The Cairo Codex by Linda Lambert Read Free Book Online Page B

girls, brimming with emotions and longing. I can hardly wait to get into the schools and see how all the pieces come together.” She paused, holding Nadia’s gaze. “What are you hoping to learn from me?”
    Nadia nodded as though she’d been pondering this next question. “Well . . . we’re hoping that an anthropologist with your background can show us some things our eyes can’t see.”
    Some things our eyes can’t see,
Justine mused, glancing at young women in hijabs passing on the sidewalk below.
I wonder what yearnings these young women have?
“A lovely invitation,” she said.
    “We want to understand how the girls relate to each other and how they’re learning. Most importantly, we want these girls to have the confidence and the ability to make choices that will bring them more freedom later on. Such freedom is rare in our world.” The conversation paused for a moment while the waiter replenished the hot water for their tea.
    “Such freedom is rare in any world,” Justine said once he’d departed. “And as you’ve indicated, a critical element of freedom is choice. We may want to ask ourselves: How do these girls choose? Are they generating their own measuring sticks for choice? Mimicking peers? Trying to please adults? Remaining silent as a form of non-choice?”
    Nadia’s lips expanded into a grin. “Exactly. We’ve thought that what passes for choice is often just imitating others, but we’ve not been able to observe keenly enough to know how to intervene. You can understand all that? Just by
watching
?”
    “Well . . . there’s a little more to it than that,” Justine admitted, energized by Nadia’s enthusiasm. “I think we can observe those things. As soon as the girls trust me I can code behaviors within learning circles, questions, silences. Then we’ll know how to intervene.”
    The waiter returned with two menus, as though waiting for them to realize they were hungry. Nadia suggested some traditional Egyptian fare for sharing: kofta, tabbouleh, and babaghanoush with baladi bread.
    “I’d like for you to visit some schools first. We have two new ones in the area. One in the City of the Dead, a unique community in the middle of urban sprawl, and the other in Birqash, a small village about thirty-five kilometers northwest of town that hosts the camel market. What if we start with the school in Birqash on Monday morning? Then you can help me get ready for a dinner party that evening. Do you have any plans for tomorrow?”

    By 3:45, Justine was reclining in one of the brocaded chairs in the lobby, her ankle-length skirt almost touching her sturdy walking shoes. She stared at the ceiling, allowing herself to be mesmerized once again by the huge amber glass chandelier overhead.
    “Beautiful, isn’t it?” asked Amir, standing behind her, his eyes following hers. “I wish I’d seen the original. My grandmother said it was a vision to behold.”
    Justine smiled as she stood and turned to face him. “My grandmother also told me about the glory days of the original Shepheard. She stayed there often as a young girl.” She paused to shake Amir’s hand; she observed that he was clean-shaven and more relaxed than he’d been the day before. “Thanks for meeting me today.”
    “You’re quite welcome. Shall we go? We’ll be walking across Tahrir Square, and several blocks east of American University. Do you have your passport? You’ll need it for identification.”
    “I do,” she said, thinking that they probably made a striking pair. Both were tall, and their coloring contrasted dramatically. Her with caramel-toned hair and matching eyes; Amir quite dark, with ebony hair and deep brown eyes. They walked swiftly toward the square.
    “Tell me, Justine, what is an anthropologist? At least from the perspective of your work here?” They walked close to each other, but observers would have little doubt that they were strangers.
    She laughed at what seemed like such a basic question from