The Cairo desert is a long way from the banks of the Dnieper River in Ukraine. In the late 19th century, it was through this drab valley that Catherine the Great was led by a man named Grigory Potemkin, to marvel from a distance at the elegant facades of villages and rural civilization that he had constructed for her benefit—and for his political gain. Just like the veracity of the villages themselves, the accuracy of this period as the origin of these movable, mass puppet shows is up for debate. But ‘Potemkin villages’—as we now call them—were on the steady rise and spread during the 20th century, used most notably by the efficient and industrious Soviet Union, but also by the ebulliently patriotic North Koreans, and if I’m allowed to stretch it just a little by Bernie Madoff too… My school, I’m realizing more and more, has been erected and maintained in the mold of a prototypical Potemkin village. The Cairo desert serves as our monotonous grey valley, and the crystalline waters of our seldom-used swimming pool serve as an even better version of the Dnieper currents. The main lobby and administration building is the centerpiece of the school, straddled perfectly by the swimming pool such that when a visitor enters onto the marble floor and before they can ascend up duel winding staircases, they know they’ve reached not just a school but an effervescent oasis in the sand. And in this building there is always effusive cleaning being performed – at least six maids responsible for a not more than 20 square meter tract of marble that must glimmer at all times. Never mind that I’ve yet to see a single roll of toilet paper in the bathrooms of the school buildings, or that in this Age of the Swine Flu the soap dispensers are frequently empty or turned upside down. These secondary amenities and extravagances would be out of the visitor’s line of sight, and are thus superfluous. If it isn’t already evident, the exalted visitor in this Cairene incarnation of Potemkin is the parent. It is the parent who, among other duties as emperor or empress of the clan, has paid for an expensive private education and entrusted Principal Potemkin with the tutelage of their young heirs and heiresses. Thus far, I’ve seen them check in on their children and on their investment in the most cursory of ways. According to some of the longer tenured faculty at my school, one of the biggest wool-over-the-eyes moments has been the school’s promise to upgrade to an air-conditioned fleet of buses. This change, of course, could only be delivered with the recent tuition increase – by how much I cannot say. Currently, about half of our buses seem to be of the new, air-conditioned variety. The other, older ones have been meticulously painted over to match the new ones. One of the biggest perks of the private school education here is the door-to-door delivery of your child. When parents wait at the curb or in their apartment lobbies to receive their child, they are heartened by shiny new paint and a Mercedes logo. I ride the bus home with the children every day, and we’ve changed buses 3 times due to a variety of engine troubles and never once upgraded to one with AC. I attended an expensive private school in America, where things were often done for show. I remember how the school would go wild spending on buffet catering for Parents’ Weekend, or how annoying it was when photographers would prod students into unnatural positions for the next edition of the Admissions prospectus. But the other side of the coin is that I’m now able to speak about Potemkin villages because I got an excellent education. Here in Egypt, it took three weeks for my students to receive their Social Studies textbooks. No one seemed to mind, except for a handful of my students and myself. Before leveling such a sarcastic critique at my school I should really go out and compare my experience with how things work at other schools. I should be grateful for my own education, but should know better than to use it as a measuring stick against a place that obviously lacks the same resources, but that with all of these measures will hopefully build some kind of a reputation for success. That said, I can only view the stark contrast between what goes on in that lobby and in the classrooms and bathrooms as wasteful and corrupt. This week, the first parent/teacher conferences will take place. Parents are invited to arrive en masse to receive their childrens grades and to discuss any concerns with their teachers. I wonder what kind of other stops the school will be pulling out, and whether I’ll be asked to nudge up the grades to some of my failing students. BM
