stubbornly beautiful untameness in it

The pictures that I have been trying to post for the past few days just aren't working. This is probably due to the internet constantly going in and out and sometimes staying away for a day at a time. So instead I am just typing, and hopefully soon I will post some pictures from the mo'tommer (camp) I was at.

The mo'tommer was really good, by the way. I had lots and lots of little children speaking to me in Arabic. Sometimes I understood, sometimes I just pretended like I understood.

It was really strange to get so much attention from the little girls. They were fascinated by my straight hair. It was really kind of upsetting how fascinated they were by it because they seem to hold to a standard of beauty that holds straight, silky hair (i.e. european looking hair) to be far superior to their hair. I love their hair- the texture and the curls; I love how they can slick it down or let it free. There is a sort of stubbornly beautiful untameness in it.

But when I was in the pool with them they were running their hands through it, asking me "why is your hair so beautiful?" as a genuine question for which they wanted an answer. I had to make time slots throughout the day so they could take turns playing with it. I couldn't decide whether to admit them that I wanted mounds of hair like their's or whether I should try to show them what it means to be content with one's own beauty.

But I don't really know what that means myself, so I can't judge them for wanting to look different. Mostly I just told them often that they were amoora or gameela, beautiful, and whenever one asked why my hair was beautiful I asked her the same question back about her hair.

In other news, last night I was walking to the tram with some friends and it was a very Egyptian evening. We walked very slowly through downtown at about midnight, dodging cars on the street and avoiding the sidewalks because of trash and random dripping dirty water from balconies. One street was lit up with ropes and ropes of lights and there was baladi music (like the egpytian equivalent of country music, but it obviously sounds very middle eastern, not twangy) blasting and the street was thick with people. I asked what was going on and my friends explained it was in celebration of a new shop opening. We stopped to get kharoob, which is a drink that is made from soaking seeds in water. It was my first time drinking kharoob. At shops such as this you buy the drink and they give it to you in a glass. You stand nearby, drink the juice, and then return the glass. The six of us all had glasses and I sipped from mine-- it was two or three times as sweet as North Carolina sweet tea, if you can imagine that. After two sips I realized I was the only person with anything left in my glass-- the Alexandrians had chugged it like beer, or ice cold water after a lawn-mowing job. Several of them had a second glass before I was close to finishing mine. We also stopped for popcorn and we waited about twenty minutes on the tram before it started going. When we got to my tram station they ALL got off and walked me the twenty minutes or so back to where I am staying because I am a girl and they didn't want me to walk alone. All of these are reasons why I say that it was a very Egyptian evening.

Unfortunately, I think the kharoob was made with unboiled tap water. I got really sick again during the night and woke up this morning feeling miserable. But this evening I am doing better, so it was a good excuse to stay home and rest for the day and avoid celebrating the 4th of July. Not that I am totally against celebrating the 4th, I just haven't in a while and didn't want to break the tradition to be with a bunch of american mothers who hate Egypt and avoid going out of the house at all costs.

That was mean and self-righteous, I know.

Sorry.

Okay, I need to go memorize about 50 more vocabulary words before my tutoring lesson tomorrow. I have already memorized 80 words today and this is after I weeded out the vocabulary I deemed superflous and refused to learn. It is really the most practical use of my time to learn the names in Arabic for 7 different types of lightbulbs? No, I'd rather be accidentally insulting my new aqaintance's mother in Arabic or getting sick from kharoob, thank you.