Twenty miles southeast of downtown, brick and stone buildings spring out of the sand. The heat is more intense than in Meedan at-Tahrir, but the anarchic traffic of Cairo’s main square is nonexistent here. Dusty roadside signs boast of upscale rooms, luxurious homes, and cool fountains—but the dark, concrete skeletons of half-finished structures leave a ghostly impression. Today, New Cairo is as lifeless as the desert it’s replacing.

Still, pockets of affluence bubble up like oases in this desolate quarter, hinting at what will soon come. The American University in Cairo unveiled its sparkling new campus one year ago on AUC Avenue in New Cairo. Wealthy Egyptian families send their kids to AUC for a Western-style liberal arts education, and study abroad students from all over the world flock to the $400 million campus for a chance to learn Arabic in the land of the ancient pharaohs. My first few days in AUC reminded me of Education City in Qatar—I struggled to see past the beautiful veneer. But even the campus’s remarkable architecture, with dozens of fountains, date palms and sandstone walls, couldn’t hide the distinctly Cairene chaos still ruling in the background.

Orientation was a free-for-all, with lines stacking up everywhere as students rushed to get their I.D.s, bus passes, and visas at the same time. I wandered around campus clearing up all the sinister “to be arranged” marks on my course list. But even when I found out when and where my classes were, I was still lost—a special Ramadan schedule applied to the first week of school, rearranging all the times. Plus, none of the maps on campus have “you are here” signs, and the buildings have ridiculous names. If it were up to me, Prince Alwaleed Bin Talal Bin Abdulaziz Alsaud Hall would be known as Prince Ali Hall. It’s much simpler, and I’m sure good old Al wouldn’t mind.