What Kind of Education for Children in Egyptian ‘Carpet Schools’?

Abdul, 16, a worker at a “carpet school,” is among many Egyptian children whose growth is stunted by malnutrition.

Veteran labor communicator Ray Abernathy is traveling in Egypt, where he is meeting with union leaders and activists and sending dispatches to AFL-CIO Now.

CAIRO—On my last day in Cairo, after my host and I had tried to meet with worn-out workers who had been driving a huge number of successful strikes across the country over the past winter and spring—maybe they were weary of being transferred to new work locations, harassed and discriminated against by a government determined to nip their new-found courage in the bud.

At any rate, we’d decided to do some sightseeing, spend half a day looking at the oldest step-pyramid in Egypt, which is reached via the town of Sakarra a short ride south and west of Cairo. As we sped through the ramshackle village, we noticed several freshly painted two-story buildings, each with a colorful billboard identifying it as a “carpet school,” with institutional names like Aswan Carpet School, Pyramid Carpet School and Sakarra Carpet School.

Our tour guide, an engaging and knowledgeable university graduate, informed us there were 14 such “carpet schools” in Sakarra, each of them devoted to rescuing local boys from poverty and degradation by teaching them the craft of weaving.

After an incredible two-hour experience exploring the 5,000-year-old pyramid and several kingly tombs with exquisite relief hieroglyphics intact, we piled into our thankfully air-conditioned van and headed back through Sakarra. As we reached the city limits, our guide announced that American Express, the host of our tour, had paid our admission into one of the carpet schools, where we’d meet some of the boys and have a chance to purchase some of their creations in silk and wool (he would even help us haggle down the prices).

Finally, we were getting the chance to meet with some real Egyptian workers face to face.  Their names (changed to protect them) were Hamed, Muhammed, Aisha and Abdul.  They were 7, 9, 12 and 16 years old.  The basement where they were working was clean and airy, with vertical looms lining the walls.  An official of the school ushered us from loom to loom, explaining the concept of carpet-schooling as well as the weaving techniques being used.  Someone asked how much the boys are paid.  The official said they receive the  equivalent of $2 in American dollars for a daily three-hour shift (more than their parents make for a full day).  Are they orphans, or do they live with their parents?  He said they all live at home and that they learn weaving four hours a day and then are schooled four hours day as required by Egyptian law.  Their “small, nimble fingers” are essential to preserving the “ancient art of Egyptian rug-making,” examples of which are on sale in an upstairs gallery.

At 16, Abdul is one of the older boys “enrolled” in the school, but he’s also among the smallest. Like one in four Egyptian children, his growth has been stunted by malnutrition, and he has the body of an 8-year-old.  He skitters nervously up and down a bench, working alone, and hand-knotting a silk rug that will bring hundreds of dollars.  His face is the face of a 35-year-old. It’s hard to see how his skills training will help him next year when he’s pushed out of the “school” because his fingers are too big to do the work.

An artistic undertaking that preserves an art form, props up the local economy and teaches village kids a valuable skill?  Or child labor with a scrubbed face and clean fingernails?

Reporting on the “child weavers of Sakara” for the Louisiana Weekly in 2005, political columnist Christopher Tidmore had his doubts. “The work appeared tedious and boring, reminiscent of the sweatshops of the Industrial Era,” he wrote, noting that the “standards set by the international agency UNICEF declare such child labor as cruelty.”

After touring a carpet school along the Memphis-Giza road in 2002, P.J. O’Rourke wrote for the Atlantic Monthly, “Here children of 8 and 10 were engaged in—pedagogical alibis and apprenticeship hooey aside—child labor.” After feeling “small, expectant eyes” were upon him, he bought a small rug. “Is rug weaving any worse than Play Station II?” he asked himself. “Maybe not, but since I got back from Egypt, wall-to-wall carpet made on automatic machines by unionized labor is looking better—the orange shag kind included.”

We left the school with similar feelings, albeit without a rug.  We still didn’t know whether the 200 “carpet schools” in Egypt are what they purport to be, or that the kids are paid real wages, or that they work only short days and get plenty of schooling. One thing we agreed upon was that American Express has no business officially promoting and patronizing such an enterprise.

As Tidmore observed after interviewing a young girl named Noeille:

One of Osama bin Ladin’s strongest rallying cries for his Islamic fundamentalist followers has been that America and the West has exploited the children of the Middle East for it own economic gain.  For all the logical responses that no Western country had anything to do with Noeille laboring for six hours a day, American and European money paid her salary, and has potentially fueled the al-Qaeda leader’s criticisms.

Did he say six hours a day? Or is it three hours a day, as O’Rourke was told?  Or is it four hours, as we were assured?  Hard to tell what is truth, and what just seems to be the truth.  I decided when I got home I would write American Express CEO Kenneth Chenault at P.O. Box 297812, Ft. Lauderdale, FL 33329-7812 and ask him those questions.

After all, he makes just under $30 million a year—according to the AFL-CIO Executive Paywatch—so it certainly seems he should know the answers.

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