Language and what is happening to it

The friendly young man opposite me plans to enter a private college and that’s why he wants to brush up his English.

To make him talk, I ask him about his hobbies. As so many young people nowadays he answers „chatting with friends in internet.“ I want to know if he uses English for chatting. He answers with a distorted smile, that he uses „Franco-Arab.“ I knew what he meant but I didn’t know the expression.

When using „Franco-Arab“ or „Arabish“, Latin letters are being used, yet the writer expresses himself in Arabic. In doing so, some phonetics, that are not existing in any Latin language, are of course missing (e.g.: ع). These phonetics have to be expressed with cyphers (e.g.: 3). For non-Arabic speakers this looks rather strange (e.g.: ana raye7 el gam3a el sa3a 3 el 3asr; origin: Wikipedia). Frequently, one or several words are even written in English, mixed with the transliterated Arabic. Something similar is happening on Egyptian TV: performers switch in the middle of a sentence between English and Arabic.

Egyptians were of course once more the first ones to make a virtue out of necessity. The originally Western technology for internet and mobile phone communication was not applicable for any other characters than those of the Latin languages. That means that first Arabic, Farsi, Hindi etc. were excluded from this invention.

On the one hand, I think this is a clever development. It shows how inventive people can be and that they are able to help themselves. It also shows that languages are lively and are developing themselves continuously.
On the other hand: what happens when we do not use our original language anymore? Do we unlearn it? In doing so, do we not also lose our identity?
That might be different in Western Europe from the Arabic speaking world. I grew up with books: as a child, I carefully tore page by page from old books to my Mum’s horror. Later, I dreamt with picture books and eventually I made it for reading – and never ever stopped again. Soon, my love for writing was added. However, this was not really difficult because my parents read and I grew up among mountains of books.

On the contrary, reading books has been neglected for decades in the Arabic speaking world (generally spoken and with the exception of the Qur’an). Arabic is a tremendously difficult language and to teach and to learn it needs a lot of energy and devotion. In addition, people here grow up with a dialect – so why by all means should they learn classical Arabic? Arabic poetry and literature is among the most beautiful that exist. Is it still being read? Only from few, because it dates from earlier times and is not compatible with our modern times.


Slowly, however, this seems to be changing and efforts are made to pitch reading books to the young people. Young authors are attracting attention and their books are translated into other languages.

Meanwhile, chatting is also possible in Arabic, the technology has been further developed. Yet, using it might be uncool for the youngsters. Somehow, we seem to sit in a uniform pulp: all over the world people drink coke, swallow fast-food and communicate in a slang riddled with English. Do we change our identity with it like a coat or do we just get adapted to new facts? What do you think about it?

The sun

Just sun. Blue sky, wind, sun. Nothing else. No clouds, no fog, no rain, no temperature drop.

This is how it is here. Every day.

After a month’s holiday in my home country I realised once more how very important the sun is for our humour, our well-being, for me. The second half of my holiday was soaked with rain, grey and resembled late autumn rather than summer. People around me became more and more frustrated and me too, of course.

One may wrinkle one’s nose about Egypt because little is as perfectly organised and styled as it is in the first world. Not everything suits me as well. For example, parts of Hurghada suffered these days from power cuts that lasted several hours (I was miraculously spared from it). That’s not really great fun with temperatures close to 40°C in the shadow. It is impossible to stay in the flat, to sleep and food in the fridge and freezer can be destroyed.

But: to get up in the morning… and it’s sunny outside with a spotlessly blue sky! Imagine! That’s good. That’s real well-being.

I send to all of you who are missing the sun a bit, lots of

from my heart!

Egypt‘s Ramadan 2011

It is my fourth Ramadan in Egypt, I figured out today. Every year, shallow programs are being broadcasted on TV.

Yet this year, a much more exciting program is on: ex-president Hosni Mubarak, two of his sons, the former Minister of Interior Al Adly and others are together on trial. The hearing is being broadcasted live on TV!

In Hurghada as well as all over Egypt, people are sitting in front of their televisions as if the two football teams Zamalek and Ahly played against each other; those who cannot watch TV are listening to the radio. In Cairo, the happening can be followed live on large screens. Incredible!

To be honest, I didn’t believe until yesterday evening that Mubarak would be transferred to Cairo and that this hearing would ever take place. It has been postponed several times. Yesterday, the motorway between Cairo and Sharm El Sheik was blocked and in Cairo pro and anti-Mubarak supporters scuffled with each other. Yet, right now, this spectacle is going on on TV; millions dreamt of it and hoped and wished for it. However, what a disgraceful sight: ex-president Mubarak on a stretcher, aged and declined, his pale-faced sons dressed in white prison uniforms are standing in front of his father, protecting him from gaping into the cage. Yes, in the cage! Like animals … or like felons …

These pictures remind me of those about Saddam Hussein’s trial and this is exactly what many pro-Mubarak supporters wished to avoid.

