I was walking around the busy streets of Cairo this past summer slightly lost. I say “slightly” because I was sure I was at the metro station, I just couldn’t for the life of me find the entrance.  I decided to ask. “Excuse me Madame,” I said to a small woman dressed in black from head to toe. Her face was completely covered except for her eyes - the niqab is a way for women to disappear in public.  Unlike some other Islamic countries like Iran and Saudi Arabia, the hijab or niqab is not required in Egypt.

I asked her about the entrance to the metro station, and she graciously offered to walk me there. As I peered between the slits of fabric at her eyes and listened to her voice, I realized that this is no short woman. I was speaking to a child. “I’m sorry, I called you Madame, but it seems that you’re quite young,” I said.  She smiled (at least I think she did), and told me not to worry about it. “There’s no way you could tell anyway,” she assured me. During our short walk, I tried to learn as much as I could. It’s not often that I would be able to chat with a girl hidden behind a niqab.

She’s sixteen years old. She took on the niqab six years ago at the age of ten.  She hadn’t even reach puberty.  When I asked about her motives, she really didn’t answer my question, but told me that it was her decision. I asked her if it made her feel closer to God. “Of course,” she said, “this is the best thing.” I felt sad. How could looking like a black ghost bring her closer to God? Instead of asking her that, I decided on another question. We had arrived at the metro but I couldn’t let her go until I knew the answer. “How do you eat at a restaurant with your mouth covered like that?” Her little hand was gloved in black as she gestured. “I don’t eat in the street,” she said, “I don’t like people seeing me eat.” It seems that her quest to become invisible is complete.

“Why do Americans hate Egyptians?” the taxi driver said, glancing at me in the rear view mirror. He wore a full bushy beard. A Koran sat conspicuously in front of him on the dash board.  To be honest, I was a little worried about getting in when he stopped for us on the street. But it was late, and it would have been very awkward since he had agreed to our price. It didn’t help that he decided to take an unusual route to our downtown Cairo hotel. I thought it would be best to ask. He assured me it was longer but quicker. When he found out that we’re from America, he became quite chatty.

It was his first question and it took me by surprise. “Who told you that?” I asked him. He said that he had lots of friends who had travelled to the United States.  They insisted that Americans hate Egyptians. “They’re liars,” I said oddly, offended by those “friends.” I translated for my husband and he joined the conversation.  We told him that Americans admire Egypt’s history and that in any case, if Americans have issues with a country, its with their government, not their people.

 Then he asked if my American husband was also a Muslim. “No,” I told him, “we’re Christians.” I held my breath wondering how he would react. “Some of my best friends are Christians,” he said. It was so cliche’ but he seemed sincere. Whenever someone is sick, he told me, they all go and visit him in the hospital, regardless of his religion. As Cairo, still alive and bustling at 11pm, passed by our window, our taxi driver put his index finger up.  Violence between Muslims and Christians were fomented by “outsiders,” he said. Extremism has never been part of Egypt’s culture. We emphatically agreed with him. I decided not to ask him who these “outsiders” might be.

 When we arrived at the hotel, my husband reached into his wallet and leaned over to my ear. “I’m going to practice some public diplomacy,” he said. I wondered how much money that was going to cost us. We wished the taxi driver a good night as my husband handed him double the fare.

The State Department can thank us later.

It’s the dog days of summer here in Washington, DC. Time to kick back with a good book in an air conditioned room. Some friends have asked me to suggest a few books that would be good for summer reading. Here they are:  I just love Anne Lamott. She came on the program a short while ago and had me laughing the whole time. Her latest book is Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith . I think you’ll enjoy it. Another fun book is Gregory Levey, Shut Up I’m Talking: And Other Diplomacy Lessons I Learned in the Israeli Government.  He’s a charming young man with a talent for getting into hilarious situations. The book is also an opportunity for some comic relief in a very tragic situation. For those that prefer a bit of escapism through fiction, I recommend Antonio Skarmeta, The Dancer and the Thief: A Novel. From the author that brought us “The Postman” that became the academy award winning Italian film “Il Postino,” his latest is an enjoyable and quick read. I’ll be out of the country on vacation for the next three weeks. I hope you’ll enjoy the show archives I’ve selected for you. When I come back, I’ll catch up with you on this blog. In the meantime, send me any comments you may have. Ciao!

In the five years that I have been on the air, I have never once had to stop the show to compose myself.  Never, that is, until I met Daoud Hari.  Daoud is a Sudanese tribesman and author of The Translator:  A Tribesman’s Memoir of Darfur.  His personal story is harrowing to be sure.  In 2003, his life was shattered when Sudanese government helicopter gunships destroyed his village, killing his brother and sending his family into refugee camps in Chad.  He could have taken up a gun and fought with the resistance, but Daoud says that he decided to fight with his voice instead.  He became a translator and guide for reporters from major news organizations, including the BBC, the New York Times, the Chicago Tribune, as well as members of the United Nations aid groups.  His work helped bring the tragedy of Darfur into our living rooms.  It also got him into a lot of trouble.  He escaped death on a number of occasions – and spent three months in a Sudanese jail where he was beaten and tortured. 

