I wouldn't call my observation a remarkable discovery, but rather a slowly evolving understanding of the inner workings of Cairo. The city is characterized by something like a community-based general consciousness, as opposed to the rigorous individualism that arguably characterizes most of America's major cities.
A simple story opened my eyes to this difference, which appears subtle at first but then becomes a part of every action and event witnessed and experienced.
One of my friends here, a native Egyptian, recently helped me find a driver to get around Cairo. The driver's name is Adel, and he drives a beat-up taxicab that he doesn't even own. He's one of millions of Egyptians who live below the poverty line. Though his car often stalls, and the lack of air conditioning is a nuisance in this already blistering weather, Adel is a kind man, trusted by those who know him.
One week ago, as I was riding home from the American University in Cairo (AUC) with Adel, I noticed a pair of cheap plastic sunglasses had been left in his car by a Gulf Arab. Adel handed me the glasses so I could inspect them and explained how he had dropped off the man at the Sheraton and, upon noticing the sunglasses, driven back to the hotel and searched for the man for two hours, to no avail.
The story struck me as a bit strange, since the sunglasses were clearly no more than $10 - a trifle for most visiting Gulf Arabs - and since, in a city of 17 million people, it would be very unlikely to successfully track down a fare without even knowing his name. Why go through all the trouble and waste two hours that could be spent making some much-needed money?
Adel's response was simple: The glasses belonged to his fare. He went on to tell me that this was not the only time such a thing had happened. Time after time, fares had left various objects behind, and Adel waited patiently until he found a way to return them. And, surprisingly, he often did.
I handed the sunglasses back to Adel, and he placed them on the dashboard. What struck me most about his stories was that Adel, with the worries of the world on his shoulders, seemed almost programmed to put a priority on the needs of others. It was as if his own individuality served no purpose without the wellbeing of those around him.
A few days later I was in a cafe with one of my friends, and she told me about a recent taxicab ride that confirmed my observations of the community culture. She had been sitting in the backseat of the cab in horrible traffic when suddenly the driver stopped and got out of the car. She peered out the window, thinking that the car had broken down or stalled. But instead, the driver was rushing over to an elderly woman who was barely able to walk and helping her navigate the busy street until she crossed safely. He got back in the car and started driving again, my friend gaping in the backseat.
Soon, I started noticing examples of this communal identity all over the city. The minibus driver whose vehicle stalled in the middle of downtown would find pedestrians walking over to him to help push the bus onto the side of the road. A woman resting on the curb, her face red from near heat exhaustion, would find the nearby kiosk owner bringing her a cold bottle of water free of charge.
It's not necessarily that people in Cairo are nicer than people in New York, but you definitely get a sense of community here that's hard to find anywhere else.
The best explanation I have is that, for the most part, Egyptians have enough in common - history, culture, etc. - that a sense of trust has developed among the population over the span of centuries. Generations have been born and died in Cairo, while bigger American cities like New York are younger in a historical sense and subject to more population changes and immigration. Two randomly picked New Yorkers will have less in common than two randomly picked Egyptians.
And while it can't be said that one city trumps the other because of this one factor, I can say that I'll miss Cairo's "lean on me" attitude next time I'm in New York.
Sarah Dajani is a Wilson School major from Seminole, Fla. and is studying abroad this semester in Cairo. She can be reached at sdajani@princeton.edu.
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