I also remember those many hours I spent watching TV at the End of January and in February and all the terrible news broadcasted about this country since then. At that time, a huge wave of energy shook the country up – six months later, it is economically in a sorry state, is still fighting against remnants of the old regime and only slowly takes to cleaning up. That this trial is happening is to my opinion a huge, historical step for Egypt. Nile TV titles the live broadcasting “trial of the century”. I think Egyptians will never ever forget this Ramadan.

Marhaban – Welcome

The hot wind is embracing me, swirling my hair, and naughtily lifting up my pleated skirt. Around me is desert, the mountain chain in the back can only be guessed through the shimmering, sandy air. The heavy smell of sand and sea is reaching my nose, a smell that puzzles whenever I come back to the Red Sea coast, be it only from the river Nile.

I am back to Hurghada. This time, it was hard for me to leave my home country – the time was too short to do everything I wanted to do and too short to see all my friends. Yet, Hurghada made it easy for me; it gave me a warm welcome.

My flat was intact – no burglary, no water damage or other adversities. The air condition is functioning bravely; tepid water is running from the taps and from the shower. At the airport, I realised already: Hurghada is full of tourists, busy, chaotic, a bit bustling as always… or to put it right: as it should be and as it hasn’t been for a couple of months. Cairo and its demonstrations are far and show themselves externally only on TV, internet and in the newspapers.

Today is the first day of Ramadan and somehow the atmosphere leaves a ceremonious impression on me. At night, streets, mosques and buildings are decorated with garlands and thousands of lights. People wish each other Ramadan kariim (generous Ramadan) and gifts are distributed to the poor and needy.

By means of one of my ardently beloved minibuses I go to the market to get fresh fruit and vegetables. On the way, the driver stops in order to see why a group of men is gathering at the roadside: there is a man lying on the street. After having watched for a couple of minutes, the driver continuous the ride through the chaotic evening traffic. No passenger complained – for sure this would have been rather different in Switzerland. The market is loaded with mangoes and grapes, melons and other juicy fruits – amidst the well-known low hygienic standard and the bothersome pushing and shoving from other customers and the all drowning shouting of the sellers.


Yes I see, I’m back to Egypt.

Objective: Coptic churches

At New Year’s Eve, I followed the horrifying news on internet about the deadly attack on a Coptic Church in Alexandria till late after midnight. The popping fireworks outside were of no interest at all to me – the reality looked completely different and I anyway was not in the mood for any Year End celebrations.

Since most of my Egyptian friends are Copts, I am extremely sensibilised to what is happening here in Egypt; yet, also my partiality for minorities has an important influence.

Hurghada does not dispose of a public Catholic Church so that’s why now and then I go to the Coptic Church. At Christmas, I saw how a security stood beside the entrance. He was leaning against the wall, obviously extremely bored, and was chatting with someone. Without any restraint at all, people passed by him, entering and leaving the Church. This is for sure not a way to protect Coptic Churches from any attacks. This so-called security was simply ridiculous; he obviously ignored his responsibility and duty. Other places reflect the same situation… only when something has already happened, when it is too late, the authorities start to act resp. quickly find a scapegoat or hush up the truth. Same happened in Naga Hammadi on last year’s Coptic Christmas.

Yet now the numbers of protests are increasing all over the country, Copts demand more protection, more rights, more equality… The worm has dangerously turned.

A couple of days ago, I was to my big surprise stopped and questioned at the checkpoint outside of Hurghada, when I wanted to pass by with my racing bicycle. Of course, I neither had a passport nor an ID in my sweaty shirt. I got rather angry and could hardly pull myself together about the nasty questions – the officer seemed to experience the same, since he threatened me by saying “I can send you to the police station” – to which I answered by shrugging my shoulders. However, both of us managed to retain our composure and I asked why I as a foreigner should carry an ID with me while moving around in Hurghada. The political unrests? The expected attacks on Coptic places at this time of the year? He evaded an answer – which was sufficient enough for me.

The next couple of days, I will go to Upper Egypt, where Copts live in greater numbers, yet still as a minority. I wanted to participate in a holy mass at Coptic Christmas – yet they are cancelled everywhere. Imagine: no mass at midnight at Christmas?!

For sure, I will visit monasteries and churches in Upper Egypt – I am longing to do so. And I hope that they will be saveguarded better – not for me but for the sake of this country.

Oh, by the way, I normally forget my ID when cycling… but today, I had it with me.

What’s left over

Only for a very short time was he on duty: produced to hold any kind of purchases: chips, sandwiches, milk, and an ice cream. He’s not very strong, but firm enough to carry a few gewgaws so that they would not tumble on the street. Now, the small white plastic bag is scrunched up and carelessly thrown onto the street. There, he is curling to and fro, trying to steady himself on a stone or a fence.

