How have AUCians celebrated Christmas throughout last 80 years? We dug through the archives to find out.
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Photos 1940s-1980s courtesy of the University archives.
By Em Mills and Devon Murray
Do you ever ask yourself, "Why do I keep attracting the same kind of partner?" or "Why do I find myself in the same types of relationships -- which always seem to end -- over and over again?"
Getting to know your attachment style may answer some of these questions and help you break free from a seemingly endless cycle. Attachment theory explores the relationship, or emotional bond, between a child and their primary caregiver. Such a bond plays an integral part in developing a child's sense of security, which later affects their adult relationships, according to Nour Zaki, visiting assistant professor in AUC's Department of Psychology.
The theory includes four attachment styles that are defined by our perceptions of ourselves and others: secure, anxious, avoidant and disorganized. "Knowing your style can help you understand your needs in relationships, and how to express them in a healthy way," says Zaki, whose research focuses on attachment theory.
The theory was initially developed by researchers John Bowlby and Mary Ainsworth in the mid-to-late 20th century. Before their work, the general consensus was that human and animal babies stayed close to their mothers because they associated them with nutrition.
"Bowlby started to think, 'There is something emotional here. It's not just about food; it's about seeking proximity,'" says Zaki. "Babies cannot survive on their own. They need to be close to an adult figure who is able to provide that sense of safety."
This adult is known as the "primary caregiver" in attachment theory. "Typically, this is a child's mother but not always," Zaki explains. "It can be the father, an adoptive mom, a grandparent or even an older sibling in some cultures."
At around six to nine months, a baby begins to differentiate between caregivers and strangers. "At this stage, we begin to see stranger anxiety and separation anxiety, displayed by a clear preference for certain caregivers. These are healthy signs of attachment," Zaki says.
Depending on the quality and consistency of care a child receives from their primary caregiver, their attachment will likely develop in line with one of the theory's four styles: "If a caregiver is attuned to their child's needs, the child learns that they are worthy of attention and that they can rely on others," Zaki says. "This usually leads to secure attachment -- the belief that we deserve love and can trust other people."
Bowlby has a famous saying: "Attachment stays with you from the cradle to the grave." Your relationship with your caregiver is a major player in developing your core beliefs, or "internal working models," which dictate how you see yourself and others, how comfortable you are setting boundaries as well as other aspects of relating to people.
So, what are the characteristics of each attachment style? And what factors might lead to their development?
Secure
A secure attachment allows you to express vulnerability with your partner and engage in intimate relationships that feel safe and consistent.
"This person is able to express themself while maintaining a sense of reciprocity. They can support their partner but also ask for what they need. This includes setting healthy boundaries and having a grounded sense of who they are outside of the relationship."
Anxious
Anxious attachment (referred to as a "preoccupied attachment" in the context of adult relationships) often results when a primary caregiver is inconsistent in caring for their child; care is sometimes present and other times not. This unpredictability causes the child to question their own self-worth.
"Individuals with this attachment style need external reassurance and may have a fear of abandonment. They may need to hear 'I love you' very often or feel jealous easily if their partner is giving attention to other people."
Avoidant
Avoidant attachment (or "dismissive attachment" in adults) stems from a caretaker who is consistently absent, unavailable or unresponsive to their child. This dynamic pushes the child to develop a negative image of other people.
"Individuals with dismissive attachment have a sense of 'defensive independence.' They highly prioritize their space -- and actually feel very triggered -- if they feel that someone is too close."
Disorganized
The rarest type of attachment is referred to as disorganized attachment (or "fearful attachment" in adults). This most commonly occurs in cases of abuse, where the child experiences something called the "fear dilemma" -- the caregiver is the person they're supposed to go to when afraid, but is also the person they are afraid of.
You may be wondering, "Will I always push people away then?" or "Am I stuck in this pattern forever?"
"No one's attachment style is fixed," Zaki affirms. While you may have a tendency to fall into a certain pattern, it can be different in each individual relationship depending on your dynamic with your partner.
"Understanding where your patterns come from can give you a sense of empowerment instead of feeling like you're on autopilot, because what we're used to in terms of relationship dynamics eventually becomes like autopilot, right?" says Zaki.
She is also quick to note that each attachment style has strengths and weaknesses. "It's not just about understanding our vulnerabilities, but also our strengths, because each attachment style has its own points of strength." For example, the independence that comes with avoidant behavior can be beneficial in the workplace, where one might be more inclined to push themselves and take the initiative before being asked to do something. It all depends on the ability to express your needs in a clear, healthy way.
"If you feel like you've had a challenging childhood experience or are facing relationship dynamics that aren't ideal or healthy, looking at these dynamics can help put you on the road to self-understanding from a developmental perspective." says Zaki.