But it was not Daoud’s personal story alone that left me speechless.  It was also the story of the immense suffering of his countrymen.  He wasn’t able to mention them all on the air, but he wrote about them in the book. The woman who was fleeing the country on foot carrying her dead baby;  Another woman who could no longer feed her three children, so she hanged herself in a tree.  He told of a young boy caught in a firefight who stopped his crying long enough to wave at the journalists rushing past in their Jeeps.  And others I can’t even mention.

We’ve all read the headlines about Darfur – 2.5 million people displaced. 250,000 in refugee camps.  Hundreds of thousands murdered by their own government.  But it can be hard to get behind the headlines to hear the real story.  Thanks to Daoud, millions of people can now hear the truth about what’s going on in Sudan.

For a man who has had so many brushes with death, and witnessed firsthand the gruesome deaths of many of his countrymen, I found Daoud to be gentle, calm and, most striking of all, hopeful.  When I asked him if he was worried that the Sudanese authorities would seek revenge on his family after the publication of his book, he responded that all the people of Darfur are his family and that he was worried about all of them.  Indeed. 

I’ve decided to go back to school. No, not to get another degree - I don’t have the patience or the money for that. As an alumna of George Washington University, I have the opportunity to audit classes, or sit in without getting college credit, for a small fee. I thought it would be a good idea to get some formal journalism training, so I signed up for a class called News Writing and Reporting. Most of my classmates are sophomores so that puts them around 19 or 20 years old.

Our first assignment in the field was to find and cover someone giving a speech. Former President of Mexico Vicente Fox was speaking in Washington and I thought it would be interesting to attend and write an article about it.  As I walked among the attendees with my press pass on my lapel, a woman tapped me on the shoulder. “Are you with the press? Come talk to us,” she said cheerfully.

I walked over to where she and another woman were standing. The first woman asked me who I worked for and I told her that I’m a journalism student at George Washington. The other woman carefully looked at my face and asked, “Are you a PhD student?”

I guess my eye cream has not been working. I know I can’t pass for an undergrad, but can’t I at least pass for a Master’s student?

It’s time for botox.

I thought this was an interesting article from the New York Times. It seems that the Arab media is not so “independent” after all.

January 4, 2008

Al Jazeera No Longer Nips at Saudis

By ROBERT F. WORTH

DUBAI, United Arab Emirates — When a Saudi court sentenced a young woman to 200 lashes in November after she pressed charges against seven men who had raped her, the case provoked outrage and headlines around the world, including in the Middle East.

But not at Al Jazeera, the Arab world’s leading satellite television channel, seen by 40 million people. The station’s silence was especially noteworthy because until recently, and unlike almost all other Arab news outlets, Al Jazeera had long been willing — eager, in fact — to broadcast fierce criticisms of Saudi Arabia’s rulers. (more…)

The New York Times

December 7, 2007

Op-Ed Contributor Islam’s Silent Moderates 

By AYAAN HIRSI ALIThe woman and the man guilty of adultery or fornication, flog each of them with 100 stripes: Let no compassion move you in their case, in a matter prescribed by Allah, if you believe in Allah and the Last Day. (Koran 24:2)  IN the last few weeks, in three widely publicized episodes, we have seen Islamic justice enacted in ways that should make Muslim moderates rise up in horror. A 20-year-old woman from Qatif, Saudi Arabia, reported that she had been abducted by several men and repeatedly raped. But judges found the victim herself to be guilty. Her crime is called “mingling”: when she was abducted, she was in a car with a man not related to her by blood or marriage, and in Saudi Arabia, that is illegal. Last month, she was sentenced to six months in prison and 200 lashes with a bamboo cane. Two hundred lashes are enough to kill a strong man. Women usually receive no more than 30 lashes at a time, which means that for seven weeks the “girl from Qatif,” as she’s usually described in news articles, will dread her next session with Islamic justice. When she is released, her life will certainly never return to normal: already there have been reports that her brother has tried to kill her because her “crime” has tarnished her family’s honor. We also saw Islamic justice in action in Sudan, when a 54-year-old British teacher named Gillian Gibbons was sentenced to 15 days in jail before the government pardoned her this week; she could have faced 40 lashes. When she began a reading project with her class involving a teddy bear, Ms. Gibbons suggested the children choose a name for it. They chose Muhammad; she let them do it. This was deemed to be blasphemy. (more…)

From the Associated Press: “A Sudanese court convicted a British teacher Thursday of insulting Islam for letting her students name a teddy bear Muhammad and sentenced her to 15 days in prison, avoiding a heavier punishment of 40 lashes. The teacher wept in court, insisting she never meant to offend.” http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20071129/ap_on_re_mi_ea/sudan_british_teacher

In a class of seven year olds in Khartoum, Sudan’s capital, the children take turns taking the bear home and then recording what he did. The children decided to name him Muhammad. But some parents were offended and the teacher was hauled into court and speedily convicted of insulting Islam. She’ll be deported after her 15 days in prison.

Why is it that Islam is so easily insulted? A teddy bear? Muhammad is a very common name in Muslim countries, I believe second only to Osama in popularity.