I have learned some new lessons on this trip and have been reminded of some old ones. Among them, I had to remember that you have to open up to a culture before it will fully open up to you. In other words, you can pass through simply as an observer, or you can have the rarer gift of making some friends along the way. This is hard to remember, as it was for me, when the culture seems to accost you at every turn. This lesson was, however, drilled home one day when we were in the market doing some last minute Christmas shopping before heading to Europe.
Whilst navigating the crowds, a young man approached, asking where we were from. This was not an unusual question, one we had generally found to be an early stage of the game of tourist stalking. In a preventative measure, we typically gave short answers and quickly moved on, or we would ignore the question altogether. Although that sounds harsh, in crowded situations this question could literally be posed a dozen times in the length of one block, and it is impossible to answer every time. This particular man did not give up lightly, and I was growing weary of the passive approach, so I answered “United States.” The questions continued as is typical. “The United States. Which state?” To which I answered, still weaving my way through the crowd as quickly as possible. “Missouri.” “Ah, yes, Missouri! Which city?” At this point, I was beginning to feel that hunted feeling, so I tried to just press onwards, but he would not give up, asking “Why do you keep walking off as if I frighten you?” The sincerity caught me off guard, so I stopped to answer with an apology and an explanation that the questions he was asking generally led to harassment.
After that lame, albeit brief, explanation, I informed him that I was from Kansas City. The true purpose behind his persistent line of questioning was then revealed. He had recently participated in an art studies program which took him to the campus of the Art Institute of . . . Kansas City. His glee over the chance meeting was endearing, and he immediately adopted us on our shopping trip to take us to the best shops for whatever it was we needed to buy. Later, we went to a coffee house in the market. The evening ended with great conversation, hospitality and shisha. This wouldn’t have transpired had we continued to ignore Ahmed on the street. I feel as though I learned more about the Egyptian culture at that coffee house with Ahmed and his friends than I did in the three weeks prior in Egypt.