Zaki's interest in attachment theory developed as she worked on her PhD dissertation at Universidad Catolica San Antonio de Murcia in Spain, where she explored the transition to motherhood and how a mother's attachment style relates to how she views herself as a future mom. She is interested in how attachment styles are passed across generations, and how such cycles are broken.
"We often hear people say that despite wanting to raise their children differently than their parents, they end up doing or echoing the very things they heard growing up," she says. "Identifying and understanding one's attachment style empowers us to work on our vulnerabilities and insecurities early on, so we can avoid becoming triggered while transitioning to parenthood. This developmental approach to parenting is very powerful."
Hoping to support the next generation, Zaki conducts workshops and lectures in Egypt and collaborates with a number of international organizations, including the Association for Prenatal and Perinatal Psychology and Health. She also teaches and conducts research related to developmental psychology and mother-infant attachment in her Attachment Lab at AUC, which recently received a research support grant from the University for her latest research project on the intergenerational transmission of attachment between mothers and their babies.
Her advice for readers? "It's never too late."
Professor, researcher, podcast queen -- these are a few of the many job titles you'll find in Kim Fox's email signature.
Since joining AUC in 2009, Fox has become a podcasting powerhouse, being named among Podcast Magazine's inaugural 40 Over 40 podcasters in 2022. Today, she is constantly on the move: flying to the United States to lead a meeting for the Broadcast Education Association, developing a new episode of her multi award-winning podcast Ehky ya Masr (Tell Your Story, Egypt) or delving into academic research across a number of current topics, from feminism in podcasting to teaching journalism online.
On the rare day that she isn't donning one of her professional hats, you can find her on the lush island of Zamalek, where she has lived since moving to Cairo.
I often spend weekends socializing and doing things in the city. Last semester, I went to the Art d'Egypte exhibit at the pyramids with a posse of friends, had a Thanksgiving potluck and took a Nile Taxi ride. Zamalek has been unraveling, you know. The cool places change.
I ride my bike around Zamalek on Friday and Saturday mornings. Living in Egypt, I often miss going to green spaces and just hanging out and walking around without the tension that one experiences while moving in Cairo. You have to seize the window when there isn't too much traffic or people out. On a tough morning, I get up before the rest of the city wakes up, get on my bike and am like, "Yeah. This is what I'm here for. More of this, please and thank you." Riding around warms my heart; it's a bit of freedom. There's nothing like it.
Cairo is a crazy place, so you definitely have to find your pocket of people who will help you out. The people I've met at AUC and in Cairo are amazing, and the list keeps growing. If we didn't have that kind of a support system, it would be really difficult to survive the antics of the city, work and life. Everyone's trying to look out in the best way. I try to encourage this in my classroom at AUC, building a community that cares about each other. I've also grown a global community, which is something I'm really proud of. Podcast scholars, creatives -- I've got pockets of people everywhere.
I've found that if you don't champion yourself, no one else will. As a creative scholar, I'm usually working in the realm of podcasts, but I also publish a lot of academic research in quality journals. My biggest achievement is being the first ever winner of two BEA Festival of Media Arts Awards in the same year for my podcast, which has no budget. My students have won more than 80 international awards. The length of my email signature is a testament to the work that I am doing. Let people know what you do.
Kim Fox is a professor of practice in AUC's Department of Journalism and Mass Communication.
Fox often rides her bicycle in Zamalek on weekend mornings. Photo by Rawan Ezzat.
By Ian Greer
What does an Umm Kulthum song mean when sung at a protest? Or the music of Sheikh Imam in the middle of a 21st-century digital revolution? These are some of the questions that puzzled a young AUC student during the turbulent 2010s and which he has answered in a new, groundbreaking book that traces the unwritten popular history of modern Egypt.
Andrew Simon (CASA '10) is a senior lecturer in the faculty of Middle Eastern studies at Dartmouth College in the United States and a graduate of the Center for Arabic Study Abroad @AUC (CASA@AUC). He is also the author of Media of the Masses: Cassette Culture in Modern Egypt (Stanford University Press, 2022), a book that delves deep into the modern history of Egyptian popular culture, spread through new technological mediums.
Andrew SimonThe story of Simon's book, the product of 10 years of work, begins during his time as CASA@AUC student in 2010.
"I arrived the summer prior to the revolution," recalls Simon. "The CASA program at the time was based in the downtown campus, right next to the midan (Tahrir Square). So we had mass demonstrations right outside of our classroom. I was living with a few friends in an apartment in Munira just up the street a few blocks away, and we attended demonstrations almost every day. It's something that I remember quite vividly, that would shape not only me personally but my academic interests going forward."
