“Returning to the big battle field”

Cairo, the 9th May, 2009

“Returning to the big battle field”

***Make no mistake…as soon as I landed at Cairo´s airport, everything and everyone reminds me to turn my “automatic egyptian mode” button (located in a place I am embarrassed to pronounce) and act, onceagain, according to this reality I tend to forget when I am out of thecountry. Ignorance can be a blessing, some times. For some reason,intelligence and awareness never protected anyone from life´shardships and sadness. Fools are, as experience might confirm, the happiest human beings on the planet. Why did I have to be born with abrain that gives me no rest or opportunity to delude myself forever?!I would prefer not to understand arabic so that I wouldn´t feel offended so many times while walking in the streets of this over populated city with too many men in the public arena and too little women on the same landscape.I would rather not know about men´s prevalent mentality suggesting with incredible candour that women divide themselves into whores and wives.

*****Here´s my cultural and classy suggestion on this one: why don´t you all go fuck yourselves for a change?! (excuse me for the poetry…)I would be happier not to know about the decadence of my professional field – mixed with an art that I love so much and fit into my “sacred things list” – and the lies men tell dancers in order to take them tobed and discard them when the fun is over (after all, they´re just dancers! They would not expect to be treated as ladies, would they?!”).
I would, definitely, prefer to be totally ignorant when it comes to the way rich, powerful people (money wise) treat their “inferiors” and how all these societies in the Middle East seem to be divided intoabsurd, ignorant oriented unspoken casts (not like casts in India which are clearly drawn and named) telling poor people they have no chance to change their life´s direction and assuring that the sons and the daughters of the ones on the top remain in that same, comfortable place their parents inherited with no talent , competence or worth.

***Switching on my egyptian mode system as soon as I set foot on theline to show my passport. Rules of survival:

1. No eye contact with males (not even dogs! I guess even dogs arehorny due to the sexual repression…nothing gets away from this disease).

2. No smiling or any sign of affection with the exception of little children under the age of five (after that age, male children may as well harass you with a confidence that will not only shock you but even make you admire them for their premature guts!). I was once harassed at a posh gym in Grand Hyatt hotel by a three year old baby in a stroller (I am not joking!). He probably just repeated a loose name applied to pretty girls after hearing it from his father. It was the kind of name you would hear from cheap men – unemployed cheap men,I may add… - while walking in the street and yet, there he was, an angel in a stroller acting like a drunk pig from a medieval tavern.

3. No answering to men´s attempts of dialogue, unless he´s someone dying (make sure it´s not a trick to pick you up!) or he´s the policeman checking your passport. Even in this case, consider ignoring him if he asks you for your phone number while doing all the legal check son your papers. As I´ve experienced myself, having my phone number for a future “rendez vous” seems to be more important to the country´s security than assuring I´m not a bomb equipped terrorist heading forthe parliament to explode the building and all those magnificent brains of politicians hanging around the place.Each country has its own security police but Egypt is number one on the subject!

4. Not a moment of relaxation and self-enjoyment in public. Save relaxation for the time you´re at home. Concentrate on yourself, your belongings and personal space. Being relaxed in public can be taken – if you´re awoman, of course! – as a sign of availability and open gates inviting men to enter your arena and take over it. It´s haunting season, allyear round. Be aware you´re a target.

*** I was expecting to arrive to a burning heated Cairo. Surprisingly enough, I found a fresh, quite cold city bathed in a strange pink sunset that reminded me of what hell and love mixed together cantaste. Like a softly warm pink painting being drawn on the city´sbuildings and people.

*** In a flash, I remembered the people I left behind in Portugal –how many times have I left them? – and all the loving support theyoffer me. Driving away on Saleh Salem road while watching Mohamed Ali mosque and the gorgeous fatimid houses surrounding it, it hit me the corny truth that home is where your heart is. It really is. Someone with no one to love and come back to is a true homeless, even if he´srich and has a huge, luxurious villa by the sea! He´s still a homeless if there´s no one there with loving open arms to receive him.

*** Arabic people tend to build families as institutions society expects them to create and give extend. There are houses full of wives– sometimes, more than one in a single home, not counting with secret lovers from both husbands and wives – and children but very few ofthese houses are full of the love and real connections. LOVE is a commercial concept to sell songs and movies but it has no reflectionin the real life of this people. Sex and physical attraction are knownand chased like water and air. Marriage as a bond between two families is also something regular and an obligation for both men and women butLOVE (?!) is a fake bouquet of flowers people talk about, sing about,even dream about but rarely experience.Emotional ties are not essential in this part of the world and people have a tremendous ability to live with no real love in their lives.This always surprised me and keeps shaking me to my core as I am the ultimate romantic fool…I see HOUSES here but not HOMES.

*** Returning to the battle field is never easy for a warrior. The difficulty level depends on many factors that luck, destiny and life´s course determine in a constantly unpredictable order. The warrior might be too tired to fight battles with unfair enemies using disloyal weapons. He might need a little more hibernation and energy gathering than he got and, for sure, he might still need the love and warmth of a loving home that allows him to let his arms down in a receptive state making him forget, if only for a little while, that wrists are made for fighting.Most of all, returning to the battle field when a warrior´s heart and faith is so broken can be a true challenge and that´s where I find myself at this point.
What is the fuel of your life? Your energy? Your drive and ability torise up from the deep valleys of sorrow and all the disappointments life naturally entangles?!This warrior whom I call myself uses love and faith in people as hisfuel. No success or public praise can lift me as much as a loving hug from someone close. No money or achievements can make my spirits highas the presence of my friends and family assuring me that the world is, indeed, a crazy place but my ground is still here, as present asever.It may sound corny but my fuel is love and faith. Faith that religious-political extremism, prostitution and corruption (all sowell connected with each other) will not make my dance disappear from Egypt. Faith that the people I see as honest and truly good are exactly as I picture them, Faith that, no matter how many obstacles I face, all my dreams will come true. Faith that talent, hard work andperseverance can overcome the toughest barriers against mediocrity.Faith in myself, in the power of God and His benevolence in my life and faith in the people I love.

• I´ve lost my faith in most of the people I love but not in myself and, certainly, not in God!

• When you think you´re reached your limit of suffering and to life´stough surprises, you find that you´re so much stronger than you thought. All of us have their own battle fields. The one that chose meis not an easy one and I am not the kind to quit or cowardly retreat when the times get way too hard and for too long. From the darkest night, I can build a sunny day from which I arise wiser, more sensible and so much more human.

• As the ancient Phoenix, I discover you can be reborn out from the ashes of an empty, so many times burnt out broken heart. As I´ve concluded so many times before, only complete death can bring the light of a new brand life.

• Cycles have to be completed in the Universe and we´re just part ofthe whole machine, acting – even against our will! – within its mechanics and mathematic, always consequential calculations directed to move us forward and up towards our own evolution.