World Refugee Day was marked by Egypt's first Refugee Festival. Gamal Nkrumah attended Walking the streets, with nowhere to go to and no one to turn to, exile is seldom anything but alienating. There is nothing glamorous in the life of an asylum seeker. Often treated as wretches, or worse, as unwelcome scroungers, asylum seekers have a hard time of it. The twists and turns that characterise the lives of the tens of thousands of refugees in Egypt was brought into sharp focus in a musical extravaganza held at the American University in Cairo to mark World Refugee Day. A Liberian skit, peppered with insights and anecdotes and scathing criticism of the United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR) kick-started the event which organisers were at pains to emphasise was a celebration of the refugees' resilience and not a focus on their suffering. Rehearsed in less than two weeks the performance was as good as any play staged on the fringes of a reputable international theatre festival. The acting was fine though special mention must go to the young Liberian who played the part of the UNHCR official interrogating asylum seekers. He featured only fleetingly, though when he did make an appearance he stole the scene. The play started out in the bush, with a paramilitary group recruiting child-soldiers. The performers were telling their own stories, recounting first hand experiences. A certain degree of defiance was essential in maintaining self-respect, the young Liberian actor told Al-Ahram Weekly after the performance. The refugees develop small ways of asserting self-control, and the performing arts are an expression of their defiance, their will to celebrate life in spite of all the problems they run up against. Consider the psychological, mental and emotional anguish that the asylum seekers suffer. "Once on stage or on the dance floor, our anxieties are forgotten," an Ethiopian dancer confided. The Liberian skit was followed by a Sudanese wedding ceremony, which traces its ritual origins to the days of the Pharaohs. While most eyes were initially focused on the bride resplendent, in brilliantly-coloured silks and bedecked with jewels, the professional, all female merry-makers moved remorselessly to outdo and outshine her. They shook all over in frenzied shimmies. The red bands on the forehead and wrists of the groom, and the highly erotic dances which are traditionally intended only for the eyes of the groom and other women members of the families of the bridal couple, form a sort of non-exclusive hen party. The Sudanese wedding dance is never performed in public. It is an intensely private, family affair. Next came equally sensuous Ethiopian dances -- one dance each from different Ethiopian ethnic groups. The Amhara dancers took to the floor first with their initially graceful and dignified swaying of hips and arm ripples which all of a sudden broke into an uncontrollable shaking of the shoulders. It was as if the dancers' collarbones were attached to puppet strings and the puppeteers had gone into sudden, manic fits. The women's hair tossed to and fro, braids flying about in crazed fashion. The shrill shrieks of ululating women onlookers competed with the deafening thuds of the drums for the audiences' ear. The dance climaxed in a riotous frenzy. The Oromos, not to be outdone, did a couple of wildly pulsating numbers accentuated by impossible leaps and occasional Turkish back bends. The male dancers chased the women across the stage while the women fled from the men with expeditious hip shimmies. There was no mistaking the underlying sexual innuendo implicit in the dance. The audience was thoroughly entertained. Others headed off towards the food stalls to sample the equally exotic food prepared by the refugees. People streamed to counters offering Ethiopian, Sudanese and West African cuisine. By this time the fountain area of the main campus of AUC was packed, people were dancing to the music, their hair streaming in the wind beneath trees offering welcome shade from the merciless glare of the early afternoon sun. I spotted Mohamed Bafalie, chairman of the Liberian Refugee Committee in Egypt, as he stood by the Liberian food stall. Okra and mulukhiya, Liberian-style, were on offer -- they were quite different from the dishes with which most Cairenes are familiar. Stews of fish and goat drenched in hot chili and tomato sauces were abundant. "We do hope that they don't take more severe measures against Liberians after seeing the play we performed," Bafalie said, eyeing the small group of UNHCR officials who attended the festival sitting in a quiet corner. The Liberian committee is one of the most active refugee groups in Cairo. One of the most pressing problems facing Liberian asylum seekers in Cairo, Bafalie said, is that the UNHCR systematically rejects applicants with student visas for refugee status. "They do not realise how dangerous the situation in Liberia is. Asylum seekers with student visas are deemed illegible for refugee status," he said. Members of the Ethiopian Refugee Committee in Egypt concurred. "We benefit from the legal aid, and especially how to fill application forms, but we still lack a sense of security," one Ethiopian refugee said on condition of anonymity. He recalled how 17 Ethiopians, mainly women, were recently rounded up by Egyptian security forces and are now under police custody. "Many are picked up near bus stations