Stepping out of the elevator on the 11th floor, two hotel
residents glanced back at me. The sound of music, just loud enough to be heard
but not deciphered, poured into the elevator shaft, out of the stairwell and
across the otherwise-silent lobby. The doors closed and I hit 17. Glancing into
the elevator’s mirrored wall, I took one final look at my dark-blue pinstriped
suit jacket, pink shirt and blue jeans. I marveled through bug-eyed sunglasses
at my slick, black greasy mullet and handlebar mustache.
Halloween in Cairo marked the halfway point for many
study-abroad students who will be returning home in less than two months.
According to most of these students, they have reached what was characterized
during orientation as the “home” stage of cultural adjustment, when
international guests begin to feel comfortable with Cairo’s lifestyle and daily
interactions while still maintaining a sense of loyalty to their own culture.
Northwestern University senior Halley Morrissey said she
feels like she has reached a point in her stay where she is “culturally
saturated” — no longer frustrated or out of place, but likely unable to grow
more in her experience.
“I could stay another week or another year and I feel like
it would just be day-to-day life,” she said.
Cairo’s small everyday peculiarities have become commonplace
for many international students, and cease to stand out. Women in gaudy,
brightly colored hijabs, with stylish makeup and Gucci bags pass unnoticed.
Children play soccer in every available public space; women in revealing
western dresses shopping with those in traditional black burqas or djellabas
hardly draw second looks.
In a country that outlaws homosexuality, two men walking arm
in arm no longer seems a questionable contradiction. In a city with traffic
that could make the most aggressive American drivers seem tame, a motorcycle
carrying an entire family is no longer a shocking sight. And the constant
presence of white-uniformed police no longer instills worry or a sense of
unease.
Nevertheless, the Nov. 1 Halloween party at the Marwa Palace
Hotel, where the American University in Cairo rents three floors for international-student
housing, was a way for the American students to get a taste of home in the
middle of their international experience, despite settling comfortably within
Egyptian culture.
In the hotel’s upper floors, music blasted and sweat hung in
the air; cigarette smoke drifted from the corner. Crowds of dancing pirates,
mummies, sexy kittens and a fully cloaked Zorro bounced and threw their hands
in the air. Cameras flashed, shouts dropped dead in the uproar of partygoers
and there was little sign of a culture foreign to the United States.
Outside, life went on normally. The youth gathered along the
Nile’s bank and chatted along the
railings of several bridges connecting the east and west banks. Families
perused the shops of Sharia Talat Harb into the late hours of the night, car
horns blared and small coffee shops filled with men sipping tea and smoking
shisha.
Without a costume and plagued by a cough, Pennsylvania State
University junior Nivedita Bhushan danced most of the night, enjoying the
spectacle and the hiatus from Cairo’s daily grind.
“I like Egypt, but I still miss America,” she said. “It’s
nice to feel back at home once in a while.”
I did not feel at home standing in the elevator and for the
first time in more than a month, I felt extremely out of place as I rode a taxi
alone across the city, drawing curious stares from the passengers in other
cars.
“I look ridiculous,” I thought to myself over and over
again.
As I stepped through the entrance and into the ground floor
lobby the six security guards lounging near the door hardly gave me a glance.
It had been a long night of ridiculous Americans. My fellow passengers on the
elevator up asked me not to hit the button for my floor until they got off,
saying they were worried “the damn elevator might skip the floor.” The way they
looked at me, I was sure they thought I was serious about my attire and the
mustache crawling down the sides of my chin. I hadn’t felt this awkward since
my first two weeks of exploring Cairo.
I had since adjusted to the constant curiosities of locals,
from whom I clearly stand out, to the frequent “welcome to Egypt” shouts from
shop owners and to the persistent taxi offers when I was clearly not in need of
a ride. “But Halloween provoked a different attention that was absolutely
avoidable. “I look ridiculous,” I thought to myself as I stared into the
elevator mirror.
Creeping to a stop, the doors opened and directly in front
of me stood Grant, a six-foot-six -inch tall American student with a Mohawk. He
was wearing nothing but red boxer briefs.
“Hey man, welcome to the palace!” he shouted.
