Opinion

Mohamed is a cashier in one of Cairo’s huge supermarkets; a branch of an international leading name in the world of grocery shops. His monthly wage of 650 Egyptian pounds (roughly $120 USD), earned for working 9 hours a day, 6 days a week. Mohamed tells me how he is picked up by the shop’s bus at 4 pm, to start his shift at 5. He then closes the cashbox at 2 am, boards the bus again around 3, and makes it home by 4 am, the following morning.

A dear family friend, Dr Nicolas Chahine, convinced me to go to AUB back in the early 1990s. Dr Chahine, himself an AUB graduate, wrote me a letter on the day of my graduation saying: “Welcome to the world of those who have had life, and had it more abundantly!” It still amazes me how committed to AUB its graduates still are. The loyalty of the AUB alumni is so unique that it is unmatched among graduates of other universities around the world. A while back, some of us were gathered in Damascus, remembering our student days at AUB in the presence of some friends who were non-AUB its. They were unable to understand what was so special about AUB. We couldn’t really explain it and just said: «Well you see...AUB is AUB!» No need for explanation.

In his play Peter Pan, Scottish writer J.M Barrie depicted a fantastical place called ‘Neverland’: a romantic place where children cease to age, where innocence and friendship reign supreme, and where even mischief is innocuous and amusing. Watching the ads for the sequel to last year’s Ramadan television series Bab al-Hara, I could not escape the par-able. For as in any traditional piece of fiction, the characters are neatly depicted as clean-cut versions of either good or evil (the great majority being good, of course). The treatment of the characters is superficial, glorified, and—most importantly—deliberately naïve. Nostalgia is on overdrive, and the ever-increased dosage of drama worthy of any self-respecting Egyptian soap opera. Syrian television drama at its most truly operatic.