To Vote Like an Egyptian

http://www.cipe.org/blog/?p=7971



Fifty three days after the youth ignited a revolution in Cairo’s Tahrir Square that irrevocably changed the country’s and the region’s future, millions of Egyptians are lining up at thousands of polling stations all over the country to cast ballots for a YES or NO vote on a referendum on amendments to the 1971 constitution. By all accounts, turnout is of historic proportions and Egyptians are freely taking their first democratic steps along a long path towards democracy. Significantly, no one knows what the result will be. A poll conducted by young Egyptians over the past week declared the referendum “too close to call.”

The debate leading up to the referendum has been animated and the accusations and counter-accusations furious. Most Egyptians are deciding on the YES or NO today based on fears of the other alternative.

On the one hand, those who have advocated for a YES vote felt that the most important thing today is to move away from the provisional rule of the military, elect a new president and legislature, and then develop a new constitution that would be put forth for a new national referendum. They insisted that a new constitution needs the legitimacy of en elected body to develop it, either a parliament or a constituent assembly appointed by an elected parliament. They also intimate that the people are not ready for the compromises necessary to develop a lasting constitution. Developing a permanent constitution now, they claim, would break the nation apart and throw it to the hands of the military.

On the other hand, those advocating for a NO vote felt that the country, and especially the secular political parties, are not ready for elections. They insist that the fast-paced process of amending a void constitution is undemocratic and that what the country needs now is a broad-based constituent assembly to write a real constitution that should be the one to put forth for a referendum, not the “patchwork” of amendments that are put forth now.

Basically, one camp is stoking fears that a NO vote will keep the military in power (akin to what happened after the 1952 revolution), and the other is stoking fears that a YES vote will usurp the nascent democracy and throw control to undemocratic forces that were able to organize during the Mubarak regime.

In this writer’s humble opinion, both positions are exaggerated, but not so unexpected given the decades of mistrust among the political forces in the country. However, what is lost to most are questions such as “what are Egyptians voting for or against today?” i.e. what are the amendments and what will their effect be? And, what will happen if the referendum fails?

Starting with the latter, a YES vote sends Egypt along a route for quick elections for the executive and legislature, followed quickly by a process to develop a new constitution. However, no one seems to be certain of what happens if the NOs beat the YESes. It seems that the ball will be kicked back to the military council to decide on the next steps. There are no shortage of suggestions by pundits who’ve found a strong voice after the revolution, but most seem to point towards a longer process, overseen by the military, to develop a “legitimate” constitution. Meanwhile, the political parties –of the old traditional variety and the new youth-led ones—would have a “fair chance” to “level the playing field”, and compete for elections. Some are requesting a six-month period for the process to allow for the development of a “road map” to democracy and the development of a democratic constitution.

But, again, what are Egyptians voting for? The battle is over nine amendments that, according to the military, will allow the country to hold “free and fair” elections and to move the country to civilian rule. The military had voided the 1971 constitution and disbanded the parliament. Its provisional rule was thus rendered unconstitutional and, as a friend in the know told me, it felt it needed a precipitous process to give the country legitimacy, especially given how the world is watching Egypt with a microscope.

One of the controversial amendments was that of Article 75, where language for the eligibility to be a candidate for president was added to limit it to those who, and who’s parents, have not been citizens of other countries, and to those who are not married to a non-Egyptian. (Of note – the Arabic language used to write the amendments is gender specific and assumed the candidate is a man and the spouse is a woman.)

On other fronts, most agreed with the amendment to Article 77 that limits the presidency to two terms of four years each, as well as the amendment Article 88 providing for full supervision over the elections to an independent judiciary, instead of the ministry of interior.

Most were also happy about the amendments to article 148, limiting emergency rule to no more than six months, unless a referendum approves an extension, and with the approval of a majority of parliament, as well as the removal of Article 179, known as the anti-terrorism article.

Other amendments affect article 189, articulating processes to establish a constituent assembly appointed by both chambers of parliament, mandate the development of a new constitution within six months, and a referendum to approve the new constitution within 15 days after that.