Outside of the classroom, Simon was struck above all by the "acoustic culture" of the protests: instruments, slogans, chants and songs by Egyptian singers old and new, deployed for political action sometimes beyond their original contexts. Simon returned to the United States to write on Egypt's soundscape.
The acoustic culture of Egypt's revolution had its roots in new cultural mediums of the late 20th century, Simon found. "When it came time to write a dissertation, the thing that I realized connects all these topics is cassette tapes. They were present in all of these stories. That's when I set out to write a history of cassette technology that became a history of Egypt."
In Media of the Masses, Simon calls cassettes "the internet before the internet." Using cheap cassette tapes, anyone could create culture, even culture opposed to the ruling regime. Among the most prominent adopters of the technology was Sheikh Imam, a singer and social critic popular in late 20th-century Egypt who figures prominently in Simon's book. Imam's 'Nixon Baba,' a witty critique of Anwar Sadat's welcome of the American President Richard Nixon in 1974, is among Simon's favorite Egyptian songs.
Focused on the music, ideas and concerns of everyday Egyptians over the decades, Media of the Masses is an unofficial history of modern Egypt, far from sweeping national narratives. Without sources available in the Egyptian National Archives, Simon relied on oral history, Egyptian films, and decades of local newspapers and magazines to construct his own popular history of the country.
Explore Simon's workThe history of the 1970s and 1980s in Egypt is typically focused on the period's major wars, governance and Islamic revival movements, not pop culture, Simon explains. "In this book, I tried to shift all of those things. So rather than looking at momentous events, I focus on more mundane things like music. Rather than looking at religion, I tried to look at secular, profane things. Rather than looking at the consolidation of power, I look at people who challenged political authority. I tried to offer a very different story and focus on people who were, frankly, written out of history."
The singer Sheikh Imam is a prime example; popular in his own time but practically absent from the mainstream Egyptian historical record. "I think he's someone whose songs really resonated with people and meant something to them, but scholars and historians haven't written about him because they probably don't deem him as a worthy subject matter," observes Simon. "That's something I tried to change in this book."
Decidedly light on academic theories, Media of the Masses is meant to be engaging and accessible, something anyone can understand, just like the popular music it documents. "My primary audience are Egyptians; I wrote this book to be read here in Cairo," says Simon, adding that the independent Egyptian publishing house Dar El Shorouk will release an Arabic translation of the book later this year. "It was a dream of mine for a long time to have an Arabic translation," Simon says. "It will hopefully be available at a future Cairo Book Fair."
Now an academic and fluent in Arabic, Simon fondly remembers how the CASA program boosted his Arabic-language skills and drew him irresistibly into Arab popular culture. "CASA was the first time I felt like I wasn't studying Arabic as a language," remarks Simon. "We weren't studying grammar. Instead, we studied subjects in Arabic. We would learn Arabic literature while immersed in Egyptian culture."
Simon's book is a testament to his enduring connection to Egypt and its people, first formed during his time as a CASA student at AUC more than 10 years ago. He spent years living in the country after finishing his undergraduate degree and has been coming back ever since. Despite Egypt's many changes since 2010, Simon says that the most important part of the country's culture -- its people -- are still the same.
"The man who sells aseer asab [sugarcane juice], the people working at the grocery store and laundromat -- all of those individuals are still there. And they recognize me," he says. "When I come back to Cairo, they tell me 'You look a little older. You didn't have as much gray hair when we first met 15 years ago.' So some things have changed, and other things have remained the same."
Main image: Abu Hamza Cassette Shop in Cairo. Photos courtesy of Andrew Simon
I always perceived traveling as buying a plane ticket or train pass to somewhere far outside my borders -- until it was time for me to go to AUC. Suddenly in Fall 2021, my five-minute walk to school in Zamalek was abruptly replaced by a two-hour commute to college in New Cairo. Today, as I commute from the swarming hub of Zamalek to the more tranquil and calmer New Cairo, I am transported from one world to another -- from a world that knows no sleep, where sound and noise are always present, to a world with palm tree-lined streets and a serene atmosphere.
I have been commuting from Zamalek to New Cairo almost every day for three years now. Each ride exposes a new, unique difference between the two planets that exist in one city, from the paved roads and Western-inspired modern architecture in New Cairo to the crooked streets and iconic sights that carry vast historic cultural inheritance in Zamalek. The island is home to what upper-class Egyptians classify as the creme de la creme -- history-rich landmarks and buildings that have been there for ages, such as the Cairo Opera House, old mansions that belonged to Egypt's most famous actors as well as the countless number of embassies, museums and art galleries. These sharply contrast with the newly developed structures and skylines in New Cairo.
