic aggregators.

BibAlex already provides access to a few dozen periodical databases, to electronic books through ebrary, and a number of specialized databases for statistical and scientific information. They have EBSCO, JSTOR, IPA, and several other well-known resources in addition to some very specialized resources for disciplines taught in the University of Alexandria, such as medicine and agriculture. At the same time, the main library (as opposed to the specialized libraries—the Taha Hussein library for the blind, the children’s and young people’s libraries and special collections) collects exhaustively (or would like to) in certain areas: Egyptology, the ancient library at Alexandria, the history of the city of Alexandria, ethical issues relating to biotechnology, development issues, the history of science and technology, artistic expression and criticism, and the history of writing and scripts. The library is a very complex organization (being itself only part of a larger cultural institution…) with overlapping areas of responsibility.

I responded to Eiman’s question about whether or not to continue collecting print periodicals by saying that that was a decision the library would have to reach on its own after weighing all the issues: do you have room? Can you afford to purchase print and access to electronic periodical databases? What purpose would be served by keeping periodicals? Which form best serves your users? I did offer the observation that the library might want to keep print journals for those areas of interest for which there was a “special collections” unit or archival function, such as the history of science and technology, printing history and so forth. The main concern seemed to be the matter of purchasing access only (and therefore no guarantee of continuity should the electronic source disappear one day) over maintaining complete runs of print journals. A related issue for them was the purchase of access to journal collections many of which are not used by the library’s users and therefore are considered a waste of resources.

The reference selector, Shirine Abdel Kader wanted to know about electronic reference works and their suitability as opposed to print materials and was looking for a selection tool that might help the library fill in gaps in its reference collections. I told her that there were such tools in addition to those they were already using (OCLC especially) and said I would provide her with information on those. She also wanted to know how to analyze the use of the collection so that they might make better selection decisions. This initial meeting concluded with my commitment to helping them begin to address their concerns and I promised to come back to them with some ideas for them to consider. I also said that I would provide some ideas for tools that might make their selection work more effective and easier.

When the meeting concluded, I took myself off to lunch at the café and watched the parade of people on the plaza as I ate. There is an anesthesiology conference being held at the library over the next couple of days, so there were a lot of suits around (the University of Alexandria has a medical college…) but the most interesting thing to see just now is how women deal with the whole “veil” thing. One sees the “traditional” outfit—the black two-piece covering consisting of an ankle length black dress over which is worn a second piece of black cloth which covers the head, face, and torso—relatively rarely, but at the same time regularly. By that I mean that I see such outfits on a daily basis, several times a day. But they are not common; most women don’t wear such garments.

However, many women, perhaps half of those I see on the streets every day, wear some version of what I would call “Muslim modest” dress. But the variations are almost endless: loose blouse and hair-covering scarf over jeans or pants; scarf alone; floor-length dress with t-shirt top and scarf, or without scarf; pants suits, usually in a single color, worn with a hair-covering scarf. There is also an age distinction. Married women (married I assume because they have kids in tow) are more likely to wear “hijab” than teenagers; teenagers rarely wear the “traditional” garb in my experience here. Women in hijab will often be leading their girl children who are wearing sun dresses or other less concealing attire, so there are ranges of dress even within families it appears. What happens to these young girls’ mode of dress once they reach puberty, however, I can’t say.

And then there is the matter of color, fabric and design. Believe it or not, there is “designer” hijab. Walk down any commercial street or enter any mall where there are women’s clothing shops and you will see the most elaborate “hijabs” you ever saw. Contrary to the avowed purpose of the hijab—not only to conceal the female body but to deflect any sort of attention to the woman at all, to make her invisible, in other words—these outfits are attention-getting! Bright colors, patterns, expensive fabrics, adornments such as sequins or pearls (fake or real, I suppose, depending on your income level…), and so forth. Many appear to be form-fitting, or at least tailored so as not to be formless, or even form-hiding. Some I would characterize as stunning. The range of adaptation is truly amazing.

Anyway, after lunch, it’s more meetings. I meet up again with Manar Badr, the head of reference for the main library and we spend a couple of hours talking about reference services in the library and the problems her department faces. A major issue is staff turnover. Reference positions are often entry level positions for new librarians and there is a lot of training work that goes on to bring new hires up to speed, Training sessions are almost ongoing in that there is usually a new cohort of hires going through some sort of training at any given time. Sometimes, out of a group of four prospective employees, the library ends up hiring only one, or in some cases none, of the candidates. The work schedule is a big issue. Reference librarians work on an eight-day rotation, so they work two weekends out of a month (BibAlex is closed only six days out of the year!). Many people find this sort of demand on their time unacceptable or untenable, especially young recent university graduates who want their weekends free.

Since the reference staff is also integral to the collection development process, it is imperative that new hires develop an expertise in one or two areas so that they can assist in this work. Egyptian culture, I’m told, is not a reading culture. That being the case, reference administration has to work hard to get reference librarians to learn the field(s) of their responsibility and to develop the skills necessary to enable them to make intelligent selection decisions. University graduates with degrees in specific areas can acquire such knowledge readily, if they are motivated to do so. Of course, reference librarians only make recommendations to collection development, but the quality of those recommendations is important to the efficient management of the collection development operation.

We visit several reference stations, beginning with the main information desk, where general directional questions are handled and where a variety of other tasks are performed. Users may sign up for any of the instructional courses offered and inquire about any of the cultural events hosted by the library (of which there are many). The main desk, I was told, is extremely busy once the university goes into session. (That happens this coming week.) In any case, the desk is busy most times.

