Goodbye sweet little Timer dog.

Timer died on Friday. Timer was my thirteen year-old beagle that I loved immensely. Her dad, Lucky, was the state field trial champion from Pennsylvania, and her mom, Tinkerbell, was the state dog show champ. I'm sure they're both gone by now too. Long gone. They say it's a sign of an exceptional beagle pup when its ears stretch all the way around its nose. Timer's overlapped by at least an inch. She was a petite little beagle, never got fat like most beagles do. She stayed fit and spry right up until the end, at least until the last couple of months of her life. She went downhill fast, perhaps the result of a short bout with cancer this year, perhaps due to organ failure. Whatever her ailment, she couldn't beat it and it became too painful for my mom to watch.

My mom called me tonight to tell me, and as soon as she let the words out of her mouth she started choking on them, crying hysterically, saying "I've never cried so much in my life." My mom put her to sleep because she was having trouble standing up, she was totally deaf, and she was completely incontinent, and my mom could tell that she was in pain. The vet said it would be the best thing to do. I already cried a lot when I said goodbye to Timer before my mom drove me to the airport for my flight to Cairo, so when my mom told me on the phone today I just felt numb. I had been expecting it—but still, I think it just hasn't hit me yet.

God I loved that dog. Sometimes I loved her more than anyone else in my family—don't be hurt by that comment if you're reading this, sisters, it's just that she was a really special dog. She was always there, always happy, and always excited to see me. I hope she's happy in dog heaven. I bet she's eating a lot of cookies and running free as fast and as far as she can go, sniffing everything in sight and loving the fact that she doesn't have to wear a collar or get electrocuted all of the time. I just wish I could chase her around the yard one more time, and watch her leap toward me with her teeth bared, one paw raised to strike, totally faking it, because she didn't have a violent bone in her body, and then she would cock her head to one side, anticipating my next move, just for a split-second, and then she'd take off into the next room, sliding on her paws on the wood floor, trying to take the turn too fast, but escaping all the same. But she would always come back, and the second I made the overture of peace, a change of facial expression, softening around the eyes, a gentle "come here girl," rubbing the floor with my hand where I wanted her to come and roll over, she'd be there, sucking up the attention, soaking in the love, belly bared to the ceiling, loving the dog's life, loving me.

How I'll miss those satin ears, cocked in curiosity, always on the verge of bounding away, or bounding into my arms.

Colin Powell endorses Obama, Army kills 25 more civilians in Afghanistan

As overjoyed as I am by the fact that Colin Powell recently endorsed Barack Obama—going as far as to say that he would've done it 10 months ago if he based his vote solely on historical considerations—I am also confused as to why the NATO forces (read: U.S.) bombed and killed another 25 civilians in Helmland Province in Afghanistan. We are losing the war there, and it's rapidly devolving into chaos, according to just about all parties involved—including the U.S. military. One of the reasons the Taliban has such widespread support is because NATO forces keep icing civilians.

When are we going to learn? And this most recent catastrophe comes just after Gen. David McKiernan launched an initiative—a fatwah of sorts—about the absolute necessity of reducing, or better, eliminating, civilian casualties. Well how can you avoid civilian casualties when you're dropping bombs on civilian population centers? What civilian in their right mind would see the NATO forces as anything other than enemy forces? Who would not be terrified, and terribly resentful of the NATO occupation?

I would be interested more in hearing what Colin Powell has to say about Afghanistan than about Barack Obama. I've long since believed that Colin Powell was deeply dissatisfied with the role he played in the buildup to the Iraq invasion, though I have little to base that belief on other than the fact that apologized to the UN for presenting false evidence. I'm sure a Powell-designed occupation strategy in Iraq, as opposed to Rumsfeld's and Bremer's strategy, would've saved lives on both sides. But, at the end of the day, I still can't forgive Powell for not speaking out when it mattered most, as Gen. Eric Shinseki—former Chief of Staff of the Army—and many CIA analysts did. They lost their jobs as a result, but they kept their integrity intact. I can't say exactly the same for Powell, but his recent endorsement of Obama shows that he's definitely not one of "them"—that gang of insiders that drove our country straight off a cliff beginning in 2001.

Learning to rock with Baraka

By Elliott D. Woods
First Published: October 14, 2008

Photos by Elliott D. Woods Baraka front-woman Mariam Saleh brings oriental vocals to the band's rock foundations, Rawabet Theater, Saturday, October 11.

Judging by the crowd piled outside the Rawabet Theater on Saturday night, a passerby would surely have assumed that a well-established act was about to take the stage. On the contrary, Baraka — led by singer Mariam Saleh, 23 — is fresh from the cradle.

