Category: Personal

Sexual Harassment

During the past few weeks much of my activity at the office has focused on the supervision of others’ work and report writing. While this, unfortunately, has limited my own contributions, especially in this blog, I have missed the opportunity to link readers here to the reports we have produced. These are published on the Arab West Report home page; I will look to update these a little more regularly.

One such effort we have made is a short report about sexual harassment in Egypt, and some of the recent statistics and new technological efforts that help address the problem. Should we call it a problem? Is it a problem in America? I suppose wherever there are men and women this phenomena will occur, but this paper shows some of the cultural aspects unique to Egypt. Please enjoy, if it is correct to say so…

Click here for the link.

Tags Cairo, Egypt, Sexual harassment

Personal

A New Wife

Some of you who have been following our blog may remember some of the stories we’ve told about our doorman and his family. When we moved into our first apartment in Maadi, our doorman’s wife was just recovering from having a brain tumor removed. That didn’t stop her from inviting us to dinner! (click here) Unfortunately, we didn’t have much opportunity to get to know her, as a couple months later, the brain tumor returned and eventually took her life. That was a very sad day when her daughter told me the news, made even more poignant since I didn’t understand what she said the first two times in Arabic (click here). I attended the “funeral” of sorts, or rather, visitation of the family and was hurting for the two older girls especially as they lost their best friend and didn’t seem allowed to grieve about it. Shortly after their mother’s death, I talked with different people in the building, and even the two girls about their father remarrying. It was almost assumed by the Egyptians I spoke with, that he would remarry fairly quickly as he still had kids to raise. In talking briefly with the doorman himself, he seemed resistant to the idea. After all, he just lost his wife and it seemed the two had a good, loving relationship. No one wants to replace their lost love. Also, he didn’t want another woman coming into his house and making his daughters do all the hard work. As it was, though, without a mom in the house, the two oldest girls had a lot of responsibility, including cooking, cleaning and helping to care for the two younger kids. They certainly didn’t want a new mom, but it seemed they wanted a new wife for their father’s sake.

Now that we don’t live in the same apartment building, we don’t naturally see this family and hear their news. But a few weeks ago, after returning from some time in the states, we visited them to catch up and pass on a few gifts. I noticed that they had some of the furniture from our old apartment in their house, and I asked about it. I’m not quite sure what the answer was, but I did understand that they passed on the news of their father’s upcoming marriage next month. The girls seemed excited as it is a woman they know and knows them. She is actually the niece of their mom. She is a bit younger than the doorman, but not unreasonably so. The girls were happy with the choice, and when I congratulated their dad later, (he was outside with Jayson as I visited the girls inside), he said that he wasn’t marrying for himself, but for the children. So it kind of seems all of them are being unselfish in this endeavor!

Jayson found out some information about the new wife-to-be. She had been married before, but it seems she unknowingly became the fourth wife of a man. Once she found out he had three other wives, she quickly divorced him and returned to her village. From what the doorman and his daughters say, she’s a good woman.

And so, next month, their Dad will travel to a village outside of Cairo for a small legal ceremony without any pomp and circumstance. He will marry a new wife and bring her back to Cairo to live in the house next to the apartment building. In the meantime, he is preparing by buying new bedroom furniture for him and his wife, and probably cleaning and reorganizing the house. When I asked the girls if they will go with their dad, it seemed they said the younger kids would go, but they would stay. It sounded like they didn’t really want to go, but I doubt he would leave them at home on their own. I look forward to meeting this woman and I pray that she fits right into this household and brings some joy to this house once again.

Tags Cairo, Doorman, Egypt, Marriage

Personal

Orthodoxy, Year Two

St. Mary & St. Antonious Coptic Orthodox Church — Image by Number1Son via Flickr

How long do experiments last? What does commitment mean in an experiment? Is it right to experiment with church?

Having returned from a short vacation in America, we are now beginning our second year of life in Egypt. The first year was very good, and we are happy to return. While acknowledging our status as foreigners, we like to live as Egyptian a life as possible, which includes worshiping in the Orthodox Church. Orthodoxy is the denomination of the vast majority of Egyptian Christians, and though it is not our own, last year we joined in as best we could. God’s church is one, and though we may or may not agree with all of Orthodoxy’s distinctive tenets, we desire to signal our support and serve Christ’s body.

Our reception has been welcoming, but tepid. While we have described this in the past, beginning again in year two we face again the same reality. By now more than a few people know and greet us, and we have learned better the rhythm of the service and the liturgical year. We are not yet comfortable, in the way an old shoe is comfortable, but we are still not sure if the new shoe fits. Still, it is better than being barefoot.

In our estimation, being a Christian is expressed in a significant way through commitment to a local congregation of believers. Namely, we go to service, we get to know people, we explore opportunities to serve. These actions, and others, are necessary, but they are not the essence of commitment. Rather, commitment is an attitude that says, ‘This is my church.’ The response of others may make this easier or harder, but commitment is a decision dependent only on one’s self.

But have we committed? We began our attendance as an experiment, to see if the church could serve as our spiritual home in Egypt. We desired it to be; it is consistent with the sense of belonging that drives our attitude toward overseas life. I think it is clear, though, that experimentation and commitment are not synonyms. Perhaps beginning year two, we are realizing this. What does it mean for us?

An attitude of experimenting can be a means of resisting full commitment, but it is not the only one. I have previously described the non-uniform Coptic tendency to leave early or come late. In fact, it is a common habit of many Copts here to enter the Mass near its conclusion, partake of communion – necessary as the literal body and blood of Jesus – and then leave, or, enjoy meeting up with their friends and socializing.

Today one of the priests deviated from the timeless repetition of the Mass. As the congregants were approaching to receive the host, he announced that the entire Mass was holy, and the Bible readings and sermon (done earlier in the service) were also necessary for the life of the Christian. One should not take communion unless he attended the whole Mass.

The whole Mass is very long. It begins around 7am, and ends around 11am. Perhaps aware of this, yet frustrated by the many deliberate latecomers, he did not speak absolutely. Rather, he ended his interjection by saying that no one would be denied Christ’s body and blood, but that each person was responsible for himself.

We, meanwhile, may not partake, as we have not been baptized Orthodox. By now we are quite used to this, and I do not write from frustration. Neither do I wish to trigger in the reader any sense of injustice. I mean, perhaps, to highlight that belonging depends on more than commitment.

As a note, we aim to arrive at Mass at least by 9am, in time for the Gospel reading and sermon. Our commitment, as exposed by the priest, is partial at best.

The latecomers, technically, in the Orthodox theological sense, belong to the church, even if their commitment is lacking. Yet their commitment is there – they do come. We, in the Orthodox theological sense, do not belong to the church, even if our commitment is present and our belonging is desired.

We are not Orthodox, but we are able to accept them as fellow Christians. By and large, they are able to do the same with us. Yet we are not the same, and in this reality there is that which keeps us viewing ourselves as if in a glass, darkly. Will it keep us ever experimenting, no matter our commitment? Must belonging at church involve mutual acceptance? If we are barred from communion, the central act of Orthodox worship, can we belong? We can commit, we can serve, we can attend. Can we be one? Is the church truly so? Is it all an experiment? Is this appropriate, for either them or us?

Year two begins with such questions. Please feel free to share your impressions.

Tags Christianity, Coptic, Egypt, Orthodoxy

Personal

Twenty-One Days in America (part two)

Post author By Jayson
Post date October 6, 2010
1 Comment on Twenty-One Days in America (part two)

For Part One, click here.

Emma and Hannah had been excited and preparing for this wedding for months. They were to be the flower girls, later deemed, “wedding princesses.” They were excited about wearing white dresses and pink bows and dancing. Granted, they had never been to an American wedding before, so didn’t know what to expect, but they love their Uncle Aaron, and were eager to participate in his big day.

All went well for the beginning of the trip, in fact, we may have gotten to DC without incident, if I remember correctly! We didn’t even stop once on the three-hour trip. That’s not bad with three little ones, but it helps that they are willing to wear diapers, just in case. We met up with everyone in Old Town Alexandria, VA on the banks of the Potomac River for the rehearsal.

It was a lovely night, and all were ready to do their part … except the two flower girls. Now they realized what was in store and weren’t excited about all eyes being on them. Oh well, they enjoyed playing with their glowsticks that Tayta brought and still had a night to prepare their role. We enjoyed a nice time and good dinner after rehearsal and the girls enjoyed playing with one of the bridesmaids who gave them special princess crowns.

The day of the wedding dawned beautiful and sunny … a perfect one for an outdoor event. I, unfortunately, didn’t sleep well the night before and got sick during the night. Maybe Emma’s bug had finally gotten to me. I spent the day in the hotel room while grandparents entertained the girls for awhile. They took a good afternoon nap which we thought necessary for success later in the evening. I was feeling decent in time to go down to the water to grab dinner, but since we needed another adventure, Hannah got sick in the car on the way to the wedding.

Of course I wasn’t going to let them wear their white dresses very long before the wedding, so thankfully, that wasn’t involved in the clean-up process. We returned to the hotel, and I washed up Hannah while Tayta cleaned up the car as best she could. Sorry again, Michael. Then we headed out and enjoyed a wonderful dinner with family before reporting for duty on the green. The whole ceremony was flawless. Aaron looked great and very happy. Megan was beautiful and beaming.

Even Emma and Hannah rose to the occasion as they both carefully dropped flower petals along the path, and slightly off the path, before sitting in their assigned seats.

The weather was perfect and the service was enjoyable as two lives joined together. Emma was a little antsy as she was waiting for the dancing, and Hannah just wanted to play with the seat decorations, but even Layla stayed quiet for most of the ceremony. When it was over, we had a short jaunt over the cobblestones on the way to the reception.