We then go to observe reference activities at a few other locations throughout the library. As I think I mentioned earlier, each level of the library (there are seven in all) has its own reference desk. Given the wide range of familiarity with libraries possessed by its users, the reference people have to be ready to give a very broad spectrum of assistance. At one desk we visited, the reference librarian had to provide an explanation of the library’s organization of materials to a family of Egyptian tourists who had obviously never been in a library before. The librarian handled the query thoroughly and effectively. The group moved off in the proper direction and seemed to have understood the information conveyed.

Our last stop was the B4 level where theses and dissertations are shelved. This is the one section of the main library that has closed shelves. The reason for this is that the theses and dissertations are heavily used and controlled access assures that the materials are always available to users. This area was quite busy when we visited on a weekday mid-afternoon. Stacks of returned items lined one side of the reference desk and I watched the librarian deal with three or four people, one after the other, within the space of five minutes or less. Manar, who was my guide for this little tour even had to jump in at one point to prevent people from waiting too long.

With this final stop, my day at the library drew to a close. I made one final stop at my office to see what was in store for tomorrow and found nothing waiting for me. I concluded that I wasn’t going to be needed on Tuesday and set off for home thinking about how I might use a free day. I wanted to pick up train tickets for my trip to Cairo on Wednesday and I thought I might do some grocery shopping and catch up on writing the blog.

Sunday, 27 September 2009

The last few days have spun by in a hurry. Last Friday (Yawm al-Jum`a in Arabic) is the Muslim Sabbath and in Egypt that means what Sunday meant in the US until about fifty years ago or so: everything closes down and the big mosques are where people go to hear the weekly “khutba” or sermon from the imam. A lot of people treat the day as a Saturday, of course, and just hang out at home. The stores are generally closed and traffic is very light. I stayed in and puttered.

Certain aspects of life seem to go one, however, because one of the student Fulbrighters, a recent graduate of Morehouse College in Atlanta, called to tell me he had arrived in Alexandria where he’ll be studying Arabic for the next few months. We had met up in Cairo during the orientation in Cairo two weeks ago, and we had agreed that we would get in touch once he got to Alexandria. Friday evening Wendell called and suggested going out to dinner. I accepted his invitation and occupied myself until our appointed meeting time. Wendell was busy negotiating the lease of an apartment when be called, so at least real estate business continues on Fridays. Unfortunately, his dealings took longer than expected, so he had to cancel at the last minute. We decided to try again on Saturday evening.

At the time we had agreed upon, we met in Wendell’s part of Alexandria, a section called Shatby, which is south of the Alexandrian Library. My taxi driver had the devil’s time finding the restaurant Wendell had chosen and when he finally found it and I found Wendell, we discovered that the restaurant was closed. Not to be deterred, we hailed another cab and set about trying to find our back up eatery, a place called the Portuguese Club. By this time (7 PM), it was beginning to get dark and I was totally disoriented. We were in a part of the city I hadn’t seen before and the cab driver knew only generally where the restaurant might be. Cabbies seem to know only the main thoroughfares; there are so many little side streets and so few street signs that even the locals get lost when they find themselves outside of their neighborhoods. Or so it seems.

We drove to the general area and asked someone on the street where this place was. The young woman the cabbie spoke to knew it and gave the driver directions. We found ourselves on a particularly dimly lit street and were unable to see anything that looked like a restaurant, but we got out, paid the driver, and started looking on foot. We ended up asking another pedestrian who said, “The Portuguese Club? Sure! It’s one street over, half a block down on the left.” Off we went and saw nothing but dark. Undaunted, I asked still another person who pointed to a big wooden gate with a 20 watt bulb hanging over it. “Right there,” he said. Okay. We went up and rang the bell next to the gate, which was opened by the watchman. He asked for identification and we showed our passports. Wendell was asked to give his name verbally.

We paid a ten pound per person cover charge and walked into a very pleasant garden setting with an outdoor bar and lots of upholstered wicker chairs and curved benches. People were drinking, kids were running about and a few guys at the bar were watching a soccer match. There were water pipes being smoked by both men (and women!) and the person in charge of those was busy keeping the embers glowing for them. We sat down and ordered drinks—we had to buy a bar card that entitled us to a certain number of credits with which we could purchase alcoholic beverages: another hidden charge… We ordered food and enjoyed a very pleasant meal and conversation. It was interesting to listen to Wendell’s account of his college years and I had a better understanding, when he finished, of what it takes to be selected as a Fulbright student.

We paid our bill and strolled out into the evening. At the first main street, we said goodnight and went to find cabs to take us back home. The street was busy and there were a lot of people waiting for transport so I had to wait a bit. After about ten minutes, I managed to snag a vacant cab, gave the driver my address and we set off. I was intrigued to see that this part of Alexandria was much more commercial and apparently much more upscale than my area. The streets and the sidewalks were wider and cleaner than those in my area and there were numerous international stores to be seen: Guess; Starbucks and the like. Lots of car showrooms, too. The ride back home was much shorter than the ride out and I was pleased to realize that I recognized my street and could tell the driver where to drop me. I obviously have to start exploring the city more…

The next day, Sunday, was my first day of actual “work” at the library. I was scheduled to show up for an eleven AM meeting with the librarians so that I could be introduced to them and so they could begin the process of deciding what they wanted to do with me and when. Dr. al-Wastawy, the library director introduced me and explained why I was there. I was asked to say a few words (all the librarians are required to know English so that was the language I used) and after apologizing for the fact that my Arabic was insufficient to address them in their language, I thanked them for their invitation and told them that I hoped that we could work together to find solutions to some of the problems they faced in their work. Once I had done this, Dr. al-Wastawy’s assistant, Hend, began to read a handful of e-mail replies she had received from various librarians asking me to work on specific problems or to undertake specific tasks. This was a bit more than I had expected and I felt like I was watching an avalanche bearing down on me. I said that I would try to find ways to help them find solutions, but also said that my skills were not without limitations. The meeting adjourned and I met several librarians who came up to introduce themselves to me, hand me their business cards, and ask if I might have some time for their particular area of responsibility. Oh boy.

