Next Stop: Suburbia?
Cairo is ranked as one among the 20 most populous cities on the planet. So no wonder with a real estate and construction boom, and the fact that Egyptians live on 30% of their total land, that this world wide boom eventually hits Egypt. Ferociously I must add.
In the past ten years over a hundred major construction sites rose out of nowhere all around Cairo, creating our Egyptian version of "suburbia".
A nice, quiet gated community away from the maddening traffic and the pollution.
Did I mention space as well?
And in less than five years every middle class family with any savings at all started to relocate to this new "heaven", where the number of people inhabiting one square kilometer is less than two thousand.
While these construction projects vary from "simple, elegant" homes to lavish, obscene vision of extravaganza, prompting many to predict that such bubble will soon deflate due to the fact that such property is evaluated at a much higher price than its actual worth.
We'll leave such abstract economic analysis to experts and move on to the actual experience of "suburbia".
Aside from some family and friends moving to the no-man's-land, I was never curious or intrigued enough to explore the "suburbia" dream. Any place that has less than 4000 people in it, is of no interest to me.
True to my inner queen, I am dazzled by city lights and can not live without them. I am a metropolitan queen at heart.
Yet the precarious and tenuous position of the gay community in Cairo, made the notion of "relocating" to a quiet, peaceful, non-conspicuous space alluring, crucial even I must say.
And I never felt how acute that it, till Kiki (bless her heart) dragged me to one of those parties.
Its been a while since our partying days, which I almost felt was over, but Kiki brought fresh memories back and confirmed my fears of being an official agrophobic!
Unless I am surrounded by six to seven familiar faces I am completely dull and out of place.
But anyways, Kiki insisted we attend this birthday party in one those gated communities burgeoning all around Cairo. And for days we planned what we will wear, whether to wax our eyebrows or not and what kind of moisturizing cream would make our skin soft but not overtly shiny.
And it was done. Kiki spent an obscene amount of money on her outfit, I did nothing and we met halfway.
Our host was a kindly, voluptuous, quick-witted friend of Kiki, who was giving a surprise party for her boyfriend.
Normally, I would not go.
Because I believe, especially birthday parties, should not be about strangers cramming someone's house, but dear and beloved friends sharing such existentialist moment.
But who gives a shit, a party is a party and I was very curious to go.
To have my first taste of "gay suburbia".
A two storey villa, with a front yard and a back yard, still not completely finished, with multiple design references, ranging from neo-classical oriental design all the way to Southeast Asian ambiance.
Cyberesque and postmodern. Translating to isolated and disconnected.
I was in love with the lamps and the chandeliers to be honest.
But that is where the love ends and my "mean eyes" (as Kiki calls them) set in.
As usual, there were no, or minimum lights, lots of smoke and trashy house music.
The fixture of any gay party setting.
And as always I was fascinated by the specimen of people attending such a party.
Most of them belonged to the ancien regime of the gay community, the age group of 30-45. And the remaining were from the age group of 25-30.
As usual, those two never mix.
And instantly the party was split to two collectivities. Each clustering at different points, one at the bar and the other one the dance floor.
But there was little or no dancing and the effect of randomly picking people who don't know each other took its toll on the kind of social dynamics that took place in the party.
I'd blame the host and the party goers.
While we all thrive on judging each other, the judging in this party took a new level to outright hostilities and silent aggression.
I know when I am being judged and dressed down behind my back, but such level of animosity was a little unusual for me.
And I cursed the fact that the nearest populated area is at least 5 kms away.
I personally despise the older generation (30-45), openly so as a matter of fact. I have never seen such level of immaturity and juvenile behavior.
I blame it on permissive parents and extra disposable income.
There is a whole generation who has no interest in being serious about anything and yet has enough resources (financial and otherwise) not to be.
Superficial, petty and incredibly shallow is the kindest way to put it.
And while the younger generation have a semblance of seriousness, I would say more of a brooding quality, they are yet plagued by a serious identity crisis.
The sample of the social groups able and can attend such party and represent more or less the individuals who are involved in this phenomenon, is quite depressing.
