Imagine waking up one morning and finding out that the internet is down in 70 percent of the country. And could be down for the next two weeks. No e-mail, AIM or facebook.com. Imagine that.
I don’t have to do all that imagining, because as I sit here at 2 a.m. writing this article, Egypt is experiencing a countrywide internet cut-off.
How did I get myself into this situation? Quite easily actually, and quite intentionally. I’m studying abroad this semester at the American University in Cairo through the Wilson School’s new task force in Egypt. (Full disclosure: I did some lobbying to get the program started over the past few semesters.) I’m here with several other Princetonians, and though the lack of internet poses some problems, I’m happily riding the adrenaline-rush that comes during those first days in a foreign country.
When Americans first arrive in Cairo, many of them experience culture shock. It’s hard to tell where the first shock comes from — maybe the customs “inspection,” which consists of a single question and a quick glance at your suitcases as you are waved by. Or maybe the skyline of mud-brick apartment buildings and shantytowns. Or the unbelievable traffic overflow that converts three-lane roads into five or six-lane free-for-alls.
After a couple days, though, the shocks subside, and a mixture of curiosity and fascination takes over. In Cairo, you can discover almost anything — extreme poverty, immense luxury, living history and a society in the throes of development. And you don’t have to look hard to find these things.
Let’s take my first grocery store trip at the Alfa Supermarket in Zamalek, a posh district situated on the banks of the Nile River. This so-called “supermarket” is three stories tall and completely stocked with every good imaginable. On the first floor are chocolates from a dozen European countries, piles of fresh fish and meat, dozens of varieties of fresh olives and cheeses, rows of cookies and biscuits (Egyptian and foreign), and even a Valentine’s Day gift area near the escalators. (Pretty impressive for a country in which almost no one knows that St. Valentine existed, let alone who he was.)
The second floor has enough cleaning products and home goods to supply all of Princeton for a good few weeks. I didn’t make it to the third floor, but I assume they were selling furniture and had a small real-estate agency up there.
And while I might be exaggerating the wealth of this “supermarket” just a tad, there’s reason for my distorted perception: Besides a few businessmen, Alfa Supermarket had almost no customers. In a city of 17 million inhabitants, I expected at least some activity in a supermarket at 3 or 4 p.m.
But if you know anything about the demographics of Cairo or about the Egyptian economy, this isn’t actually too surprising. Here, the majority of the population lives below the poverty line, and bread can be found for around half a pound (about nine cents), so a supermarket that sells bread for five pounds is bound to be empty. Of course, there is the crowd of upper-middle class Egyptians who keep these places in business, but they are a tiny sliver of the population.
After I cruised the empty aisles and stocked up on a few must-need items, I checked out and paid a very reasonable 60 pounds.
As I left the store, a young man wearing torn, dirt-splattered clothing and holding large bouquets of flowers approached me. Partially because his downtrodden appearance saddened me and partially because he had the most beautiful flowers I had ever seen, I bought a bouquet right away. It cost me fifteen pounds (less than $3) for forty fresh, bright orange daisies.
He, of course, was more than happy to make the sale and ran off to sell the remaining two bouquets he carried. A vendor like him makes a little more than 100 pounds a month. While I ecstatically felt the power of a favorable exchange rate on my side of the transaction, the flower seller was thankful to have a few more pounds added to his monthly income. On my drive home, there were dozens more like him crowding the streets, some selling packaged snacks, others toys and most simply begging.
Living in Cairo is different from any experience I’ve had so far. You can go through a dozen emotions in a day, and every occurrence seems to carry special weight, like a key to some crucial part of current events or world history. Maybe I’m only speaking under the effect of multiple culture shocks, but if that’s the case I hope I never acclimatize.
Happy journeys.
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Sarah Dajani is a Wilson School major from Seminole, Fla. She is studying abroad this semester in Cairo and can be reached at sdajani@princeton.edu.
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