Somehow, the collection development people got first dibs on me so I spent the rest of the morning being introduced to the procedures and work flow of that division by Nermin Dahaa, the head of collection development. Nermin is an extremely capable young woman who has been working at BibAlex for ten years. By the time I left her office, I had a pretty clear idea of how things work, who does what when, and how the selection process is carried out. From Nermin’s office, I went to the cubicle of one of the selectors, another young woman, Ahadeer, who showed me how brief records are created in MARC format for selected titles. (Librarianship is a highly feminized profession in Egypt, too, just as it has been historically in the US; nevertheless, I was overwhelmed by the number of women on the staff)

By this time, I was faint with hunger. It was after 2 PM and I hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast at 7. When Nermin came to collect me, I asked if we could go somewhere so I could get a bite to eat. She said “of course,” and took me to the café which is adjacent to the library and overlooks the plaza that lies between the library and the Corniche. We spent a very pleasant hour talking about the library, the issues she and her department were facing, and how she came to librarianship. At the end of the break, I went back to my office and found that my schedule for Monday had been slipped under my door. It will be a less demanding day but more focused since I’ll be meeting with the collection development people exclusively and talking about the print versus electronic materials problem. Not a simple topic by any means, but manageable in terms of discussion. In the afternoon, I’ll be speaking with the reference folks, who work closely with collection development in selecting materials. Should be an interesting day.

Thursday 24 September 2009

My first task today was to get to an HSBC branch here in Alexandria and pick up my ATM card. Attentive readers may recall that, when I opened my account, there was an issue regarding which bank branch would be most convenient to my place of residence here. An educated guess was made by the Cairo branch employees in consultation with the Fulbright folks and the card was sent up to an office in the Saraya section of Alexandria. The other day, when scouting the San Stefano Mall, I found a bookshop and purchased a city map. Using that in conjunction with my scouting trip with Sharif, my Egyptian acquaintance, I decided that the distance was a walkable one, so I set out.

The weather, again today, was typically late-summer Mediterranean: sunny and clear. The map showed that the Saraya district was about the same distance beyond San Stefano as my apartment is from that shopping center, so about twice as long a walk. I took my time, walking along the shady side of the street for as long as that was possible and then in the sun. Once I reached San Stefano, I took a left and walked north, down to the Corniche, thinking that a sea breeze would make the excursion more pleasant.

An advantage to this plan was also that the sidewalks along the Corniche are actually useable. Along most streets in Alexandria (and Cairo, for that matter), the sidewalks are very narrow—three feet or less, generally—and most people simply walk in the streets alongside the parked cars, which seem to be everywhere. There is invariably some sort of construction or maintenance going on somewhere, which requires you to move into the street, or a lamp post stuck smack dab in the middle of the walkway with an overflowing garbage dumpster on one side, so you either attempt to slither past without getting crud all over yourself, or you go out into the street. Drivers are generally courteous in that they honk if they come up behind you, but if you encounter anyone walking in the opposite direction, it’s always a crap shoot as to who endangers him or herself by stepping out into the traffic. I haven’t figured out the etiquette of that yet… The sidewalks are not well maintained in any case since cars are obviously the privileged mode of transport here, too. Traffic lights are few and far between and, from what I’ve observed, they are generally regarded as serving in an advisory capacity only. If they work at all, they tend to be ignored, at least by the locals. Police are another matter. There are intersections where traffic flow is controlled by the police, at least at certain times during the day. Traffic direction from the police, unlike the traffic lights, tend to be heeded much more strictly.

I had been walking for some time and had not recognized any of the landmarks I thought I had committed to memory during my ride with Sharif, and I was beginning to think that I should either a) turn around and re-trace my steps or, b) hail a cab and give the driver the address and let him (hopefully) find the bank. I was also beginning to heat up. I didn’t know what the temperature was exactly, but it was getting warmer. Just at that point, I looked ahead around a curve in the road and there were the big (and for the moment very friendly) letters HSBC. My oasis. I entered the bank and took care of my business. The ATM card was indeed there and I signed for it, received the little sealed envelope containing my PIN, offered my thanks to the clerk who helped me and left the bank. As I did so, I asked the guard at the entrance if there were a decent coffee shop or café in the vicinity. He led me outside and pointed down a street leading away from the sea and told me that at the next corner I would find what I wanted. “Shukran,” I said, and set off in that direction.

I had been wondering about the social and economic organization of Alexandria during my brief outings but didn’t feel that I could draw any conclusions about those issues until I had seen a bit more of the city. To this point, all of my forays had been taken fairly close to the seaside, the high-rent district in any city. Along the street on which I now found myself, I saw evidence of abject poverty. In a rubbish-strewn vacant lot was what I took to be a sort of squatters lodgings: a small decrepit masonry building with a derelict sofa parked outside the doorway, which was itself covered with a dingy hunk of discarded carpet. The buildings on either side, multi-story apartment blocks, were not in the best of repair and I saw more people in galabiyahs and traditional dress than I had seen in my area of the city.

