Say "Cheese."

Once per week, Dana and I buy a couple of blocks of Australian cheddar cheese produced - of course - by a local dairy firm here in Egypt. The quarter-pound blocks that we purchase are about the length, width and breadth of your outstretched hand, that is if your hand was square and vacuum sealed. When unwrapped, the tawny, blond cheese has a fresh, rich aroma and a creamy, buttery taste. A versatile cheese, the cheddar works well in cooked dishes and in salads, or is perfectly fine as a stand-alone snack. We love it.

Although I do not know this, I assume that this particular variety of "white" cheddar is synonymous with the cheese making industry in Australia. I know it is not of Egyptian origin. Cheese making in Egypt goes back thousands of years, but the local cheeses are either the soft white mounds that we often associate with Greece, or a hard, smelly Parmesan-like thing called, "Roumy." My sole experience with Roumy happened in late 2013 and lasted for approximately five very unpleasant minutes. That's how long the aftertaste loitered on my tongue. Dana and I were walking through the dairy aisle at a local supermarket and happened upon a booth where a sampling of all kinds of local cheeses was arrayed. I thought that the local Parmesan might be worth a try. Innocently poised at the end of the toothpick, the nugget I selected looked just like Parmesan. It wasn't. It wasn't Parmesan and it wasn't innocent. Far from it. It was mummy's ass. That's what I remember thinking at the time. That was right about the time when the lady behind the booth pronounced this stale, dusty bit of putrefaction as being "Roumy."

I know I made a face. I couldn't help it. I couldn't dial in my disgust quickly enough, having just ingested the dusty, moldy, assy insides of some series of faraway sarcophagi. I swallowed the nasty little blob without further chewing. It slimed down down my throat like a boogery hawker. Through gritted teeth, I forced a wincing smile, thanking the woman at the booth. I wheeled around, Dana trailing after me. She was giggling.

"That bad?"

"Unbelievably. Terrible. Mummy ass," my voice was weak.

"You're being overly dramatic."

"We can go back. I think there might be another sliver of butt left."

"I think I'll pass. You gonna be alright?" Still giggling. Not helpful, especially given the strong aftertaste of mummy tuchas still shaking its can in my mouth.

But I digress ... We love the local "Australian" cheddar. It's lovely and creamy and whitish-yellow, just like cheddar should be. If this opinion about the color of cheddar is true - and I now wholeheartedly believe that it is - then what in hell kind of orange-tainted shittiness have I been eating all of these years? American singles? Waxy and orange. Velveeta? Gooey and orange. Okay, maybe American singles and Velveeta don't qualify as being cheeses, but even a decent Winconsin cheddar is orange. And the hats that the Packers fans in Green Bay wear? They're orange, too. What gives? I was raised in a universe where cheddar is orange. Why the change?

I have been troubled by this issue enough recently to bother to try to find an answer. According to Cecil Adams of the The Straight Dope, we have the English to blame. Cecil claims that years and years ago, cheese lovers in England began to equate orangish-yellow cheddar as being of a higher quality than the tawny-colored cheddar. Back before the days of industrialized farming and cattle being cannibalized with human-produced feed made from grains and offal, dairy cows were always fed a diet of grass in the summer months and hay in the winter months. The cow milk in the summer was rich in beta-carotene, the vitamin that helps to give carrots their lovely orange hue. Not to say that summer cow milk was orange, but it was apparently a different color that the cow milk in the winter. Customers began to demand the "more wholesome" cheese made from summer milk and so farmers obliged by adding a little annatto seed coloring (a natural orange colorant) to all of their cheese-making endeavors. The dye gave the cheddars a consistent color throughout the year and the specific orangish shade that early English consumers believed to be synonymous with cheese greatness.

So much for the history lesson. Thanks, Cecil.

Now that I have a little intellectual capital at my disposal, I know enough to say that I don't like my cheddar being orange. Here's why.

I looked up some information on the annatto seed, the stuff used to make the dye that cheese makers put into cheddar. The seed is naturally occurring and innocuous enough. Annatto is apparently flavorful and may even have some health benefits. But the tree that produces the seeds is a tropical tree, and so those little seeds, the ones that are eventually crushed into the dye that turns my cheddar into something resembling the color of a carrot, have quite a carbon footprint. These days I prefer to dine locally when I can. I would like to believe that my preference for local foods may actually help local people. If I were in the tropics, I would be okay with eating orange cheddar. In Egypt or in Tennessee, I would prefer a less well-traveled, less global cheese.

I am also thinking that annatto oil is probably a little pricey, pricey enough to tempt a few wily cheese makers into using using chemical equivalents - like perhaps F, D & C powdered dyes - as substitutes for a natural oil. I'm old, and that means I have eaten enough crummy things to clog up my arteries and constrict the blood vessels in my brain. I don't need any more gunk. So I will pass on the powdered dyes and food coloring agents.

