As March morphed into April, my three email accounts were taken over by messages calling for would-be comedians to audition at the Contemporary Image Collective (CiC). I received emails from my editor, two people I haven’t talked to in three years and even one from my best friend in the States. And I’m not particularly funny — I could only imagine (and hope) this message would reach just as many people who are.

The initial flurry of e-publicity was followed within days by even more emails promoting Stand Up Cairo, complete with dates, contact phone numbers, a weblog and a FAQ about the procedures for signing up. Everyone was talking about the stand-up comedy tryouts, set for April 15–16. April 15 came but the comedians did not. A grand total of 15 people called organizers for more information, and only three people showed up for the actual auditions.

You’d think stand-up comedy in Egypt would be a sure thing. As a society, we take the adage “laughter is the best medicine” to new heights. Taxi drivers joke about everything from sex to politics. Women sipping juice in the club tell each other dirty jokes about husbands and children. Enough time is devoted on college campuses to telling jokes that universities could very well consider offering a Bachelor of Comedy degree. Damm khafif (literally ‘light blood,’ or a sense of humor) is one of the most prized traits an Egyptian can have, and damm te’eel (‘heavy blood’) is almost a crime against humanity.

It was with this in mind that Stand Up Cairo was born, the brainchild of a group of like-minded people who wanted to inject a bit of humor into society.

“I had talked to a lot of people who have been talking about it for quite awhile,” says Aleya Hamza, a curator at the Contemporary Image Collective (CiC). “Later, another friend got up and did a routine about taxi drivers and bus drivers at someone’s birthday party, and it was hilarious. It made you think about your day-to-day life and was very funny, creative and smart.”

Although auditions were held at the CiC, Stand Up Cairo is not directly affiliated with it or any other organization; Hamza just happens to be on Stand Up Cairo’s organizing committee. Other members include Karim El Harouny, Mohammed Yousri, Shereen Zaky, Sarah Carr, Wael Iskandar and Khaled Mansour, each of whom is volunteering their time and expertise to put the event together. The group members have been financing Stand Up Cairo themselves, working hard with their limited resources to get the word out and bring together enough talent for a stand-up comedy show.

Yet despite their best efforts, a mere three people thought that they were funny enough to audition.

Any reader who has ever been on the Metro, on a bus or just walked down the street will be just as shocked as I was. None of the quick quips about women’s behinds, national politics, or life in Egypt were to be found at the CiC.

So what does this say about our culture? Are we not funny? That definitely isn’t the case: Everyone I talk to seems to think he is a regular Jerry Seinfeld. Three people sitting by me at Tabasco Café declared they should have their own reality shows since they were so funny.

Are we more seriously inclined when it comes to entertainment? If you think so, then you haven’t seen an Egyptian film in about 10 years. Comedy is king at the box office. Check out the leading flick each summer and comic genius Mohamed Saad tops the marquee. So why did no one show up for Stand Up?

The group did a fabulous job at an intense word-of-mouth and online campaign. The audition notice appeared in Egypt Today’s Calendar section as well as those of a number of other publications. If you look at the number of emails and blogs on the subject, there was obviously no lack of preparation.

Hamza has a couple of theories about the low turnout. “Number one, [stand-up comedy] is a totally new concept here in Egypt. It’s not like a play, it is a medium people aren’t used to. You get up on the stage alone and have to have a one-on-one [interaction] with the audience. It’s very stressful and people aren’t used to it. Number two: the platforms of publicity excluded a lot of people, thus the second auditions.”

The campaign, sending out emails to people that the organizers know, was chosen simply because of a lack of funding. The second round of auditions will be held on May 2, and this time posters and flyers will be hung up at college campuses, in cafés and anywhere funny people can see them.

One of the three who did show up for the first auditions was Georges Azmy, an art director at the advertising agency Leo Burnett. Azmy’s routine was witty, insightfully Egypt, not offensive — and incredibly funny, earning him a slot in the final performance.

Speaking seriously for a moment, Azmy notes that “most of the advertising was done online, which doesn’t really work. No one really knew what it was.” He is quick to point out that an onslaught of emails doesn’t necessarily mean recipients would actually turn out for the auditions.

Hamza too says that the feedback they got on the campaign was amazing, but it was from an audience perspective — not from prospective comedians. She says that the second round of auditions will try to capture the attention of people who don’t necessarily speak English or go online. Stand Up Cairo organizers are expanding their outreach to include street performers and anyone else who thinks he’s the next Seinfeld. They want as many people as possible to come and take part, both as comedians and audience members.

As organizers plot ways to rescue Stand Up Cairo from ending before it begins, they all agree that the problem is not a lack of material or sense of humor.

“We laugh at ourselves, we laugh at everything,” Azmy assures me. “Even in the movies where things are supposed to be more serious, or in an action movie, people laugh out loud at the things that they [aren’t supposed to] find funny.”

It’s not that we aren’t funny, it’s not lack of interest — maybe we’re just plain too embarrassed.

“It is something new, people will react uneasily. If you tried to put out an ad for ice hockey, how many people do you think would show up? asks Azmy. “You have to show them [what] it is and how stand-up comedy functions.”

I know, you’re probably thinking, ‘What about Camera Il Khafeya (Candid Camera)? What about the countless comedy shows, the monologues and the performances at weddings?’ How can we not know how comedy works?

“This isn’t a monologue where you take on a character as such,” Hamza stresses. “It is smart meets honest. We want to introduce something very smart, very innovative and very contemporary that captures life in Egypt today.”

Stand-up comedy is essentially a time slot devoted to making others laugh, which is why it’s beyond me how something so innately Egypt has yet to take off here. It seems like the concept was created for this country. Stand Up organizers think so, too. As their savvy slogan put it, “Cairo is a comedy cow and we’re going to milk it.”

The way I see it, we’re all comedians. Our stage is the nation’s streets, shared with friends and random strangers on a blistering hot day when you aren’t expected to be funny. Our jokes are spontaneous ironies shared with a stranger, stories told to a colleague about what a taxi driver did and how the guy at the coffee place has this odd twitch in their eye. The jokes are usually rather nasty, crude and dirty. Maybe that’s why we can’t really picture getting up on stage and talking about the time we were stuck in traffic with two cows in the truck in front of us, threatening to poop on our windshield.

Now that I think about it, if I told that story in front of an audience, it wouldn’t get the reaction I was hoping for. That fear, more than anything else, may be what kept more people like me from going to audition.

“Stand-up comedy is a different context. It isn’t getting up on stage and making a characterization or a personification of someone,” Hamza says. “We want to bring in something clever and funny. A lot of people watch American comedy; they just don’t know how to translate that into something that relates to them.”

Now that the intense poster and flyer campaign is in place, we’ll just have to wait and see who exactly thinks he is funny here. The show is set to be taking place sometime at the end of May or the start of June, depending on how the second audition goes.

Azmy has some thoughts for the next round. “The situation lies basically in the fact that people don’t know where to start,” he says. “The next step is to make it a point to tell people what is expected of them and try to create as comfortable a space as possible. A personal suggestion of mine is an open audition — show people what it is all about and allow others to come in and give it a chance.” et