الإحراج - Embarrassment

al-iHarag ~ embarrassment

I've long forgotten, or perhaps never knew, who first said to me that language learning is just a bunch of embarrassing moments strung together. But few statements have I quite so emphatically agreed with throughout my college career. (On a side note, am I officially post-college now? Will I ever be post-college? Nobody knows!) Maybe the phrase came from Madame Tatsapaugh-Krohn, my first French teacher in the 7th grade, with the always askew glasses... Maybe she said it first? I truly don't recall. But I agree. You become "fluent" when the language mishaps become fewer and far between, but they never go away. Foreign accents are, after all (according to my linguistics classes a while back at UT) a series of repeated and minute pronunciation mistakes, typically unique to a certain language group or nationality. Also, it bears mentioning the idea that classmates in language classes grow close fast for two reasons: instruction centers around dreaming up every possible chance for us to talk to each other, so we talk together all. the. time. And also, we're constantly embarrassed around each other. Constantly. We say dumb things and get corrected until the dumbness is minimized. Eventually we'll only sound slightly dumb some of the time.

Below is a mere smattering of the many, many recent embarrassing moments from my life, which can be divided into food moments, language moments, and bumbling blonde moments:

*Spilling my cappuccino (made from a powder, don't get excited, now) all over the engraved wooden table at a beautiful café, because I got a little too excited about opening up a new package of coconut candy. I think Lauren and I were also celebrating some sort of internship success? Foreigners are already often treated like special, simpler-minded customers in some cafés and restaurants ("OH, you can read the Arabic menu? Ya salaaaaam) and I didn't help matters by acting like a ditzy child. At least I got free menadeel (tissues) out of the gig.

I've also spilled entire bags of peanuts, cereal, lentils, and beans on the floor of my apartment, which if it sounds like a testament to my desperation to eat and my propensity to grow suddenly hungry FAST, it is. I've been told you can tell when I've been in the kitchen if there is a cereal box put away ajar in the cupboard, and if a few pieces of cereal, swept hastily off the floor from where they spilled, are now in the trashcan. (For those past roommates aware of the extent of my breakfast cereal addiction, it has not met an end in Egypt, though it's been limited to corn flakes with honey or bananas. I'm afraid that when I'm able to return to almond milk and honey nut cheerios, I might overdose).

*Addressing Egyptian women in Foussha (formal Arabic) while half-naked in the gym locker room. I joined a small but wonderful little gym called Premiere, right on the Corniche about halfway between my apartment and the university. The workout room for women (through several sets of double doors and up a flight of stairs, removed far away from the  mens' quarters) is depressingly small and unequipped when compared to what's available to the men, but truly, it suffices and is a nice refuge. You can wear what you want! Plus they give you free towels even if you have to ask the personal trainer, who calls the front desk, who calls someone else, who sends someone else (where?) to retrieve a fresh towel for you after about many, many minutes. I'm just very grateful for the place, and I've met some nice folk thereabouts.

Anyway, I've been known to step out of the shower, half-clutching a towel, zoning out, completely checked out of my current surroundings when WHAM, pryingEgyptianquestiontime. "Where are you from? What do you do here in Alex? How did you learn how to speak Arabic?" come at me. Such inquiries are no new surprise, and are no problem, but when I'm stepping out of the shower, I'm a little taken off guard. As such, in two recent examples of this situation, my brain, trying to cover my ass literally and figuratively, does a strange lingual flip and prompts me to answer in formal Arabic, which of course sounds about as ridiculous in that context as if you introduced yourself to someone in an American locker room with an "I call myself Emily Claire and verily I do study the Arabic language" (rubs towel on hair).

*Mixing up, in Islamic Studies class, the words for "satisfaction," "breastfeeding," and "apostasy," which are, for some cruel and unclear reason, quite similar in Arabic.

*Flashing the back seat of the group taxi several weeks ago, as I squeezed my way out of the crowded white minivan, rushing on my way to 9 AM Foussha class. I was wearing a pair of old jeans that finally gave up the ghost with a finale. A small hole had grown into a rip that I was choosing to ignore, and it no longer wanted to be ignored. Despite the rip, I had thought I could steal a couple more months out of them. Nope. As I clambered out of the mashruwa like a clumsy duckling (there's NO elegant way to edge around several Egyptian men and women, with your butt in everyone's faces as you unfold yourself out the door), I heard a murmured "yaaaa'aaa" ("oh dear!") and a clicking tisk-tisk from the women behind me, about the same time I felt some fresh sea breeze on the back of my thighs (which have not seen the sun in many months). Thank God the men said nothing. I made it through class that day and I don't think anyone noticed that I was wearing my jacket 3rd grade windbreaker style, tied around the waist. Classy. RIP American Eagle bootcut circa 2008.

*The day an old woman kissed me on my forehead in my elevator, after I told her I was American, after she repeatedly asked me "Where are you from, you beautiful girl, white as the moon? Where are you from?" I mention this because it leads to a totally different sort of embarrassment... The embarrassment of being considered better or prettier or fancier or richer SIMPLY because I'm a foreigner. Many things are automatically assumed about us, and even if they're nice assumptions (Just because she's not from here, she must be fancy schmancy) it's plain embarrassing and untrue and makes one feel awkward. Of course there are plenty of people who treat you normally, respectfully, or some who act begrudgingly or don't want much to do with foreigners, but the admiration from some people simply because we're foreigners is among the most offputting and embarrassing ways to treat someone, in my opinion, despite the complimentary connotation.

*The moments when you're completely tongue-tied and dumbstruck and unable to string together logical Arabic, the worst example of which happened just a few nights ago, prompting me to finally publish this blog post. For the past three weeks, a small group of us has gotten together on Thursday nights to practice formal Arabic conversation. Usually I have a good amount to add to the conversation, even if my comments are peppered with mistakes here and there. Last Thursday, inexplicably, my brain couldn't compute the Arabic it wanted to express. AT ALL. I was surrounded by 4 of my closest friends in the program, as well as our benevolent T.A. who helps us out, all smiling encouragingly during my quickly aborted attempts at participation. They didn't betray the slightest hint of annoyance at my inability to form a decent sentence. (You guys are the best!) All my professors' constructive criticism from the past few weeks - that I usually have no issues processing from a glass half-full perspective - compounded in my brain and formed a solid wall that I just couldn't cross. The conversation circle continued and I fell into a silent funk of "I cannot speak Arabic I cannot understand Arabic I cannot do this". I forgot how to say the most basic of phrases in that two hours, and though I listened, with interest, to my friends' conversation on language change, I focused on the mint leaves in my tea cup and tried not to cry.

Embarrassment keeps me humbled, which is useful. Always!

Oooootherwise, much is happening in the world these days... French elections, Egyptian elections, U.S. elections, too much to keep up with properly.. and in our little program in Alex, the pressure is on as tests, papers, projects loom and the last few weeks of the spring program commence. Tomorrow we leave for our last group trip, and after that it's a quick series of due dates and final things before about 3 weeks of break prior to the summer session. I'm going to Austin for 2 weeks! I plan to do many embarrassing and typical things there (singing loudly in my car on mopac), in the familiarity of my comfort zone. Any of you Texans, see you there!

When embarrassed, commiserate with friends. Or pose next to rusting metal structures with them. It all makes one feel better. These are just some of the girls who make my life joyful in Egypt!