The "Red Pinkie" Referendum

It's Thursday, break, and I am starving. I head up to the cafe on the third floor of the school. Kemal, a Coptic Christian in his mid-40s, runs our cafe there. I see Kemal a couple of times per week. I always ask about his family, especially his 9-month-old daughter. In exchange, he always serves me a nuclear-strong cup of coffee so that I can re-start my heart when needed.

Today is different. Today Kemal greets me, proudly lifting aloft his left-hand pinkie finger. His finger radiates the color of dried blood or raw meat. For a second, I think he has caught his hand in the meat slicer. He is wearing the wrong face, I tell myself. He is smiling, head held high. He is not grimacing like he has been disfigured. And his pinkie isn't hanging by a flap of skin, gushing blood. Nope, Kemal is proud, proud of his blood red pinkie. Dipped in a vat of permanent ink to guard against double-voting, Kemal's pinkie is a badge of pride and patriotism.

"I voted yesterday, sir!" He looks as if he has discovered buried treasure. And maybe he has. Just maybe. It is too soon yet to tell.

My friend Kemal is one of many millions of Egyptians who are taking advantage of the opportunity to vote on Egypt's newly forged, draft constitution. Held over two days, the vote is simple, "yes" or "no". The implications behind the vote however, are not so simple.

First off, there is the constitution itself. It is a big, bulky document written by legal scholars. I have been following the constitutional proceedings closely, and even I have not seen it nor read it. Now, I do not read Arabic, so maybe the draft has been published in the local press without my knowing it. Possible. But I don't think so. Even if the constitution has been published, most Egyptians do not have Internet access. A lot of Egyptians have only a rudimentary ability to read and write. The vast majority of Egyptians lack a university education. So, I can't help it. I find it remarkably difficult to believe that folks like Kemal have read the document they are being asked to accept or reject.

Then there are the Chinooks. The massive helicopters thudding and lumbering above the heads of all of the referendum voters, droning slowly like big, fat bumble bees gorging on the pollen encrusted flowers below. The pollen laced flowers below don't have much choice as to whether or not they want the bees to harvest their golden grains. I am not sure referendum voters have any more choice. The current military-backed regime organized the framework for the draft of the constitution. They have a vested interest in a "yes" vote. A "yes" vote is a vote for the military action that removed President Morsi from power. A "yes" vote gives the current regime a sense of credibility and legitimacy. A "yes" vote means that the action was not seen as a coup, and that means investment money from countries like the U.S. can resume.

I imagine that the Chinooks are packed with shock troops ready to quell any disturbance. Or are they there to intimidate? To encourage a resounding "yes"? The answer to these questions is not so clear cut. It's complicated, not as simple as just a "yes" or a "no."

Then there is the issue of the "no" vote. Followers of the now-illegal, Muslim Brotherhood have been instructed to boycott the vote rather than to vote "no." They believe that participating in the referendum would be tantamount to endorsing the military coup; something they will never do. All of the bloody protests since President Morsi's removal from power have centered around the idea that the coup was and is an illegitimate action taken against a democratically elected individual. Participating in a referendum engineered by the military government installed after the coup would be treason. So how many Egyptian "no-sayers" are there in the electorate if the Muslim Brotherhood sits the election out? The answer is, not many.

So the referendum is a foregone conclusion. The question is how many voters will show up to vote on a document that they haven't read and whose legalities they do not really clearly understand.

If people like Kemal are any indication, lots of voters will show up to proudly cast their "yes" vote.

We'll see.

Saqqara, Memphis and Dahshur

This is us on our recent trip back to Memphis over our winter holiday:

"So, are the pyramids as cool as you thought they would be?"

"Um, we haven't really been yet," we lamely respond.

"You are joking, right?" Our friends ask us this question, making valiant efforts to mask their "are you fucking kidding me" looks. They cannot dial it back quickly enough, however. We see it. We feel it.

Lame.