Regardless of what the result of the referendum will be and whether the YES or NO wins, the real winners are the Egyptian people. As a Yemeni-American in Cairo on this historic day, I have to confess that I felt envious and wanted to have my finger dipped in the pink indelible ink. I’ve been following the comments of Egyptians on television, radio, Twitter, Facebook, and through talking to Egyptians everywhere. Below is a sampling of quotes that reflect how Egyptians felt today. Please excuse the colloquialism.

» So Exciting. First time to vote in my life. Real vote. We are a very lucky generation.
» I voted in AlManial ElE3dadeya things are very positive, police officers are helpful. Things are great.
» About a thousand people in front me now to vote. Still happy despite the fact that will take me an hour to vote
» The evolution of the revolution: About a 1km of people waiting in a line to vote.
» Today is a response to Husni Mubarak, Omar Suleiman, Ahmed Nazif & anyone who claimed that Egyptians are not ready for democracy
» Good morning the whole world. The picture shows me, my 2 daughters and my grandson at the polling station very early this morning. For the first time in my life I feel thrilled to go and vote. Congratulations our amazing Egypt for the well deserved freedom. Have a great day all wherever you are on planet earth and the outer space , share our happiness and celebration. Hold your head up high. You are Egyptian.
» Our PM Essam Sharaf refused to cut in line, & stood with us and waited to vote.
» Wow, even Amr Moussa refused to cut in line. Symbolic things, but they mean that so much has changed.
» Cairo Governor kicked out of polling station for refusing to wait his turn http://ow.ly/4hM0A
» First time [I tried to vote] was in May 2005 &they wouldn’t let me in & I vowed I would not let up until I saw this day!
» My finger is pink and my head held high.
» I was also at this polling station, and everyone allowed anyone 60+ to cut line. Including my uncle.
» Just got into a heated debate with a [political opponent] and told him I’m against the const. cuz I don’t want people like him to be thrown behind bars.
» Finally a real country, not a personal farm.
» Aunt just called me, said I voted no because of you – I remembered what you told me when I argued that the people should leave Tahrir.
» My dad above 70 never voted before. He said “for the 1st time in my life I felt that my voice counts and is heard”.

END Quote:
“Man is free at the moment he wishes to be.” -- Voltaire

Looking for the Wahabs

By Dr. James Zogby, Arab American Institute
http://www.aaiusa.org/dr-zogby/entry/looking-for-the-wahabs/

OCRACOKE ISLAND, N.C. We are just ending a family vacation on this little island off the coast of North Carolina. We have been coming here for 35 years now, and though so much has changed, the simple beauty of the place remains.

Ocracoke is one of the Outer Banks' barrier islands jutting out into the Atlantic Ocean. By any measure, it is tiny: a mere 16 miles long and, for the most part, less than a few hundred yards wide - though at its southern end, the island stretches out to a width of a mile and a half.

What makes this island so special is the fact that no buildings are allowed on its entire coastline, meaning miles of empty beaches, and its remoteness - it is only accessible by ferry or boat. The population is small: year round residents number only 800 souls living mainly around a small lagoon on the island's sound side. During the peak vacation season the population swells to 5,000 visitors.

It was precisely Ocracoke's remoteness and its simplicity that brought us here 35 years ago. That, and stories about the Wahabs who lived there.

My son Joseph's teacher first piqued our interest with tales about his many visits to the island: the beaches, the birds, the boating etc. Reading a bit more, we learned about: Ocracoke's early colorful history as refuge for the notorious Blackbeard the Pirate; its nickname "graveyard of the Atlantic", earned for the more than 100 shipwrecks off its coast; and the descendants of the island's first settlers (some remnants of pirates and shipwrecks) - families named O'Neal, Scarborough, Howard, Garrish, Ballance and Wahab!

Obviously, it was that latter who caught my attention and so that summer my wife and I took our little family on their first journey to Ocracoke to, among other things, find the Wahabs. Heeding the advice of those who had been there before, we prepared ourselves for the long drive, the need to buy fresh vegetables on the mainland (back then, none were available on the Outer Banks), and to bring what was needed for rustic living.

The beaches were, as promised, pristine, expansive and deserted. The wildlife (both coastal and marshlands) was diverse and plentiful. And the island's residents were hospitable, delightful and eager to tell their stories.

