For as long as I can remember, I'd come across an interesting Japanese tradition or philosophy of some kind that can be summed up in one word; things like Wabi-Sabi: finding beauty in imperfection and transience, Ikigai: the intersection of passion, mission, vocation, and profession that culminates in the reason for being, or Kaizen: continuous improvement through small, incremental changes. Fascinated, I often wondered if other cultures also had their share of single-word philosophies ignored for one reason or another by the international gaze (if we can call it that). Over the course of the past few months though, I have come to realize that Egypt almost certainly boasts at least one such tradition: Karwata.

The shortest definition of the word "Karwata" might be: to half-ass something. Although, that doesn't quite cover it, not really. Egyptian karwata is special and peculiarly performed with pizzaz. It is the act of baking an exquisitely beautiful cake but instead of the cherry on top you top the thing with a shitty middle finger. Karwata is so entrenched in Egyptian culture that Egyptian artist and once-upon-a-time-comedian George Azmy once told a joke about how the pyramids of Giza were actually supposed to be giant cubes, but the workers assigned to it applied karwata day after day until they ended up with pyramids instead.

The word Karwata itself is a rather peculiar one. Its construction is Arabized but it has no roots in the Arabic language and as far as I know is only used by Egyptians. One theory of origin draws its roots to the word "kart"--an Arabization of the word "card" (or potentially the French "carte")--from when punching cards were used by employees and factory workers to clock in and out of the workplace. The idea is that Karwata emerged to describe the act of punching your time card without actually getting anything done. You clock in and do nothing basically. If this indeed is the case, then there is certainly something admirable about Karwata or at least its origins, given that it would mean Karwata evolved from an inclination to screw capitalists and industrialists (and most probably imperialists) over, or at least embody enough of a fuck you to your exploiters that would allow you to return home from work with your head raised high and the mark of satisfaction drawn across your face, all without having to lose your job. Indeed, it seems the way of Karwata could potentially share some of its DNA with the Simple Sabotage Field Manual issued by the CIA in 1944.

The problem with the explanation above is that it implies intention in one's adoption of Karwata, but the reality in Egypt today is that Karwata is so embedded in the culture that no one is all that aware when they're doing it anymore.

Not wanting to be the asshole that assumes the worst, you may be inclined to point out to the Karwatist the issue with the results of one of the jobs they took on. You will make it a point to pay close attention to the Karwatist's face as you, with calm and patience, explain why it wasn't supposed to be done a certain way and should've instead been done an ever so slightly (but very vitally so) different way. No matter how painfully obvious what you're asking for may be, you will not speak of it as painfully obvious for fear of making the Karwatist feel stupid, because you know that will only backfire in your face in the most terrible way imaginable ("Well, if you think that's karwata, wait till you get a load of what I'll do to you next."). You will be surprised to witness the face of a person who genuinely does not fathom what the issue is, and why you might want the thing to be done any other way if it's working exactly the way you want it to. The Karwatist may even point out the time, effort, and likely aesthetic issues that may result from adjusting the thing to your newfound requirements; requirements you neglected to point out at the onset they might say; requirements you never in a million years would've assumed were in need of being pointed out given how painfully obvious they are to you and, you're pretty sure, everyone you know. That is, until you met the Karwatist.

Issues will get tended to eventually, but in the meantime the Karwatist has many days' worth of tasks to get to, and over the course of those days, over cigarettes and endless rounds of excessively sweet tea, you talk and you bond, and you learn.

You learn about the Karwatist's other job and its grueling hours, sometimes over 12 hours straight with little to no breaks--no such thing as overtime. You learn about the shifts they sometimes have to cover that force them to push on for 24 hours. You learn about their boss, the ex-police general who suspects everyone is criminal. You learn about the overbearing spouse and the kids that do not cease to scream and play and shout upon the Karwatist's return home, the call of their mattress muffled by everything else. You learn about the landlord's rent hikes after the influx of immigrants into the Karwatist's neighborhood. You learn of the sudden hospital visits and the Karwatist's age, several years your junior despite looking at least a decade older. You place all this in the context of Cairo, Al-Qahera, the city that tests its own ever-expanding limits and that of its inhabitants, now over 22 million Karwatists strong. It's the city where nothing is perfect, and despite any perfectionist's dismay functions miraculously, in spite of itself and all the Karwatists that inhabit it. Or perhaps because of them. In a place where no plan B, C, or D could ever anticipate how things actually inevitably go wrong, it is karwata that enables people to stay on their toes, dodge mishaps and come up with quick fixes, despite karwata likely being a key ingredient in things going wrong in the first place. You slowly realize that karwata has little to do with intent or any form of coherent decision-making, but is rather the makeup of an entire ecosystem, the key ingredient in the soup of existence, a way of being that has allowed the logic of the quick fix to permeate into every little thing everyone does. Resistance is futile, like sweeping the patio mid dust-storm. You either learn to accept it all, however difficult it may be to your OCD brain, or you swim against the tide and exert tremendous effort to arrive at results for things you never needed to think about at all in other places, other existences.

Drained and depleted, you make do with getting close to where you wanted. You're not quite there, but it's close enough and somehow you feel like the asshole for ever wanting what you wanted in the first place. You realize that this too may be the exquisite work of the Karwatist.

Ganzeer
Cairo, Egypt
06.06.25