Saturday’s concert was only their second since forming in May 2008, but their reputation has already spread thanks to a thriving arts culture among Cairo’s hip 20-somethings. The band’s lyrical base comes from the famous Sheikh Imam revolutionary anthems that were banned during the 1960s.

Sheikh Imam songs — penned by the legendary, oft-imprisoned Egyptian poet Ahmed Fouad Negm — have become fashionable in recent years, providing today’s alternative musicians with a connection to both oriental musical traditions and local dissidence.

“Lyrics are prioritized in Arabic music,” explained Yasser Ali, 23. However, when poetry is at the heart of a band’s repertoire, Yasser explained, the music often suffers.

Baraka opened with a grungy, distortion-laden number that recalled semi-electronic acts like Portishead and Evanescence. The somber opener gave no indication of the variety of songs to come; an eclectic collection ranging from bass-heavy funk, to fast-paced California ska, to gritty ballads inspired by Ozzy Osbourne.

No matter where their occidental departures took them, Baraka always managed to return to oriental roots. The audience clapped and sang along to Sheikh Imam songs like “Nixon” and “El-Bahr Beyedhak Leh.” Toward the end of the show, front-woman Mariam brought the crowd to a hush with a haunting tribute to her father, Saleh Saad, a famous writer who died in the September 2005 Beni Suef theater fire that claimed the lives of over 30 artists. Saturday would have been Saleh Saad’s 52nd birthday.

Baraka claims a broad range of influences, from psychedelic classic rock bands like Pink Floyd and The Doors to contemporary alternative acts like British rock outfit Muse. Contemporary Egyptian influences include El Dor El Awal, Nagham Masri, and Dima Band.

“I love hard rock and I love the darawish music,” said Mariam, “and I would like to mix them both . . . but I don’t want to make oriental rock — I want to make oriental and rock.”

Guitarist Wissam Sultan, 31, played with Dima Band before joining Baraka. In previous bands, Sultan’s preference for rock has been restrained. But with Baraka, Sultan said, “I play whatever I want.” Rather than trying to “orientalize” rock — an undeniably occidental genre — Baraka lays Darwish-inspired oriental vocals over a range of stylistically diverse rock arrangements, staying true to both worlds while creating something new. While most of the songs are lyrical covers, the rock beneath belongs entirely to Baraka.

Rawabet Theater was filled to capacity on Saturday, with dozens of people sitting on the floor and still more standing at the entrance. Baraka has not been around for long, but, as Mariam Saleh explained, “we have a big base.”

“Rock is growing up in Cairo,” said guitarist Sultan, the oldest member of the group, and Saturday’s crowd proves that there is a subculture that craves what bands like Baraka have to offer.

In terms of both musical fluency and stage presence, Baraka has a long way to go before they play with the combination of ease and frenetic energy that makes true rock shows such explosive, sweat-soaked events.

Saturday’s show — despite overtones of Black Sabbath and Parliament Funkadelic — was a pretty quiet affair. Audience members remained seated throughout Baraka’s performance. Vocalist Mariam — clad in a punk rock getup composed of an army green vest, a communist star pendant, rainbow colored legwarmers, and a lip ring — gave a spirited performance, bouncing around the stage, engaging audience members directly. But the rest of the band appeared a bit rigid, and breaking free from that rigidity will be Baraka’s biggest challenge.

Baraka will share that growing pain — learning to loosen up, learning to rock with reckless abandon — with the Cairo rock scene in general, in which audiences, despite enthusiasm, rarely quit their seats. Suffice to say, you simply can’t rock sitting down.

The modern day hijabis

By Elliott Woods
First Published: October 10, 2008

One-piece hijabs on offer at Zalaat Shop on Sherif Street, Wust al-Balad. A typical bonni, an expensive one-piece hijab often worn for formal occasions, available at Zalaat Shop on Sherif Street in Wust al-Balad.

CAIRO: For those unfamiliar with the Islamic practice of veiling, the many variations of the hijab found on the streets of Cairo can be perplexing. Why are some hijabs bright, fashionable — sometimes downright flashy — while others seem conservative in the extreme — solid black, un-textured, and designed to cover as much of the wearer’s body as possible?

Then comes the full-face veil, or niqab. Why do some women cover every inch of skin, sometimes wearing black gloves and eye-screens, while others sport body-hugging undergarments and designer jeans? Is there any doctrinal difference between the Islam of a woman who wears a niqab and the religion of a young woman whose Italian silk hijab is as much a fashion accessory as a gesture of modesty?

