Walk Like An Egyptian

This is from a series of excerpts from a book I’m writing.

The Presentation

Growing up in St. Louis, Missouri, there weren’t a lot of Egyptians around to socialize with. We had a small group of friends that we considered like family, but we lived in North County St. Louis with one other Egyptian family, while all of our other family friends lived in West or South County.

When I was a baby, my mother told me that people would stop and look at me and comment on how ‘exotic’ I looked. Of course I looked exotic, everyone else was either black or white in North County. We were the first Egyptians/Arabs that most people had met there. Most people knew nothing about the present-day Egyptian/Arab culture, and would imagine that ‘our home’ was where we wore genie outfits and Honda tailor-made stick shift carpets for our daily commutes.

In first grade, my teacher had asked me to talk about Egypt and Islam during Social Studies one day. I was excited for a couple of reasons: 1. I got sick of my classmates asking me if we worshipped camels; 2. I was eager to correct some ‘facts’ in our textbook, which was at least a decade old; and 3. I love(d) being the center of attention.

My mom helped me gather some props for my three-part presentation – Part 1: Ancient Egypt; Part 2: Egypt today; and Part 3: Islam. We covered the basics of what I would talk about, and how to be honest with my audience if there was a question I couldn’t answer. After all of this, I still was not prepared for what was about to happen during the Q & A.

I was on edge with excitement all day. Social studies was at the end of the day, so I paid little attention to all the other subjects, thinking about how I would present, and how eloquently I would answer their questions. I imagined a standing ovation at the end of my perfor… uh… presentation. All the other kids would be fighting over who would be playing with me at recess, and I’d be invited to all of the birthday parties. (This was back when you could pick and choose who you invited to your birthday.)

My teacher told us to put our things in our desks for social studies and not to get our books out, because we were going to ‘have a special treat.’ While she was talking, I gathered my props, leaned them on the chalkboard and started my presentation. I talked about what I had seen at the Cairo Museum, passed around some papyrus with hieroglyphics on it, talked about how my cousins and I spent our time together during summer vacation, said some common words in Arabic, talked about the five pillars of Islam, showed them what a prayer rug looked like, and talked about how we couldn’t eat pork. I was proud of how well it went, and started collecting my props when my teacher said, “Does anyone have any questions for Meriam?”

And that’s when it all went to hell.

Question: “Is it scary riding on a camel?”

Answer: “I’ve never been on a camel.”

Question: “Do you have cars there?”

Answer: “Yes, and bikes.”

Question: “Do they have cereal there?”

Answer: “Yes.”

Question: “Do they speak Spanish there?”

Answer: “No, Arabic.”

Question: “What is Arabic?”

Answer: “The language that Egyptians speak.”

Question: “What about TVs? Do they have TVs there?”

Answer: “Yes.”

Question: “Do they have radios?”

Answer: “Yes.”

Question: “Do they eat corn? spaghetti? pizza? Do they have t-shirts? sunglasses? mufflers?”

This went on for quite awhile. They just asked about random stuff for what seemed like five hours, until one of my classmates in the front asked, “What is pork?”

I told him that it was “any meat from a pig.”

Now before I continue with how this interrogation went, I should tell you that this kid was a big smart ass, and mocked everyone and everything that he could. He ended everything with “ha-ha, you (insert mockery).” I know you’re thinking Nelson on the Simpsons, but he sounded more like Bobcat.

That’s when he proceeded to list every type of meat product he knew and asked whether I could eat it or not. When he got to asking me about bacon, I said ‘no.’ In disbelief, he said, “Really? No bacon?”

“No, I can’t eat bacon. It’s from a pig,” I said.

“Ha ha, you can’t eat bacon.”

“So?”, I said.

“That’s dumb.”

“You’re dumb.”

That’s when my teacher told the class to thank me and told us to pack up for dismissal. I put all my props away, got my backpack and sat back at my desk. I sat up straight and took a quick look around the room at all my classmates. Nothing had changed. No standing ovation, no one inviting me over to their house to play after school, no birthday invitations, nothing.

As a teacher now, I realize that I expected too much from 7 year-old classmates to begin with, but as a 7 year-old at the time, I thought I would be the talk of the playground. It was disappointing. Even then, I knew they asked stupid questions, and didn’t understand what the obsession over bacon was about. We had the Pyramids, dammit! By then, I had been out of the country twice. I mean, how cool was that?!  When I bragged about that, they would respond with, “Me too, I went to Florida last summer.”

Damn public school education.