One of my first stops was a visit to the Wahab family cemetery. There were many tombstones, some going back 200 years, marking the passing of the likes of Elizabeth Wahab, Job Wahab, James Wahab etc. I was determined to meet their living relatives.

The owners of the most beautiful house on Ocracoke were Stanley and Myra Wahab - the last of the family on the island. Stanley, I learned, was on the mainland, but Myra - the island's grande dame - agreed to meet with me.

She was, as I had been warned, a formidable presence. Imperious in her bearing and yet gracious in her manner, she welcomed me into her home for tea and conversation. For over an hour she regaled me with island lore and the many accomplishments of her husband. And then to the family history. According to her, the earliest Wahab was an itinerant merchant shipwrecked on the island, she believed, in the latter part of the 17th century. The family, she said, had always understood their ancestor to be an Arab, making him the earliest Arab immigrant to these shores.

She became quite animated when she told me that a few years earlier some researchers from Duke University had come to interview her. They claimed the family was probably "originally Scottish and named 'Wachob ' or something like that". She scoffed at this, telling me that she had dismissed them replying " We are Ay-rabs and proud of it. And you can't take that from us". Formidable and feisty, imperious and a presence - and well worth the visit.

Stanley died in 1988. Myra lived to 99, passing away in 2002. One nephew, Larry Williams, who also proudly claimed Arab ancestry (he was featured in a special issue of ARAMCO World Magazine highlighting Arab Americans from each of the 50 states) , inherited the Wahab properties (we stayed in his guest house and visited with him before be died in 2008). But he too is gone, leaving Ocracoke, for the first time in maybe a few hundred years, without a Wahab.

The end of one family is cause for some sadness. The island has changed, in other ways, as well. There are fresh vegetables for sale, meat is served in stores and restaurants, rental properties are air-conditioned, some mobile telephones work , and cable TV and wifi are now available everywhere. The beaches are still pristine (this remains one of the few places on the Atlantic coast where you can walk for miles in the surf never seeing another person) and the wildlife is still plentiful. But the Wahabs who I came here to find 35 years ago are now gone and all that remains of them are the stories that others will tell and the markers in the family graveyard.

Step into the World of Istanbul Window Shopping… My Way!

NOTE: Photo Essay at end of this blog entry.

This trip has been one of the most stressful trips I've ever taken. As I made stops in Istanbul, Amman, and Cairo, decisions that affected the futures of people who have worked for me for years had to be made. Needless to say, I was unable to get much sleep the first few nights and I knew that I had to deal with the stress better. My initial thought was to go out and walk around Istanbul. But without looking really crazy, the walk was not intense enough to produce endorphins that would help change my somber mood. So I went back to the hotel and sulked.
Later, I went down to the hotel gym and, with the IPod headphones hugging my ears and the volume level at high, I worked out for an hour and burned about 400 calories. Although this helped a bit, it was not enough.

I subsequently decided to go out and explore Istanbul. It was going to be either the Sultanahmet district with its magnificent Hagia Sophia, the Blue Mosque, and Topkapi, a serene walk down the annals of Ottoman history; or down to the Bosphorus, the waterway that separates Istanbul into its European and Asian halves; or Istiklal Street in Taksim, where I can window shop, eat, and walk at the same time. Ah! Guess which one I picked. I was not in want for history or geography then; I needed good soul food.

Through Taksim Square, which is frequently used for demonstrations for different political purposes, I walked down Istiklal Caddesi (pronounced Ja-de-ce), a cobblestone street that attracts the locals at most hours of the day and night. Most (as I did several times) walk its length to enjoy the many restaurants, cafes and shops. I don’t think any of us will ever see as many people in one street. It always has the feel of a carnival, a place that those who don’t like crowds should definitely avoid. I love it. It is home to many mosques and churches as well as book shops, boutiques, movie theatres, coffee houses, and bars. A lovely atmosphere and fantastic warm feeling that became a daily ritual for me and the panacea to my melancholy. The street is accentuated by an old crowded tram that passes through its center and adds to the wonderful sounds an extra special ding-ding.