and summarily deported," he said. Most have had interviews with the UNHCR and are awaiting the results of their interviews, and so do not have official refugee identity cards. Indeed, many Ethiopian refugees, he said, were reluctant to attend the festival and a bus was rented to get the dancers to AUC. His lowest point came when he was forced to spend a fortnight in prison after being rounded up by the police. Today, he helps other Ethiopian refugees. There was also a psychological element to the choice of venue -- the AUC -- a stone's throw from the dreaded Mugamaa, or Ministry of Interior headquarters in the heart of Cairo, Tahrir Square. Most refugees avoid this part of Cairo because they fear the police. There are currently 5,000 Ethiopian refugees in Cairo and the majority are not registered with the UNHCR. Some receive help from relatives abroad. Others, especially the women, work as domestic helpers in the homes of wealthy Egyptians and expatriates. The majority share food and accommodation in overcrowded dwellings -- sometimes as many as 20 in a one bedroom flat. The physical and psychological strain is telling. Suicide rates are high, and violence is on the rise. Everyone's ultimate fear is powerlessness, a symptom of being controlled by outside forces. Still life in Cairo is preferable to a forced repatriation to Ethiopia. Eid, a young, blind Sudanese singer who was not originally scheduled for the programme, but who asked to be given a chance to show off his talent, took the stage. Having invested much time in lengthy preparations, changes can infuriate the organisers. But Eid was given a chance and the audience appreciated his soulful lyrics and upbeat, hopeful message. The brain behind the festival was Barbara Harrell-Bond who hobbled to the stage on crutches. She had fallen and injured herself a few days before the festival. Her address was brief and to the point. There wasn't really much to celebrate, she said. Yet, it is always inspiring to see how refugees manage to turn unsettling events to their advantage. She stressed the need for refugees from different countries to work together, to organise themselves collectively. The sound equipment, amplifiers and microphones left much to be desired, but Harrell-Bond left the stage all the same to make way for more music. Music from the Comoro islands was followed by an Ethiopian coffee serving ceremony. The bitter brew was superseded by enchanting Ethiopian music that filled the air. A couple of reggae bands sang classic Bob Marley tunes. Javeria Rizvi, of Pakistani origin and raised in Sweden, chipped in. Rizvi, who works for Legal Aid, joined Christie Ferguson, a United States national and graduate student at AUC. The two, with Harrell-Bond's help, brought together refugee artists resident in Cairo. The refugees were terribly excited, even though some were initially apprehensive. The artists themselves participated in the organisation of the festival, the first of its kind in Egypt. "Our whole aim wasn't to throw a huge and glamorous festival, but to attract attention to the plight of the refugees," Rizvi explained. They said that it was important to hold the festival at AUC because the leaders of the future will inevitably emerge from the student community. It was, therefore, important to sensitise students to the challenges facing refugees. The festival was designed to help create awareness and provide a realistic image of the refugee situation in Egypt today. "The media often portrays refugees as helpless, hapless and hopeless, utterly dependent on the handouts of rich, Western donors," Christie noted. Working closely with refugees is hardly a sacrifice. She said that refugees were resourceful people who have much to offer. Indeed, "they give more, far more than they receive. More than we give. They give themselves." The main aim of the festival was to draw attention to the refugees' plight. Racial attacks on refugee vendors from Sudan and countries further south are increasing at an alarming rate due, in large measure, to the economic downturn in the wake of the 11 September attacks on New York and Washington. "If you don't say what's bothering you now, others will assume you're content and will continue with plans for the future without taking your interests into consideration," said a Sudanese refugee. "We've been in this country for many years, we have a right to expect to have a say in how our lives are run." Another Sudanese, a reggae artist who has been in Egypt for the past three years, agreed. "When you see something that is wrong, you have to stand up and say so." His reggae group, made up of refugees from around the African continent sang in English, French and Kiswahili. "We started with one guitarist, a Sudanese asylum seeker, who was persecuted in Sudan because of the kind of music he played. Then a drummer, a percussionist and key-boardist joined." Abdel-Hafez learned to play the guitar two years ago when he first came to Egypt. He did not play the guitar in his native Nuba Mountains. But refugees from the Nuba Mountains and southern Sudan love dancing, he said. "As refugees in Cairo we miss partying." With family members scattered all over the world, a sibling in India and another two in Italy, he is one of the lucky few who is slated for resettlement in the US. He is looking forward to a new life in Boston. "I want to resume my normal life. I want to study, work and be free."