Lame, lame, lame, lame, lame.

So five months and twelve days after arriving in Egypt, Dana and I visit our first pyramids. Like New Yorkers and their curious relationship with the Statue of Liberty, we have not been in a hurry to make this journey. We figured the pyramids would still be there whenever we worked up the motivation to plan a trip. And with 182 pyramids in the country to visit, it is tough to decide where to start.

This is me offering a modicum of bullshit rationalization, by the way. We haven't made the trip up to this point because we have been too lazy to organize anything, too cheap to pay for anything, too busy herding cats at work, and frankly, too intimidated to travel. 

This is me cutting the crap and being honest.

Along with some of our friends from school, we set out on this foggy, smoggy, Sunday morning to see Egypt's oldest pyramids and to pay a visit to the ancient and original city of Memphis. These areas have been a vital part of Egyptian heritage and "Western civilization" for almost 5000 years. Aside from Stonehenge and some of the other stone circles in the Orkney Islands, I have never seen structures as old as the ones we plan to see today. Armchair archaeologists that Dana and I are, we are excited. It's about time we get off of our lazy asses.

Saqqara is first. A step pyramid built for the pharoah, Djoser, Saqqara pre-dates the Great Pyramids of Giza by a couple of hundred years. It is a simpler, more diminutive structure compared to its famous Giza cousins but no less impressive. Located just outside metropolitan Cairo, Djoser's final resting place rises majestically above croplands to the immediate east and the shifting dunes of the Sahara to the immediate west. The pyramid's unique and very intentional location belies the haphazard, trial-and-error circumstances of its birth. 

Saqqara was the first of its kind, an engineering testing ground of sorts. A place where ancient builders worked out techniques that would one day create the only one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World to survive into our time. 

So the first step-slab is not big enough, you say? We will simply expand it and make it wider. The burial shaft is not deep enough and floods too easily, you say? We will dig deeper to twenty-eight meters. This works? Great, we will now make it a regulation to dig burial chambers at twenty-eight meters. So now the burial slab is not grand enough to befit the likes of Djoser, you say? We will add another slab-step. And then another. And then another. And so on. After a time, Saqqara rises majestically above the croplands and the shifting sand dunes. Builders learn cool techniques. Pharaohs get really cool apartments in which to spend all eternity. All is good with the world, and the world beyond.

Saqqara is but one of several pyramids in what is known as the Memphis necropolis. The word 'necropolis' means, quite literally, 'city of the dead.' There are many necropoli in Egypt, but the Memphis necropolis was the first to be built on such a grand scale. 

We take advantage of the opportunity to climb down into one of the lesser pyramids in the Memphis necropolis. How could we not? We first descend a good ten to fifteen meters down an inclined plank, down into the bowels of the pyramid. The incline has been reinforced with smaller, perpendicular beams of wood to prevent us neophytes from experiencing what would be a precarious slide. We have to kneel to make the downward climb. It is not easy, and it is not for the claustrophobic. Once we level out, we continue on into the very center of the pyramid, kneel-crawling for another twenty to thirty meters. The air down here smells like a dusty cave. I am very thankful for the lighting that has been added in recent years. Without it we would be trapped in total darkness. We finally reach a room where we can stand up. It is the burial chamber. Though the sarcophagus and corresponding treasure has long since been robbed, the room is finely carved with lovely hieroglyphics and images of men, women, beasts, and gods. We can still see some of the paint used to make the figures more lifelike. 5000 year old paint. Cool. We can still touch the sides of finely dressed and polished stone. Polished stone so smooth, you can almost see your reflection in it. Also very cool. 

We are standing at the center of a 5000 year old pyramid. I grew up in rural southern Ohio. Dana grew up in nearby rural Kentucky. We may not be worthy, but we are here. We didn't have shit like this where we grew up. Nobody did. We never thought we would see something like this. But we are here now, and we are quietly thanking our mothers and our fathers.