But what attracts me to Istiklal Caddesi is the amazing food. One can spend endless days window shopping for the sights, colors, and smells of the remarkable Turkish cuisine. Food and drink are found almost everywhere on Istiklal, from restaurants and dessert shops along the street and down the many alleys to its left and right to carts sprinkled everywhere selling Turkish delicacies, to ice cream vendors donning the Fez and colorful Disney-like Turkish outfits. Sticking to normal touristic restaurants could be a safe choice the first day, but discovering the world of Turkish food is the way to go.

I planned a feast by ordering a series of dishes at four büfets and lukantas as well as two dessert shops the first evening alone, and I came back frequently. I ate very small portions but many dishes that were delivered to me one by one in close sequence, so that I enjoyed each bite piping hot. Giving into temptation, I picked the best dish at every place. The casual and relaxed atmosphere and the authentic Turkish dishes were a Godsend. I ate a variety of Kebap, köfte, dolma (stuffed eggplants or batlajan, tomatoes, and peppers), börek pastries. My favorites were a mouthwatering stuffed batlajan dish with minced lamb, pine nuts, and spices that had my taste buds going crazy; and a juicy Mante dish, finger-sized dumplings, topped with garlic yogurt and a delicious red Turkish sauce. With patrons who were all locals, I excitedly chewed on my food and savored every bite and every second of the culinary bliss of succulent dishes freshly prepared and enlivened by inspired combination of ingredients and spices.

At Istiklal Caddesi, I was spoiled with choices, lined up in perfect formation behind glass display windows. This was window shopping, my way. I enjoyed it and I feel I deserved to be spoiled by the food. Radhia was not there to spoil and console me.


END QUOTE:

“Be kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.”
James M. Barrie

Almaz, the Coffee Lady at the Addis Ababa Hilton

Drinking coffee is not the act of shoveling smoldering hot fluids down one’s throat, but the act of sipping, contemplating, breathing, and day dreaming. I had forgotten how delicious coffee can be; how soothing an effect it can have on me; and how therapeutic it is to my soul.

Almaz, the Diamond of Abyssinia, managed to hold a circle of sanity in the middle of a crazy world. Every morning during my stay in Addis Ababa, I headed for the peace of the coffee circle and towards Almaz, its High Queen. This rhythm was catching, and by the third day, I found myself blending in, and coffee will never be the same again. The singular pleasure of enjoying a cup of coffee has turned communal and I looked forward to it. I was able to find a moment for myself among the nondescript coffee revelers. As the rest of the hotel lobby was hustling and bustling, the coffee drinkers were in a different time zone.

Every day, before I left for the melee of arms, legs, and raised dust as the people of Addis went about their business in the sprawling city of five million, I journeyed hypnotically for my dose of sanity in the domain of Almaz. During my travels to Ethiopia, there was nothing as comforting in the early hours that precede a long day of meetings as the gentle smile of the coffee lady or the simple taste of the coffee she served. As I headed down from my room in the wee hours of the morning, blissfully anticipating that coffee, soft aroma of incents leaked into the elevator, heightening my anticipation. I approached the coffee corner, where men sat sipping meditatively on the little cups of dark coffee, and invariably found Almaz waiting to serve me my first cup.

There she was, so majestic in her splendor and her modest yet stunning beauty, sitting atop the raised coffee corner, above everyone else, as she looked down onto her subjects. To welcome me and demonstrate her acceptance of the newcomer into her flock, and with an intoxicating smile, she sprinkles the Etan onto the hot coals causing the smoke to rise and the sweet aroma of the incents to engulf the entire corner. Then, with her eyes, she points to the stool I’m to sit in and picks up the coffee Jebenah that’s been percolating on the Midja full of hot coals, and pours my first cup of coffee into the round Sini. She leans towards me, and with both hands around the Sini, she hands it to me with the grace of a ballet dancer and the courtesy and confidence of royalty.

Drinking the coffee, I realize how surrendering to Almaz’s persuading powers, and the tranquility her coffee offers, balance my urge to run outside for the first meeting. I learn that nobody else in her serene circle is in a rush. This is time they keep for themselves and for her. I take a quick peek at my watch and decide to surrender and lapse into contemplative silence.

