From my archives

God, can't believe how much I had that I didn't write about. What was I thinking? How unsettled must I have been? Anyway, here's a journal entry from late 2005:
Visit to al-Azhar

One of the most unique aspects of my time here is that I am officially affiliated with Al-Azhar University. The oldest university in the Muslim world, it was officially founded in the 10th century, or four centuries after the death of Mohammed. In the 1950s and 60s, under Nasser, it was expanded to include more than just its ancient mosque and the training of religious scholars. There are two large campuses in the ‘new’ part of Cairo, Nasser City, the men’s campus housing 85,000 students; the smaller women’s campus with 15,000.

Only Muslims are allowed to teach and study at the school, though some foreign visiting teachers of different religions are permitted. The campus looks a bit like a 60s blueprint of a modern university, left to decay, with a wide central street, a fountain in a central median, and buildings lining each side of the road, which slopes gently uphill. There’s something vaguely Chinese about it, centrally planned. Not sensitive to the purpose of the place, not quoting of its ancient roots across town.

To enter the campus all women must wear headscarfs. At first, Im dropped off by the taxi at the Men’s Campus, because this is where I met my faculty advisor the last time. The guards are surprised, “This is the men’s campus” they keep saying to me. I throw on a loosely tied brown head scarf and insist that I am a student here. They let me in.

In the shade of a tree I watch the men stream on to campus. They look young, thin, and intense, but most are not bearded. Later I would see some wearing the al-Azhar uniform--a red fez, or Turkish hat, with a white band around the face. They wear sweaters and brown and black pants or jackets. Most carry one book only, or not at all. The main reason it seemed like a university is that everyone seemed to have a purpose and actually be going somewhere-not all that common in Egypt. And no one actually hassled me under that tree--perhaps it was because we were on religious ground.

After a while, I called my advisor, wondering if perhaps she had sent people to fetch me at the wrong gate. It turned out I was on the wrong campus--I should have gone to the women’s college after all. A guard helped me choose an appropriate minivan, and I threw myself ungracefully into the front seat. Off I went to the women’s school.

When it was time to get out of the van, a woman took my hand and led me across the train tracks, down a set of stairs, and voila, there we were. Amany, for that was her name, spoke to my teacher on the phone and agreed to lead me to her office. Under her headscarf, her blue/green eyes were truly beautiful.

On the campus, there was fabric flowing everywhere. Like butterflies with the occasional moth thrown in. Headscarves of every color and arrangement, long coats covering the body. And lots of nikabs--full veils covering all but the eyes, and sometimes the eyes too--more than I’ve seen anywhere in Cairo. It was hard to judge but about 1 in every 10 women was fully veiled. None of their teachers seemed to wear the nikab, just the students, in a kind of religious revival. And though it is a women’s school, there are some men on the faculty and on the staff, so they keep the things on, even in class.

The classrooms were packed, over filled with billowing women. There are between 70 and 100 students per class here in classrooms meant to hold forty or fifty. Somehow women in all this fabric seem to take up so much more space.

The students of my teacher all had their faces visible but one. They were not wearing makeup and looked coarse--nothing like the beautiful girls that seem to be everywhere at AUC. “I don’t like the nikab,” my teacher said. “I think it is misunderstood and often taken for the wrong reasons.”

She herself is like a kind grandmother, a wide, pretty face, in a headscarf tied in the old fashioned way, just around her hair, with her neck exposed and some wisps of hair hanging out. She has on an old sweater that comes down to her thighs and is reverse woven with many colors. Her feet are so swollen she barely fits into her shoes, she takes the stairs one by one. And yet when it comes time to leave she pushes her small car out of the space with me because someone parked so close too her that she can’t get in. “Its gotten so crowded here--so crowded!” she says, nodding her head from side to side. And if she gives you an order you are doing it.

What are they teaching them there? How does the women’s education at Al-Azhar in Islamic studies differ from what men are taught? What about women becoming muftis?