Rizkalla commutes from Zamalek to AUC New Cairo each week. Photo by Ahmad El-NemrWhile the latter reflects a fast-paced lifestyle that is evident in the growing number of drive-thrus and on-the-go services, Zamalek still preserves some of Cairo's well-known characteristics. For example, parking your car on the street in Zamalek could take you 10 minutes or more, while finding a spot in New Cairo often takes less than 60 seconds.
During my 10-minute walk to the bus stop in Zamalek each morning, I notice how different people start their days. I see kids, coffee in hand, climbing into their Mercedes van while the driver grabs their school backpacks to shove in the trunk. I see other children hop into taxis to get to school. One scene that I would not usually encounter in New Cairo is the considerable number of tourists who enjoy a morning jog along the Nile River. It is along the same waters that I occasionally glimpse a heartwarming moment as a couple enjoys a date. During my regular walks in Zamalek, I come across my friends, Lola the cat and Hanafy the dog, two stray animals that have always shared the same pavement.
As the bus leaves the island and crawls towards New Cairo, the population seems to age backward. Zamalek is more concentrated with older people who are typically retired, nature-loving and have lived in these neighborhoods long before New Cairo was even imagined. On the other hand, younger generations tend to flock to more modern areas like the Fifth Settlement, which explains the reckless driving I encounter every morning in North Teseen Street -- the area's main road.
The friends you make on the bus can be the closest friendships you'll ever have, especially considering how often you are stuck in the same vehicle commuting with them from one side of the city to another. I often overhear heartbreaking stories, joyous news or tales of nerve-wracking situations. Whether sharing an embarrassing moment that happened during assembly hour or checking final grades, you can be united with a random stranger, perhaps for just one trip, by the bus experience.
I also often catch a few notes of the music my fellow commuters listen to. There is the character who sits in the back seat crying their eyes out listening to Birdy's sad songs and the sassy gals listening to hip-hop and dance-punk beats at 8 am with the volume so high that the bus driver can hear. Perhaps the most eclectic type of person is the one who shuffles genres every three seconds, from Amr Diab to Justin Bieber to Wegz.
Even if life in New Cairo seems straightforward and hassle-free in comparison to Zamalek, I'd still much rather deal with the everyday struggles that an islander like myself faces. Living in Zamalek will always feel unique, even with its traffic jams and noise pollution. It will always have a certain, special charm.
Elie Martin is a study-abroad student from Sciences Po in Reims, France studying politics and government with a minor in African studies. He is completing his third and final year of undergraduate studies at AUC, with one semester in its Arabic Language Intensive Program (ALIN). With courses in Modern Standard Arabic and Egyptian Colloquial Arabic, Martin feels he is making great progress in Arabic and becoming attached to the language and culture of Egypt.
To me, language is an essential dimension of a culture and society. This is why the ALIN program was my first choice: an intensive learning of Arabic that appreciates the link between language and society. What could be better? I have made a lot of progress because the courses complement each other well. I am taking Modern Standard Arabic, Egyptian Colloquial Arabic, media, reading and writing classes. I had never taken an Egyptian Colloquial Arabic course before coming here, and that's where I've made the most progress.
The ALIN program at AUC is stronger than any other Arabic course I have taken. First, the program is mainly oriented toward oral and written mastery of Arabic, allowing for maximal use of the language in writing and speaking. At the same time, grammar is introduced gradually to allow students to progress without having to wrap their minds around a multitude of rules. Secondly, the program encourages us to practice outside of class, and immersion is the real secret to successful language acquisition.
Being located in the heart of Cairo allows me to be immersed in Arabic all day long. I joined the Egyptian handball club at the Nadi Markaz Shabab (Youth Club) in Zamalek, where we train three times a week, and it was the best decision for my linguistic progress -- I can improve my Arabic while having fun and staying motivated. When I'm there, people stop assuming I'm a tourist. It's very simple, but it feels good to connect with Egyptians. I also go to ahwas (cafes) to play tawla (backgammon) or simply chat, and on the weekends, I have more time to do cultural visits. So far, I have visited the city's main mosques, all the museums and other tourist areas.
My philosophy is that tourism is not about discovering new places but understanding the social logic of the places I visit. I want to see how people live, not just landscapes. I try to achieve this by traveling like Egyptians do: taking public transportation and eating in popular restaurants so I can meet more locals and practice Arabic. So far, I've been to Alexandria, the Black and White Desert, Fayoum, Siwa and the Red Sea. And the most memorable experiences are those where my encounters with locals have shaped my trip, like when someone offers to take us to a lesser-known place.