After three Sini fulls and just as quickly as bliss descends on me and I feel the warmth of Almaz’s smile and the intoxicating taste of her coffee, my Ethiopian friend walks in briskly and calls my name. He sits next to me and, oblivious to the celestial power of the Sini in his hands, he takes in a cup of hot coffee as he hurriedly tells me our schedule for the day. I stare at him groggily, and shudder to think of the nightmare of the Addis streets and the swirled dust that will penetrate every orifice of my body. I hesitate for a second, then, with a sigh, I pull myself to my feet, trying to muster the will to face the real world. As we walk outside, I look back at the coffee corner and think “I will always have Almaz.” She gave me a whole new meaning to having coffee. It is not the act of shoveling smoldering hot fluids down one’s throat, but the act of sipping, contemplating, breathing, and day dreaming.

END QUOTE:

“The need to surrender is one of the great paradoxes of love. Surrender may seem like giving up. Or giving in. But in reality we are strengthened when we actively choose to make ourselves vulnerable. We are empowered by sharing our deepest self with another person, offering him or her our heart, our soul, our life. Surrender is an act of free will. A sacred trust.”
Ellen Sue Stern

The Dog Wars of Awasa

I really felt that every single dog in Ethiopia had descended on the backyard of our small hotel in Awasa for the epic war that was certainly being waged to decide which dog and which bitch were the king and queen of the canine kingdom of Abyssinia. I swear I was unable to discern when the exact moment the live howls ended and when the Memorex echoes inside my exhausted brain picked up. The sounds ricocheted around the room walls like little balls at the Chinese national ping pong championship. These sounds lingered in an off-tune symphony of howling that kept me up all night.

I’ll come back to the howling orgy in a minute, but let me start from the top. My colleague Julie and I arrived in Addis Ababa on Monday night and were picked up at the airport by our Ethiopian friends, the ever-smiling CIPE consultants Henok and Hailemelekot (H&H as Julie liked to call them). After a short night’s sleep, they picked us up again at the hotel at 6:30 the next morning for the drive to the south-eastern city of Adama in the predominately Muslim region of Oromia. There, we met with a few of the civil society organizations we plan to assist, including two very interesting organizations.

The Adama Women Entrepreneurs Association is run by Roman, an intense looking middle aged woman that resembled the go-to aunt that each of us went to for refuge whenever we were in real trouble. Dressed in a dusty black dress and a red scarf tied in that authentically distinctive Ethiopian manner with a knot just over her left ear, she was very frugal in her words and hardly cracked a smile. However, she had such a presence that when she talked, everyone in the room listened intensely. She herself is a silkworm farmer and an owner of a small café, but she volunteered her time to help women entrepreneurs.

I know exactly what you’re thinking. Entrepreneurs! These are educated middle class women who have mucho dinero to invest and are the owners of the local Starbucks and McDonalds. Right? Think again. These are women such as Salam, who bakes Ingera bread at home and sells it at 6:00 AM in the local market, and Egigayehu who owns a few cows and milks them in the wee hours of the morning so that she can sell the milk to the local coffee shops, and Rahel who buys the local ingredients so that she can process them into spices she can sell to restaurants that prepare Doro-wote, Firfir, Gomen-Besiga and other Ethiopian dishes. Roman’s organization collects the equivalent of 15 cents a month from 400 such entrepreneurs so that she and her two person staff can help them pool resources and obtain small loans that allow them to sustain their businesses and feed their families. These women don’t have the capacity to apply for micro loans or fill out an application to register the business. Julie, our team, and I will do our best to help improve the organization’s financial and technical resources, offer it networking opportunities, and improve its capacity and potential to advocate for these women’s rights.

The Ye’ewuket Ber Savings and Credit Association is run by one of the most amazing women I’ve met in a very long time. At first sight, Tsige projects a diminutive unimpressive dusty look of an exhausted farmer after she’d plowed the field the entire day. Her prune-like wrinkled face and dust-teared eyes tell a thousand stories of pain and betrays years of hard labor taking care of a large family. However, one should not let that fragile exterior fool him. That Mother Theresa-like giant of a woman willed the organization into existence. Along with a few friends and relatives in her neighborhood, she collects payments from local women micro-farmers, no matter how small, into a “savings account” for each of them. While no bank in Ethiopia would be interested in such pittance of accounts, Tsige and the organization are able to provide these women with hope and security for the future. In addition, the members are able to secure small loans to help them conduct their businesses and wither hard times. Although the borrowers are unable to provide any collateral to secure the loans, the success rate of repayment is 100%. Each borrower is a member, co-owner, and stakeholder in the success of the savings and credit association. Built-in collateral.