I would pick feeding off the postcolonial carcass we are all guttling at, than the dislocated, isolated empty suburbia.
In the past ten years over a hundred major construction sites rose out of nowhere all around Cairo, creating our Egyptian version of "suburbia".
A nice, quiet gated community away from the maddening traffic and the pollution.
Did I mention space as well?
And in less than five years every middle class family with any savings at all started to relocate to this new "heaven", where the number of people inhabiting one square kilometer is less than two thousand.
While these construction projects vary from "simple, elegant" homes to lavish, obscene vision of extravaganza, prompting many to predict that such bubble will soon deflate due to the fact that such property is evaluated at a much higher price than its actual worth.
We'll leave such abstract economic analysis to experts and move on to the actual experience of "suburbia".
Aside from some family and friends moving to the no-man's-land, I was never curious or intrigued enough to explore the "suburbia" dream. Any place that has less than 4000 people in it, is of no interest to me.
True to my inner queen, I am dazzled by city lights and can not live without them. I am a metropolitan queen at heart.
Yet the precarious and tenuous position of the gay community in Cairo, made the notion of "relocating" to a quiet, peaceful, non-conspicuous space alluring, crucial even I must say.
And I never felt how acute that it, till Kiki (bless her heart) dragged me to one of those parties.
Its been a while since our partying days, which I almost felt was over, but Kiki brought fresh memories back and confirmed my fears of being an official agrophobic!
Unless I am surrounded by six to seven familiar faces I am completely dull and out of place.
But anyways, Kiki insisted we attend this birthday party in one those gated communities burgeoning all around Cairo. And for days we planned what we will wear, whether to wax our eyebrows or not and what kind of moisturizing cream would make our skin soft but not overtly shiny.
And it was done. Kiki spent an obscene amount of money on her outfit, I did nothing and we met halfway.
Our host was a kindly, voluptuous, quick-witted friend of Kiki, who was giving a surprise party for her boyfriend.
Normally, I would not go.
Because I believe, especially birthday parties, should not be about strangers cramming someone's house, but dear and beloved friends sharing such existentialist moment.
But who gives a shit, a party is a party and I was very curious to go.
To have my first taste of "gay suburbia".
A two storey villa, with a front yard and a back yard, still not completely finished, with multiple design references, ranging from neo-classical oriental design all the way to Southeast Asian ambiance.
Cyberesque and postmodern. Translating to isolated and disconnected.
I was in love with the lamps and the chandeliers to be honest.
But that is where the love ends and my "mean eyes" (as Kiki calls them) set in.
As usual, there were no, or minimum lights, lots of smoke and trashy house music.
The fixture of any gay party setting.
And as always I was fascinated by the specimen of people attending such a party.
Most of them belonged to the ancien regime of the gay community, the age group of 30-45. And the remaining were from the age group of 25-30.
As usual, those two never mix.
And instantly the party was split to two collectivities. Each clustering at different points, one at the bar and the other one the dance floor.
But there was little or no dancing and the effect of randomly picking people who don't know each other took its toll on the kind of social dynamics that took place in the party.
I'd blame the host and the party goers.
While we all thrive on judging each other, the judging in this party took a new level to outright hostilities and silent aggression.
I know when I am being judged and dressed down behind my back, but such level of animosity was a little unusual for me.
And I cursed the fact that the nearest populated area is at least 5 kms away.
I personally despise the older generation (30-45), openly so as a matter of fact. I have never seen such level of immaturity and juvenile behavior.
I blame it on permissive parents and extra disposable income.
There is a whole generation who has no interest in being serious about anything and yet has enough resources (financial and otherwise) not to be.
Superficial, petty and incredibly shallow is the kindest way to put it.
And while the younger generation have a semblance of seriousness, I would say more of a brooding quality, they are yet plagued by a serious identity crisis.
The sample of the social groups able and can attend such party and represent more or less the individuals who are involved in this phenomenon, is quite depressing.
I would pick feeding off the postcolonial carcass we are all guttling at, than the dislocated, isolated empty suburbia.
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