I looked in at the café the bank guard had recommended, which was empty and dark. There were a couple of cold water pipes (hookahs or shishas) standing about but I didn’t like the look of it so I turned right at the corner and decided to explore a bit. The tram line ran down the center of the street, so I knew that all I had to do was to follow it and it would lead me back to my neighborhood. Or at least I hoped it would. From the map, it seemed clear that there was only one tram line running from east to west and I figured I had made a safe assumption.

The street, while not actually bustling, was busy. The shops were open; owners either standing outside waiting for customers, or talking to their neighbors. Coffee houses were frequent and, in late morning, there were lots of men, singly and in twos or threes enjoying their “elevenses” a small cup of Arabic coffee and a pipeful of flavored tobacco. Charcoal braziers mounted on the outside walls of the cafes glowed with the coals used to light the tobacco for the pipes. These are tended by men whose job it is to keep the charcoal going and light the pipes as needed. We’ve been advised to steer clear of the hookah pipes, even though most cafes have started cleaning the mouthpieces. Hepatitis C is rampant in Egypt and we were told that even if the mouthpieces are cleaned, the tubes connecting to the pipes are not and therefore are a potential source of infection.

The area I am walking through is obviously a working class area, although drawing such a conclusion is fraught with danger. My neighborhood is considered a “good” one but you wouldn’t necessarily know that from the street. Public standards of cleanliness are, in my estimation, rather more lax than we are accustomed to in the States, at least outside urban ghettos and depressed rural areas, Mosques are generally very clean on the inside, but shops and even larger stores (the mall was a major exception…) have sticky floors, flies buzzing about and dust. If you’re a clean freak or anal compulsive, Egypt ain’t for you.

Inside, it’s a different story. My building is not terribly impressive from outside; better maintained or newer than others, perhaps, but not flashy or fly by any means. The apartment interior, on the other hand, is generally clean, freshly painted and tidy. The care given to cleaning the insides of homes is evident when you walk down the street and are either hit by droplets of water falling from balconies, or see puddles of water which result from cleaning activities being carried out in living spaces above you. (Another reason many people avoid sidewalks by the way…) Since the social focus in Egypt is on family and relations, and since those relationships are cultivated in private, the interiors of homes often belie their exteriors. All this is to say that it’s hard to judge the socio-economic level of an area from its outward appearance alone. Other clues lie in the types of businesses and styles of dress one sees.

Along my way, I saw the first donkey drawn farm cart I had seen in the city. The two passengers were hawking their load of onions to the residents. Open air stalls, many of which are obviously temporary, are set up on street corners where fruits and vegetables are offered for sale. These sorts of businesses, as well as plumbing and electrical shops, are interspersed among more upscale shops selling jewelry, home furnishings, electronics, and even cars.

It strikes me that there is a major economic and social shift underway in Egypt, a transition similar to the one the US underwent in the 50’s and early 60’s when larger corporations of all kinds began to displace smaller specialty shops. The entire fabric of life is changing. Older men sit in the coffee houses; the younger ones (and increasing numbers of young women) head to the mall. Even if they can’t afford to buy what is sold there, they go there because that’s where their peers are. The San Stefano Mall, which looms ahead of me now and tells me I’m going in the right direction, will no doubt displace many of the small businesses I have been passing by and the owners will be forced out of business or will move somewhere farther away from the mall. A small number will adapt to the change in circumstances and find ways to survive.

Outside the mall entrance is a traditional café. I go in and order a cup of Arabic coffee. While I wait, I pick up an Egyptian newspaper (“al-Masri al-Yawm” roughly “Today’s Egyptian”) and see what I can make of the news. My coffee comes, a small cup containing coffee with a foamy surface. I wait for it to cool a bit and then sip. It’s not well done; some of the coffee grounds sit on top of the drink, making for a gritty taste. When Arabic (or Turkish, depending on where you are) coffee is done properly, brought to a boil three times and allowed to settle, you don’t get the grit until you hit bottom. This isn’t good. Inside the mall, there are at least two Starbuck’s knockoffs where, for a little more money I could have had a latte with no grit. So much for going native.

I enter the mall with the primary aim of orienting myself—not that I plan to spend a great deal of time here, but because when I need something, I want to be able to locate it quickly, buy it and get out. It’s cool inside, though, so I take my time, marking specific stores so I can find my way out again. I go down to the lower level to check out the “Metro” supermarket. I  now have a better idea of what I need to do my cooking and what I would like to eat, so I want to know what I can buy where.

While I’m checking out the cheeses, a woman approaches me and asks, in English, for assistance. (She just heard me ask Cheese Guy, in Arabic,  if he had Parmesan, but my appearance screams “American”). I offer my help: she’s trying to find out what kind of coffee would be best for her coffee machine. The Egyptian store clerk doesn’t understand what she wants so I try to explain in Arabic what the problem is. There’s good old Maxwell House in a can and also shelf after shelf of Arabic coffee and she doesn’t know what to buy.  We finally reach a point where we all get the general idea and come to the conclusion it’s either Maxwell House or nothing. I tell her that she might want to go to the Costa Coffee place (Starbuck’s knockoff mentioned above) and ask if they sell coffee in bulk; that’s the only other option I can think of. I’ve been looking for a cone and filters myself, with no luck.