I also like the idea of eating foods that are coming to me in a more-or-less natural state in terms of color and taste. Some barmy English hill-jack a couple of hundred years ago decided that orange cheese was better. That does not mean that I have to blindly follow this decision. Indeed, now that I have a choice, I would like to make a different decision altogether. I would like to have my cheddar look a little more cheddar-like and a little less carrot-like.

So despite the ridiculousness of the idea of purchasing Australian cheddar in Egypt, I will stick with the local variety of dun-colored cheese produced here in Cairo and not dyed with a seed transported from far away, or worse, colored with some chemical agent. I will not however, go completely local to switch to the local "Parmesan." Nope, I will enjoy my expensive imported Italian Parmesan along with its massive carbon footprint. My liberalism does, after all, have its limits.

Graduation at the Pyramids

I have a guilty admission to make, a type of admission that many a New Yorker or Londoner or Memphian could make. Manhattanites don't visit Lady Liberty and Londoners rarely tour the Houses of Parliament. Just like a surprising number of Memphians never make the pilgrimage to Graceland. Here's the admission: Dana and I had yet to make it to the Pyramids until June of 2014. The closest ancient structures to our flat in Ma'adi, and it took us almost a year to cross the river to Giza to see the last Wonder of the Ancient World still standing.

In our defense, we arrived in Cairo in late July of 2013 just as former president Mohammed Morsi was being booted out of office. Then there were the violent clearances of camps of protestors. Note: ancient wonders lose their allure when bullets are whizzing about and barrel bombs are being ignited. And there was the damn curfew and the massive street protests every Friday after prayers. We follow a Muslim work week here in Cairo, so Friday and Saturday constitute the weekend for us. Another note: ancient wonders lose their luster when throngs of angry protestors are throwing Molotov Cocktails at nearby security forces. Most Saturdays we did not really feel brave enough to be driven down towards Tahrir Square to cross the river to Giza. By the time the situation here in Cairo was safe enough for us to easily go for a visit, we found that we already had other plans; we had shit to do. So we kept putting off a trip to the Great Pyramids.

Until June.

June is graduation month at Cairo American College (CAC), and the graduate Eagles of CAC have their graduation ceremony at the Pyramids. Yep, every year the school rents out the sound stage just in front of the majestic structures in order to host the two-hour graduation ceremony. The place has to be the all-time, Top-5 greatest graduation venues in the universe. Let me tell you, the ceremony is THE most important tradition at CAC, full of pomp, processions, and speeches. And the spectacle plays out with the the Great Pyramids and the somber face of the Great Sphinx in the immediate background. 

Let me tell you something else, the ceremony is an absolute mother----er to prepare for. Planning begins almost a year in advance, characterized by preliminary negotiations with the Ministry of Antiquities and with the U.S. Embassy. This year these negotiations were more than a little difficult. Following the preliminary meetings, there are security details to plan out, seating arrangements for a couple of thousand spectators to be arranged, and local police with whom to consult. Then there are more meetings. At one point this year during a later round of negotiations, the Ministry of Antiquities jacked up an already astronomically high rental fee. At another point this year, the diplomats at the U.S. Embassy expressed their fears that they would not be able to permit their families and their CAC graduates to attend the ceremony due to security concerns. When a suggestion was offered to perhaps hold the ceremony in the gym, the outrage expressed made Tea Partiers seem sane and tame.

So the tense negotiations finally end and the decision is made to go ahead with graduation at the Pyramids. CAC grads and their parents heave a huge collective  sigh of relief as Dana and I make plans to attend. One of our colleagues scores a great rate at the historic Mena House Hotel just across the street from the Pyramid complex and so Dana and I make arrangements to stay. The hotel is over 100 years old and has played host to royalty, celebrities, and scores of politicians. Back in the late 70s, Anwar Sadat, Menachem Begin, and Jimmy Carter met at the hotel for one of the rounds of peace talks between Egypt and Israel. One of my favorite authors, Arthur Conan Doyle, stayed here as did both Winston Churchill and Dwight Eisenhower. Walking the marbled halls, peering into paneled oak rooms filled with trophies and old guns and over-stuffed red leather chairs, it is easy to imagine Ernest Hemingway and his buds here, getting absolutely sloshed while planning their next big hunt. That is the kind of ambiance the Mena House Hotel possesses.

The day before graduation, we set out from our school to the hotel. We are being driven in one of the school vans. Thank goodness too, because the neighborhoods surrounding the Pyramids and the Mena House are poverty-stricken. At one point while stopped at a stop sign, beggars and cart-drivers run up to the sides of our van, beating against the sides and demanding money. It is a little bit frightening.  

A few tense minutes later, and we are ushered through the gates of the hotel. Check in goes quickly. We are on foot now, walking through the lush gardens of the hotel, a far cry from the streets just outside of the hotel walls. Passing through several sets of metal detectors, we are gently escorted to our room, one of the rooms with a Pyramid view. And the view is astounding.