I had been looking forward to this reception since I heard about it. It was a “dessert reception.” I would take dessert over dinner any day so I couldn’t wait to sample everything. However, the way my stomach was feeling, I barely wanted to eat anything! Oh well, I’m glad I was well enough to attend. The girls enjoyed some dancing, and sampled most of the desserts. Everyone appeared to be having a good time dancing, laughing, talking, and getting to know one another. But since we have young children, we had to leave before it was quite over, so we headed back to the hotel around 10pm, and poor Hannah, once again, graced Uncle Michael’s car and her white dress with the “dessert reception.” It seems she may have picked up the bug.

We mostly slept well that evening, although Jayson was starting to feel the sickness creeping over to him, so in the morning both he and Hannah were down for the count. This was the day we planned to spend alone as his parents took the three girls home to New Jersey where we would join them tomorrow. We decided to stick with the plan … even if we weren’t feeling well – it would still be time together. The girls and I joined all four grandparents at IHOP for some breakfast before everyone headed back North. We packed the girls into the van to be driven home by grandparents. They had a bucket and some bags along with some snacks, drinks and diapers, for what I hoped could be an uneventful trip. From the sounds of it, though, it was anything but that. Hannah threw up before they stopped at the McDonalds across the street from the hotel! A four-hour trip took about nine hours as they made numerous stops for food and bathroom for two preschoolers, an infant, and a dog, not to mention two adults who drank their share of coffee. We’re grateful for their perseverance, but sorry it had to be such an experience!

Meanwhile, we enjoyed a leisurely afternoon as Jayson was still not feeling too great. We sat at one of the parks on the waterfront for awhile, met up one last time with Jayson’s brothers, and finally, around 8pm, headed over to the Lincoln Memorial with some bagels from Dunkin Donuts. This is the spot where we got engaged over eight years ago. The view was quite different then as our memories took place at sunrise and we were just about the only ones present. On this night, the steps were full with tourists, not a huge number, but a steady crowd coming in and out. We sat and talked and enjoyed our bagels, which was about the only things our stomach wanted at that point. It may not have been the day we originally planned, but it was special just the same, with no thought of children. Okay, well, almost no thought of them. We knew they were in good hands.

The next morning we got to actually sleep in without waking for three active girls! We grabbed some food to eat at the Teddy Roosevelt Island memorial and were happy tohave the energy to loop that trail which we also walked the day of our engagement.

Our trip home included a stop for Rita’s Water Ice which was on our wish list before returning to Egypt. We returned to the Casper’s house and found two sick adults and three active children. Fortunately, there were also two healthy adults as some relatives were staying for a few days. We were doing a pretty good job at sharing our sickness with the whole crew. We found out soon after that at least four others were hit with the bug as well. Our one hope was that the bride and groom did not catch it!

Well, our time was just about up. The last couple days for me meant packing everything we had accumulated, from clothes for the girls to peanut butter to new toys to the toiletries we brought with us … everything had to fit in our eight 50-pound suitcases. It took a solid day to pack everything we had gathered, and this was with the gracious help of grandparents taking the girls out for an outing. Fortunately most everyone had recovered and could enjoy a ride on the Staten Island Ferry for a morning. The day of our travel arrived and we packed up the suitcases right to the last minute and boarded the big van with the four grandparents for the return to Cairo. By that point, I was tired and ready to be back in Egypt, but we still had two days of travel ahead of us.

I’d have to say that the return trip went very smoothly. Although we arrived at the airport with plenty of time, we somehow managed to be one of the last people on the plane. The flight attendants were able to rearrange people to give me an empty seat next to me to put Layla for most of the flight. The girls enjoyed the in-seat entertainment systems and some of their dinner before the lights went out. And amazingly, they went to sleep for the duration of the flight at that point! Of course, with the time it takes to get airborne and serve food, there was only about four hours left of the flight when they went to sleep, but we were glad for any hours they could catch. Our layover in Amsterdam was nine hours … longer than either flight … so we checked into a hotel room for that time. It was wonderful to have a bed to lay down on if needed, a place to keep our stuff, a shower to clean up in, and internet to stay in touch with the world! The girls enjoyed the extensive play areas in the wonderfully designed airport and we stayed entertained all day, until they crashed on the bed about one hour before checkout. This means we took two crying girls out of the hotel room and down to the gate as they struggled to wake up. We were glad their crying was not in the enclosed space of the airplane.

Almost on our final leg of the three-week journey, the flight to Cairo was short and sweet. Again, the movies entertained the girls and us, Layla ate and slept, and by the time dinner was served, it was too late to turn out the lights before landing. We got off the plane, through customs, and to our luggage around 3am local time (which was only 8pm body-time) and were in our own beds by 5am that morning. Twenty-one days in America. The to and fro was rough at times, but would we do it again? Most certainly.

Tags Lincoln Memorial, Old Town Alexandria, Travel, United States

Personal

Twenty-One Days in America

Our eagerly anticipated trip to the States to see family and friends and participate in Jayson’s brother’s wedding has come and gone. It was a wonderful time in so many ways, but I am reminded of the challenges of traveling with three small children as I reflect back on those three weeks.

To write all the details would take more than a blog post, and likely bore most people, so I’ll try to offer some highlights.

Our 3am flight from Cairo to Amsterdam required us to wake the girls at midnight for the one-hour trip to the airport, checking in two hours before the flight. For some reason, these two girls who sleep from 8pm to 8am most every night of their life, are always wide awake once we get them up for this middle-of-the-night flight. Their energy and enthusiasm at the beginning of the trip is enjoyable, but we know that toward the end of this two-flight, fifteen-hour trip, their over-tiredness will overtake them. None of us slept during the first flight, but I was so thankful when both Emma and Hannah konked out upon take-off on the second flight. Unfortunately, something woke both of them up about 40 minutes into the flight, bringing tears to our sensitive, exhausted 2 year old and boredom to the other. All in all, the trip went pretty well with two adults and three girls under 4, but the leg of the journey from Amsterdam to New York was a bit long for us all!

Meeting the four grandparents at the airport washed away all the tiredness and frustration for awhile, as the girls ran up and gave squeezes to all. It was the first time the two grandfathers got to meet our newborn, so the cameras were busy capturing those moments.

And, it always helps to have eight more hands to carry the three girls and luggage we brought with us. Tayta (grandmother) packed some lunches for us to eat in the car which was much appreciated by most, but reminded us all of Emma and Hannah’s tendency to get carsick. Welcome to America … where’s the bucket? Little did we know that would be a theme throughout our trip! Glad we picked up extra “air-sickness” bags in the plane.

We can’t ask for better accommodations when we are staying in America for a short time. Most of the time we are with Jayson’s family who loves to spoil the only grandchildren on that side. We have three rooms upstairs to sleep in, plus the formal living room for me to pack/unpack in, the family room which houses the girls’ toys that Emma remembered so well, and the kitchen where we eat much more than is necessary. We are truly all spoiled. Another great benefit is the side trips the girls can take with their grandparents to the library for story time, or the park for some swinging. This gives Jayson some time to keep up with his work in Egypt, and me some time to run around and gather all the gear we want to take back with us. This time, we even got to spend a night away by ourselves, which is a rare treat, and is another story in itself.

All in all, we slept in four different locations, although Jayson took a side trip giving him five spots, and logged many miles on a graciously loaned minivan driving from Central New Jersey to Eastern PA to Central PA, back through Eastern PA on the way to Washington DC and finally ending our time in Central New Jersey. Our home in Eastern PA was new to us all as my parents moved in the last year. It was a beautiful spot for the girls to play in, both inside and outside.

The guest room upstairs, which was prepared at least partially with them in mind, was perfect, as was the whole second floor which we had all to ourselves. Our youngest got to sleep in a cradle handed down through generations which first held my great grandfather over 125 years ago.

Life is different in PA as our three girls are joined by 11 other cousins and we got to spend a little time with all of them. We went on a few outings with two of the closest-in-age cousins including McDonald’s Playland, Friendly’s ice cream, and a picnic in the park.

Almost all the cousins got together for a rousing game of bowling,

and the next day enjoyed each other’s company at a big family dinner at the new house. Emma and Hannah blended in with all the cousins as if they hadn’t been thousands of miles away for the last year. It was a wonderful time to watch them ride bikes and play together. One of the highlights too, was going out to dinner with all my siblings and parents … just the adults! Great for us, and fun for the girls as two of their cousins babysat!

Life got interesting as we took an overnight trip to central PA. The girls wore out two of their uncles tackling them and running them around for two hours at a local park.

They enjoyed being read to and playing games with M&M’s and attending soccer practice where their uncles coach. The excursion would have been perfect, if not for a broken down car two hours before we planned to leave for the other side of PA, and then about six episodes of car-sickness in our borrowed vehicle which got us to our destination by about 2am.

We were really having a great time with so many different people, and the girls were sleeping well wherever we went. Unfortunately, Emma was sick on her birthday, so she got to visit a doctor in America, and couldn’t eat cake on her special day, but she was a trooper and enjoyed her brand new Candy Land and Play-Do Spaghetti Factory despite not feeling well.

We were so busy going to and fro that it was almost hard to remember that the reason we came to America hadn’t even happened yet! Our last weekend there, we headed to DC for the big wedding. All the family gathered, but pity poor Uncle Michael, who got our car repaired and was rewarded with the smell of car-sickness all the way there.

Coming soon: The Wedding…

Tags United States

Personal

Motherhood

As I sat in the middle of the baby pool the other day, and let my daughters and some other kids pour water over my head and giggle with delight, I thought to myself, “Ah, this is the life. My kids are happy. I am making other kids happy. Today I am a good mom.” Of course, it wasn’t too hard to sit there and get cold water poured on me when it was 90 degrees out. So at that moment, it wasn’t too hard to be a “good mom.”

However, the day before, I spent about 20 minutes holding onto my crying, screaming 3½ year old as she said over and over again, “I want to go swimming RIGHT now. I want to go swimming RIGHT now.” And even then I was pretty calm, “No, Emma, I have already told you we aren’t going swimming right now. We have other things to do today and we will swim tomorrow.” But no matter how many times I said it or how calmly I spoke, her message was the same over and over again. And the ironic thing was, she was about to be disciplined for continuing to say this once we told her the answer was no. But I couldn’t discipline her in her current state. I had to wait until she calmed down. Even after I left her for a few minutes, and found that the wading pool had been taken down for the day, she insisted that, “No, it’s still there and I want to go swimming RIGHT now!” She wasn’t thinking or speaking rationally. But hey, she’s a 3 year old in the midst of a tantrum. This was not “the life” and I was not enjoying this at all.