She thanks me and walks off. I find an ATM, try my card (it works!), and head out. The day is wearing on and I would like to get home. I stop in my local grocery/household store and buy a couple of things, a thermometer and a can opener, and go home. The air conditioning feels good. There’s a phone call from Hend al-Shennawy, Sohair’s assistant, who tells me that on Sunday, there will be a library staff meeting at which I will be introduced and then a subsequent meeting set up for me with the Head of Collection Development and following that another with Hend herself. Work to be done! I’m looking forward to this.

Tuesday/Wednesday 22-23 September 2009 Tuesday was a do-nothing day, essentially. The last (official) day of the Eid, so people were probably enjoying the free time they had left in ways they felt were most appropriate. I did some more apartment organizing and worked on the computer when I could get a connection—which was infrequent and inconsistent. I tried cooking my first meal here and met with indifferent success. I did a rice dish that turned out to be a sticky mass with little taste and left my appetite rather unsatisfied. Maybe I’ll improve with practice. On Tuesday, I had missed a call from Dr. Wostawy, the director of the library at the Bibliotheca Alexandrina, so when I felt that the hour was decent on Wednesday, I called her cell and reached her in her office. I was somewhat surprised to find her there since I was under the impression that the library would be closed until Thursday. Dr. Wostawy disabused me of that idea and asked when I was planning to come in. “This morning,” I replied, doing some rapid mental calculations about time and tasks to be completed before I could leave. “I’ll be there in about an hour, if that suits your schedule.” Dr. Wostawy replied that there was little going on today at work since many of the staff had taken vacation time and were not planning on returning until Sunday. We arranged that I would call her again when I reached the library. Breakfast dishes quickly washed and put away, the bed made, the thermal curtain drawn to keep out the afternoon sun—it comes straight in the big windows that open onto the balcony and makes the living room into an oven if I don’t do that—dress and get out the door. The doorman greets me and I tell him I’m off to work. I ask if the fare from here to the library really is only five guineas (ca. $1) and he says yes. Okay. I walk to the main intersection half a block away and get a yellow and black cab. I give the driver the address and we set off. The drive is longer than I remember, about ten minutes at 40 MPH on the Corniche. Traffic is relatively light and we zip along, the sea a fresh aqua color on the right. I can see three or four container ships on the horizon. We swing around a roundabout and I get dropped off right in front of the library building. I phone Dr. Wostawy and she sends Amr down to fetch me from the security checkpoint. I ask him how his Eid was and he says, “Great,” Up the elevator and along several corridors (the place is a maze, particularly when you’re away from the public areas, but not as bad as the San Stefano Mall; I lost my way in that place!) until we reach familiar ground and we’re at Dr. Wostawy’s office door. Amr knocks and we walk right in. After shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries for a while (this part of doing business in Egypt takes a long time to master: just how much small talk is enough? When is it too much? What subjects are okay to talks about?) Fortunately, Dr. Wostawy (Sohair from now on…) spent a lot of time in the States, first as a student and then as a librarian and library director, so she has developed a tolerance for neophytes. Especially American neophytes. After about ten minutes, there’s a knock at the door and a man bearing a tray comes in. A cup of coffee is set in front of me (Amr had thoughtfully taken my order on our way to the office) and this seems to be the signal to get down to business. Sohair begins the substantive part of our discussion with a brief history of the library. She was called back to Egypt to run the library part of the Bibliotheca organization five years ago and has been working at the job ever since then. She was asked to take up the position because there are few properly trained librarians in Egypt, and those one does find are not trained to American or European standards. This is not to say that they are not dedicated or hard working; they just don’t have the skill levels necessary to function in an organization of this size or complexity. Or at least they didn’t until Sohair came into the picture. The first thing she did when she arrived was to set certain requirements and conditions on employment. Now all those hired must, for example, achieve a score of 500 or better on the TOEFL (English as a foreign language test). She also has obligatory periodic training workshops and has developed a curriculum of librarianship courses at the “technical-professional” level to aid the staff in improving skills in particular areas. For this, she has drawn on a very successful and apparently well-known program offered at Du Page College in Chicago. It is a testament to her success that Bibliotheca Alexandrina is now a contributor to the VIAF (Virtual International Authority File), joining such prestigious institutions as the Library of Congress, the Bibliotheque National of France, the Staatsbibliothek of Germany and the like in the project. This initiative is part of the so-called “semantic web” one of whose primary functions is to allow anyone in any part of the world working in his or her native language to access authoritative data in that person’s language. The purpose of this is to eliminate duplication of effort and to create a common data file for entities responsible for works of scholarship and literature. At this point, the effort is limited to personal names, but as time goes on, it will be expanded to include “corporate” entities as well. Sohair gives me a copy of the library’s collection development policy, which I will have to read before out next meeting, since this is one of the areas in which I have agreed to work with the Alexandria librarians. As we are talking, there is yet another knock at the door and I meet yet another colleague. Yahya Zaki, a medical doctor and administrator at the Bibliotheca, enters and we are introduced. He and Sohair are old friends, she tells me, and we all go through the small talk ritual once again. Finally, Dr, Zaki gets to the point. He has come to try to get Sohair interested in publishing an adolescent book about Alexandria. A student whom the doctor knows came to him with the idea and he apparently wants the library to consider publishing it. They talk about that for a while, but before we can get back to my business, there is yet another knock at the door and two young people, one male, one female, come in and Sohair begins to conduct business with them. When they leave, she tells me that these two—the guy is from Germany; the woman is Egyptian (I think)—are developing some sort of training program for the librarians. It is obvious that she has a LOT going on here. When these last visitors leave, she explains that she spends a great deal of her time arranging for librarians from other parts of the world to come to Egypt for varying periods of time to train her people because the MLS program in Cairo isn’t worth much. Until very recently, it was a BA degree. Sohair finally got the university to drop the program and re-institute it as a master’s