We are now gypsies in the palace. We eat at what is reported to be one of the finest restaurants in Cairo. We stuff our faces full of Indian food. We watch the sun set behind the Pyramids. We order room service.

It is all lovely until 4:30 AM the next morning. That is the time I have to get up in order to catch the bus over to the ceremony stage. The venue owners will not allow us to set up the night before, so we must complete the ceremony preparations the day of graduation. The bus ferries us, groggy and sleepy-headed, to the venue where we are greeted by an army of CAC and security staff. They have been waiting for a while, and by the looks of them they are already well into a second pack of cigarettes and a fourth or fifth cup of tea.

With scores of able-bodied individuals to help, the set-up goes quickly and efficiently. The graduates, resplendent in their crimson and white robes, arrive right on time. Proud parents and equally proud, if not a little relieved, faculty stream through the security checkpoints to take their seats. Invocations are made by imams and pastors, Muslims and Christians. Students take to the podium to deliver well-rehearsed speeches. Parents cry as graduates cross the stage to received their diplomas. Tassels rake across mortar boards and then those very same mortar boards are tossed high in the air.

And all the while, the silent stone faces of the Great Pyramids peer down upon us from on high, watching impassively as the ceremony draws to a close.

As parents and graduates slowly exit the venue, Dana and I walk towards the timeworn monoliths. Today's ceremony has been a metaphor for our year here: lots of planning and preparation punctuated by unforeseen events and peppered with a healthy dose of chaos. But amidst the chaos, there is a beauty and a timeless sense of majesty looming in the distance, providing a rich backdrop against which we play out our daily lives. We go to work, spending our week days in much the same manner that we did when we were in Memphis. We have similar ups and downs, we share similar school-related triumphs and frustrations. Different from our existence in Memphis however, we are foreigners in an ancient land. We are amazed at some of the sights and sounds of our foster country. Sometimes we are frightened because this can be a dangerous place and these are dangerous times in Egypt. 

And all this time, the sun rises and sets on the Great Pyramids and on the Great Sphinx. And the Nile flows gently and easily just as it has done for thousands and thousands of years.

An Inconvenient Election

After two days of voting and then a hastily organized third day of polling, Egyptians have elected Abdel-Fattah al-Sisi as their new president. With 97% of the vote counted, the former Field Marshal seems to have garnered over 90% of the ballots cast. That is a landslide, but the results are far from a mandate.

In the first presidential elections after the 2011 Revolution, the first "free" presidential election in Egypt's history, Mohammed Morsi won in 2012 with roughly 52% of registered voters casting their ballots. That kind of participation is about what voter turnout is in the U.S. during a presidential election when voter participation is considered to be "excellent." Compared with the U.S. there are many factors that contribute to non-voting behavior in Egypt: grinding poverty, comparatively low literacy rates, lack of understanding of voting procedures, a sense of disenfranchisement among those living in poverty, etc. The point is that 52% registered voter participation in the 2012 Egyptian presidential elections was considered to be "quite good."

Fast-forward to the Egyptian 2014 presidential election, the election pitting Mr. al-Sisi against leftist, Hamdeen Sabahi. The hope is that voter turnout will be higher, higher than the 2012 presidential election. With high voter participation, the victor could claim a strong sense of legitimacy. Under those kind of circumstances, a landslide victory would give the election winner a mandate. No such luck this time around. Voter turnout after the first two days of voting was an anaemic 37%. 

Blaming the perilously hot weather and a minor Muslim religious observation, authorities announced a federal holiday on the second day of voting and then abruptly announced a third day of voting. Registered voters who stayed at home were even threatened with a $70 fine (a large sum for some Egyptians) for not voting. When the votes are all finally counted, it is doubtful that vote turnout will have climbed above 40%.

This is bad news for al-Sisi on several fronts. First, he cannot claim anything remotely close to a mandate. Having garnered 90% of the vote he may try to make this claim, but he will face valid criticism and opposition in doing so. Secondly, the now-outlawed Muslim Brotherhood (MB) and other conservative Muslim groups like the MB encouraged their followers to boycott the elections. Low voter participation fuels these groups and their causes. Although this election's relative low turnout is likely to have been the result of apathy and disenfranchisement, the MB and groups similar to the MB will claim these numbers as a sign of support. Finally, the numbers intimate that the fragmentation that has prevailed in Egyptian society since Mohammed Morsi's ouster last summer will probably continue. None of this is good news for incoming President al-Sisi.

And there is another dark and scary number lurking in the shadows. In the 2012 presidential election over 13 million Egyptians cast their vote for Mohammed Morsi, the same Mohammed Morsi that now languishes in prison. As a result of the 2014 election, Abdel-Fattah al-Sisi will have captured something close to that amount of votes. For all of the idolatry and talk of a cult of personality associated with al-Sisi, he will have garnered roughly the same number of votes as Morsi captured in the previous election. 

Given that massive economic restructuring in Egypt will have to soon commence, these numbers are quite inconvenient for the new president.