Motherhood has its ups and downs. I watch and listen as my two older girls play together so nicely and hear my 2 year old offer her sister some cookies or pretzels. “Oh how great it is that they play together like that. And Hannah is sharing without being told! Yeah! We’re doing something right.” And then, less than five minutes later, I hear screams coming from the same room as Hannah teases Emma about being “this” or “that” or Emma grabs a toy from Hannah that she deems hers. “Ugh, why can’t you two get along?” is my thought which I often voice in a louder than necessary voice.

Recently I’ve noticed Emma being the Mom as Hannah is the child. Nice game. Except when I hear Emma speaking harshly to Hannah about something. “Emma, you don’t talk to your sister like that!” And then I realize, she is being the mom, and who does she learn that harsh voice from? It must be me. Surely I don’t speak like that all the time? And yet, when I do, is it necessary? I want the girls to know I’m serious, but am I loving at the same time? I don’t want Emma to speak that way to Hannah, but in truth, I speak that way to both of them at times.

I always considered myself an easy-going person. And yet, if my children knew the meaning of easy-going, and you asked them if that described me, I doubt the answer would be yes! How can I lose my patience with them so quickly?

Sometimes I get so frustrated when they disobey or forget a rule for the 100^th time. “How many times do I have to tell you not to jump around Layla?!” And yet, God quickly reminds me that I disobey Him or “forget” his laws way more than 100 times. “Julie, they are my children, just like you are. Show them mercy. Give them grace. Speak the truth…in love. Nurture them.”

It’s a 24-7 job, and sometimes I feel I am not cut out for it. Yet my children are so forgiving. Less than five minutes after I lose my cool and speak harshly with them about something, they come running to me for comfort when they fall and hurt themselves. Why would they want to come to ME for comfort? I’m the mom, I suppose. It’s one of the perks of the job.

Sometime I apologize to the girls for not being patient. And a few times, when Emma notices that I am getting angry, she says, “Mommy, pray to God so you won’t get angry.” It’s funny the emotions that come when she says that. I am often not ready for such a word at that moment, and it makes me more angry. Angry that she is right. At the moment, I don’t want to let go of my anger and let God change me, but I want Emma to learn to pray to God in situations like this, so I try to pray, and it calms me down. Out of the mouth of babes…

I have a lot to learn and a long way to go in this journey of motherhood. God, give me wisdom. Protect my children from my faults. Guide me in the way I should go. And, oh yes, thank you for the three wonderful blessings you have given me to teach me all about motherhood.

Tags Egypt, Motherhood

Personal

American Interest in Egypt

A surefire way to determine a person’s priorities is to look at his or her budget and expenditures. The necessities of life demand their share, to be sure, but what becomes of disposable income? Check your own most recent bank statement, and take stock of the results. Are they what you would wish, or did you stumble into a situation you would like to revise?

Can the same test hold true for nations? If so, do the results reflect determined policy or simple inertia?

Many Egyptian activists have criticized the decision of President Obama’s administration to cut funding for the promotion of democracy by $5 million. Furthermore, these funds must be directed to NGOs and civil society organizations registered and approved by the government. On one hand this seems only natural – should the US government allow foreign donations to be received by quasi-legitimate Islamic charities, for example, which may or may not have ties to terrorist agencies?

On the other hand these same Egyptian activists would flip this comparison in their favor, stating that the government views ‘civil society’ as a threat in the same manner the US would look at these under-the-radar charities. Though this is a stretch, they maintain that Mubarak’s government only admits registration to those organizations which will not contest its rule. By funding only registered NGOs, it is said, the US ‘promotion of democracy’ only further entrenches the effective one party system which has existed since the military revolution of 1952.

The $5 million reduction is a full one-fifth decline from the previous allotment of $25 million. For all the grief President Bush received in Egypt for his policy in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Israel, many of these activists will praise him for the pressure he placed on the Mubarak government which, they say, genuinely opened the civil society field and resulted in greater freedoms across the board. Conversely, President Obama stands accused, at least by one prominent activist, as returning to the days in which the US openly ‘coddled dictators’.

When one discusses numbers in the millions a sense of precision can be lost. I live here; I have a general sense of what civil society organizations do. I have no idea, however, where even a reduced figure of $20 million is being expended. Though I don’t know who does or does not receive US aid, there are good organizations doing good work. $20 million is a staggering sum; add it up here and there and surely it can be found. It would be a fair question to research, though: However defined, does the investment result in $20 million of ‘good’?

This discussion is interesting enough, but the opening thought begged a look at priorities. A $5 million reduction suggests the Obama administration is less interested in the promotion of democracy than his predecessor. ‘Less interested’ is found to be a matter of degree, however, when the rest of US government aid to Egypt is considered:

$20 million – promotion of democracy

$35 million – education ($10 million of which is for Egyptians studying in the US)

$250 million – economic aid

Now wait…

$1.3 billion – military aid

Suddenly, $5 million becomes a drop in the bucket.

Egypt solidified its status as a close ally of the US with the signings of the Camp David accords, resulting in the reception of such aid packages every year thereafter. Since that time Egypt has fought no wars, with Israel or anyone else; why is this aid necessary?

While the Obama administration has been accused in the US as favoring Arab interests over Israeli, longstanding American policy, Obama’s rhetoric notwithstanding, has given Israel almost free reign to extend its will in the Palestinian territories. Those who push the envelope, however, suggesting Israel to be America’s 51^st state, or more cynically, America’s boss, do not realize the significance of this military aid.

A strong Egyptian military is a necessary counterbalance to the weight of Israeli forces. Both are bankrolled by the US, of course, but if there was not a readiness in Cairo to engage in military combat, Israel would have to pay no attention whatsoever to international (including US) cries for a just settlement of the Palestinian issue. US military aid to Egypt maintains at least a semblance of regional balance of power.

Returning to cynicism, however, there can be another deduction from the breakdown of US aid to Egypt. Where are US priorities? Promotion of democracy? Yes. Education and economics? Yes.

Stability of a regional player? Absolutely. The US maintains genuine interest in political reform and expansion of freedoms. Why else would it invest millions of dollars otherwise available to domestic interests? Cynicism may respond that when differentiation is lost in the understanding of ‘millions and billions’, even the drop in the bucket can appear as a sizeable investment. This number can be paraded to US voters who view America as the city upon a hill with missionary mandate to make the world safe for democracy. At the same time, the other (larger) number can assure the establishment that such idealism will only go so far.

I wish never to surrender to cynicism. Accounting, however, is another matter. As an idealistic American, I do not wish to believe our pangs for worldwide freedom are insincere. A brief look at our foreign policy, however, makes hopeful belief difficult. How do idealism and the pursuit of national interests mix in Iraq, Afghanistan, or Yemen? The world is a complex place, and realpolitik is the mastery of complexity.

If, however, these international engagements have been completely devoid of pure motivation underneath its justifying rhetoric, faith in our system, this great experiment, is severely tested. Let us then surrender to the ways of the world, the quest for empire, and ultimately, a few pages in the textbook of history for the coming centuries.

No, America is good. I will hold this like a tenet of faith. When faith is measured, though, will it be found to equal $20 million? Slightly more (if adding in education funding), or slightly less (after accounting for inefficiency and corruption)?

What does this mean for Egypt? I’m sure this is not a revelation to experts in the field who have followed US-Egyptian relations for years, but it can be disheartening for the idealistic neophyte wishing good for all. America does care (I trust) for the gradual political reform of Egypt, but it cares far more deeply for the preservation of the existing state of affairs. President Mubarak is aging, there is no clear successor, and no viable opposition. The only candidate currently attracting attention (legitimately mobilizing a popular longing for change) is constitutionally bound from running for president unless he joins an existing political party, which he has stated he will not do. What is coming next?

There is no need for fear, or hope. The ruling system stems from the power of the military, whose strongest ally is the US government. A radical departure from the status quo is highly unlikely.

Simply balance the checkbook and see.

Tags Civil Society, Egypt, Israel, Mubarak, United States

Personal

Ramadan Wanderings

It was 11pm and I had 40,000 Egyptian pounds (approx. $8000) in my bag sitting on the seat beside me in the taxi, which was stuck in traffic. This was another night out during Ramadan.

Having three young children, I don’t go out much after dark as their bed time is 8pm. But during the month of Ramadan here in Egypt, stores change their schedules to accommodate the fasting that occurs during daylight, and feasting that takes place during dark. Whereas the best time for me to run errands is in the morning after dropping Emma off at preschool, some stores don’t open until noon or 2pm, and then they close for a few hours as people break the fast and conduct their special Ramadan prayers, only to open again from 9pm until midnight or later. So a few times this month, I found myself walking the streets of Maadi after dark running errands.

A couple times I ventured into a slightly lower class area in north Maadi, not far from our new home, where I was trying to get a blender fixed and some pants shortened. My attempts to buy ice cream at a place I recently found had mixed results. I was successful two times when I went around 10pm, but the day I went during daylight I was told they only sold ice cream at night after everyone broke their fast.

