| Spirit of a People by Cheri Berens |
People go to Egypt to see the ancient sites or connect with their spirituality. The first time I went to Egypt it was as a professional dancer. I had
no itinerary other than to study the music and the dancing. But what started as a dancer’s dream trip to Cairo ended up being an introspective
observation of faith, unity and recognition of the necessity of peace and joy.
Cairo can be an overwhelming place. The faces of poverty can sometimes make an American uncomfortable. Disfigurement and abnormalities
often make us turn our heads. Traffic and crowds hindering our pace make us irritable. Beggars can test our patience and compassion.
I picked up a drum and began playing a simple rhythm. At the sound of the drum, a young man with a measuring tape around his neck appeared
He began playing the drum. I was stunned. I had listened to and studied middle eastern music for twenty-four years. This was incredible
drumming. His hands were moving magically—flat, sideways, fast, slow. His fingers rippled and snapped against the skin of the drum. I looked
at his face. Even more surprised, I saw that his joy had transformed his face into a beautiful, smiling, perfect one, and his eyes sparkled like
stars.
At another shop, I wanted to pay with traveler’s checks, but it was explained that I would have to go to the bank around the corner and cash
them first. The owner pointed to a boy of about 14 and said he would take me. We were in Khan al-Khalili Bazaar, an enormous maze of tiny
shops in small, alley-type streets jammed with people and boisterous shopkeepers. Magnificent smells of perfume oils and exotic spices floated
through the air. The boy took off at a pace so fast I had to jog to keep up with him. Dodging people made it more difficult to stay close.
Suddenly I realized we had made many turns and had gone much further than “around the corner”.
I began to feel concerned at how far we had gone, but I dared not lose him; I would not know how to find my way back. I continued to jog and
dodge the crowd. Finally he stopped in front of an empty alley and waited for me to catch up. I spoke of my concern, but he didn’t understand
or speak English. I followed him into the alley.
He opened a door into an unusually plain building. Inside was a counter and three men behind it. The boy spoke to them in Arabic. The main
man said “passport”. I handed it to him. He said something else, I had no idea what, but knowing I was there to cash checks, I handed them to
him. Everything began to look a little more official, although as I looked around, this certainly was not a bank. It was a large, empty room with a
counter. The man stacked piles of Egyptian pounds onto the counter. I suddenly realized I would be carrying an enormous amount of cash
through the crowded streets. I looked at my young escort. As if sensing my sudden fear, he smiled a giant reassuring grin.
I thought for a moment about how every phrase I had been hearing either ended or began with thanking God, praising God, or trusting God.
Surely it was and always is in God’s hands. Our spiritual beliefs may differ, yet I felt I certainly shared this feeling of faith, this oneness with my
creator. I smiled back at my young friend.
I spent every day in the city. This meant long taxi rides in and out of Cairo. Most tourists probably don’t spend that much time on the highways
and streets. It was very insightful. I had just visited New York City for a dance workshop the previous week. There, cab drivers spend much of
their energy honking, getting impatient or being angry. After living most of my life in Los Angeles, I can attest that the annoyed and impatient
drivers there have been known to resort to violence.
The enormous growth of population in Cairo has forced the traffic to drive on the dividing lines of the highway. Seeing five tightly cramped
lanes where three should be is quite disconcerting at first. What I saw, though, was a kind of collective consciousness and a prevailing
peaceful attitude.
If someone made an error or cut someone off, instead of irritation or anger, they would more often than not smile at each other, or nod an
acknowledgement of error and apology and receive a smile in return. I began to notice this same attitude in other areas within the society.
In the face of extreme poverty and overpopulation, I was amazed to see camaraderie and a strong sense of community which included lots of joy
and laughter. I would expect to see this in a village or small town, not in a city of eighteen million people.
I saw someone slip and fall. In our own country, although concerned, we are relieved to see someone else offer help so we can return to our
own hectic pace. Instead, a huge circle of concerned people offered help and remedies. As a collective group, it was decided how serious it
was, and not until it was mutually decided that things were all right did the group disperse, leaving a few people behind to escort the shaken
person. I saw many similar events where concerned strangers lingered and also noticed that the poorest of poor dropped coins into the
beggars dish. There was a palpable sense of unity and oneness.
I met a Nubian man who asked the usual questions of where I was from, but he quickly shifted the conversation to his concern of American
opinion. He worried that we do not realize that the majority of Egypt’s millions care about peace with their neighbors and are peaceful with each
other. He feared the media’s attention on the minority would keep us from knowing the peaceful nature of the majority of the Egyptian people.
I came back to the states to our fast-paced society in which our lives are filled with expensive gadgets. We juggle careers and varied social
activities. We take education for granted. Egyptian life is a slower one. One filled with acceptance and faith—a faith that keeps the people
going in the midst of adversity. They have little as far as material wealth. The average Egyptian earns about $600 a year, yet they are a rich
people aware of their abundant history and heritage.