Tsige welcomed us in a cramped room full of beneficiaries and members that seemed genuinely happy to see us, not because they needed anything from us, but rather because of their interest in the two “guests” that came from America to see them and hear their stories. Julie, Henok, Hailemelekot and I were in awe and reverence of this saint. Although we came to offer our help – and we’ll definitely do whatever we can to assist them with sustainability, access, and networking – Tsige said good bye with an offer to put her hand in ours and help us as we attempt to help other Ethiopians. I have a feeling that she will help us far more than we can ever help her.

The four of us left the small association drunk in a euphoric sense of hope that this world will still be OK because women like Tsige are taking care of it. We visited a few other organizations in Adama and other towns and lined them up for our upcoming capacity building training, but the sweet memory of Roman and Tsige remained with us for the rest of the trip and will be with me for a lifetime. This tethering experience reinforced my faith in God and vindicated my career and why I suffer through all the travels around the world, leaving Selma, my family, and my home behind.

Rush, our Oromian driver (his real name is Rahimo – Arabic for merciful) took us on the scenic 275 kilometer trek along the mixed use road to Awasa in the Southern region. We had to compete for the use of the narrow two lane road with farmers carrying their crops to the local Tuesday market, donkeys, cows, sheep, goats, and camels. These animals, especially the donkeys, had no fear. Whenever they felt like it, they just stared the cars down and took their time crossing the road. During the drive, we stared at the distant magnificence of Lake Langano and the “Three Lakes” and passed by countless species of trees, some indigenous to Ethiopia. Some of the trees were exactly what Radhia would describe as “trees with character”.

At about sunset, we finally arrived in Awasa and ominously headed for the brand new small hotel. After being welcomed by a life-size portrait of “The Founder”, we checked in, left our baggage in our rooms, and went out for a restful time on the gorgeous Awasa Lake, which was promptly followed by a delicious meal of authentic spicy Ethiopian dishes.

Well, as promised, let’s get back to the Bark-fest at the Enjou Hotel in Awasa. Needless to say, back at the hotel, I was utterly exhausted and in dire need of a restful night of blissful sleep. Ha!!!!! In what was billed as an in-room sauna and steam bath, I was unable to get a hot shower; only dribbles of cold water. Talk about Chutzpah!!!!! I’m not going to bore you with the details of the phantom in-room steam facility (made in China). All I will say is that I was in a very forgiving mood just ready to sleep. I was not going to “call the manager and complain”. Alas, as I crawled into bed silently, fully expecting to fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow to dream of Radhia’s angelic face and her teasingly exotic perfume, the moans started. At first, I thought it was a child crying. Then the moans grew into howls. It sounded like I was in the middle of a jungle. Monkeys, birds, I was sure I even heard an elephant. When I cracked open the bathroom window I realized that these were the painful cries of dogs readying for battle. Some were whining, others were coughing, and yet others barked in epileptic convulsions that sent sickening shivers down my spine. There was something sinister in the manner the dogs howled as if they were targeting me. Every time I put one of the pillows over my head praying for silence, the dogs increased the volume with unerring accuracy; enough for me to hear every octave.

Te howling raged for hours until, thankfully, the sound of the Moathen, marking Fajr and the eminent departure of this night from hell, brought me hope. After praying and having a cup of excellent macchiato, I packed my bags and headed for check out. This time, in addition to the portrait of the founder of the hotel, I was welcomed by the beautiful smile of the young lady at the reception desk inquiring shyly “I hope you’ve enjoyed a restful sleep, Ato.”


END QUOTE:
"It is the true season of Love when we know that we alone can love,
that no one could ever have loved before us,
and that no one will ever Love in the same way after us."
Johan Wolfgang Von Goethe