I had an idea that our family should take a walk one night after fast-breaking so the girls could see some of the lights that decorate the houses during Ramadan, and so Jayson could see one of the main streets in our new neighborhood. The plan was to walk to the main street around 7:30pm, an hour after fast-breaking, and then get ice cream at the local shop which has great ice cream for only two Egyptian pounds a scoop (approx. 40 cents). Can’t beat that deal when it comes to an ice cream store! So, all day long, I told the girls we were going for a walk that night and would have a “surprise.” So after dinner, the girls climbed into the big stroller (double) and the small stroller (umbrella) and took off north for about a ten minute walk. We pointed out the decorations on people’s houses and the girls enjoyed that. Every time she saw a light on a house, Hannah would say, “Ramadan!” Jayson got to see the main street which was only starting to liven up now that people had eaten their main meal. After another hour or so, the street would be busy with people shopping and drinking tea. Unfortunately, when we arrived at the ice cream store, the surprise was on me! They weren’t going to open until after Ramadan prayers … maybe 8:30 or so, and we really didn’t want to wait for half an hour or more at that point. So, I walked across the street and bought some nasty ice cream novelties which saved the surprise for the girls, but didn’t really appease my sweet tooth! Chalk it up to a learning experience.

Another night Jayson and I got to enjoy the spirit of Ramadan as his work colleagues took a trip downtown to break the fast all together. We met at some outdoor tables right outside Khan-al-Khalili, the famous market bazaar of Cairo, and enjoyed a delicious and quickly-served meal. As the call to prayer sounded, everyone in the whole courtyard began to eat at once. It was a fun atmosphere and surprisingly good food. We topped the evening off with a wonderful performance by the Tannoura group not too far from where we ate dinner. This was a free show of Sufi singing, dancing, twirling, and instrumentalists. Some of their stuff was pretty amazing. I would definitely recommend it. All in all, the night wasn’t too late as we were home by about 11:30.

And now onto this night. We would be traveling in just a few days, and Jayson needed some help with work errands as he had more than he really had time for before leaving. I offered to take the Euros he withdrew from the bank for work expenses, and exchange it at the moneychanger. Again, hours of operation weren’t totally conducive to my schedule with three young girls. So, this was the night I could venture out at 10pm to change the money. Unfortunately, with all of the shopping and feasting at night, the traffic is pretty heavy, so as we slowly crawled along, I considered getting out and walking home. I could probably walk it in about half an hour. But since I had so much money in my bag and it was 11pm, I thought it would be safer to stay in the taxi. Besides, I didn’t really feel like walking by this point in the day; I would rather have been sleeping!

I eventually made it home on this, my last night of Ramadan wanderings. Or, at least until next year, when we may attempt another night out for ice cream, and see what errands take me out on the streets of Maadi way past my bedtime!

Tags Cairo, Egypt, Khan al-Khalili, Maadi, Ramadan

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Bureaucracy and a Baby

A few days ago, I remembered something just before falling asleep. I’m so glad I did because who knows what problems it would have caused in September when we try to travel to the states for a few weeks. I remembered that we needed to get our 10-week old baby girl, Layla, an Egyptian entry stamp in her passport. Without it, she may not leave the country. And seeing as our flight is at 3am, I don’t know what would have happened if her passport was blank.

When Layla was born here in Cairo a couple months ago, we followed the procedures that were clearly outlined on the US Embassy page about obtaining a US birth certificate and passport for her. It required three trips to the embassy, but not too much hassle. At the time, we also read that an American baby born in Cairo requires an entry stamp in her US passport in order to leave the country. We had a lot going on at the time we picked up her new passport, though, so we forgot about that little detail until the other night.

Today was the day I tried to take care of that detail, and it required a trip to the dreaded “mugamma” in downtown Cairo. This was my first time to experience the place where all foreigners must go to renew visas, apply for residency, etc. Apparently, it is also the place for Egyptians to go for marriage licenses and the like, so, a lot of paperwork goes through that place in a day. Previously Jayson has taken care of visas and such at the mugamma, but this is a very busy time at work for him, and it just wasn’t possible for him to take care of this errand.

So, this morning, I packed Emma and Hannah a breakfast and lunch and sent them both to preschool. Hannah is always looking for opportunities to stay with Emma at preschool, and today was the perfect time for that. I took Layla with me and boarded the metro for the quickest and cheapest ride downtown.

I’ve written about the metro before (click here) and once again, boarded the women’s car for the ride. Immediately, a woman rose from her seat for me to sit down, and as I was sitting down, she preceded to try to cover Layla with the thin blanket I had. I thanked her, but unwrapped Layla right away as the temperature here is in the 90s, and I felt that Layla was plenty warm. Later on in the trip, another woman asked me to reposition Layla as she felt like her head was not comfortable. Very kind and doting women watching out for my baby. It’s nice.

We arrived at Sadat square without a problem and took the exit that brings you up right in front of the massive building which is the mugamma. I went to the entrance where they had walk-through metal detectors which didn’t seem to be on, as well as bag screeners which I almost had to put my backpack on until I told the woman I didn’t have a camera. Apparently that was the only security concern. I went inside and up the stairs where Jayson had described is the Immigration and Visa section. I got to know the path up the stairs and around the winding hallway past about 50 windows very well as I walked it several times in the next few hours.

After walking almost to the end of the hallway, reading the signs above the 50 windows and trying to figure out which one applied to me, I finally talked to someone at window 12. She sent me downstairs to make copies of some papers first of all, then told me to fill out the application and take it to window 32. So, I went all the way back down the hallway, past the 50 windows and downstairs to the copy center for my copies. Then back up the steps, past 32 windows until I came to the one she told me about which said “refugee” processing. Wasn’t sure that’s what I needed, but the person in window 33 was helpful. Unfortunately, it seemed I needed another document. She told me to go to “Ism Abdeen” to get a computerized birth certificate for Layla. We had the written one we received shortly after her birth here, but apparently that wasn’t good enough. After asking the name of the place several times so I could tell a taxi driver where I needed to go, I took my envelope of passports and important documents, my backpack and little Layla down the stairs, outside and to the street to find a taxi.

The taxi driver was helpful, but not sure exactly where I needed to go. We decided to go to the police station in Abdeen and ask from there. We then realized that we needed to go to “qism Abdeen” whose name makes more sense. Arabic speakers may be familiar with the Egyptian habit of dropping the “Qaph” sound which in this case made it sound like a different word to my untrained ear. Anyway, we found the place and the driver told me it should just take me 5 minutes, that it is a simple procedure to get the computerized document.

I went inside and up two flights of steps to the one place in all of Cairo where you must go for a computerized birth certificate. It wasn’t too crowded, but the woman behind the window told me the computer wasn’t working currently and to sit and wait. In the meantime, though, I could walk to the post office, about two blocks away, to buy a 20 pound stamp (about $4) for my original copy. So, I went back down the flights of stairs, outside and followed her directions, stopping in one store to be sure I was going the right way, and after five minutes, arrived at the post office. This was the nicest building I was in all day … not too crowded, air-conditioned, and very clean. It was easy to purchase the stamp and head back to the other building.

When I arrived, I checked with the woman again who told me it still wasn’t working, but that I should keep waiting. By this time it was about 10am and close to Layla’s feeding time. She was sleeping peacefully on my shoulder and I wasn’t sure how much time I would have to sit and feed her there. It was a fairly comfortable spot and it could have been done, but I opted to wait a bit and feed her later. I was hoping to do all the running around necessary and then feed her while I waited for any processing they had to do at the mugamma.

In the meantime, I had a nice conversation with the woman sitting next to me who told me it was her third trip to this office in the last few days as each time the computers weren’t working and she needed a certificate for her son by tomorrow for college. She told me this was the only place that printed this document which was a problem since there was no recourse if the computers didn’t work. What I gathered from talking to her was that you need this document for many things: school registration, college entrance, or even registering for the army. But it seems like it’s a more recent requirement as previously all birth certificates were hand-written. I’m not sure how long the computerized ones have been around, but she recommended getting several copies to have them just in case.

After about 20 minutes, there was some movement in the room as somehow someone learned that computers were working again. A line quickly formed and I had just decided to start feeding Layla, so I figured I would do that, then the line would die down and I would get my papers and go. Instead, the initial woman I talked to behind the window, came out to me, got the handwritten certificate and took it behind the counter where she immediately printed me 5 copies. It was very kind and very quick, but I felt a little uncomfortable with the seemingly preferential treatment. Here I was getting my copies, while everyone else stood in line next to me. I’m not sure why she did that. Was it because I was the only foreigner in the room, or because I was carrying my 10-week old baby? Either way, I was grateful, postponed Layla’s feeding longer, and headed downstairs to catch a taxi back to the mugamma.

I went in the entrance, once again telling the security there that I had no camera in my backpack, and back upstairs, and past the first 32 windows. This time the place was considerably more crowded than earlier. All the seats lining the walls were filled, and people were standing everywhere. I wondered where I might sit to feed Layla when I got the opportunity. At window 32, the woman I had talked to previously, looked at my papers, did some arranging, and then directed me to an officer at a desk slightly behind me for a signature. This is where the “waiting in line” became a bit annoying—mainly because there weren’t really any lines. A crowd was gathered around the desk, each one pleading his case, and I was just standing there waiting for a signature. I didn’t speak up, but held my spot by the desk, trying to show I had a baby in my arms, and eventually I got noticed. He signed my paper and sent me to window 6.

An interesting thing I noticed in the mugamma was the “No Smoking” signs posted all over the walls. I saw them earlier, but had also smelled smoke, but wasn’t sure I had actually seen anyone smoking. When I was waiting in line for the officer to sign my paper, there was a “No Smoking” sign directly behind him, and a cigarette in his mouth. I realized that if I visited the mugamma the very next day, which was the first day of Ramadan, there would be no smoking in the whole place.

As I waited in the next several lines, I have to admit, I wanted preferential treatment once again. After all, I was holding a baby. However, my baby was very content even though it was getting more and more past her regular feeding time, she slept or sucked her thumb the whole time. At the same time, I had to remind myself, that everyone waiting here probably had a reason that they, too, should get preferential treatment. And besides, I had just been treated to a bump-up in line that probably saved me half an hour back at the other office. These were good things to remember as the pushing and line-jumping and general standing and waiting got long at times.

