Sunday, July 1, 2007



Irony. I experienced it on so many levels yesterday.



After a month in Egypt an American style barbeque sounds amazing, so I pony up and take a taxi ride out to Wadi al-Degla, a valley just outside the rich suburb of al-Maadi. And what a spectacle it is. An American Independence Day celebration,being held at a British (yes, British) International School in Cairo. The school compound is located way out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by gigantic desert hills that have absolutely no sign of life on them, except for the random pieces of trash and litter, indications that somebody at least had seen fit to walk there. It actually reminds me of the Salt Lake County dump that I used to drive out to when I had to empty my truck full of branches and weeds after a day's worth of yard cleanup. But this isn't a dump. This is the outside edge of Cairo.



I digress. Oh yeah. Did I mention that this Independence Daycelebration is at a British school? Didn't we get our Independence byfighting a war with Britain? Then again, I think to myself as I look back out the taxi window tothe trash ornamented desert hills, we are in Egypt, and we might as well celebrate together. The freedom we Americans cherish is, after all, an idea we inherited from Britain. We pull in to the first check point of hired Egyptian security, who request that the driver leave his license as collateral and have me show my American passport. A hundred yards later there is another check point, who have me once again show my passport and have the Egyptian driver show some other means of ID. Finally we pull up to the entrance of the school, heavily guarded by various branches of theEgyptian armed forces. I jump out, hand my taxi driver the fare, and walk in. I am asked to show my passport two more times and pass through a metal detector. I think, what the hell kind of celebrationof freedom is this? There is more security here than at the airport!



After getting past the guards I find myself in a surreal, almost dreamlike celebration. There is a huge American flag draped down theentire wall of on of the compound buildings. Under the giant tent there are families eating away on hot dogs, BBQ sandwiches, potato salad, and "Dominos Arabia" pizza. The tables are decorated withred,white, and blue tablecloth and dozens of mini-American flags. Aloudspeaker is set up playing various patriotic tunes. There aregiant blow up slides and a bungee cord trampoline set up to entertain people. All of a sudden I was back in America.



Of course, I'm not, as the giant sign labeled "PORK" reminds me that I the food is from the US State Department Comissary (pork, forbidden by Islam, is largely unavailable in Egypt). I walk past the food to theedge of the compound and look through the giant iron bars to see acouple of Egyptian soldiers standing on the road outside the complex, smoking their cigarettes and tossing them out to join the desert trash. How bizarre.



Needless to say I thoroughly enjoy myself. Before the night is over I stuff myself full, eating a couple of burgers, at least an entirepizza worth of Dominos Arabia, and at least trying a little bit ofeverything. After a month of being quite cautious about mosteverything I eat, it's nice to be able to enjoy a little "freedom."



I'm surprised to discover as I peruse the program that I know the lady in charge from church. Ah, I think to myself. No wonder this has the feel of a Mormon Ward BBQ. I scan the list of thank yous and realize that some 60% of the people in charge of planning the event go to church with me. My entire church community is here wearing the distinctive volunteer T-shirts and running all the games. The Brunets are incharge of the kid games. The Bartons are in charge of Bingo. The Gerbers are handing out raffle prizes to the people whose wristband number is randomly selected. After eating I stroll over to check itout and am surprised to see my number up there. Congratulations, Sister Gerber says and she hands me a bag. I look inside. It's a bright pink "Rock Angel" T-shirt from the Hard Rock Cafe in Cairo. Awesome. I'm really excited about it, especially since I didn't winanything in Bingo. I show it off laughingly to a couple of friends, but then I am asked by the parents of a little girl whether I want to trade, as she is a little bit disappointed at having won a big black Hard Rock long sleeve T-shirt with flames going up the sleeves. I am ashamed to realize after a short inner debate that I don't want togive up the pink shirt: I will actually wear it more often than I will the black one. However, the girl is clearly distraught, so I reluctantly part with the Rock Angel shirt for the long sleeve black one.



I'm of course recruited to help out, and am asked to man the admissions desk. Which is sweet because I get one of the volunteer shirts with the big red white & blue flag on it. Just the sort of thing you want to wear around Cairo. However, this is my first time being a real security guard, so I'm kind of excited. I eagerly ask for people's passports and wristbands as they come in. Then Matt, the ward clerk who is in charge of admissions informs methat if I see any guys that walk confidently in and look like they'refrom the Egyptian mafia to just leave them alone, especially if they know any of the 10 or so Egyptians with guns standing just inside themetal detector. It's only the confused looking foreigners who don't look like they know where to go that we need to check their ID and make sure they don't sneak in.



I'm joined at the security desk by Frederic, a Parisian Mormon who hasreceived special dispensation to join us, and Pita and Tasi, the NewZealand couple who took me in for a few days while I was searching for an apartment. We're like the Mormon mafia, in league with the Egyptian mafia to protect the American expat community.



As I'm sitting there I look out at all the Egyptian security forces that we've hired. All told there are probably 100 of them spread outbetween the metal detector and the outer security checkpoints. Then suddenly it occurs to me that this isn't a celebration of freedom. This is a celebration of American wealth. The only reason we're having this party is because as Americans we can afford to hire 1 Egyptian security person for every 3-5 people in attendance at the party. We can afford to bring in an all you can eat meal consisting entirely of imported American staples. We can afford to rent theBritish International School (probably chosen for its remote securelocation) to throw a party celebrating our independence from Britain. I forget: are the British trying to win their independence from us now?



The evening concludes with me riding the metro, stuffed to the brim with pizza, pondering the irony of what I have just witnessed. A 4th of July party in a British School in Cairo, guarded heavily by Egyptian mercenaries. I drift off to sleep with the smell of BBQ still in my nostrils.



However, the irony is not finished, as I am rudely awakened a couple of hours later by an intense an urgent need to go to the bathroom. I end up spending the majority of the night perched upon my porcelain throne, staring sleepily at the white tile and pink bathtub below me. I have never experienced such diarrhea. Yes, after a month in Egypt, I have finally gotten sick. Who knew it would be from the food from the American Comissary?