Two Arab Capitals Meet the modern world
It’s nighttime, and we’re driving through the streets of Cairo. I see the obscure, glittering water of the Nile – and a street so jammed with traffic it makes the streets of Qatar’s capital city look like abandoned country roads. We’re listening to Britney Spears, Hilary Duff, Miley Cyrus and Glee music. It’s as if I’ve been dropped into a 12-year-old American girl’s sleepover party – only I’m in a small speeding car with three Egyptian college students.
I have come to the Middle East to intern for three magazines based in Doha, Qatar. On a break from work, I have decided to travel to Egypt. From the back seat of the car, I find myself comparing the cities. Most Qataris spend their leisure time indoors, in glossy, generic malls. In Cairo, the streets and sidewalks were teeming with people. I feel overwhelmed by the perfume of street falafels, shisha, and exhaust fumes.
Egypt is a land of contradictions. Once the cradle of civilization, it’s now classified as a “developing” country. Horse-drawn carriages rush by carrying produce as women navigate the bustling crowd with baskets of food on their heads. Magnificent, ancient mosques are surrounded by moats of garbage. The streets are filthy and wildly congested. Egyptians can trace their ancestry back more than 7,000 years; they are the descendants of the brilliant pyramid engineers, the innovators of papyrus, hieroglyphics and the 365-day calendar. Yet money – and cleanliness – are as scarce as the seat belts in taxis.
Egypt’s cultural opulence is as apparent as its extreme poverty. In that sense, I have never seen a richer country, or one with a more authentic character. Cairo is a blunt, confrontational city. It does not apologize for its faults, but implores you, the visitor, to find them charming: the local radio station, for example, calls the traffic “cozy and considerate.” It’s hard not to love a place that is so adored by its inhabitants.
On the first day, I received a marriage proposal. On the second, two Egyptians gave me their phone numbers so I could stay with their families the next time I came to Egypt. A few others offered to teach me Arabic. The fabled Khan El-Khalil souq (market) proved intoxicating, as the spicy air was infused with cigarette smoke and frying chickpeas. Myriad languages and currencies zigzagged through the narrow paths. And every other step meant another jarring business proposal from a merchant. The best one? “You are beautiful. How can I take your money?”
With its innovative skyscrapers, unfathomable oil wealth and countless construction projects, Doha might appear to be a more modern city than Cairo. Modernity, however, doesn’t always equate to accessibility. There are street names, and even a few signs, but they are seldom used. Residents find places through landmarks. To say it is difficult to get around is a bit of an understatement. Each time I reach a destination (safely), it is a small miracle.
Shortly after arriving in Doha, I went for a walk and saw only a handful of other people on the streets, most of them construction workers who stared at me like I was insane. I probably was. Most streets didn’t have sidewalks, only sand and cobblestones. I didn’t see a single restaurant or a cafe to sit in––the norm in Egypt––only a few formidable towers rising above the dusty streets. After about an hour of walking, I reached a boardwalk along the Arabian Gulf called the corniche and finally took a breath of non-polluted air. I realized – the hard way – why most 
expats and Qataris spend time in the malls, not in the center of the city. Dressed in a modest cardigan, scarf, shirt, and jeans, I was sweating. I wondered how the Qatari women, dressed head to toe in their black abayas, dealt with the oppressive heat.
Air conditioning blasts in the city’s numerous malls year-round. Some are even considered tourist attractions, like the Villagio. Stepping inside the Villagio is a bit like walking onto the set of The Truman Show. Truman, as you may remember, lives inside a huge, climate-controlled dome that looks and feels like a town. Unbeknownst to him, everyone in his life is an actor. At the Villagio, Qatar has created an indoor village that looks – and feels – like you’re outside when you aren’t. The ceiling is painted like a sky, and every store looks like a quaint little town shop – even if it’s Versace. It’s cool until it becomes a little bit depressing, because why not actually go outside since it’s 75 degrees and sunny all the time? Villagio boasts an ice skating rink, an amusement park, and gondola rides through a “river” that runs through the mall. Like in Venice.
Then there’s The Pearl, Qatar’s newest spectacle in decadent and luxurious living. It’s a man-made island that will be (I believe) 19 miles long, with villas, five-star hotels, restaurants, schools, parking for yachts, and of course plenty of shopping. If you’re looking for a bargain….don’t come here. Shoes can run about QR 4,500 or $1,300.
Cairo’s tourist attractions are significantly older (read: ancient) and less glossy. There, you’ll find fewer malls and more, well, pyramids. But Doha and Cairo do share a language and, in many ways, a similar culture of hospitality and chattiness. These traits seem to exist throughout the region, no matter what city. In fact, my favorite part about my experiences in both Cairo and Doha were the fascinating conversations I had with cab drivers, store owners and waiters at restaurant. For me, it was the best way to learn about the local culture, and the only way to pick up Arabic.
One day in Doha, I rode to the Indonesian embassy with a particularly loquacious taxi driver. He asked me where I was from, and when I answered, he yelled, “Crazy American woman, stay away from me!” and filled the car with harsh, mechanical laughter. Then we chatted for a while, and he asked why I was there. His next question was one I got quite often: are you married? He told me if I wasn’t married in a few years, I could marry his son.
Abdul was my cab driver on my last day in Egypt. During the first few minutes of our 6 a.m. ride to the airport, I thought he was going to kill me. His car looked minutes away from collapsing, and he drove as though he couldn’t see any other cars on the road. Abdul wove through highway lanes while trying to maintain eye contact with me. It was a kind yet terrifying gesture.
When I told him my name, Abdul shrieked with delight that he had “King Elizabeth” in his car. We talked about “good Obama,” “bad Bush,” and the tenuous state of Israeli-Egyptian affairs. All in very broken English, of course. Oh, and he emphatically called me, “Elizabeth, Habebty!” several times. Loosely translated: Elizabeth, my love.
When I got out of his dilapidated car at the airport, he gave me some snacks from his glove compartment for the road, and promised me a place to stay should I return to Egypt.
“I will come back, Inshallah,” I told him. Inshallah or God-willing, had, over several months, become one of my favorite Arabic phrases. It’s an acquiescence of your fate to the higher powers, a realization that you can’t always control the world around you.
Inshallah connects the two worlds of the Middle East—ancient and modern—with spirituality and serenity. Now, living in Washington, DC, it has been harder to drop “Inshallah” into daily conversations. But perhaps it is necessary. Maybe Americans need a word that represents release – an openness to forces that are beyond our control.