We move on to Memphis. We learn the real name of the city (I have forgotten it now). The word, 'Memphis' is what the ancient Greeks called this place when they wrote about it. This locale, now covered by an open air museum and a very rural (and smelly) town, was once the capital of a sprawling and vibrant, ancient civilization. We visit the open air museum. We see a statue of Ramses II, the copy of which today invites Memphians into a glass Pyramid on the banks of the mighty Mississippi; soon to be a Bass Pro shop. The original colossus, derelict and largely forgotten, presides over a quiet, remote courtyard of pillars and column caps.

Dahshur is our final stop. Dahshur houses the first structures that we would call pyramids. With smooth sides, no steps and concealed entrances and exits, the Dahshur pyramids (there are several here) are a testament to what the ancient builders learned from having erected structures like Saqqara. The learning experience was far from over, however. The famous Bent Pyramid of Dahshur was started based on a design that called for steep sides of fifty some odd degrees. After having completed a quarter of the pyramid, the builders feared that the structure would collapse upon itself, and they changed the degree measurements to the forty some odd degrees that we recognize in all the pyramids that we can see today.  And today, we can clearly see where the ancient builders changed their grand designs. Very, very cool.

We walk around the base of this grand burial chamber, marveling at the size of the massive stones. How many years did it take to build this? How many slaves toiled? How many times has the sun risen and then set upon the polished stones of the lower portion of the pyramid? Did the builders have a sense that they were creating something that would last forever, or did they just show up to work, day in and day out? Did the architects have the same sense of awe and wonder that we feel when we look out upon these amazing monoliths? The historical record tells us that the ancients knew how to build these things, but the record is sadly mute on the point of telling us how they felt about the monumental architecture they were creating.

This is me waxing philosophical.

The sun begins to set, plummeting toward the dunes in the west. We leave. We waited over five months to witness these breathtaking pieces of architecture. Buildings just under 5000 years old. Supremely cool. Sure, they will always be here; at least in my lifetime. But as we drive back to the suburbs of Cairo, I wonder how many more generations will have the opportunity that I have been afforded today.

I also wonder what the hell took us so long to get here.

All photos taken by the incomparable Dana Purpura.

Memphis landmarks, Bryant's and Sun Studio

Gravy, sop it up. 

That's what the sassy waitress on the sign says. She stands there in silhouette, one hand on a hip all thrusted out; the other hand holding up a serving tray. Sassy as hell. She's making a suggestion rather than a command; I think. What I do know is that Bryant's is "good eating." That's what people here say when the food is phenomenal but probably not recommended by your local doc. The sassy waitress would tell the doctor to go to hell and to go to Bryant's beforehand.

And that is what we are doing on this Friday morning. Going to Bryant's, not hell.

Phil is behind the counter. He greets us warmly, calling us by name the minute we walk through the door. It is a homecoming served with grits on the side.

Something to add to your to-do list? Go to Byrant's three times. Say hi. By the third visit, Phil or Diane (who is not in this morning) will know you by name. It is one of the things that makes Bryant's so special, and one of the many reasons people have been coming since 1968.

Bryant's is a Memphis landmark. Located on highly under-rated, Summer Avenue, Bryant's serves up some of the best breakfasts on the planet. Unpretentious and no-nonsense, Bryant's is down-home cooking as an art form. The Everything Omelet is a symphony of eggy goodness and delight. The biscuits are made by heavenly beings moonlighting as fry cooks. And the gravy bowl ... yes, I said GRAVY BOWL ... is a meaty miracle. Everything on the menu is good eating, but the gravy bowl is the titan standing on the shoulders of giants.

We order, we chat with Phil, and we eat. You know the eating is getting serious when the only sounds coming from the table are monosyllabic utterances of acclaim. Such is the case today. The first to finish wins the honor of breaking the silence, proclaiming the meal as being just about over. This is done by wadding up the napkin and then throwing it down on on the plate as if you have just scored a touchdown. Then you lean back in your chair, stifle a massive belch and say something to the effect of "done being about ready to bust." 