degree. It will still take some time for the changes to take effect and until then, it’s going to be a long haul for those in the profession. Of course, there are other aspects to the problem of librarianship in Egypt. One is social: there is no (or very little) library culture in Egypt.People are not in the habit of visiting or supporting public libraries. There are libraries at the universities, of course. Cairo University has a brand new central library, but public libraries are few and far between, and Egyptians are not accustomed to visiting them for information. That is changing slowly. Sohair told me that she knew the Bibliotheca was going to be a success when her staff began to report that Alexandrian housewives (her term; not mine) were coming in to the library frequently and repeatedly. The second issue is more of a global financial problem: those Egyptian students who might be interested in librarianship as a profession and who go abroad for their training seldom if ever return because the pay and standard of living in Egypt—and in Alexandria in particular—is less than ideal. With a knowledge of Arabic, they find their skills much more in demand in Europe or the United States. This is a trend of long standing; I have any number of colleagues in the Middle East Librarians Association who left their native countries as young students, became librarians, and stayed in the States (or in Canada or Europe) because they were appreciated more—and were more employable—there than at home. This aspect of the librarianship problem is less tractable even than the social issue, I think. In this climate, Sohair has had to rely to a great extent on imported talent, not so much to do the actual work, but to bring her own people up to speed in the procedural and technical areas so that they can do the work. She recounted one instance of this: the library had been given a small collection of works in Korean. It remained uncatalogued for quite a while because there were no Egyptians, librarians or otherwise, who could read Korean and create the necessary bibliographic records. She finally negotiated with the Korean government to send her a Korean librarian who did the work. She got help in another area from the German government and managed to get the person there on the Germans’ nickel! Something tells me that I never want to be seated across from this woman at a negotiating table… There are also administrative issues which are beyond the library’s control. Since the Bibliotheca is a (quasi-?) governmental agency, acquisition is a nightmare. Acquisitions has to get three price quotes on each item before they can purchase it. That must slow things down incredibly! I asked her if there was an Egyptian Library Association; she scoffed and gave a dismissive toss of her hand. “Worthless,” she pronounced. They apparently are not very active nor effective and so do not provide much in the way of professional support or political clout. There is a super-national organization of librarians in the Arabic-speaking countries but that organization, too, is not very effective. The library collects in seven different areas and each is collected at ACRL level three or above, although she acknowledges that there are areas of weakness. That means that each area is a serious research collection, but none of the librarians working in collection development is a scholar in that area, so again, there is a problem with the skill level among staff. It will be interesting to see how we might address this issue over the next four months. We also talked a bit about information literacy, but Sohair said that that area was really the responsibility of one of her staff members and that I would be better served speaking to that person about it. Our interview came to an end and we agreed that since most of the staff would not be returning to work until Sunday, that I take the next couple of days to study the collection development policy and to begin to think about what I wanted to do. I told her I was there to learn as much if not more than I might teach. She proposed a relatively light schedule for the time being. “Go take an excursion,” she advised. We said goodbye and I was escorted to my next appointment by Manar Badr, the Head of Reference Services. We went down several levels to the collection development offices and got acquainted along the way. Her English was very good and she seemed comfortable speaking so I let her proceed. She noted that my name was “very German.” I told her that that was part of my heritage and asked if she spoke German. “Yes,” she replid. “It’s my mother tongue.” Oh, things get stranger and stranger… She led me to her office where I filled out some paperwork for my ID card, office keys and so forth. We then proceeded next door to the office of the Head of Public Services, a woman in hijab, but with her face uncovered, whose name was Omnia Fathallah. We shook hands (she initiated this so I shook hands; otherwise the proper greeting would have been to put my right hand over my heart and make a slight bow). We talked for a bit about her area and indicated that I would be working primarily with the staff in her division. She was very knowledgeable and spoke excellent English. I told her that we would probably begin on Sunday, according to Sohair’s plan and she said that that was agreeable to her. We said goodbye and Manar then showed me the way to my office, introducing me to one of the reference librarians on my level of the building as we passed by. I had mentioned to Manar that one of the people in the art section of the library, Gamal Husni, had wanted me to get in touch with him. Somehow he had heard that I was coming and he wanted to meet me since he had been a Fulbrighter in the States some time ago. Manar helped me find his office and left me in his care. We talked about his work and mine and I mentioned my study of block printing. He was very interested in the phenomenon because of the cultural implications and I told him that I would try to get a copy of my book for the library so that he might see it. I also told him that I was hoping to be able to see the few examples of block printing held in Egypt. He asked which museums had them and I gave him a couple of the locations. Since I had heard that getting to see individual items might be a problem in Egypt, especially for foreigners, I asked him if he might be able to help. “No,” he said, “but my uncle is the Minister of Culture.” Oh! My lucky day! This, of course is the guy who was being considered for the position of the head of UNESCO (it has since gone to a Bulgarian) and Gamal said that maybe, once the dust settles, he might be able to put in a word. I’ll keep my fingers crossed. That about wrapped up my business for the day so I thanked him for his time, said goodbye, and headed for the exit. Outside I flagged down a taxi and gave him the name of the street where I wanted to be dropped off. Reaching my destination, I realized I didn’t have anything smaller than a ten pound note. I handed that to the driver and asked for change. “Nope. Don’t have any.” Right. Thanks. Still cheap, but it’s the principle. Oh well. Back home. The usual ritual with the doorman, upstairs to change, and then out for a quick visit to the grocery store. Yesterday, I happened to notice a grocery much closer to my apartment building and decided to check it out. Not as big as the one I’ve been going to but it had some items that the other one didn’t so I bought a few things. A hot meal, a little computer work, some reading and then lights out.

