So you know:

Things that seem too good to be true often are.

Zionist Propaganda against... Fair Trade?

Excuse you me, but I have to share this hilarious attempt to somehow make it seem wrong to care about the people who produce your food by making sure that they get fair prices for their products so that they can send their kids to school and put food on the table.

That it's somehow wrong to want to make sure that worker's won't get sprayed with dangerous chemicals in the fields, and won't be fired if they decide to join or start a worker's union.

That it's wrong to want to be sure that it's not a seven year old kid, locked up in some small factory 16 hours a day that's sowing your shirts, but that children get to go to schools, and their parents get decent salaries and support for different development projects in their villages.

Because according to Debbie Schlussel and her blog post this is not only communist, but also supportive of terrorism. At least if you decide to support small scale farmers in Jenin, Nablus, Ramallah and Salfit on the West Bank by buying Canaan Fair Trade olive oil at Whole Foods. (Canaan olive oil is marketed under the brand of Alter Eco at Whole Foods, by the way, so you know what to look for in the stores).

That something completely unconnected to Jews in Israel, or suicide bombings years back, or Hamas militant wings could come out of Palestine is of course unthinkable. That well over a thousand Palestinian farmers could join together in order take their lives in their own hands and export their top quality olive oil to markets in the US and Europe and thus make an independent living in spite of Israel's occupation and the isolation imposed on them, is... well, so unheard of that it must be some sneaky attempt to lure innocent buyers in America into supporting terrorism and somehow... I don't know, make Palestine seem like a country (oh, the horror!).

What Debbie probably doesn't know (or at least doesn't care to mention) is that one of the companies she urges people to boycott--the famous Dr Bronner's Magic Soap--is not only owned and run by Jewish Americans (not that this really matters to anybody who has realized it's not about religion or ethnicity, but about people's values and how they act), but that they might source 90 % of the olive oil they use from Palestinian Canaan Fair Trade (for the simple reason that they are the biggest producers of Fair Trade labeled olive oil); and that they also source olive oil from a producer in... Israel. And what's more, Dr Bronner's also has the olive oil they use for their magic soap refined at a company in... Israel. So what Debbie is essentially doing, is asking people to boycott a company that might look beyond people's origin and use top quality olive oil from Palestine in their products, but that is also closely connected to Israeli companies.

But I'm sure, any Israeli company that could stoop so low as to work with a company that sources such large quantities of their olive oil from a Palestinian company must be in cahoots with the terrorists, too.

I guess.

In any event, I do appreciate that Debbie tries to encourage people to go out and buy Israeli olive oil instead of Canaan Fair Trade olive oil from Palestine, and then mentions a company that's based in... the Golan Hights. Now, the last time I checked, the Golan Hights are in Syria, albeit occupied by Israel.

Romantic Cairo Nights

Behind the trees that line the sidewalk around Cairo Zoo, away from the street lights and the cars, guys and girls lean against the zoo wall in the evenings and speak with soft voices and look into each other's eyes.


Along Kornish el Nil, the walk that runs along the Nile in downtown Cairo, couples walk slowly and stop for tea or chickpeas or roasted sweet potatoes.


On the bridges, they sit on plastic chairs or stand leaning against the rail, close, close together. As close as they can possibly get without breaking the law. You can't kiss on the streets. You can't embrace. But you can hold hands, stand so close so that your bodies touch. You can whisper things in each other's ears, and you can look dreamily into each other's eyes.


I'm one half of such a couple. We walk from el Gezira to Wust el Balad. Down Kornish el Nil. Stand on one of the bridges. Which one is it? It doesn't really matter. A boy walks up to us and offers pink, red and white carnations threaded on white string. Special price for married couples, he says and winks at us. My Cairo date takes it as a sign, gives the boy two pounds and hangs the carnations around my neck.

They smell sweet and fresh.

We go down from the bridge, zigzag our way between the cars and cross the street, walk passed an old lady hectoring people helping her into a taxi, go down to a feluka place and rent one of those small boats with a huge triangular shaped sail. He holds my hand.

I don't know. Cairo is innocent, romantic, crazy, loud, crowded, sweet and safe.

The feluka guy tells my date he can't put his arm around me. We sit with proper distance in between us, feeling cold in the chilly night air. Five minutes later the feluka guy offers hasheesh.

We float slowly, slowly on the black surface of the river Nile. Other felukas with engines speed past us. There's loud music from the shore. Honking cars. Winking lights and dusty Cairo air. Somehow the Nile eats up all the stress, all the noise, and leaves you with a feeling of perfect peace and calm.


I meet him first at Cilantro in Mohandeseen, by the way. He orders a cappuccino that comes out like this. Another sign, I'm sure.