Dirty American Whores

OK, so there are a few posts below that I wrote while in Cape Town but just put up. I'm in Cairo now, where I've been since Wednesday night. We're at a kind of shady hotel, but in a really good neighborhood, since as one of the program coordinators told us, as Americans we're automatically considered upper class, and class is VERY IMPORTANT to Egyptians. I am always aware that being white and American opens a lot of doors, and it's good to openly acknowledge it, but not necessarily in a "GOOOOAAAAAALLLLL!" kind of way. I mean, she was really psyched to let us know that we were all upper-crust as far as the unwashed masses were concerned.

We are also, of course, Dirty American Whores, forthwith shortened to DAWs, in their view. I mean the women in the program, of course--the guys are fine. But the women wear pants, and short sleeves, and we are bare-headed. And those of us who have been to other countries are like whatever, we know that's how we'll be viewed, you ignore it and go about your business. But some of these poor girls are out of the country for the first time and they can't understand why they're being stared at. I very helpfully explained, "We are the Dirty American Whores. Embrace it. And remember that since you can't understand what they're yelling at you anyway, you can let it roll of you." It is funny, though--you can immediately pick out those of us who have been out of country and know that we are objects of interest because we are American women, and those for whom it is a brave new world.

What I have also realized is that it's really hard for American women to be discreet, even when they want to be. We have all been talking about how short-sleeved shirts are usually cap-sleeved, and V-necked, and pants sit low on the hips, so even as you aim to be conservative in your dress--no one's trying to wear a burka, we're just trying not to draw undue attention--you're kind of hampered by American fashion choices. Oh well. Dirty American Whores. And what makes it worse it that when someone smiles at me, I smile back. Women don't do that here, they look away because no one should smile at them, because you shouldn't see them. But I am cheerfully American, and I have a Pavlovian response to smiles, even skeevy ones--I smile back. Whatever, I know I'm a cultural ambassador, blah blah, but they need to know there's another way.

I have been glad, though, that I dyed my hair a darker brown. The blondes are definitely drawing more stares. Although "more" is really relative at this point.

Classes start Sunday. We're just kicking around getting the lay of the land until then. There are some very cool people in this program, which makes all the difference.