Monday, 21 September 2009

“Eid Mubarak.” This is the phrase one sees and hears everywhere over the last three days. The end of Ramadan has arrived officially in Egypt. In this country, people no longer depend on the visual sighting of the crescent moon by a group of high religious officials; an astronomical calculation is made by an astronomer, or maybe a group of them, and when the math says that the month is over, the month is over.

http://library.drake.edu/images/crescent-over-alexandria

The city has been very quiet the past couple of days; all the shops were closed and the streets were generally empty. I didn’t see too much in the way of public celebration, some fireworks, but nothing grandiose. Maybe I’m just in the wrong location. My neighbors went out visiting, or maybe to the beach. The kids were boisterous, no doubt glad for anything that gets them out of school for a day (if Egyptian kids are like kids anywhere…). The holiday is family time and time for people to get back on a normal eating and sleeping schedule. Tomorrow the shops and businesses open again, but government offices are closed until Wednesday. The library opens on Wednesday, too, so I’ve still got a couple of days to get things in order. The apartment is pretty much squared away and I’ve cooked my first couple of Egyptian meals. Pretty basic stuff since I didn’t buy a lot of herbs and spices or staples, for that matter.

The guide books and the Fulbright people touted the friendliness and hospitality of the Egyptian people and I had my first substantive experience of that today. I had been wanting to walk around and see if I could locate my bank branch so I can go and pick up my ATM card on Thursday. I set out to do that about ten this morning and was met by Tawfiq the doorman as I exited the elevator. He asked how I was and we exchanged pleasantries. After the formalities, I asked him if he could tell me where the building housing the bank was. All I knew was that it was on the Corniche (the seafront road) somewhere near my apartment. He didn’t understand “HSBC,” nor did he know the “Burg Delta,” the building where the bank was. I had a couple other clues, but those were equally helpless.

So, he turns to another man standing nearby and has me ask him as well. The second man spoke a bit of English, but apparently not enough to understand what I was after, Just then a third man, came out of the foyer and Tawfiq turned to him and quickly asked him to speak to me. He did. In English. His name was Sharif and after he listened to my story, he insisted on driving me to the bank in his car (which was conveniently parked right there).

We hopped in and he drove me east on the corniche for about a two miles or so (I’m glad I didn’t attempt the walk; I probably would have given up before getting that far; it was already hot!). He pointed out landmark buildings along the way so I’d know how to recognize the place on Thursday. We talked and I learned that he works for Unilever. The multi-nationals are here in Egypt, too, and that goes far toward explaining the rising standard of living, the traffic jams, the increasing number and variety of consumer goods, and so forth. It also explains the advertisements for suburban living. In any case, we turned around and he indicated he wanted to drive me back to the apartment building. I told him that that was unnecessary and that he was probably busy and had to be somewhere. Nonsense, he said. Not a problem. He insisted that I have his cell phone number and he made me promise I’d call him if I needed any kind of assistance.

I got out at the door and we parted. Tawfiq was there and wanted to know if everything was okay. I told him yes, now I knew where I had to go and how far it was. I asked him how much the train cost and he asked me if I needed to go to Cairo. No, I said; just to the new library. “Oh,” he responded. “Don’t do that. Take a cab. Five Egyptian Pounds (less than a buck).”

Okay, that sounds reasonable. “Better than the train,” he said knowingly. Well. I’ll try it on Wednesday and see.

Saturday, 19 September 2009

Today’s the day for getting my Alexandrian life in order, at least as much as I can at this point in the Muslim calendar. I have a list of stuff I need: groceries most of all, and a lot of household things. I’ve found tableware, forks, knives and spoons; a complete set of dishes EXCEPT for dinner plates. Only one of those and that might be a problem if I have visitors. I’m not expecting any guests for a while; so I’ll deal, but I plan to notify the Fulbright folks about that shortcoming as soon as the Eid is over. I could use a proper set of sheets for the bed, too, and that’s one of the reasons I’m off on a scouting mission this morning. I head out and take the opportunity to introduce myself to the “bawwaab” (doorman) in the vestibule; he’s talking to two other men and hands are shaken all around. I ask whether the shops are open today and receive a response in the affirmative. I thank them all and set off.

I begin by retracing my steps from last night, following my street until it intersects the larger road and then walking along the tram tracks until I can cross over to the other side and walk in the shade. It’s about ten AM and there is a moist wind off the ocean, but that doesn’t cut much of the heat, which is beginning to build. There are clouds in the sky today, but none in front of the sun. I’m wearing jeans, running shoes and a stripped cotton shirt. No point in trying to fake out the Egyptian public; they’d take me for a westerner even if I were wearing a galabiyah, so why even try.

