Chocolatey Manifestations of a few "isms"

To invoke the words of many a Williams professor, "Let's unpack this, shall we?" The aluminum covered candy at the top of the picture depicts a once very popular cartoon character named 'Little Black Sambo.' The cartoon was inspired by a children's story of the same name that was essentially about a young, very dark boy, trying to escape the ravenous clutches of a large tiger. See the youtube video below for more info.



Now, it is debatable as to whether or not the content of this story is racist in and of itself, but what is indubitably problematic is the way in which the black characters are depicted. Their impossibly dark skin color, overtly large lips, and unusually broad noses culminate in a reproduction of racial stereotype that defines many of the ways black people are depicted even today.

But aside from these debates, one thing that is especially interesting/problematic/scary/definitely racist is that the name of this chocolately morsel in Arabic is "head of the slave..."

As for the second piece of candy. I mean, I think it speaks for itself. Although, a few of my friends of the female persuasion took a shot at eating one of those bars, and they managed to finish it suprisingly. Although it did take all five of them to do it.

Aside from the rather obviously discriminatory nature of these two candies' marketing schemes, the worst thing about them is the fact that they are oh so delicious. It seems that oppression's unscrupulous reach knows no bounds. Not even the sanctity of chocolate is safe.

I'm Brown

As each day passes and my hair gets increasingly curlier with growth and my complexion increasingly darker with sun, my appearance inspires such fun, yet possibly problematic comments as, "Wow, you really do blend in." Or "You're looking especially Arab today, Tony." Or "When you came up behind me I thought it was another(...?) creepy Arab man." Of course, the racial ambiguity that leads to these sorts of double takes is a reality that I must deal with. Indeed, it's a reality that I sometimes take advantage of. For example:

My Egyptian (mis)adventures were shaped by a number of interesting, amazing, fun, scary, and confusing experiences. Recall if you can the 'overwhelmingly large market' ingredient in the Egyptian recipe. A combination of common sense and first-hand knowledge led to my discovering that I was being ripped off in nearly every single transaction that took place during the hours I spent here. However, when comparing prices for nearly the same items with my friends, I learned that they spent a great deal more money on these items than I had.

In one instance, I bought a small, glass hookah, complete with tobacco, coals, rubber hose, and two bowls for about 11USD. My friend, however, got a similarly small, glass hooka, with tobacco, coals, a fabric/plastic hose, and one bowl for about 23USD. Of course, in the states either of these prices is insanely cheap, but in Egypt it's a different story. Why the difference in price, you ask? Well, I'm neither a mind-reader nor an economist, but that reliable combination of common sense and first-hand experience I mentioned earlier leads me to think that it's because my friend is white.

So what did I do in the midst of one of my few experiences with a preferential racial treatment that grouped me among the benefited and not the exploited? I milked it.

When we went back to that market I told every salesman who detected my not so-subtle accent, subsequently asking where I'm from, that I was Egyptian. Why can't I speak Arabic? I live in the United States; I'm visiting family.

Now this isn't to say that all buys following the revelation of my newly acquired identity were cheap and easy. I still had to put up a bit of a fight, but I'm sure it wasn't nearly as fierce as my white friends.

While I understand how the manipulation of racial privilege is problematic and unproductive in all of its nefarious forms, perhaps even when its benefiting the historically oppressed, I just couldn't help myself. And honestly, I don't feel that bad about it. Not simply because I got my variously important tourist trinkets for a reasonably cheaper price than my white counterparts, but because the history of colonialism, exploitation, and oppression that continues to define so many people's lives is alive and real. It's nice to feel what it's like to be in the 'majority,' to bask in the various privileges associated with that status, despite the fact that my inclusion is ultimately an illusion. Nevertheless, as I walk around various places in this region, I feel myself abstracted from the various partitions that would ostensibly separate me from my Arab hosts. The sometimes insurmountable barriers of culture, ethnicity, language, etc. seem to crumble in the face of our phenotypic commonalities.

This imagined solidarity is most powerful when I walk in groups with my white friends. As we stroll carelessly down bustling Jordanian streets, eliciting stares, glares, and gawks with our difference, I emerge unscathed by the smiles or smirks that comb through my group of friends. Of course, sometimes my clothing gets caught in the fray, but everything else is invisible.

I suppose this new found invisibility is so powerful to me because of where I've grown up and gone to school. Memphis is a city defined in black and white terms, the end. And as for we folk who lay somewhere in the fuzzy gray areas of race, we are forced to choose our alliances. In Williamstown, a thoroughly homogeneous town in a thoroughly homogeneous region of the country, I stick out like a soar thumb. Strangers in both places usually assume that English is my second language and that my political commitments lie beyond U.S. borders. Here, people make the same exact assumptions, but they do so with a familiar ease and not an exotified apprehension.

Perhaps in the end what I've come to realize is that the bonds of hair texture, skin color, and facial structure are far more profound than those of culture, language, or politics. For some people that is. I don't usually count myself among those who think so, but it's been nice to do so, just for a little while.

I leave you now with a picture:


That's me. I'm the brown one next to the car.

