Confession

I'm a bad tourist.

Embedded in my complexity-ridden head is a distressing paradox:

1) I love visiting new places and peoples and cultures, and I love commodifying them in such a way that I can put them in my pocket and take them home. Which is why I have a secret dream of being a great photographer. It's the artform I am the closest to being able to personally produce. But I hope to be able to live that life vicariously through my brother (in-law), because I will probably never be able to myself because...

2) I go to extraordinary lengths to be culturally sensitive. To a fault, I admit. One area this sensitivity rears its head is in my hesitation to take pictures when there's a chance it would be inappropriate and make someone uncomfortable. My introversion also compels me to avoid making a scene, or even drawing much attention. I try to blend in wherever I am -- as you may guess, with the places I choose to live (Uganda, Harlem, now Cairo), often in vain. And yet, still I try, even though some people tell me I shouldn't bother.

Also, I admit that I tend to romanticize the "other." Part of me sometimes wishes that I could leave my own culture and become part of another. It's the reason I resonate with movies like Dances with Wolves or The Last Samurai, despite their bad actors: a sensitive, "civilized" White Man repents of his colonizing homeland and joins a noble, "uncivilized," indigenous community which his people are usually in the process of bulldozing. Simplistic and overly dramatic, yes; but it gets me every time. I want to be like the "other," so I play down everything that separates us and pretend like I belong.

So, out of respect, intimidation, shyness, or something else I can't codify, I hesitate. I drool over the portraiture and beautifully framed scenes that others can produce because they aren't hindered by hesitations like mine. At the same time, I hate the means to the end. I hate the tourist attitude and demeanour and sheer obtrusiveness.

All this to say, last night was disappointing. Milli and I went out aiming to seeing post-fast Ramadan revelry, and while we didn't see as much jubilation as we had been told to expect, it was incredible nonetheless. We turned off the main roads and meandered through the side streets and alleys of our neighborhood. Clusters of dazed men sat around in cafes, billowing sheesha (hookah) smoke. A group of boys huddled around a small TV in an alley, watching a football game. We passed under banners, flags and strands of lights draped between buildings, part of the festivity's decorations. People sat at a long table set for a few dozen, waiting for the fast to be broken. A woman watched us pass from a second-floor balcony where she was hanging clothes to dry. A small boy almost bumped into us as he ran past, dragging a wooden chair behind him. A posse of goats stood tethered against a wall.

Around every corner lay another intriguing snapshot of life, but I couldn't take any of them.

On our way back home (or what we thought was back -- we got lost), we passed the long table again, which was now bustling. They wouldn't let us pass, but insisted that we join them! We were led over to one end of the table, sat down, and watched in surprise as plates were thrust in front of us: bread, rice, juice, stew of okra, tomato, lamb. None of them knew any English, and the few phrases of Arabic that we had learned fled my mind, so we ate in silence, smiling at each other. We did manage a few "shukran"s (thank you). I sat across from a couple young boys, and it was obviously strange and/or awkward for them. I doubt a white guy had joined them for breakfast before. Most people had finished eating by the time we got there; once we were done, the table was essentially deserted. As we got up to leave, pears were offered to both of us. Dessert.

We chalked up the outing as a success. It will remain documented only in our minds, but maybe that's enough.

I'll post the few meager pictures I allowed myself to hurriedly take. If anyone has any comments or suggestions on how to work through this issue, please share. I would be grateful to hear other perspectives.