Like the spirited Arabian horses they cherish, they are alive with their love for life, yet calm and confident and at peace within their personal
boundaries.
no itinerary other than to study the music and the dancing. But what started as a dancer’s dream trip to Cairo ended up being an introspective
observation of faith, unity and recognition of the necessity of peace and joy.
Cairo can be an overwhelming place. The faces of poverty can sometimes make an American uncomfortable. Disfigurement and abnormalities
often make us turn our heads. Traffic and crowds hindering our pace make us irritable. Beggars can test our patience and compassion.
I picked up a drum and began playing a simple rhythm. At the sound of the drum, a young man with a measuring tape around his neck appeared
He began playing the drum. I was stunned. I had listened to and studied middle eastern music for twenty-four years. This was incredible
drumming. His hands were moving magically—flat, sideways, fast, slow. His fingers rippled and snapped against the skin of the drum. I looked
at his face. Even more surprised, I saw that his joy had transformed his face into a beautiful, smiling, perfect one, and his eyes sparkled like
stars.
At another shop, I wanted to pay with traveler’s checks, but it was explained that I would have to go to the bank around the corner and cash
them first. The owner pointed to a boy of about 14 and said he would take me. We were in Khan al-Khalili Bazaar, an enormous maze of tiny
shops in small, alley-type streets jammed with people and boisterous shopkeepers. Magnificent smells of perfume oils and exotic spices floated
through the air. The boy took off at a pace so fast I had to jog to keep up with him. Dodging people made it more difficult to stay close.
Suddenly I realized we had made many turns and had gone much further than “around the corner”.
I began to feel concerned at how far we had gone, but I dared not lose him; I would not know how to find my way back. I continued to jog and
dodge the crowd. Finally he stopped in front of an empty alley and waited for me to catch up. I spoke of my concern, but he didn’t understand
or speak English. I followed him into the alley.
He opened a door into an unusually plain building. Inside was a counter and three men behind it. The boy spoke to them in Arabic. The main
man said “passport”. I handed it to him. He said something else, I had no idea what, but knowing I was there to cash checks, I handed them to
him. Everything began to look a little more official, although as I looked around, this certainly was not a bank. It was a large, empty room with a
counter. The man stacked piles of Egyptian pounds onto the counter. I suddenly realized I would be carrying an enormous amount of cash
through the crowded streets. I looked at my young escort. As if sensing my sudden fear, he smiled a giant reassuring grin.
I thought for a moment about how every phrase I had been hearing either ended or began with thanking God, praising God, or trusting God.
Surely it was and always is in God’s hands. Our spiritual beliefs may differ, yet I felt I certainly shared this feeling of faith, this oneness with my
creator. I smiled back at my young friend.
I spent every day in the city. This meant long taxi rides in and out of Cairo. Most tourists probably don’t spend that much time on the highways
and streets. It was very insightful. I had just visited New York City for a dance workshop the previous week. There, cab drivers spend much of
their energy honking, getting impatient or being angry. After living most of my life in Los Angeles, I can attest that the annoyed and impatient
drivers there have been known to resort to violence.
The enormous growth of population in Cairo has forced the traffic to drive on the dividing lines of the highway. Seeing five tightly cramped
lanes where three should be is quite disconcerting at first. What I saw, though, was a kind of collective consciousness and a prevailing
peaceful attitude.
If someone made an error or cut someone off, instead of irritation or anger, they would more often than not smile at each other, or nod an
acknowledgement of error and apology and receive a smile in return. I began to notice this same attitude in other areas within the society.
In the face of extreme poverty and overpopulation, I was amazed to see camaraderie and a strong sense of community which included lots of joy
and laughter. I would expect to see this in a village or small town, not in a city of eighteen million people.
I saw someone slip and fall. In our own country, although concerned, we are relieved to see someone else offer help so we can return to our
own hectic pace. Instead, a huge circle of concerned people offered help and remedies. As a collective group, it was decided how serious it
was, and not until it was mutually decided that things were all right did the group disperse, leaving a few people behind to escort the shaken
person. I saw many similar events where concerned strangers lingered and also noticed that the poorest of poor dropped coins into the
beggars dish. There was a palpable sense of unity and oneness.
I met a Nubian man who asked the usual questions of where I was from, but he quickly shifted the conversation to his concern of American
opinion. He worried that we do not realize that the majority of Egypt’s millions care about peace with their neighbors and are peaceful with each
other. He feared the media’s attention on the minority would keep us from knowing the peaceful nature of the majority of the Egyptian people.
I came back to the states to our fast-paced society in which our lives are filled with expensive gadgets. We juggle careers and varied social
activities. We take education for granted. Egyptian life is a slower one. One filled with acceptance and faith—a faith that keeps the people
going in the midst of adversity. They have little as far as material wealth. The average Egyptian earns about $600 a year, yet they are a rich
people aware of their abundant history and heritage.
Like the spirited Arabian horses they cherish, they are alive with their love for life, yet calm and confident and at peace within their personal
boundaries.
COPYRIGHT 1999