I arrived at window 6 and waited for a couple minutes wondering if this would be my last window to wait at, but when I got to the front, they told me I was supposed to be at a different window 6 down a different corridor. Ugh. So, I went to the other window 6 and eventually, it was my turn. The woman did some things and gave me some directions for what was next in rapid Arabic, and all I really understood was that I needed another signature from an officer, but not the same one as before. So, I went around the corner and found an officer sitting at a nice desk in an air-conditioned office speaking to another couple. After a couple minutes, I hesitatingly entered the office, and sure enough, this was the right place. He signed something and sent me to window 41.

When I got there, several people were in line and I wasn’t positive this was the right window. By that point, I really didn’t want to wait in any wrong lines, but after a couple minutes, I got to the front, the woman wrote some things on the paper and said “you’re finished” in English. I questioned her as no one had put anything in Layla’s passport yet and that’s what I came for, and apparently what she meant was that I was finished with this window and could go back to the window 6 I had recently come from.

So, back to window 6, but fortunately, an officer was standing in that area trying to expedite things. He gave my application to a young soldier who went to find out where I needed to go next. I ended up back near the “refugee” window where I had started out, and the woman behind the counter wrote some things in a couple different books and asked when we were traveling. Meanwhile, the six or seven ladies behind her, sitting at a table, noticed Layla and started talking about her. After a couple minutes, one of the ladies came out to where I was and took Layla from me, and walked away. I kind of asked where she was going, but I also knew. Layla was getting her turn behind the counter.

Kids attract a lot of attention in these countries, and I remember Emma being taken behind the counter at the telephone company in Tunisia multiple times. She would sometimes sit on the counter while one of the employees let her play with the phone or a pen. A couple times, she was taken behind a door and came out a few minutes later with a cookie or cake or something sweet. These ladies who worked at the telephone company watched my belly grow when I was pregnant with Hannah so after she was born and finally came out of the stroller, they took her back there to show her off as well. This is why I didn’t react too strongly when they came and took Layla from me. We’re kind of used to it.

So finally after about ten minutes at this window, the woman handed me Layla’s passport and told me to come back in one week to get the stamp. In the meantime, they have the application and a copy of the passport. I’m not sure what they are going to do in a week’s time, or why they couldn’t just put a stamp in the passport right there, but I am hoping that my trip to the mugamma next week is short and sweet. It was a lot of hassle, but not as dreadful as some have said. And when I thought about why I was there, it’s a small price to pay to be able to take our baby with us when we leave the country!

Tags Bureaucracy, Cairo, Egypt, Mugamma

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Communion

Tonight I attended the weekly service at the local international evangelical church. We attend there sporadically, maybe once every three months, as we have been worshipping at the Orthodox Church, hoping to learn more and participate in the primary church of Egypt.

Since it was the first Sunday of the month, as is typical in many evangelical churches I know, it was also communion Sunday. It was the first time in awhile that I had taken communion, which is somewhat strange since this is offered every week in the Orthodox Church. Due to doctrinal differences, however, but mainly to the fact that we haven’t been baptized Orthodox, while we are welcome to attend the service, we are not welcome to partake in communion.

It was an interesting experience for me after being away from it for so long, and witnessing a different tradition in the meantime. Many thoughts ran through my head:

“Oh yes, the first Sunday of the month … communion Sunday.”

“The pastor said we would come to the front to take communion … something a little different. Why is it that the churches who do communion less frequently (such as evangelical churches who often do this once a month) are the ones who find the need to ‘change up’ the method of distributing communion? Meanwhile, the church which does this every week, or even more than that, will never change the way it is done. Ironic.”

“The Orthodox firmly believe that the elements become the physical body and blood of Jesus. They believe they are participating in Jesus’ suffering on the cross as they take into themselves the holy body and blood of Jesus. They can’t let a crumb drop to the ground so they cover their mouths with a napkin after the priest puts a piece of bread in their mouth. And yet that is not my tradition. I simply see these elements as representing Jesus’ body and blood. Something He told us to do to remember His suffering. So as I put the juice-dipped bread in my mouth, I asked myself, or rather, asked Jesus, ‘Who is right? Are you pleased with this? What is the point of this ceremony?’”

I have often struggled with seeing Jesus’ death on the cross in a real way. Sure, I believe it happened and I believe He did it for me, and it was a horrible, painful thing for Him. But I’ve rarely been able to really appreciate what He went through for me. I think it comes from growing up in the church and Jesus’ death on the cross being part of my life from childhood … it has become so familiar. So I understand my evangelical friends who try to “change up” the way communion is presented so that it doesn’t become rote and without meaning. We don’t want to be passive and do things out of habit. Making us get out of our seats and walk to the front of the church gets us somewhat involved, rather than waiting for the elements to be passed to us. And yet, we can still remember Jesus’ death in a real way, as we wait for the elements to come to us in their silver plates and miniature cups.

Another experience I’ve had was in Jordan. Jayson and I really enjoyed our times of communion at the church we attended there. This evangelical church followed many Brethren practices, so we had communion every week. It was a small, intimate service which included hymn-singing and a short challenge, followed by all of us, anywhere from 15-40 people, gathered around the Lord’s table, passing along a piece of bread and breaking off a bit for ourselves. Then we would pass around the common cup of wine, drink a sip, and wipe off the cup for the next believer to partake. There was something special about standing there in a circle, being able to see the faces of our fellow worshippers, reciting together the passages from Corinthians regarding Paul’s teaching on the Lord’s Supper and partaking from the same loaf of bread and common cup. Maybe I felt more of the fellowship of the saints, rather than the suffering of the Saviour, but it was a special time.

And now, unable to be part of such a fellowship on a regular basis, does this keep me from remembering Jesus’ death? How often should I specifically seek to remember his death? He told us to “remember His death ‘til he comes.” My tradition seeks to do this once a month. Others partake of the Lord’s Supper each week. Either method leaves room for forgetting Him in between, or doing this out of habit. Lord, let me remember your death daily, thanking you and serving you for your sacrifice for me.

Postscript: Following a post a few days ago on a similar subject – This Also is True – an Orthodox reader from the United States commented with an impassioned and Biblical defense of their view of communion. For those interested in this subject, I encourage you to take a look and consider what he says. Unfortunately, we cannot provide a link directly to his comment, but if you click on the title above and scroll down, you will find the dialogue between us. Here or there, please feel free to join in, be it to reflect and consider, support, or challenge what he has to say.

Tags Christianity, Communion, Coptic, Egypt, Evangelical, Orthodoxy

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CNN on Egypt

Here’s a short post to draw your attention to a video CNN has just produced on a figure named Mohamed el-Baradei. He is the Egyptian former head of the International Atomic Energy Agency, and is now taking a lead role in the push for ‘change’ in his homeland. He is touted as a presidential candidate in 2011, but many legal obstacles stand in his way, as well as his own hesitation and reluctance. Many in Egypt welcome him with open arms, others view him as a threat, and some believe in his ideals but not in his ability to lead. He is a fascinating character, and if you would like a look into the current and coming political scene in Egypt, this video would be a good place to start.

Click here to view the video on cnn.com.

Tags CNN, Egypt, Mohamed el-Baradei

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Anniversary Stats Abroad

Aug. 10, 2010 marks eight years of wedded bliss for Jayson and me. We’ve always liked to say that we’re still on our honeymoon, and like both sets of my grandparents, we are aiming for about 65 years of marriage. One set lived almost their entire life in the same town; the other has lived everywhere and traveled the world. The other day as we were talking about our eight years together, we started to think of some interesting (to us, at least) stats for that relatively short period of time. It appears we follow one particular application of the grandparent model…

Years of Marriage: 8

Years without children: 4

Years with children: 4

Countries we’ve lived in: 4

States we’ve visited and stayed in for extended periods of time: 4

Countries we’ve visited: 8, 9 depending on how you count Palestine

Number of trans-Atlantic flights: 13

Countries children have been born in: 3

Number of times we’ve bought furniture to furnish an apartment: 3

Number of apartments/houses we have lived in together…for at least 3 months: 8

We’ve had a fairly active eight years, and are actually hoping to be a bit more settled in the next eight. It will be interesting to see the stats at year sixteen!

Tags Egypt, Marriage, Travel

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Hannah’s Thumb

Our two year old, Hannah, is a thumb-sucker. She started this habit around the age of three months. She was a fussy baby in general, and she fought for awhile to find her thumb. And when she did, it calmed her a bit. She looked so cute sucking her left thumb while sleeping. And it stuck with her as she got older and less fussy. We never tried giving our girls a pacifier. I don’t really have anything against them, just one less thing to pack and remember in all our travels. At least with the thumb, you can’t forget to bring it with you!

In our time living among Arabs in different countries, we’ve noticed that they aren’t fond of babies putting anything in their mouths. Maybe that’s a generalization, but I’m sure there is good reason. Egypt, for example, is quite dirty and dusty outside, and so putting dirty little hands into little mouths isn’t a good idea. I, however, don’t think it’s a bad thing for them to put hands and chew toys in their mouths, as I believe it’s part of their development. At the same time, I really get grossed out by the combination of dirt and little hands in mouths.

And so Hannah has been a thumb-sucker for the last two years and has been told many times in two different countries, that she should not put her thumb in her mouth. She doesn’t generally heed the advice. When we first arrived in Egypt last summer, an acquaintance told us they knew of a woman who was still sucking her thumb when she got married. Therefore, Hannah should stop now! I am not too afraid that she will still be sucking her thumb when she is marrying age.

Some of our friends consistently ask why Hannah sucks her thumb or continue to tell Hannah to stop. Now that she is getting closer to 2½, we are also encouraging her not to suck her thumb at certain times. Emma was not a thumb-sucker, so I don’t have experience with breaking this habit, but one idea I’ve heard of involves limiting their thumb-sucking to nap and nighttimes. I like the idea and we are slowly beginning to put that idea into Hannah’s head. We are also telling her she cannot start preschool until she stops sucking her thumb during the day, which gives her until she is 2½. I think this may work, but only time will tell.