As I go to New Cairo next semester to take classes that will complete my degree, I feel a mix of disappointment and excitement. I am very attached to downtown Cairo; however, I look forward to taking new classes (especially those on Middle Eastern issues), and getting to know my teachers and classmates. I will continue to live downtown, and practice with the handball team. Though my daily life will certainly change, I am sure that I will continue speaking Arabic as much as possible!
Banner photo: Elie Martin at AUC Tahrir Square, photo by Ahmad El-Nemr
By Em Mills
Soon after Ramy Aly, assistant professor in AUC's Department of Sociology, Anthropology and Egyptology, came to Egypt in 2013, he had his hair loc'd. Locs, an African hair style that involves coiling, braiding, interlocking and palm-rolling hair to create larger strands that merge together over time, have a long history across Africa and particularly in Ancient Egypt. However, as a contemporary Egyptian, Aly's relationship with loc'd hair was not straightforward. His soon-to-be loctician in London Mellissa Blake wasn't sure what to make of him at first. "'You're quite Caucasian, but what's going on with your hair?' Her surprise brought my attention to the notion that hair care is raced, very explicitly."
What does it mean for hair to be "raced"? How can examining hair give insight into how race is conceptualized in Egypt, and how does this differ in a Western context? Unfortunately, there is a lack of scholarship on race that focuses on Egypt and Egyptians specifically in the present. "Race is very meaningful here, although it's not seen to be meaningful. When people study Egypt, they study gender, Islam and class, but they almost never study race outside the context of migration," he says.
A social anthropologist, Aly's current research project seeks to fill some of the gaps in understanding contemporary racial formations in Egypt. He explains that while examining formal settings like the legal system can show researchersreferences to racial discrimination, it doesn't capture the complicated ways in which race impacts life on a social level.
"You can't get an idea of how people sense race, how they live it, how it's entangled in their everyday dealings," he says. "In post-colonial settings, hair has historically served as a marker, or expression, of race. Through studying hair culture, I'm trying to uncover some of the ways race is perceived and experienced in an everyday context."
Aly experienced mistreatment firsthand on account of the way his hair was perceived in Egypt. But within two years, he started seeing more and more men with loc'd hair and women with naturally curly hair. "At the time, I wondered, why is it more acceptable now? What changed?"
Negative perceptions around loc'd hair are not a new phenomenon: In Egypt, the last 200 years have seen a strong emphasis on "whitening," linking stereotypically white attributes to beauty and respectability. Examples of this show up everywhere, from media to education and advertising. "While researching, I found a handbook from a technical college here in the 1970s giving tips on beauty and hair. As you flick through, the whole emphasis is on looking white," Aly says.
Aesthetically, things like bleaching skin and straightening hair have been encouraged, while physical attributes associated with being Black or
African such as curly or kinky hair are discriminated against and disparaged, impacting everything from family dynamics to the workplace. This brings us back to Aly's question: Why are youth choosing hair to express themselves in this way?
The handbook's cover, which reads Beautification Technology in Arabic, photo by Ahmad El-Nemr
The women's technical college handbook on beauty and hair, photo by Ahmad El-Nemr"In the early 20th century, there were no associations with success or desirability and Blackness. Today, we see far more famous Sub-Saharan and West African footballers and Black celebrities," Aly says. One contributing factor for Aly lies in the success and popularity of Black celebrities and aesthetics in mainstream popular culture. This can be seen in increasing numbers of public figures, pop stars and athletes who are either Black or visually incorporate traditionally Black cultural elements into their image, such as the Kardashians. The commodification of Black aesthetics in pop culture is in itself problematic, but Aly notes that a secondary effect is leading people around the word who share features such as kinky or curly hair and dark skin tones to begin to embrace them as well.
In order to learn more, Aly conducted interviews both in person and online. Attempting to collect a broad range of input, he situated himself in various places in Maadi, talking with groups of young people, whom he found largely willing to participate. He also spoke with hair studio owners who braided or loc'd in a variety of neighborhoods to try and access people across socioeconomic backgrounds.
Another interesting thread that Aly found through his research was that many of the young people he spoke to were increasingly willing to identify as African. "It's fascinating because throughout the last 200 years, Egyptian elites have always rejected being African. They looked northward for a sense of identity, never south," he explains. "Young people are much more comfortable saying, 'Of course we're African; anybody who says that we're not is just deluding themselves.'"
As more and more people adopt locs and curly hair, and as some redefine their relationship with the idea of Africanness, there are also complex conversations to be held about heritage and authenticity. One question that comes up is the idea of appropriation, which refers to the usage of cultural elements by an individual outside that cultural group in a way that disrespects, exploits or oversimplifies the culture itself. This is most relevant when members of a dominant culture appropriate from a marginalized one.