This tack has the effect of sparking responses from people on the street, most of them positive. Usually, It’s “Hallu hau air YOU?” I respond in either English or Arabic as the mood strikes me and it’s a sort of game that goes on between Egyptians of a certain economic stratum and foreigners. They want to show that they learned some English and that they’ve marked you as “not from these here parts.” Okay. It’s not a test, but you get “A” for effort. I even got cat called last night on my way home. Kissing noises made behind my back. Gee. Thanks. Or were you calling your cat? Most of the stuff like that you just ignore. Physical intimidation (unless you’re female) is relatively rare, although one of the Fulbright students who spoke at our DC orientation described an incident in which she was seriously groped.

Arab societies are macho and patriarchal in a major way. That point hit me while I was channel surfing last night: a lot of the channels on which traditional programming appears (Koran readings, classical music, programs from the Arab Gulf States particularly) are either single sex or bereft of women all together. On Egyptian programs, men and women often appear together, however, and in some comedy shows (think bad Jerry Lewis) actually involve non-intimate physical contact between genders.

Anywho, my aim this morning is to locate two things: first a decent grocery store, and then a shopping mall (shudder) where I can get some household basics: sheets and towels. About a kilometer along the main road I spy a grocery store that also seems to have lots of household items, so I mark its location mentally and continue on, trying to find this mall. The next person to offer a greeting is an Alexandrian cop, who says “Welcome in Egypt.” Okay. My experience is that the cops in Egypt generally don’t initiate conversations with people, unless the person is known to them. They are very considerate in this regard. This guy is sort of young so I return his greeting in Arabic. I ask him if I might ask him a question (which I realize I’m already doing…) and, in no doubt seriously fractured Arabic, ask him where the shops at San Sebastian are. I get a puzzled look and he does what any of us would do in a similar situation: he asks me to repeat the question. I repeat my question and he asks, “What shops?” I repeat the name: “San Sebastian.”

“Nope,” he responds. “Don’t know that one.” What’s the name again?” I repeat it.
“Ah,” he says. “You mean San Stefano.”

Of course I do. I apologize to him for the mistake. “No problem,” he says. “They’re right across the street. The entrance is around the side of that building,” pointing over my shoulder to a huge modern tower. I thank him and cross the tram tracks and walk toward the building. I notice storefronts bearing European and American brand names (Ooh! Levis!) and also see that there are uniformed guards standing at the entrances to the interior. Some people are entering and bypassing the metal detectors that are a common feature in most “public” buildings: hotels; larger shops like this one, large post offices, and the like. It’s clear that those entering the building work there and that the places are not yet open for business. I approach one of the guards and ask when the shops open. He tells me it’s another hour before they open. Not until twelve noon. I thank him and decide I don’t want to wait around for that long.

I retrace my steps and go back to the grocery store. I walk in, grab a shopping cart, and start looking over the offerings. The organizational principle isn’t readily apparent, so I take out my list and review what it is I think I need, at least to start. I also realize that I might have forgotten a few things: is there a can opener? A pair of scissors? A cutting board? I need to check on those before I spend money. I begin to load the cart and find all of what I need and then some. I see some things not on my list that it would be nice to have, but I remember that I’m going to have to schlep this stuff for a third of a mile and it’s hot out. I take my purchases to the cashier (electronic code reading cash register and all). The young woman rings it all up and tells me what the damage is: two hundred eighty-eight. Hmm, I think, that’s more than fifty bucks. I take out my cash and hand her a two hundred lira note and a one hundred lira note. She shakes her head. “Two hundred eight eighty,” she repeats (unless otherwise noted, all conversations are translated from Arabic). I show her my cash and she takes the two hundred pound note and points to a ten. Oh. Okay. Now the foreigner gets it: Two hundred and eight eighty (208.80). Just like in English. Well, how about that!

The next problem is finding out how long they’re open today. I ask her when the store closes. That gets a blank look. She indicates she doesn’t understand. I run over the sentence in my head and try a re-phrasing. Still no good.

“Okay,” I say, “Your store is open until what hour this afternoon? Three? Four?”
“Oh.” Now we’re making progress. “Two o’clock.” Great, thanks.”

While we were talking a young boy has packed my purchases up in way too many plastic bags (these things are EVERYWHERE in the Middle East and the people who sell them ought to be made to go out and collect every single one found on the street, hanging from tree limbs, floating in rivers and streams and then EAT them! What a blight they are!). He wants to carry them home for me, I think, but I say no thanks, hand him a tip and pick them up myself.

A ten minute perspiration inducing walk gets me back to my front door and into the cool shade of the entryway. Tawfiq, the doorman, is there to open the elevator door and usher me inside. Half an hour later, everything is put away and I sit down to lunch. Now, even if the stores are closed tomorrow (the “official” start of the Eid), at least I won’t starve.

Things are coming together slowly, it appears. I still have to find out what train stop I get off at when I go to the library this coming week and my internet connection still has to get sorted out. Fortunately, I have been able to hook onto an unsecured link belonging to someone nearby. It’s a weak link, and not always available, but at least I have some contact. I just hope it doesn’t belong to the Russian Embassy, which is just across the street from my building. I can look right into their compound, but they seem to keep a very low profile. No monster vodka parties or anything like that. Maybe they’re all on vacation.

I’m going back out after the sun gets lower to see if the mall stores are still open. Unlikely, though; people are still fasting and like to get home in early afternoon so they can prepare the iftar meal and eat it as soon as the sun sets. I would really like to have a towel to dry on. It takes way too long with my handkerchief. Oops. Too much information.