The Politics of Street Cuisine

My first direct taste of anti-American sentiment in the Middle East came as I was sitting with my cousin Inez at the Khan al Khaili, a wonderful warren of retail bedlam in Cairo's center. We were enjoying -- I was enjoying -- a kibdah (liver) sandwich and a spicy sausage sandwich at a vendor of such on the sidelines of the bazaar. My cuz asked a gentleman wearing a turban if we could share the small table in front of the stand and he smilingly obliged. We sat and Inez listened to me gruntingly approve of the food I was inserting into my mouth -- a common sound -- and I smiled at the stranger across from me who returned the smile as he hoisted his sandwich to his mouth. It could have been an Oscar Meyer commercial.

As has happened many times to me during my stay here in Egypt, native Egyptians will see me approach and launch into an onslaught of colloquial Arabic at blistering speeds, expecting me to fully understand and respond accordingly. The joke's on them when I can't and I am forced to use my standard, "inta calemma ingleezy?" line which roughly translates into, "slow down; help." at which point, the joke's on me. After our trying vocal exchange concludes, I am inevitably told that I look Egyptian and upon confirming my full-blooded Pharaonic cred, they then wonder why I don't speak the mother tongue. I still don't have a good answer for that one.

Kind of a similar thing with my fellow kibdah connoisseur, only he leaned over and asked my cousin if I was "Masry", or Egyptian. In muffled English, I butted in and said, yes, I was, and also American. It took about 1.5 seconds for the man's face to go from welcome wagon to angry mob. After a few more tense seconds, he told us he was Iraqi.

My first reaction was sympathy. I apologized, first in English and then after consulting my cousin for the right terminology, in Arabic. He sarcastically said he was sorry, too. Whatever the reader's politics, there's no denying that Iraq is a stinking fish market that every stray cat in the neighborhood has found out about. Some would argue the U.S. of A might have had a wee bit to do with blowing open the windows and doors for these mangy cats to climb through. So I could appreciate his anger, frustration and apparent outrage.

What I could not appreciate was the man's penetrating stares every time I looked up from my gustatory activities. The look of derision and disgust isn't something you want to be eating across from. Actually, I'm used to disgust. But derision certainly does nothing for digestion. As my spicy sausage sandwich quickly became memory and rumor, I was starting to get generally annoyed with his silent-yet-menacing schtick, especially when he asked my cousin how I felt about the Iraq war. She smartly told him to just eat. Regardless, I really tried to engage in some sort of dialog with him, but I was getting no where. Plus, Cousin Inez, whose frantic whisper I had never heard before, was imploring me to stop trying to talk to him, citing his unpredictability.

I apologized again and then he slowly got up and paid for his meal. After briefly conversing with the vendor, the rather burly man in green fatigues turned to us and reached for his wallet. He pulled out a picture of a small boy, about four or five years of age, sitting on a brick ledge and handed it to me. It was a picture of his deceased son, his "baby", whom he said died in the Iraq war. Looking at the faded photograph, the man's pain suddenly felt genuine. I returned the photo to him and he quietly disappeared amongst a display of shiny sheesha pipes and glittering silver bracelets.       

By this point, the blood slowly began to return to Inez's face and she had ditched the whisper in favor of a full-throated scolding in regard to me talking to dangerous-looking men dressed in military green. I calmed her down and offered her some liver.

Still, the incident induced continued pondering. I was unsure what reaction this guy had wanted from me. Was it horror? Abject sorrow? A check? To stand on the table and loudly denounce my government as bits of sausage and bread come flying out of my mouth? I wasn't sure if my battered GAP jeans and round-the-clock shadow gave it away, but certainly there was a dearth of lawmakers trying to track me down in search of my thoughts leading up to the war, let alone my thoughts on anything. But of course, to claim innocence is folly. Even my occasional rental cars need a fill-up.

And, yes, while disheartening to see a photo of his dead child, I was equally disheartened to see a semi-automatic weapon strapped around him as he sat on that ledge. Not exactly the stuff of family photo albums and not quite the image I would have chosen to invoke a measure of guilt on someone whose fellow countrymen were being mercilessly disposed of in the same conflict, as well.

But as he walked away, shaking his head, I really wished we could have adequately communicated. I wanted to hear his side of things and vice versa and perhaps, over a couple more kibdah sandwiches, we might have understood each other better. Maybe. Alas, the world such that it is and the disinformation still rampant in the alleged information age, for all he knew I was a war-happy, oblivious, American tourist who was sure he was a Koran-crazed terrorist with a double-parked car bomb a couple of blocks away. So much for discourse.

Comments

[Kevbro]

Wow, George. This has got to be your best entry yet. I am always amazed at how rationally you can navigate such situations without getting all emotional and pissed off. Anyway, maybe you should go back to telling people you're from Canada or Spain or let them guess like we did in Turkey?

Sounds like the food is amzing (for you) as always! :) See you in 6 weeks or so!
Kevbro

[Mike]

Liver always puts me back at ease! This was a great one george!

[erin]

excellent post! now i'm craving liver and sausage, big time.

[mihow]

I must agree with the other commenters, this post is outstanding. Thank you for sharing, george.

[Am.]

You tried to calm her down w/ some liver? You never cease to amaze me. I don't agree with you. I wouldn't want to talk to you either. If I lost my child to an ill-advised + wrong war, I would hold prejudice to those citizens as well. Also, you never lost a child, you can't expect him to feel differently.

[Southeratti]

Interesting story. Didn't like the events. I agree with your cousin on this. Talking politics with an armed man is not the best angle. Especially when she's reluctant to translate. Why apologize. I guess it's something to say. They're not checking the web for counter-culture in the US in between suicide-bombs. So it's strange to think that this man's emotions were anything more than a reaction to a death and other day-to-day tragedies going on in that country. Seems like there was a pretty great distance b/t you two, and while it's fascinating, I don't think that's the forum. Nice work with the spicy sausage, watch where you eat it.

[Dave]

"I calmed her down and offered her some liver." Wow, your one of a kind George. Great post, I think it may be the best one I read in a long time. Glad to see their actually weekly.

[Courtney]

George, I hope you don't mind if I show this to my social studies classes for a group discussion. While usually a great read, this column is especially poignant and timely. I hope you do get your discourse over kibdah sandwiches, but maybe I'm too optimistic.

[Tumini]

Chilling.

While we will never know the story of the son's death, a dead child is a dead child.

That being said, isn't asking for sympathy for a dead, gun toting child killied by the authorities a bit like responding to the Pope's comments about Islam being warlike with church burnings and nun shootings?

I had a long talk with a rabid anti American Somali once while abroad who was bothred by me being american, and it was really interesting. But I don't think I would have done that while in Somalia....

[sassy]

why did you buy his meal? i find that really interesting.

[Courtney]

George, your column went over very well with the 6th graders who are studying Ancient Egypt. They particularly like the Pharaonic cred comment. I made a worksheet, some kids acted it out and I had to add footnotes for the vocab. but the students, as was I, were fascinated by your story. And, because of the unpredictable ways of middle schoolers, somehow my cool quotient went up because I know a writer in Egypt.

[supra shoes]

Truth is the torch, but also a huge torch. Therefore, we want to go over his eyes, or even worried about being burned.