You're going where?

When people find out I’m leaving in a few weeks to study in Cairo, I generally get one of two reactions: excitement or terror.

After the reaction come the questions: Do you have to cover your hair? Don’t they have Shariah law in Egypt? Can women drive there? Can they wear jeans? Aren’t there terrorists in Egypt? Or more seriously, why Egypt?

How are your parents handling it?

Aren’t you scared?

First of all, let’s get a few things straight: I do not have to cover my hair in Egypt, as I am not Muslim. This is something women do by choice, according to their religious beliefs. Although women are culturally treated differently there, they can drive. They can work. They can most definitely wear jeans.

Egypt does not operate according to Shariah law — not by a long shot. To the terrorist question, I ask — aren’t there terrorists everywhere, including America? Terrorism isn’t exclusively Arab.

The other questions aren’t so easily answered.

I never really thought about why I was going to Egypt until it was already decided. It’s this mix of intense interest in the politics, religions, culture and history of the region.
I’ve always been interested in Egypt, even as a kid. Having grown up in post-9/11 America, our fear of the Middle East interests me further.

I want to understand how this one place can evoke such questions and instill such fear in so many Americans. I want to know how the Middle East came to be America’s boogeyman, and if it even deserves that title.

But it took my parents a long time to understand my reasoning.

I think it’s fair to say most parents wouldn’t exactly endorse their 20-year-old daughter living alone in the Middle East for four months.

Mine were no exception. People have openly told my parents and siblings they are crazy and horrible for letting me do this. A few weeks back, I asked my mom why they were letting me go. She laughed at my question and said, “Hannah, you didn’t give us much of a choice.”

In the beginning, my parents scoffed and thought I was bluffing when I said I wanted to study abroad in Egypt. When I actually applied, the panic began to set in. This was, thankfully, followed by acceptance.

Now, they’re more excited than scared for me to have this opportunity.

I’m not sure the same is entirely true for me.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m excited, but I’m nervous.

To go, not only to the Middle East but as a woman, is daunting.

I won’t be able to drink most of the water or eat fresh food if it hasn’t been rinsed in bleach. I’ll have to wear clothing that shows only my hands, wrists, feet and face, despite desert heat. I’m traveling alone, and I don’t know anyone there.

And none of that considers the language barrier, which, despite several semesters of Arabic, I’m sure will be vast.

But I will get to see the pyramids. I’ll get to look out on the Nile. I’ll get to walk through Tahrir Square and see mummies in their native land.

I’m scared, excited and nervous. I know it’s going to be rough, but I also have faith it will be worth it.

In this column, I’m hoping to answer the questions I’ve been asked for months.

Do Egyptians have the same distrust of Americans as we have of them? How are women actually treated there? Do people really ride camels?

I’m hoping to tell you what it’s like to live there and to shed some small bit of light on our misunderstanding of the Middle East.

Maybe the boogeyman won’t be so scary after all.

— hannsmit@indiana.edu