With these questions in mind, I set out for downtown Cairo on Thursday evening, where I spoke with women of all ages, wearing all sorts of different veils. What I found was surprising — I expected to discover a lexicon of terms for all of the different styles of veils, but the lexicon is meager at best.

There is the niqab, of course, which is always accompanied by a full-length abbaya, the female version of the traditional galabiyah. And then there is the khemar, which — like the niqab but without covering the face— descends over the shoulders, down to the elbows, and is also accompanied by traditional clothing in subtle colors. Finally, there is the hijab.

Simple enough, right? Except that all veils — indeed, the entire practice of veiling — are part of the concept of hijab, which stipulates that Muslim women should cover their features and hair so as to discourage the lascivious gazes of men, allowing both women and the men to avoid sin.

In common parlance, hijab refers to the trendy veils worn by the younger generation — the ones that come in dozens of textures, dozens of fabrics, and hundreds of colors. Compared to the niqab and the khemar, these fashionable hijabs, and the tight clothes that sometimes accompany them, seem nothing short of revolutionary.

But the older generation doesn’t feel terribly threatened. “You can’t obligate the people to wear any particular thing,” said Mona, who wears a niqab, when I asked if she worried about the boisterous colors and tight clothing worn by most of Cairo’s younger women.

Mona’s husband, Salah, agreed. Many women shift to more traditional styles of veiling at the bequest of their husbands. Mona said, “It’s the decision of the husband. If he wants you to wear the niqab, you wear the niqab. If he tells you, ‘I don’t want you to wear niqab,’ you don’t wear it.”

“There are a few women who wear the niqab before marriage,” Mona added, “but not many.” Mona began wearing a niqab several years into her marriage, at Salah’s request. For his part, Salah said, “Someday God will ask us about our lives and what we did … the decision comes from inside [the husband], because he wants Allah to be very satisfied with him, because he wants to do the maximum.”

Salah also believes that a woman maintains her virginal beauty before God by leaving only her eyes uncovered, because eyes remain youthful well into old age.

As conservative Muslims, Mona and Salah, who sell spices in Khan El-Khalili, do not approve of any clothing that draws attention to a woman’s face or body. However, their attitude is far from domineering. Like other older people with whom I spoke, their sentiment could be summed up as, “Khalas. Let the kids do their own thing.”

“Every generation has its own style of hijab,” said Nehal, 19, who wore retro sneakers, tight jeans, a sparkling gold Karina shirt under a white t-shirt, and a pink and blue patterned hijab done up in a “Spanish wrap.”

Young women today model a variety of wraps; the Spanish wrap, the Gulf wrap, and the Indian pashmina, are a few of the most popular. “We wear the veil because Islam says we should wear it,” Nehal said, “but after that, we can have fun with it.”

Early Thursday night, the Continental shopping center on El-Khim Street downtown —entirely devoted to hijabs and Karina tops — was filled with women, young and old, hip and conservative, poring over the massive selection of hijabs, arranged on floor to ceiling racks throughout the hundred-meter-long arcade.

I asked Nehal how many hijabs she owns. She laughed, “Too many to count. You need a hijab in every color to match everything you wear … and you also need warmer hijabs for winter and cooler ones during summer.”

Nashwa, also 19, who works in the Continental, showed me the variety on offer at her shop, Ganna, or “Heaven.” Materials include silk and satin from Italy and India, fine linen, muslin, and synthetics; there are crinkled patterns, called mekassar, or “broken satin,” and there are even hijabs fringed with decorations, like miniature flowers and tassels.

I had a few practical questions too: how much do hijabs cost, and how long does it take to put one on? Ironically, it’s the new styles of hijab that are more costly and more time consuming. A Spanish Wrap — the tousled style that leaves the tails of the hijab dangling over one shoulder, the most popular according to Nashwa — takes as long as 15 minutes to finish, while a traditional khemar can be donned in a little over a minute. Trendy hijabs can cost as much as LE 300 in boutiques in Heliopolis and Nasr City, but most of the Continental’s hijabs fall between LE 15 and LE 30.

The best bet for time and money, interestingly enough, is the niqab.

Some women prefer a bonneh, an elaborate one-piece bonnet available at Zalaat Shop on Sherif Street, starting at LE 160. Zalaat Shop also sells simple pullover hijabs in a variety of colors for about LE 30.