"When discussing appropriation, the response immediately becomes, 'I'm Egyptian. I can't appropriate because I'm African, and besides, ancient Egyptians had braided and wooly hair,'" Aly says. "It's actually quite rare in an Egyptian context to see people borrowing from the ancient past, but when it comes to cultural appropriation, the pharaohs suddenly come out to play."
While Western scholarship tends to focus on a Black/white binary, that framework doesn't function well in a context like Egypt, where the majority of people are racially mixed. "Even in families or between siblings, you have people who look darker or lighter, with straight or curly hair. This is why it's important to rethink how race operates in Egypt," Aly says.
When people study Egypt, they study gender, Islam and class, but they almost never study race outside the context of migration.
Alongside appropriation, the idea of authenticity is also important, whether in being authentic to one's natural hair texture, cultural heritage or oneself by expressing resistance to societal expectations and pressures. It has also been a controversial topic in the context of representations of ancient Egypt in popular culture, with race being a persistent element of the conversation.
"Take the Cleopatra question, for example," Aly says, referencing the Netflix docuseries Queen Cleopatra that sparked debate over its casting of a Black, biracial actress in the titular role. "People didn't mind Cleopatra being played by Elizabeth Taylor, though historical accounts of Cleopatra don't fit into the frame of her version at all. But there was no outcry at the time because she's white," he continues. "There's real resistance to seeing Cleopatra portrayed as brown even in a dramatized work, which is part of what I'm interested in unpacking."
Aly's interlocutors shared different reasons behind embracing Black
body aesthetics, these range from an expression of identity to an assertion of autonomy, resisting societal and familial expectations. There's no one big answer to any of these questions. Everything connects, and the complexity is what makes it necessary to discuss.
"It's important to think about culture in terms of global flow and these must be thought of in relation to history and power. You can't exclude ancient Egypt, the whitening of Egyptian history, the rise of African-American celebrity culture, or the commodification and industrialization of football. They're all important," Aly says.
At the end of the day, every individual has a different reason for expressing themselves through their hair, and they don't always align with a broader social question. As a social scientist, Aly emphasizes that it's important to resist the temptation to organize and theorize people into something neat. In reality, it's never that straightforward. "The challenge of anthropology is that you have to work with what people do and say, not what you want them to do and say," says Aly. "You have to be creative and really listen to what people are telling you."
Photos by Ahmad El-Nemr
By Devon Murray
Have you been out and about in Cairo lately? If so, you may have noticed a trend emerging in the streets. Young people donning multicolored inline skates are seemingly everywhere, from gated communities to the Nile corniche, weaving in and out of traffic and sometimes hitching rides on cars.
Like many dead fads from the 1990s, inline skating was resurrected worldwide during the COVID-19 pandemic. Inspiring nostalgia for days past, the sport offered an affordable way for people to exercise and socialize while maintaining social distancing. Moreover, the pandemic minimized traffic across major cities and towns, leaving the streets open for cyclists, pedestrians and skaters to access and enjoy without the usual congestion and hazards.
Egypt was not immune to the skating craze. Today, there are teams in the country's major cities, online groups for skaters where videos are shared and used skates sold, and it's hard to walk downtown without spotting a few brave teens zipping around.
Andrew Ezzat, a multimedia communication and journalism senior, set out to photograph this phenomenon for a project in an AUC photography course last fall. "The assignment was to go and shoot something interesting, something that has a story," he says. "I decided to capture people hanging out and skating by the Nile."
Skating on the corniche at night, photo by Andrew Ezzat
Skaters on the corniche at night, photo by Andrew Ezzat
The corniche at night, photo by Andrew EzzatEzzat went to Mamsha Ahl Masr (The Walk of Egypt's People), a recent development project along the Nile in downtown Cairo that includes multilevel walkways along parts of the river for public use. The sidewalk in front of the mamsha is where to find the skaters, according to Ezzat.
"Something I noticed in this space is that all people could have fun, regardless of whether or not they have money," he reflects. "It's a place where people can meet and make friends with others from different social circles or socioeconomic classes, which is rare in Cairo." In addition to skaters, Ezzat found families spending time together and people playing live music. "Everyone was very welcoming and enthusiastic about showing off their skills," he says.
The skating culture and dynamic use of urban spaces that Ezzat witnessed is not exclusive to the Nile corniche and points to a larger conversation about the accessibility of public space, particularly in a city like Cairo. According to Mariam Abdelazim '11, assistant professor in AUC's Department of Architecture, the essence of public space is inclusion and accessibility.
"Public space is where people of the same city, regardless of background, can coexist and exchange culture, knowledge and activities," she explains. "That's the beauty of it; it's for everyone. You can have someone from a lower social class sharing this space with someone who is rich, and they both use and enjoy it the same way."