Presently, Hannah is sucking her thumb now more than a few months ago. I think it has something to do with the presence of a new little someone in our house. Hannah loves her sister, Layla, and the pictures below will attest to that. One of Hannah’s favorite activities right now is to lay next to Layla and just watch her, all the while, sucking her thumb. I’m not sure if Layla will learn from that! But, while Hannah loves her new baby sister, it is also a big change for her, and has brought with it some insecurity which her thumb helps her replace. So for now, I don’t mind her using her thumb for some extra comfort. But as she gets more and more love from us, and her new sister, I hope that she can gradually let go of her thumb.

Update: Hannah got a cut on the thumb yesterday, and has had a band-aid since, which has kept her thumb out of her mouth. She has seemed a bit whiny since then, suggesting that she has lost, at least temporarily, her coping mechanism. We may just extend the lifespan of this band-aid, though, and see if she can drop the habit before it comes off.

Tags Egypt, Sucking, Thumb

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This Also is True

The central feature of the Coptic Orthodox liturgy is the celebration of communion. Consumed as the final element of the mass, much of what comes before is preparation. Early on, before most people arrive, are Bible readings and traditional hymns, followed by a sermon aimed to connect both to the Gospel text of the day and the lives of the Coptic faithful. By then most are in attendance, and priests and congregation alike repeat the words establishing the foremost mystery – Jesus present in body and blood.

As the priest prepares the host he chants from the passage in Luke in which Jesus institutes the Lord’s Supper:

Take, eat of it, all of you, for this is my body, which is broken for you and for many, to be given for the remission of sins. Do this in remembrance of me.

The people reply: This is true. Amen.

Then follows the presentation of the cup, and the priest proclaims:

Take, drink of it, all of you, for this is my blood of the new covenant which is shed for you and for many, to be given for the remission of sins. Do this in remembrance of me.

The people reply: This also is true. Amen.

As an aside, before returning to this mystery, then follows my favorite part of the mass, in which the congregation sings:

Amen. Amen. Amen. Your death, O Lord, we proclaim. Your holy resurrection and ascension, we confess. We praise you, we bless you, we thank You, O Lord, and we entreat you, O our God.

These sentiments are repeated throughout the mass: I believe, I confess, this is true. The priest states an understanding of the Eucharist, and the people respond: Amen, amen, amen… Lord have mercy. It is as if the utter impossibility of the event itself – bread and wine becoming flesh and blood, and that of a crucified man nearly 2,000 years ago – demands constant sublimation of the message. Appropriately, at a certain interval, all are invited to prostrate before the holy host. Many are familiar with the sight of Muslims with forehead bowed in reverence to God; though pew position disallows most Copts from complete prostration, most adjust their bodies to the degree possible. In monasteries, lacking any impediments, all humble themselves with their face to the ground.

Raised in Protestant tradition, I have little connection to these pious practices. Communion is a time of remembrance, not an infusion of the transubstantiated Son of God into my being. I label them pious; upon observing the mass many would be excepted. The congregation is prompted to confirm, “This also is true” – quite a few mutter along unengaged. At the moment of prostration, group ethics demand a response, but some heads are bowed only minimally. Among the worshippers seated on the sides of the church (and thus not facing east as demanded by tradition), a good percentage fail to turn their bodies appropriately.

In these observations no disrespect is intended; the repetition of any established pattern naturally lessens the experience of its import. What I would like to highlight is the degree to which an incident today demonstrated unequivocally that Jesus’ presence is a matter of deep conviction.

When communion commences, the men line up at the left of the church, the women at the right, and they receive a cloth napkin. Upon reaching the iconostasis the priests emerge to place the bread in the mouths of the supplicants, after which they proceed to the central aisle where another priest spoons the wine. After each element is received the napkin is placed over their mouths lest anything fall to ground.

In this particular church, women tend to outnumber the men, and as such the last few minutes consist of the final few ladies making their way through the line, some of whom carry their babies who also partake. Today it so happened that one of these babies received his portion of bread, but when the mother lowered him toward the priest to pour from the spoon, the bread, unrestrained in his toothless mouth, fell to the floor.

I cannot tell if the congregation noticed. By this time most are shuffling back into their seats or even out the door. Communion is the point of church – though there are a few minor rituals remaining, many have stopped paying attention. The priest, woman, and those around, however, were jolted into confusion. Immediately the priest bent down and placed the morsel back in the baby’s mouth, as his mother looked on horrified. When it fell again the mother quickly descended to pick it up. The priest, though, was quicker, and pushed the woman’s hand away. This time he put the bread into the woman’s mouth, and mother and child filed away into the anonymity of the crowd.

This woman was the next-to-last participant, and the one after her received the wine without incident, and the priest returned behind the curtain to join his colleagues and the deacons in cleaning the communion implements. This final worshipper, however, was still a little unsettled. She looked down at the ground where the bread had fallen, stepped to the side, and walked around. She took all care that her feet would not trample on Jesus, should any of his presence remain where he fell.

What should be made of such faith? That which struck me the most was that this belief was real. Not in the sense of intellectual credence, but of tangible reality. I cannot say if these women love their families, are considerate to others, or pray on a daily basis. Do they know God? Do they love him?

They know however, at the deepest core of their being, that Jesus is present in the bread and the wine. Maybe this is not true; maybe it is only a constructed social mechanism. Yet a further question is this: Assuming, of course, that God and Jesus somehow go together, does this faith please God?

According to Biblical testimony, God seems quite ready to receive flawed faith. Elisha the prophet bid the healed leper Naaman on his way with a barrelful of dirt on which to worship God in the manner of his idolatrous understanding. Jesus healed the paralytic at the pool of Bethesda who had no one to help him in when the angel descended to stir the waters. Surely other examples could be gathered.

Perhaps the most relevant example, though, should come from an essayist who believes that God loves and accepts him, yet cannot refrain from wondering at the legitimacy of the faith of others. No matter how orthodox my creedal faith, such an attitude betrays a pride and superiority unbefitting a creature of God. That he welcomes me into his family, despite such flaws, should give hope to us all. There may be many pretty sentiments I can conjure, but until I perceive God’s presence as fully as the women I observed today, I must remain their pupil.

Tags Christianity, Communion, Coptic, Egypt, Orthodoxy

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Layla’s Party

We’ve had three children in three different countries, which has given us a chance to see some interesting birth rites in each country. Emma was our first child, and we wanted to have her in America to be close to family and just for the first experience. And common to our North-eastern American culture, we had a couple baby showers before her birth to get the nursery ready for her arrival. Our second, Hannah, probably had the least fanfare, although not intentionally. She was born in Tunisia, and as timing had it, we traveled to the states about 5 weeks after her birth. For this reason, we asked parents not to come, but to save their money for another trip later. After all, everyone would be able to see the new baby just a few weeks after her birth. So, little Hannah had only a couple visitors in the hospital, and then a few more at our home there. She did get some gifts just for her both from friends in Tunisia and America, but we didn’t have any parties for her. Hope she doesn’t hold that against us in the future!

Now onto Layla in Egypt. We had all we needed supplies-wise, since she was girl number three. But we asked the two grandmothers to come to Egypt, bringing all the baby clothes with them, and to help us out for a month, both preceding and following her birth. In the meantime, some of my friends started to tell me about some cultural things here in Egypt surrounding new births. I first heard about the subuu’, which kind of translates as “week”, from my Muslim friend, Nuur. She is a great friend who lives right above us, and she has told me many things about Egypt and given great advice for living here. But as she explained this cultural tradition of welcoming a new baby a week after its birth, I wasn’t too sure about it. (Apparently this tradition stems from the ancient Egyptians who only celebrated the new baby a week after the birth when it was clear the baby would live.) It all sounded quite strange to me. There were seven different seeds that you spread around your house, and you lay the baby in a sieve and shake her, and you step over her several times, and light candles, and put things in water, and even put a knife in the sieve with the baby! Can you see why I wasn’t so sure about it? She told me that if I wanted to have one of these parties for our new baby, she could arrange it for me. I didn’t want to offend her by saying no, but I wasn’t excited about it either. A few weeks after I heard about this, we traveled south to Maghagha for the Christmas holiday. And here, Jayson attended part of a subuu’ with the priest we were staying with. The priest showed up for a short period of time, to hold the baby and pray. But some of the rituals I heard about, Jayson saw at least in part. This gave us the information that the subuu’ was a shared tradition here in Egypt among both Christians and Muslims. I still had reservations about it though.

A week or so before Layla’s birth, several classmates in the Coptic class Jayson attends told him he needs to have a party following Layla’s arrival. We thought this would be a good idea, and a chance to invite all the friends we have at one time, to come see the baby. Little did we know, the classmates had a subuu’ in mind.

When one of Jayson’s teachers arrived, she carried with her the “sieve.” This is what they call it, but they dress it up to look like a comfortable circular bed for the baby. Apparently the flowers that adorn it represent domesticity and purification (which is associated with the sifting of the flour.) Although I hadn’t arranged it myself, I was curious about this tradition surrounding a new baby, and now somewhat eager to see it take place. Once most of the people arrived at the party, the subuu’ began. Jayson was able to video most of it, so you can watch it yourself, but I’ll explain what happened first to give you some context.

First everyone was given a lit candle, including our 3 ½ year old, Emma, and our 2 year old, Hannah. This made me quite nervous and I quickly went to stand by them. Within a minute or two, Jayson’s mom put out their candles and let them hold onto them without being lit. Good idea. I could just imagine them burning themselves, or lighting our couches on fire! The video picks up as everyone walks around our living room, carrying their candles and chanting. I can’t really pick up what they are saying, but I believe it is some sort of nonsense rhyme. Meanwhile, I carry the guest of honor, Layla, in her sieve.

At about 1 ½ minutes into the walking, Jayson’s teacher takes Layla from me and begins to gently shake her, or rock her, depending how you want to put it. They arrange some space to place her on the floor, where I step over her seven times to show my authority over her. The rest of the crowd is counting in Arabic as I step over her. Hannah looks on, not sure what to make of this. As long as she doesn’t get any ideas for future games with the baby!