The final answer is that there is no appreciable difference between the religion of a hipster in a hot pink hijab mekassar and Karina and a woman in a niqab — both groups of women are simply demonstrating their respect for Islam in their own ways. The differences in veiling practices are mostly the result of generational differences in the perception of modesty. Culture changes over time, and even a centuries-old tradition like veiling is susceptible to modern trends.

Despite the differences in their individual veiling styles, all of the women with whom I spoke agreed on one thing: the amount of women who choose to veil, in one fashion or another, has been on the rise for some time, and shows no signs of deceleration. Egypt, by all accounts, is growing more religious in the 21st century — even as Egypt’s muhajabas embrace modernity.

Magical Happenings

I've been too see a couple of really cool performances in the last few weeks, from concerts to one-woman theater productions to experimental dance theater and ballet. I'll save the long explanations in favor of posting a few photos. I'm finally accessing the Internet from home, so I hope to post more regularly henceforth. We'll see if it actually happens . . . I'm having a hard time squeezing personal writing into the mix of Arabic studies, over-socializing, and freelance stuff. But, one can always find the time if one looks hard enough, and if one sacrifices society participation, which I am not opposed to doing. Did I ever tell you that I'm a bit antisocial? It's true—I'd much rather read a book than go to a party, I'm just a pushover and I can't resist temptation. How many times have I regretted staying out well into the witching hours, when I could've been at home, reading, sleeping, etc.?

Cairo is not a city that favors the homebody, that's for sure. There's always something going on, and there's always someone to twist your arm. I live with someone who twists my arm daily, and I'm only just learning to fight back.

Mraya

Last night I went to a concert at the Sahwy Culture Wheel, a community center down the street that hosts poetry readings, live music, and fine arts exhibitions. There is a large outdoor amphitheater, right on the bank of the Nile, and another indoor theater with maybe 200 seats. Last night’s concert, a young band called Mraya, was held indoors, and the ambiance was exceptional—we arrived just in the middle of a fantastic lute solo, the 20 yr. old lutist bathed in beautiful blue light. Photographing in such lighting conditions is difficult—it requires a slow shutter speed and a large aperture, which means that focus, already compromised by a limited depth of field, is even harder to attain because the slightest movement obscures the subject. And when the subject is rocking out on a lute, still moments are infrequent at best. Still—abusing the secret of photography, taking hundreds of pictures—I was able to get some good shots.

The music was great. The band was a lot like Wust al-Balad, not quite as good, but much younger, so still impressive. The oldest guy in the band, one of the two singers, named Tamim, was only 21, and the youngest was 19. There were eight people in the band: two singers, an acoustic and an electric guitarist, a bongo drummer and a regular drummer, a lutist, and a basist.

I talked to some of the musicians afterwards, got the band’s e-mail address, and told them that I’d like to come to some more of their concerts. I’m thinking about a piece on the Cairo music scene. I’ve now seen two bands that are very unique and very good, and both times the scene and the audience were warm and inviting. I’m also interested in hanging out with some of the young poets who are always reading and performing at the same places where these concerts are held. It’s rare to find a society where poetry still forms an important part of the young, urban culture—I’ve heard poetry still thrives in Ireland, so much so that the newspaper publishes the hottest poets on the front page—and here in Cairo, poetry is still very much alive. And the important distinction to make between poetry in Cairo and poetry in, say, any place in the U.S., is that here the performance is as important as the substance, whereas in the U.S., poetry has been mostly relegated to the ivory tower, where academes sit around in stuffy classrooms, sipping coffee from travel mugs and talking about hidden themes, structural motifs, overlooked gender subtexts, and the permanent tension of dueling binary oppositions. Yawn.

It’s too early to pass a favorable or dismissive judgment on Cairo’s young bards, but I suspect I’ll enjoy meeting them. Now I know where to find them.

Went to Alexandria for the two days and one night last week during Eid. It was nice to get away from Cairo for a little while and to breathe some fresh air, although, truth be told, the air in Alexandria is not that much fresher than the air in Cairo. The sea breeze, however, was great, and I loved seeing the throngs of people hanging out at the water's edge. A couple of meals, a quick swim in the med, and a cup of coffee, and I was back on the train to Cairo. The train was great—we took first class tickets because the second class tickets were sold out, so we had big, reclining, cushioned seats for about $9.00. I'm going to do it again soon.

Al-Azhar mosque in background.

Hanging out on Qasr el-Nile bridge at dawn after an all-nighter.

Waiting for dad to finish the Eid el-Fitr prayer at Al-Hussein Mosque.

Friends hanging out on the Qasr el-Nile Bridge at dawn.

Roommate Vincent on left, Karim on right.