After we finish "throwing down" on breakfast, we are off to visit another Memphis landmark, Sun Studio. Located on Union Avenue, Sun Studio can rightly claim to be the actual birthplace of Rock N' Roll. In 1951 a saxophonist-singer named Jackie Brenston and his band, the Delta Cats (featuring Ike Turner on piano), recorded a song here called "Rocket 88." That song became a huge radio hit. And it is credited by most rock historians as the first Rock N' Roll song ever recorded. The song's popularity made a name for studio engineer, Sam Phillips, who set about on something of a mission to attract and record talented musicians. People like Howlin' Wolf, Johnny Cash, Carl Perkins, B.B. King, Jerry Lee Lewis, Roy Orbison, and of course, Elvis Presley, were among the many would-be legends to answer Sam's call.

We arrive on a sunny afternoon. Despite being with a native Memphian and another 25-year Memphis resident, I am the only person in our company who has done the tour. I promise my troop that a visit to Sun is an unmissable Memphis experience. 

The studio building is a simple, two-story affair with a brick facade, a broad, green awning and a sign sporting the famous Sun Studio logo. With the exception of the sign, this frontage could be a part of Main Street anywhere in small-town America. We walk into a 1950s diner area doubling as cafe and gift shop. We purchase four tickets, waiting for the 1:30 pm tour to begin. We begin promptly at 1:45 pm.

We start the guided tour in an exhibit room packed with photos, framed rare 78 vinyls and washer-sized recording equipment from 60 years ago. Our guide tells us stories of Sun founder and Memphis legend, Sam Phillips. Back in the day, Sam was a sound recording engineer passionate about Memphis blues and local recording artists. He didn't seem to pay any attention to the color barrier, preferring talented blues musicians and people he thought could make money; forward-thinking to a point. Sam recorded "Rocket 88" and discovered artists like Ike Turner and Howlin' Wolf. He initially passed on Elvis, so the story goes; too "poppy." We listen to a few more stories peppered with snippets of original Sun Studio's early recording. The likes of Elvis, Roy Orbison and Jerry Lee Lewis roar through the tiny room's sound system. The music is simple and raw but packed with energy and drive.

We take the stairs down to the studio itself. There is only the one studio room plus the adjoining sound booth. Only one room; one. So much history, so many classic recordings all done here in this modest studio. The soundproofed tiles on the walls and ceiling are original, having been fitted into place by Sam himself working alongside his secretary / major-domo, Marion Keisker. Marion was the first person to record then unknown Elvis Presley. A couple of days later, when Sam first heard the recording, he wasn't impressed; so the story goes. He didn't sign Elvis until a year later.

Recording equipment, amps, microphones, and instruments are jammed into every corner of the room. This is still a working sound studio, and local musicians still rent time and instruments. Sun still maintains a hectic schedule. From time to time, musicians that have already made names for themselves come to make the pilgrimage and to record in this simple studio: Dylan, U2, Aretha, Springsteen, Bonnie Raitt, and Ringo Starr, just to name a few. When Dylan first came here to record, he knelt down to the ground, kissing the spot where Elvis stood when recording his first track. Bono wept during his first take, sobbing into the very same mic Carl Perkins used to record Blue Suede Shoes. A photo toward the back of the studio captures a stunned Bono staring at the famous microphone. The room has an inescapable power and magnetism. It feels like hallowed, sacred ground. All that music. All those legends. People like Elvis just hanging out here. It is impossible not to stand and think, taking all of this in.

Then comes the feeling and the power of the shared experience. I am glad we came, glad to share this experience with Dana, Jake and Tyler. The studio and the legends are important parts of Memphis heritage, and something every Memphian should see. When the tour comes to an end, I want to stay to hear more stories and to spend more time in the studio room. Leave 'em wanting more. That is the way Sam Phillips surely would have wanted it.