Abdelazim earned her PhD in urban systems from the New Jersey Institute of Technology and Rutgers University. An architectural designer, educator, urbanist and historian, her research focuses on environmental design, the history of architecture and urbanism, and public space in the Middle East and North Africa.
Her interest in public space developed as a result of growing up in Ismailiya, attending AUC in downtown Cairo and starting her career in New York City -- three very different cities. "In Ismailiya, I regularly spent time at the city's parks. While living in Cairo, I felt a dire need for green, open spaces where I could just breathe and enjoy myself. In New York, I was able to find an abundance of public space despite the city's density. It made me wonder why we didn't have the same in Cairo," she says.
UN-Habitat recommends that public space makes up around half of the surface area of "well-functioning cities, including 30-35% for streets and sidewalks and 15-20% for open public space, including parks, squares and markets. Very few cities around the world meet this target, but Cairo falls significantly short. Egypt's Central Agency for Public Mobilization and Statistics reports that in 2022, botanical gardens, public parks, permanent markets, fish gardens and green space covered less than 3% of the Cairo governorate's surface area. Moreover, most public parks in the city require an entry ticket.
A lack of greenery and open space can bring about negative effects beyond the aesthetic. "The amount of pollution in Cairo is now unbearable," Abdelazim says. "Of course,this has led to an A lack of greenery and open space has negative effects beyond the aesthetic. "The amount of pollution in Cairo is now unbearable," Abdelazim says. "Of course, this has led to an increase of respiratory disease and asthma among Cairenes."
Despite ongoing building renovations around the city and a new capital emerging east of Cairo, more work is needed to increase and improve public space. Local groups and organizations such as UN-Habitat and Cairo Runners regularly push for alternative modes of transportation and additional areas for outdoor recreation. However, Abdelazim points out that "they do not have enough agency to actually make effective change."
With Cairo's limited public space and growing population, it is only natural that skaters often spill into the streets. A stroll up Kasr El Nil Street in downtown Cairo or a walk between the Maspero metro station and the Nile provide a sure-shot chance to witness skaters racing up and down the road, with little regard to safety.
"Cairenes always enjoy a challenge," Abdelazim says. "For decades, we've seen cyclists balancing bread on their heads while riding through heavy traffic. We Egyptians can be fearless."
While the skaters themselves may just be out for a ride with friends, their presence points out the need for more public recreational spaces in the city, challenges the dominance of cars and promotes the idea of streets as shared spaces. "Observing the dense areas in which people use bikes and skates might better inform urban planning decisions," Abdelazim says, emphasizing that "including stakeholders -- the public, in this case -- in the design process, is essential. It can be as simple as showing people a map of the city and letting them indicate what activities they would like to do and where."
Rollerblading may be here to stay. The movement's growing popularity has led to the creation of a number of skating clubs and social media accounts dedicated to the sport. Abdelazim and Ezzat are hopeful that the increased popularity of the sport and other outdoor activities among Cairenes will further encourage the addition of more public space in the city.
"Cairo needs more spaces for outdoor recreation," Ezzat says. "It's places like these that make society more whole. The skaters at the corniche welcome anyone with an open heart."
Abdelazim shares similar sentiments: "Trends like skating have a ripple effect. When we see someone else doing it, we ourselves are encouraged to try," Abdelazim says. "What better place to start than the corniche?"
Mariam Abdelazim, photo by Ahmad El-Nemr
Andrew Ezzat, photo by Em Mills
By Sherouck Abdelghani, a biology freshman pursuing the premedical track
The meaning of life, whose components are difficult to digest, has been a mystery since early times. Nonetheless, as ships sail according to and against the winds, the journey of life is full of shifts in perspective, influenced by one's stage in life and personal context. As a university student, my perspective currently relies more on emotions and experiences.
Emotions are beautiful, complex and fruitful. I believe they are one of the essential components of life. They are what help us grow. Sentiments build sturdy leaders who later become unbreakable figures in society. I have been going through many emotions lately. As a person living with a disability, some days are so shiny that the clouds are too shy to cover their brightness. On others, the rain stops the ship from sailing. Going through many surgeries and ketamine sessions has been exhausting. However, communicating my feelings to others regarding my difficult time is a heavy rock on my chest. For the first time, I could understand why Franz Kafka once said, "All language is but a poor translation."
I can feel some parts of the ship getting wrecked, yet it keeps going. Since those emotions were triggered, I sailed toward the land of poetry, where I have felt a state of peace and tranquility that I have never encountered. Life has been better then. My notebook paper and I explore my deep emotions and scars.
Scars are deep caves full of rare gems and diamonds. Pressure can create the most beautiful sites that exist on Earth. I believe that the same concept applies to humans. The agony I have been through has given me the softest heart I have met -- a heart that cares without expecting to be cared for.