Recipe for my Egyptian Experience

Ingredients:

3 Parts ancient history




1 Part Whirling Dervishes



22 repressed and desperate Americans: Preparation of ingredient--Steep Americans in Amman, a very quiet city where one would be hard-pressed to find the sort of insane debauchery that defines some individuals' college experiences.

1 Part overwhelmingly large market



A handful of exploitative, money hungry taxi drivers: The Cairo taxi routine--get in taxi, exchange a few rounds of pleasantries, wait to arrive at your destination, get out of the taxi, hand the driver the amount you deem appropriate, walk away quickly with a medley of Arabic protestations and complaints playing behind you.

A socioeconomic structure that reproduces extremities in both wealth and poverty

1 criminal justice system whose balance can be dramatically tipped at the drop of a coin. (On one occasion, I was driving around with friends and we ran into a cone barrier blocking off a part of a busy intersection. Instead of driving around, all of my other Egyptian passengers started glibly declaring "Egyptian routine." My friend then drove up to the police officer, greeted him, slipped him 10 pounds, and then drove through the now unblocked intersection.)

1/3 cup economic development

2 handfuls of annoyingly loud, ignorant, and oblivious tourists.



1 falooka ride on the Nile



Cooking Instructions:

First get one large, 20 million-person city, add in 1/3 cup economic development, and heat to medium high heat, maybe about 80 degrees.

Next, haphazardly and wrecklessly dump everything else in. Cook for about seven days, stirring constantly and furiously, to the point of nausea preferably.

To finish sprinkle on some amazingly nice Egyptian people and flavor with smog, C02, dust, and a variety of other gaseous toxins, to taste.



SaHtain! (kind of like cheers)

Back and Black

So, after one short but beautiful flight over the Egyptian and Jordanian countrysides, countlessly irritating security checkpoints, three bag searches, a broken souvenir, and a sleepy bus ride, we made it back to Jordan.

I'm immensely happy that we had the opportunity to visit Cairo in all of its glory. The first thing I noticed when I returned to Jordan was how severely quiet Amman is. For example, right now, as I look out my window, surveying the pristine, white buildings rolling over each other, I hear only birds cheerily chirping their gleeful tunes. In Cairo, from my hotel room on the eighth floor of the building, there were no cheery birds to be found. Instead, my ears were audience to a uproariously dissonant orchestra of car engines, angry horns, abrasive hollers, and who knows what else.

I have oh so much to write to you about, but unfortunately I must now attend to my studies. Just know that Egypt was amazing, Amman is incredibly boring in comparison to the awe-inspiring grandness that is Cairo, and I'm back home safe :)

Stand by for more.

My Egypt Prep List

So, tomorrow I'm gonna be shoving off for a week-long 'academic excursion' to Egypt. We will be exploring how the issues of modernization and development in the Arab world differ in the North African context. However, from what I understand, Egypt is not the most suitable place for any variety of academic study, even if Egypt happens to be the topic of choice.

There seems to be a consensus among Jordanians as to what I should expect to find in Egypt. What they tell me is that Egypt is a land of a loud and wild people who, though incredibly industrious and useful in masonry, are dirty, unhygienic, and ultimately profoundly untrustworthy. So, with their helpful caveats in mind, I wrote down a list of items that I thought essential for my survival.

First off, anti-diarrhea medicine. The very first thing any Jordanian says when I tell him that I'm going to Egypt is "Be sure to take care about the food! All the time people get sick from the food." In a land that is unregulated by rationality, law, or respect for reasonable standards of living, food preparation is treated with the same regard for cleanliness as manure mixing. And apparently these two tasks are sometimes executed simultaneously.



Second thing, oxygen tank. It seems that Cairo is a grotesquely polluted city, it's air heavy with the weight of CO2 and carbon-monoxide molecules the cornucopia of taxis replenishes everyday. But luckily the Egyptians have managed to adapt; they, like plants, depend mostly on CO2 for respiration, however, unlike plants, their exhalation does not release oxygen into their atmosphere, to the great misfortune of visitors. Instead, loud, sometimes comical Arabic rants are what escape from these Egyptians' mouths, contributing to the noise pollution that also apparently defines the Cairo experience.



Third, magical charms and spray bottles. These are to ward off the gypsies. Enough said.



Fourth, pants with button-able pockets. The Egyptians are trained from birth in the dark arts of thievery and manipulation. Apparently, if the seasoned Egyptian wants your wallet, he doesn't have to stoop to the embarrassing and dishonorable level of stealing it from you. He can simply look at you with a piercing glance, whisper a few words with his dark, moustached lips and you'll hand it over with a smile. This is called being 'E-jipped,'and there are countless victims of this ancient practice all over Cairo it seems. The button-able pockets are for the younger ones. They're in training.

Apparently, everything else I need to prepare for are things I've seen in the states: shrewd drug-dealers, wily prostitutes, and abrasive cab drivers.

So, friends and family, know that I will be just fine during my week in Egypt. The Jordanians have prepared me well. Thanks to their broad generalizations and sweeping stereotypes, I will return from Egypt healthy, un-bewitched, and alive.

Yes!