Diaspora Diaries: Little Egypt

ASTORIA, NY — Strolling through Little Egypt, I am reminded of summers spent in Cairo, beneath blazing sun and engulfed in warm, happy energy, my throat perpetually dry and my ears dancing rhythmically to an orchestra of traffic noise. The more I walk through Little Egypt, the more memories flood my mind and the more my heart longs for Cairo’s mean streets. I listen to the jokes men toss at one another, across the street and in passing, as they unload boxes from large trucks and into the basements of packed delis. They move hurriedly; it is Ramadan and the sun is close to setting. Their interactions are untroubled; their steps, quick and breezy. Determined women walk past them, sometimes tugging at a child’s hand, sometimes laden with books, sometimes carrying bags. From the windows, I catch a few heads poking in and out—men and women—their eyes searching the streets. Husbands returning from work stop by delis, running errands and picking up cooking supplies for their wives who, I imagine, are busily preparing for the breaking of the fast. Here, in this neighborhood, Arabic is heard more often than English. There is no embarrassment or oddity attached to leaving your apartment dressed in a galabeya* because here, in Little Egypt, a galabeya isn’t “out of place”. In a sense, Little Egypt is, in fact Egypt, without Egypt’s burdens: the severe poverty, the political crackdowns, the food and power shortages, the unbearable traffic.

Ehab Mohammed helps a customer package his boughten goods. Customers travel across all five boroughs to reach Mohammed's deli. Dina Sayedahmed.

Little Egypt runs along Steinway Street in Astoria, Queens and stretches through Astoria Boulevard until 28th Avenue. Historically, the area has been settled and resettled by several immigrant groups. In the 17th century, for example, Dutch and German immigrants made up the large majority of the population. The area was resettled by Greek immigrants in the 18th century, Irish immigrants in the 19th and early 20th centuries, and then Italian immigrants throughout the 20th century. Beginning in the 1970s, Lebanese immigrants began settling in the neighborhood and soon enough the population expanded to include Yemeni, Syrian, Algerian, and Egyptian immigrants. By the 1990s, the area assumed the unofficial title “Little Egypt” due to the large number of Egyptians living and working there.

A woman helps a man with his paperwork at an office in Little Egypt. A poster of Mohammed Morsi, the former president of Egypt who was ousted in 2013 by a military coup, is seen hanging on the wall behind. Dina Sayedahmed.

In speaking with the neighborhood residents and workers, I came to understand Little Egypt as a home away from home for many immigrants from North Africa and the Middle East and a consolation for those who are unable to return for whatever reasons. It’s not the “real deal”, as many area residents and workers admitted, and it leaves them with insatiable cravings for the actual Egypt, but it eases the transition into America. Ehab Mohammed, the owner of Zaitoon, a medium-sized Middle Eastern deli, describes the area as a comfort zone for recently-arrived North African and Middle Eastern immigrants. However, he believes that this comfort zone has become too comfortable. For example, area residents are more up to date on Egypt’s political schemes than they are on the America’s, which, Mohammed, believes

can be harmful to the community because it leaves them politically disengaged. He also believes that although American politics affect thearea more directly, the community is still more consumed with Egyptian political affairs and Egypt as a whole.

“The people who live and work here are only here physically,” Mohammed says. “Emotionally and mentally, they’re still in Egypt.”

Little Egypt represents the persistent struggle of living in Diaspora. On one hand, it has been an antidote to the pains of separation from Home and has, indeed, served as a home away from Home, but on the other hand, it represents the painful reminder that we, North African and Middle Eastern immigrants, do not feel at “home” in America and still find the need to construct our own homes, where we are free to dress however we please and speak our language without fear of shame or, in some cases, consequences.

*galabeya: a long gown worn in North Africa and the Middle East.