I have not had the time—admist sickness and seeing my friends—to capture the moments and thoughts since being home, but I do not feel ready to talk about those thoughts or feelings yet either. So here is a brief bit of my emotions typed from my written journal on my way home from Egypt. Also here are the final photos:

Final pictures:
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Written on my journey home:

“Once again I write from the airport in Paris. My first post, two months ago, came from the sheer fear of the unknown while sitting in this very same airport. Today, the emotions are completely different. I am feeling such a strange mix of excitement and sorrow. Excitemnt to return home to my family and friends, safety and freedom, but sorrow to not be able to convey what life in Cairo was like. Only my friends in Egypt will understand so much and regardless how much I’ve writtena bout my daily activities it is 1/100th of my experience.

There is no way to convey the emotions that run through me when I sit at the top of a building during the call to prayer and hear all the mosques “compete” and the faithful being called to prayer. The beauty of the noise and the devotion of the people but the contradiction of the sadness I feel that they are not Christians. Complaining about how slow life is, the pollution, the noise has been th easiest way to convey the mood of the city, but my complaints don’t show my true emotions which again are contradictions. Seeint eh people move slowly all day, stop for conversations or Egyptian humor, talk to you for hours in the streets, hustle and bustle all hours of the night, dart in and out of traffic. . . Contradictions. I often became frusterated at how slow life moved, but how I now understand their culture and the relationships they value. I will miss someone stopping along the street just to chat, even if I have to go somewhere, since I won’t be late since time is not a concept.

Contradictions continue. Us at AUC see the influence of Western money in the lives of the Arab elites. We go to school with the youth featured in fashion magazines—the youth trying to paint their faces white and gain Western accents—those who want to get rid of the Arabness in order to flaunt their Arab-eliteness. Contrary to those in the streets that taught me how powerful America really is—more powerful than I knew. They need Americans for their livelihoods and appreciate the people but reject the notion of us controlling them. Different from the elites that embrace our everymove.

Religion and actions and society and culture—hours of contradictions. I may complain about endless marriage proposals and disrespectful comments, but I will miss the talking and telling stories with all the girls in the dorms about the scary or funny experiences because no one at home will understand that it’s just their culture and their image of us.

I can’t explain how the pollution suffocates but complaining is not sufficient because the pollution is so much more than just disguting—it symbolizes the overcroweded city, the largest population in such a small land mass in the world, it shows the lack of education, of financial resource to protect the environment. The pollution is a signifier to their way of life.

On Friday, after one last afternoon spent being sick, I went to a “ritzy” salon and got my nails, toes, and hair done for under 10 US Dollars and then went out to Hard Rock, the Jazxz Club, and ended up at the Hyatt Lounge. Here the cultural values and elitism mixed. Girls were wearing veils for trend sake paired them with small going out tops—the elites are often dressing like the West and often unveiled. Others were drinking and flirting like faithless Europeans. The desire of the upper class to throw away their own cultural values is a phenomenon one can’t explain.

My bittersweet goodbyes and mumblings about the trip could go on forever—but there is no way to capture so much for those who weren’t there. How can I explain the new “songs you watch and songs you listen to” approach to the new Arab-MTV culture or a group of us busting out Nancy Ajram’s lyrics while walking down the street, shouting “yulla” every second, the endless sickness form water, food, parasites, and growing closer becauswe we all talk about it and monitor one another, the fusterations at terrorism but worse at the outside world for not understanding our feelings or even knowing the facts, endless hours of Arabic homework never discussed int eh blog, strawberry juice, trips to Mobacco and the nut shop in Median Tahrir everyday—all the little aspects of my life in Cairo not explainable. That is what bittersweet is about—not even wanting to take the effort to try to explain because my words will never do justice to my true memories and experience and it won’t matter to anyone else. Others shouldn’t be expected to understand because it is just not possible.

Friday night at 4am I got back from going out and Chris and Femi were sitting on the steps and said there wereseven bombs in Sharm—the Movenpick Hotel we stayed at a few weeks before was the sight of one! The emotions went nuts from there—an even crazier bittersweet goodbye—we wanted to get out of the country ASAP but the need to stay in my sheltered AUC world withothers who understood my exact emotions oh having been there.

We walked into the dorm shocked, sadly had to say goodbye to Time since he was leaving the dorm at 5am and had to pack in the that hour,t hen watched everyone pacea ndc all their friends who were in Dubai for the weekend and all try to call our families and tell them we were okay. At this point I was exhausted, out of cell minutes and I proceeded to my dorm room to try to watch the news myself and to get ahold of my parents. I messaged Russ because he was the only Escanaba person online so I could have someone call my rents to tell them to call me. I thappened to be Mrs. Rose—not Russ—and she graciously called every number my family has and they called later that morning/night. They knew I was far from Sharm, but no one else knows Egypt so I sent out a quick email to say I was okay and to combat the zillion emails and messages I already had. Then I cried.

A female acquaintance from the dorms had been raped at the hotel we went to—a fact I didn’t mention until I am home safely—and so while we were at that same hotel we were all super observant and careful of our surroundings. Little did we know much worse things would happen there that month. Sharm is a beautiful tourist area developed by the Israelis when they occupied the Sinai; after giving the Sinai back to Egypt, Israelis continue to holiday there. Americans do not frequent Sharm since it is so far from North America and it makes more sense for us to head south not east. However, Sharm was amazing. Regardelss I’m sure it was attacked because of the Israeli tourists—a sad, sad fact in a time of such great compromises in the Israeli/Palestinian context. Also a sad, disgusting truth that will only end up hurting the Egyptian economy.

What shocked my most on Friday night is how so often I read about a bombing and deaths—Lebanon, Israel, Palestine, Turkey, etc.—but don’t even always pay attention. Esp. the numbers in Iraq where I expect to see a death toll in the headlines each day but rarely read all the articles. This situation brought life to terror. I was there a few weeks ago, it is not just another attack, 90 people dead and I could have been one. It was an exhausting, emotional night and the three hours of sleep completed with three on the plane to Paris are the only three I’ve had since Thursday night. . . .”

There I boarded the plane to America, fell asleep for hours, and a week later typed this up for your sampling.