*****

There’s a big heavy waste container some distance away. It’s open, there’s no lid, doesn’t need it, since there’s no rain. It’s placed in a stupid location: at the end of a steep street that trails away in the rock. Sand glides down from the hillside, scattered garbage and broken pieces of glass make it difficult to approach the waste container. At nights, roaming dogs watch barking loudly over their playground and food source. In our quarters, there are several of theese kinds of waste containers.

There are also big grey plastic bins: ideally located, never far away from front doors, yet far away enough so that the unpleasant smell would not disturb. Nevertheless, some bins are lying on the ground; garbage is piled up in, on and around the bins. It’s a cats’ paradise.

And there are also those haggard men with fathomless faces of wrinkled landscapes. Their bony figures are covered with dark blue overalls, and their turbans are wound of only a few square centimetres of tissue. They push a bin on wheels and a besom. Or, they leave the bin alone, not too far away. They sweep the streets and collect all debris. You can hardly see them at work, most of the time they sit somewhere in the shade, smoking a cigarette.  

*****

The scavenger picks up the scrunched plastic bag and throws it into his bin. There, he’s lying on plastic bottles, cigarette butts and cans. More plastic bags are gathering around him, glass bottles and pizza cartons are crushing him. After a few days, the bin gets emptied into a huge metal container. Almost could the plastic bag escape – yet, other debris is holding him tight.

*****

Normally, the Zabaleen – the scavengers -  show up once a day. They load some of the garbage on a much too small lorry. The driver remains seated in the cabin while two other men sort out the garbage: one chooses bare handed from the waste container what may go on the lorry. He tears open waste bags, takes out card boards, plastics, remains of clothes, metal and other recyclables and hands them over to the other guy on the cargo area.

Up there, card boards are being folded and carefully stowed away at the edge of the loading ramp – that’s clever since by doing so, the content can enormously be extended. All the rest is distributed into several light blue bags on the lorry. Organic waste, such as cropped branches, withered flowers or palm leaves remain where they are. Also food remains. Since in Egypt there are no more pigs, the Zabaleen don’t see an opportunity to make use of leftovers. After having escaped from the waste bags, the plastic bags, packets and paper shreds are whirling in the wind over the street, entangle themselves in bushes and garden fences and find a way to everywhere where they do not belong to.

Waste containers and bins are usually empty after the Zabaleen’s work; yet round and round there is a big mess. Cats and dogs rummage around in the remains, drag them across the street, and fight for leftovers.

*****

The container gets tilted over with a boisterous jolt; suddenly, the small white plastic bag is free: a wind gust gets hold of him, lifts him up, lets him dance in the air! This unexpected liberty feels irritating… where should he go? Aimlessly, he is dancing up and down, is drifting just above the street, avoiding a tree and is gaining height again. He’s beside himself with joy: it’s marvellous to drift in the wind.

*****

Sometimes men can be discerned in the semi-darkness leaning over the waste container and digging through the garbage… What are they looking for? Comestibles? Once they realise that they are being observed, they lower their look, turn around and leave.

Well-dressed men leave their waste bags in the early morning or late at night on the backside of the buildings or in the middle of the sidewalk! – and walk away as cool as a cucumber…

*****

Yet abruptly, his joy is stalled. The small white plastic bag is caught in a tall tree‘s branches; the wind is pushing his hangers in two different directions. He is on the verge of bursting, defends himself with all his might, shudders, trembles for a while, but the wind is stronger.

*****

Every couple of weeks, a huge excavator temporarily finds a remedy: the greedy shovel loads all what has been left over for weeks on a big lorry: glass fragments, bones, cans, rotten leaves, fabric scraps, stones and sand. After that, the area looks tidy for some hours – only alongside the garden fences and bushes some plastic bags remain stuck.

Just to raise a smile

When I go shopping, I dearly try to express my wishes in Arabic. However, depending on the kind of shop and the sales assistant, most of the time, the answer follows in English. This is how it goes to and fro – the Egyptian speaks English which is even worse than my Arabic, and I answer in a miserable Arabic.

Somehow, all conversations follow a similar pattern:

Me (in Arabic): Good morning, I’d like to buy this or that. Or: is XY there?

He (in English): Good morning, yes, we have. Or: no. Or: I don’t know.

Me (in A): When do you get it or when does XY come?

He (in E): Tomorrow, Insha’Allah.

Me (in A): Could you please speak Arabic with me?

He (in A): Do you live here? (With lots of good luck finally in Arabic)

Me: Yes.He: Since when?

Me: Since then and then.

He: Are you married?

Me: Yes.

He: With an Egyptian?

Me: Yes.

He (again in English): Oh, he is a lucky man!

Me (continuing in Arabic): thanks.

And in future I’ll add: I’ll tell him (my fictional Arabic husband).

I leave the shop with a big smile. Although I have neither got the product nor the information requested, the shop assistant made the most of the situation: he simply raised a smile to my face!