At the 3 minute mark, they pick her up and shake/rock her some more as another classmate pounds a noisemaker in her ear. This shaking and pounding are meant to immunize the child against the hustle and bustle of life and instill in it valor and courage against hardship. If you look at poor little Layla, however, she just looks nervous as she flails her little arms and legs all over. She is thinking, “what are you doing to me?!” Along with the pounding, the classmate is saying things like, “listen to your mother, listen to your father, listen to your aunt, listen to Emma, listen to Hannah, etc.”

Jayson then pans over to our dining room table where you can see Emma sitting underneath. She started out participating in the circle walk, but didn’t like the attention it was bringing her, and decided to hide out under that table. Little did she know that it brought her more attention going there as several people pointed out to me that she was under the table and perhaps jealous of Layla’s attention. I told them that actually, she was hiding from attention she felt directed her way.

The circle-walking kind of resumed with my mom carrying Layla for another minute, and the last scene you see is little Layla herself who either looks worn out, or revved up. I thought she might not sleep that night after all that attention and noise, but fortunately, it didn’t seem to affect her too much.

It was definitely an experience for all of us, and a story to add to Layla’s photo album! Hope you can enjoy it along with us. Please click here to watch.

*Background information on the “subuu’” was taken from Egyptian Customs And Festivals, by Samia Abdelnour.

Tags Belonging, Birth, Customs, Egypt

Personal

Returning Before the Arrival

Post author By Jayson
Post date July 23, 2010
No Comments on Returning Before the Arrival

Back in November of 2009 I stayed for three days at a Coptic Orthodox monastery in the desert of Wadi Natrun off the road between Cairo and Alexandria. I wrote at text shortly thereafter reflecting on my visit, and hoped to publish it, both here and at Arab West Report, shortly thereafter. I even anticipated doing so in this post. A preview post on the value of monasticism was also published.

Unfortunately, the monk who welcomed me in my stay found flaws in my presentation, and did not want the text made public before correction. Often in life, one thing leads to another, and delays happen. In December we needed to finish our peacemaking project before the calendar year expired. In January and February we finalized the report writing. In the Spring I began participating in shared management of our organization. The result, however, was this text – requiring substantial revision but lacking an urgent deadline – getting pushed to the backburner.

Then came word that some of my friends from the Coptic Bible Institute were organizing a trip to the monastery, and I quickly signed up. Though I had phoned my friends the monks there several time on occasion of Christian holidays, speaking of my revised text to come, a coming visit was finally able to push me into action. The text has now arrived in the inbox of the monastery, and I hope to be able to discuss it tomorrow with my host.

This may wind up being another false pronouncement, but for those of you who have been following our blog since November (and who may have been intrigued enough to let this thought settle into the recesses of your memory), I hope that publication of my reflections may be near at hand. My stay had a great impact on me, and I hope my thoughts may open up to you a largely invisible world. Monks, after all, stay in the desert for a reason. They prefer isolation and obscurity.

At the risk of undue exposure, part of which may be influencing the holdup of the text, I hope you can gain an appreciation of the faith and practice of the community of roughly 100 men. Their testimony is human, but it is inspiring all the same. Perhaps you can read it soon.

Tags Coptic, Egypt, Makarius Monastery

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Moving

Post author By Jayson
Post date July 19, 2010
1 Comment on Moving

We moved this past weekend. Not too far, just down the street, but the work involved in changing houses is incredible. I guess that’s true if you have a lot of things. Or maybe just if you do it yourself. I am trying to remember how many times I’ve moved in the past. After spending my first 17 years in the same house, I wasn’t really used to moving. Now, in the second 17 years of my life, I’ve moved quite a bit.

The move to college is a normal, expected one for an American teen, so maybe that shouldn’t count. My first real move was following college, when I moved an hour from my college town to attend grad school. This was my first apartment, cooking for myself, paying rent, buying furniture, dealing with a landlord. My stuff was minimal, and following two years of grad school, I brought it all back east in a small U-haul trailer attached to my Chevy Lumina, which henceforth overheated in the mountains of PA. But I made it back with all my stuff.

Next it was my first job, and with it, relocating to New Jersey. I actually started my job before finding a place to live, living instead with my former principal’s family. Great people. Good job. Hard to find affordable housing in New Jersey, but eventually, found some roommates and a good apartment right on Main Street in Somerville, right above a Chinese restaurant. Too bad I’m not a big fan of Chinese food. That was my residence for only a year, as my roommate wanted to be closer to New York for her commute, so we moved to Metuchen. A nice town, with a walkable main street. We lived here for three years, before I got married and moved not too far away to Piscataway.

Jayson and I were quite spoiled here. This was the top story of a split level house. We bought some furniture from newspaper ads and set up our first home, temporary as we knew it would be, nicely. It even had a pool in the backyard. Our elderly, widowed landlady lived downstairs. She was an interesting person, hailing from Nazi Germany where she was part of the Nazi Youth movement. She gave some interesting insight into Germany at that time, but was currently a diehard US Republican.

That place housed us for two years before our first overseas move together. In one sense, it is easier to move overseas, because this time, we were limited to four 50-pound suitcases, unless we wanted to pay extra. A couple with no kids and a simple lifestyle didn’t need more than 200 pounds of stuff, so we managed with our allotted luggage. Once in Jordan, we found an apartment and bought furniture and household goods, and moved in. Again, a good place. Looking back, we didn’t realize how nice it was at the time. Ground floor with a play area out back, but of course, we never needed that in Jordan. Now it’s something we think about. Another two years there and we were selling our furniture and household goods, or divvying them up among some of our Jordanian friends, and repacking our four suitcases to head to the states for six months. Another move. This time into a furnished home where we would welcome our first baby before heading back overseas.

A baby can bring with it a lot more stuff! This time we moved overseas with six 50-pound suitcases, although some of them were overweight. This time in Tunisia, we started out in a furnished place in Sfax, the large city in the south of the country. It had its peculiarities including no oven but a large Jacuzzi-like bathtub. Emma slept in our room to begin with, until we convinced our landlord to let us put her crib in their storage room in our house. It was a great place for language-learning as we shared the property with two Tunisian families. Very generous people. Again, we didn’t realize the value of the outside courtyard. A nice, tiled area for kids to run around. But, that place lasted about nine months before we headed north to the capital and searched high and low for the perfect spot in the suburb of Manouba. After a few days of searching, we realized we needed a ground floor apartment to accommodate our double stroller, and found the perfect spot after a bit. This time it was unfurnished, so, we bought furniture and household goods and set up house again. We anticipated this place being our home for awhile and began to bring things from our storage in America, because of course, we owned more than 300 pounds of stuff. I guess you could call Jayson’s parents’ garage in New Jersey a second home for us since that has housed our things since our first overseas move! As fate would have it, we set up a nice home for only about one year before moving out of Tunisia. Again, selling our stuff, packing more suitcases than we came with; of course, we also added a child in Tunisia … add a child, add more stuff! Back to the states for another six months. This time, we didn’t really move; we just lived with Jayson’s parents.

And then on to Egypt. Our luggage allowance keeps getting bigger as we add more children, but this time, we opted to pay for some extra luggage too. Partly because of the children, partly because of what we’ve learned in the other two countries. Some things are just better and cheaper to bring with you. So, we probably brought about nine 50-pound suitcases this time. We lived in a temporary place for a month, so didn’t really unpack too much, and then onto our current place which was furnished. Only needed to buy minimal house goods. But somehow, now that we’re moving just down the street, that “nine 50-pound suitcases” has multiplied exponentially. All told, we’ve taken 6 carloads and 2 pick-up truck loads of goods to our new place. Again, we added a child. We bought some furniture both for guests, and for ourselves. People have been very generous and given us things … toys, house goods, knick knacks. It all adds up. So why move again with all it entails?

We knew from the time we took our first apartment here in Maadi, that our landlord’s son would take it from us at the end of a year as he anticipated getting married. And so I had a year to look around for apartments. I looked online just about every day to see what was available through Craigslist, since that is how we found our original apartment here. As the summer approached and we narrowed down exactly what we were looking to move into, I started to call realtors and give them our specs. Most of them told me that to find an apartment on the ground floor with a small garden in the neighborhood near Jayson’s work and within our budget was near impossible. However, we stuck with our budget and eventually, a realtor found our new place. The landlord wanted us to take it right away rather than let it sit empty, and our current landlord graciously agreed to let us out of our contract a couple months early. We really felt we needed to grab an apartment when it came available as there is a great influx of foreigners at the end of the summer making the apartment search a bit harder.

And so, we move now. Not the most opportune time in many ways. Less than two months after having a baby, and rearranging our old apartment for our two houseguests, Mom and Mother-in-law, for a month. Right toward the end of World Cup action. In the midst of job transitions for Jayson at work. And in the middle of an Egyptian summer which translates into lots of sweat. But, now is the time, so move we will.

Well, I haven’t counted, but there were lots more moves in my second 17 years compared to my first! And who knows where the next one will be, but I really hope it’s not for a long while now. Funny thing is, my parents are in the process of moving now too. They have been in the same home, my childhood home, for 38 years! Talk about accumulating stuff! Well, we are too far away to help them with their car and truck loads of things, but now that we are in our own new place, I have plenty myself to unpack and arrange!

Tags Egypt, Jordan, Maadi, Moving, Tunisia

Personal

The Walk to Church and Nursery

Post author By Jayson
Post date July 16, 2010
2 Comments on The Walk to Church and Nursery

We moved apartments last week. We hope there will be some stories to tell about this, and Julie is working on a post as we speak. Our apartment remains in about the same neighborhood as before, so while the walk to work is about the same, the scenery changes – ‘An Eight Minute Walk to Work’ video will need to be in the works soon, adding sixty seconds to the ‘Seven’ video offered earlier.

But now that our location has changed, we need to put out some of the previous videos we have been preparing. One soon to come from Julie concerns a special Egyptian ritual we enjoyed with friends on the occasion of Layla’s birth. This one, however, is another neighborhood stroll – this time to St. Mark’s, the local Coptic Orthodox Church where we worship and Emma has her preschool.