One experience that helped me explore my heart was a week as a trainee at the Children's Cancer Hospital Egypt 57357. As each patient came into the room, I made sure they left with a smile on their faces. I could feel their pain. I could see their suffering. I understood what they were going through -- an experience similar to mine.
I made sure to take every child in my embrace and assure them that their ship would not stop at this obstacle. I went home crying, hoping I did not give them false hope. All I ever wished for at this moment was to support anyone going through the same pain I felt; I wanted to give them the help I could not find. During that week, I tried my best to do so, and I decided to volunteer at the hospital after my training ended. This experience was an eye-opener.
Seeing those kids touched a deep scar I have, one I never got to heal from. My disability has caused me to go through surgeries, procedures and an endless cycle of pain. I felt hopeless at the time, with no one by my side. Nonetheless, those kids were fighting with a smile on their faces. They were sailing even if the water was no longer flowing, and it took me down memory lane. I saw myself in their souls. I could see the persistence against all the test results and doctors' comments. Their souls are too pure for such suffering. They had hope despite the pain, and I saw that nothing should stop me from sailing through life, not even my disability.
As I am waiting for my next surgery, all I am thinking of are these kids from the hospital. Despite having doctors say that they might not live long, it does not stop them. They live their lives to the fullest: making friends, attending parties, studying for exams. They stay up at night to watch football matches with their fathers and bake bread on the weekend with their mothers. Their siblings cry in their arms, asking them if they'll die soon. Each replies, "No I will not. We will grow up together and make memories." Though some of them will become a memory instead of making memories, they keep their ships steady until the shore. No matter what they face, giving up is not an answer to their problems.
Similarly, I have been feeling that I must fight my battle, even though I am not sure I will win at the end of the road. However, I am keeping my persistence and observing how the ship goes where the water flows.
By Em Mills
A Tokyo-based finance expert. A former fashion model. An award-winning filmmaker. A lawyer and previous Montana senator. An international economist in the U.S. Department of the Treasury. While this list might sound like the start of a bad joke, if you put them all in a room, you'd find one thing they share: All of them previously served as presidential associates at AUC.
Beginning in 1981 with Harvard graduate Frank Packard, the program has been welcoming American fresh graduates to Egypt ever since. Kicking off with just one associate, it grew to include cohorts from across the United States interning in multiple offices at AUC, learning from both their positions and newfound context while experiencing life in Egypt.
I'm writing to you as the latest presidential associate in the 43rd year since the program's inception. I joined AUC in September 2023, and since then, I've been learning the ropes of the campus newsletter in the University's Office of Marketing Communication and Public Affairs, playing chicken with New Cairo traffic and sounding out Arabic words just to puzzle over "sandwich" for 20 minutes without realizing. Like the associates who came before me, I too have felt the humor and absurdity of adjusting to a new context, with Egypt's particularities confusing and delighting me in turn.
By the grace of the now-discontinued presidential associates newsletter, Internal Affairs, I was able to get a glimpse into some of the projects, excursions and generalized chaos that the former associates got up to during their time at AUC, alongside the diverse careers that they pursued. Reading through, I recognized many experiences I had shared and a few that I was grateful I did not, such as performing a surprise vocal solo for the provost at a dinner party.
While much has changed since the program started, some things remain consistent -- including the bond between Egypt and the associates. During an informal meetup in Cairo that included five associates from different years, it became clear that connection with the program doesn't just end at the close of the year. Katherine Patterson, currently completing her master's in energy studies at Sciences Po and a presidential associate from 2015 to 2016, put it like this, "No matter how much time passes, every so often, I seem to find myself back aboard a felucca on the Nile surrounded by other associates."
One current and four former AUC associates swap stories on a felucca in the Nile, 2023. Photo by Devon Murray
Interns on the Nile Courtesy of the Internal Affairs newsletterRowaida Saad Eldin, former executive director of the Office of the President but known to the interns as the beloved "Den Mother" of the program, put her attention, care and generosity into making the experience something meaningful to both the interns and their surrounding community.
Beginning as a volunteer, as the program grew her position became official as she was named the first intern coordinator by former AUC President Richard Pedersen.
"I worked with the presidential interns, later referred to as presidential associates. I would take them around, to the places I loved. I felt so proud of the opportunity to show them Egypt -- the version of the country tourists don't usually see. I wanted them to get a full experience, not just come to work and go home. The interns themselves were also very active. They volunteered to teach refugees at St. Andrew's Church and work with kids at the Children's Cancer Hospital Egypt 57357. Some wrote for Egyptian newspapers in English. They reached out to the community and became integrated in their own ways."