The video was filmed when our moms were here visiting to help out for a month while Layla was being born and Julie was recovering from surgery. As such, my mom features somewhat prominently in the video, especially as we negotiate a harrowing experience along the way. For us, it was normal routine; for her, well, Egypt takes some getting used to…

The video is filmed in stages, so you can click through to the following episodes:

One: Microbuses (one minute)

Two: Sand and Street (four minutes)

Three: School (two minutes)

Four: Canal (two minutes)

Five: Club (three minutes)

Six: Church (four minutes)

Seven: Nursery (one minute)

Sorry they are broken up a bit, but the trip as a whole, unnarrated, takes about fifteen minutes, which I figured would be a bit long for one uploading, and perhaps viewing. Now, feel free to watch at your convenience.

Sorry also for being a bit sporadic with our postings recently. Our move – in the middle of Egyptian summer – plus some work developments I can describe later, have conspired to take a bit of time and energy away from writing. We have not stopped learning about Egypt during this time (quite the contrary), but we hope to be better able to relate our findings soon. Thanks for your patience and for following along.

Tags Egypt, Maadi, Microbus, Video

Personal

Today We are All Oranje

Perhaps this is not so much of an Egypt story, but it does give a glimpse into expatriate life. Ever since the US loss in the World Cup I have been flirting with other national teams, finding myself gravitating to those playing the best soccer, namely, Spain and Germany. The presence of many Dutch in the office presented them as a viable candidate, but, eh, their style in the games I watched, even the victory over Brazil, left something to be desired. Perhaps to extend the flirting analogy, compared to vivacious Spain and buxom Germany, Holland had a nice personality.

Still, I would root for them over portly Uruguay, and the best venue for watching the match was to accept the invitation of my Nederlander colleagues at the Dutch Embassy. Non-Dutch from the office had joined them previously, and raved about the free fries and drinks, and a festive atmosphere capped by a folksy anthem played after every Dutch goal, oddly named Viva Hollandia. More important to me was the afternoon recollection that Julie’s ancestors were Dutch in origin (Van Dame), so why not cheer on family? It doesn’t matter how ugly your sister is, you love her anyway. Couple this with the newfound (and surely temporary, in all confession) belonging to the land of tulips, and I was suddenly eager to be adopted. Despite the relative distance between the embassy and Maadi, I boarded the metro, took a taxi, and arrived only a few minutes late, but to an unpleasant surprise.

As the World Cup was progressing with consecutive Holland victories, the embassy was becoming an increasingly popular place to watch the matches. There was a line out the door, and I found other non-Dutch colleagues outside, frustrated, telling me that while all Dutch were allowed inside, each one could bring only one foreigner apiece along with them. Already late to the match, having traveled a fair jaunt downtown, I faced the prospect of not watching the semifinal at all.

A quick phone call to an earlier entered non-Dutchman sprung a plan into action. The Dutch colleague who secured his presence, thirty minutes before kickoff, went to the door to persuade the bouncer to let me in. I was wearing my orange three-button shirt, but I found out later that she informed him I was her father. I’m 35, she’s 24, and to the bouncer I was unseen as he simply called out my name to come. I imagine he didn’t look too closely, or perhaps life overseas is ageing me more quickly than I realize. In any case without a word of Dutch spoken I was in the inside, though sheepishly leaving my other colleagues behind. What could be done? They weren’t relatives.

The Dutch Embassy is a quaint but stately building resembling a diminutive mansion. My first impression was its smallness, having recently visited the massive US Embassy with its layers and layers of barricades and security clearance. On the contrary, here I was whisked inside under false pretenses with not even a metal detector at the door, and the ambassador traipsing about among the crowd of supporters. I wondered for a moment what it might be like to be a citizen of a midsize nation.

It was only a moment, though, for my second impression was taken completely by the passion exhibited by a soccer superpower. The game was projected on the outside wall of the embassy, with rows of chairs followed by assembled bleachers. Orange was everywhere. Ten minutes after I arrived Holland scored the opening goal, and indeed, the anthem was both festive and folksy. I danced and clapped along with the masses.

Minutes before halftime Uruguay equalized, and the crowd quieted and a trait I have heard of the Dutch began to rear its head. Similar to the English, but without the self-loathing, in soccer the Dutch are good enough to make their fans excited, but then let them down in the end. Having grown accustomed to this outcome, the fans were somewhat expecting the worst, somewhat satisfied they did as well as they had, and still somewhat confident they could win, for it was, after all, only Uruguay. Germany was looming, and national dejection against a hated rival was a gathering cloud.

Americans may not be quite there yet in soccer, but we have a can-do attitude that will not countenance such thoughts. I did what I could. At halftime I donned Dutch facepaint and gave assurance all would be well. “The Dutch will score two this half,” I predicted. “Don’t worry, it will come.”

Sure enough, while my Dutch colleague was nervously passing the minutes with the score at 1-1 feeling like a loss already, the mercurial Dutch center midfielder restored Holland’s lead. As Viva Hollandia again brought everyone to their feet, my words urged them on, “I say they get a third and settle this.”

Minutes later a clinical header made me a prophet, but one still underestimating the Dutch sense of foreboding. The second half melted away with little challenge from Uruguay, while Holland wasted chances to earn their fourth. In injury time their lead suddenly narrowed back to one, and as the anthem was mistakenly played before the final whistle, Uruguay were playing ping pong in the Dutch penalty area, inches each time from drawing even. The stage was set for an epic collapse.

I had no words now, I was fully Dutch. As the referee extended play for what seemed like an eternity, I watched in dismay, saved only by the eventual merciful final whistle. At last, the anthem was appropriate.

But I cannot stay Dutch forever. Amidst the celebration and congratulations I rejoined against every echo of ‘we’ve done well this World Cup’ sentiment. Belief is paramount; Germany is looming. Holland has lost in two previous World Cup finals, they are due and deserving to mount the pantheon of true soccer powers. To stake the claim, however, they must add to their tactical mastery a decent dose of American determination. I feel I have been taken in; now is the time to give back. I will do my best to help will Holland to victory.

Perhaps the Dutch now may rightly decry an American tendency to try to take credit for everything, or, perhaps more accurately, to believe they are at the center of every positive world development. Well, so be it. If all goes well, I can believe what I want, and they will have no reason to complain. On the contrary, we will rejoice together. Today, we are all Oranje.

Postscript: Germany is no longer looming. This post was written yesterday, descriptive of the Dutch expectation to once again face the blitzkrieg. While they may breathe a sigh of relief, I was hopeful of a decisive triumph over the ancient foe. Spain will pose its own unique challenge, and I fear Holland fans may come to say: Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it. We will see. Hep, Holland, Hep!

Tags Belonging, Egypt, Germany, Holland, Soccer, World Cup

Personal

Incredulity and a Car Ride Home

Post author By Jayson
Post date July 3, 2010
No Comments on Incredulity and a Car Ride Home

I had two experiences at Emma’s preschool today which gave both a reminder that I don’t really belong, and a sense of belonging.

Thursdays at preschool is swim day. The teachers set up a large inflatable pool and the kids can swim for about two hours.

They are always generous with Hannah participating in special things, and they have invited me to bring Hannah for the swim time each week. Today Hannah and Emma were the only two kids to really spend much time in the pool because the water was a bit on the cold side. I convinced Emma to get back in the pool, after she had changed into her play clothes, and that if she spent a couple minutes in the water, she would get used to it. It worked, and the two girls played for about half an hour while I looked on.

At one point, a young woman came out from the classroom and was watching the girls as well. I started talking to her as I had seen her at the preschool in the morning, but I didn’t recognize her. That morning I heard her ask one of the teachers about Emma and Hannah, whether they were foreigners or not. I answered yes in Arabic. When she came outside I asked her if she was new working here or what exactly she was doing here, and she told me she was with her sister and nephew as it was his first day at preschool. The whole time we talked she kind of looked at me with a look of incredulity and amazement. She asked a typical question, “Do you like Egypt? Is it nice?” I answered in the affirmative. “But isn’t it crowded?” she asked, implying it really wasn’t so nice. “Yes, it’s crowded, but the people are good. We like your culture and the Arab people and your language.” She was taking this all in, but I could just see the wheels of her head spinning as I was not fitting her stereotype of an American living in Egypt. It was a short conversation over all and one I have had many times, but the interesting part was watching her trying to figure me out. Really I hope I am not too hard to figure out. I am an American, living in Egypt with my family and looking to live life to the fullest here and participate in the culture as much as I can. I must speak the language in order to do this, and my children need to as well. But even as we try to participate fully, we are still “outsiders” who don’t really fit in, try as we might.

Just a couple minutes later I had a short conversation with another woman who was sitting in the coffee area, just a few feet from the pool. She had been watching the girls too, and apparently had seen us before because she asked about Layla, who wasn’t even with me this time. Unfortunately, I didn’t remember seeing her before, but I guess being foreigners we stick out and are easy to remember. Anyway, she was asking about the girls, and each of her questions was in English, but each of my answers was in Arabic. Sometimes that is a game we play. We are eager to speak Arabic with Egyptians, and so if they speak to us in English, we try to insist on speaking Arabic. We have learned that in whatever language you begin a relationship this is the language in which it will continue. So, she persisted in English and I persisted in Arabic. Again, it was a short conversation.

I went inside and gathered Emma’s things, as both girls had exited the pool and changed by this time, and then we left for home. But as we left, this woman stopped me and asked how I was getting home. I told her we would take a taxi. She immediately offered to drive us home and accompanied us out the gate. I didn’t think twice about accepting her offer, as I felt perfectly safe with her and didn’t think it strange for her to offer. This is part of the Egyptian culture to be so generous with their time and resources. Not only did she drive us to our home, but when Emma pointed out a ball in her trunk, she gave it to Emma as a gift. Generous people, and something I hope I am learning as I live among them. Thanks to a stranger for giving me a small sense of belonging today.

Tags Arabic, Belonging, Egypt

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