Tag: Maadi

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Personal

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.

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Arab West Report Middle East Published Articles

Coptic Participation in Politics

Georgette Qillini is a member of the Egyptian People’s Assembly. A Copt, she gained prominence during the crisis of Nag Hamadi, in which six Christians and a Muslim policeman were killed outside a church on Coptic Christmas. Qillini spoke boldly and decisively during the governmental review, laying blame on the Coptic governor of the region, Magdi Ayyub, Muslim People’s Assembly representative for Nag Hamadi, Abd el-Rahman el-Ghoul, and the Ministry of the Interior for their share in the “persecution”, in her words, suffered by Copts in the region. In her stance she was rallied around by many Muslims and especially Copts, who found in her a defender of their rights.

Finding a defender, however, is no easy matter. Copts comprise less than 1% of the membership in parliament, though their population in Egypt is estimated to be roughly 6-10% of the whole. This disparity was addressed by Qillini during a presentation given on June 28, 2010 at a youth meeting at St. Mark’s Orthodox Church in Maadi, Cairo. During her address she called the Coptic community to task for failing to participate in politics, encouraging them to “change themselves” rather than simply complain about their understood mistreatment in society.

Qillini opened her remarks with admission that ‘politics’ as a subject was on the lips of everyone. This is election season in Egypt and Copts as much as anyone pay attention to the national developments. Qillini expanded the thought, however, stating that politics is grounded in a political party system, of which most Egyptians, but especially Copts, are woefully absent. How then can they effectively participate at any level more substantial than conversation?

The first step, Qillini delineated, is simple knowledge of the system as constructed in the Constitution. Within this document our rights are found, she said, but we do not know them. Every Egyptian citizen – man/woman, Muslim/Christian, rich/poor – is guaranteed the same rights and must be offered the same opportunities. Failure to participate, however, unbalances this equation. Though rights are guaranteed, opportunities go by the wayside.

The second step is to focus on the maintenance of dialogue in society. Since the Copt is a person, complete, a full citizen before the law, he or she has every right to speak from personal perspective. Dialogue, however, requires being with the other, being open to the other, and knowing the other. Many Copts isolate themselves in church activities, and thus, know as little as they are known. If you have studied a subject, pursue it with diligence; then, be present in society so as to speak about it. Once in the public square, ask and be asked about all things.

The third step is to participate actively in elections, but even more so, in the political party system. Several months ago the leadership of St. Mark’s Church repeatedly encouraged the congregation to register to vote in the upcoming elections. Aware or unaware, Qillini asked those present, roughly 200 young adults but with substantial members of the older generations, how many of you have received your voter registration cards? Only about 25% raised their hands. Qillini pressed further, asking how many of these had voted. Of the 25%, only a quarter signaled affirmatively. Her last question asked how many present were members of an established political party. Only two identified as such.

Within her remarks Qillini anticipated and spoke to a common Coptic objection. What chance is there for participation, many wonder, when the political atmosphere is not pluralistic and anti-Coptic sentiment exists in many fields of society? Though not dismissing the assessment, Qillini stated though discrimination is an obvious growing attitude in the society, there are still many balanced voices which oppose it. The negative attitude of Copts in participating in politics, however, stems primarily from two sources: frustration and fear. Fear, however, has little to do with Christian faith. We pray ‘Our Father who is in heaven’, she counseled. If this is true, why should we fear? Have we forgotten that nothing can happen unless God wills it? Yes, there may be consequences which follow our efforts, but there is also reward. Qillini accepted that, of course, not everyone has the courage necessary to speak fearlessly. Nevertheless, everyone can gradually, but conscientiously, prepare themselves to build the courage required. Society will not magically change. We are the ones who must change ourselves first.

Following the presentation Qillini was presented with a banner on behalf of the youth of the churches of Maadi. The banner spoke of everyone’s support for her election campaign, celebrating her as the bravest voice in parliament and the best representative of Egyptian Copts. Afterwards, Fr. Yunan clarified that this banner was not a statement on behalf of the church, for the church should not involve itself in politics. Certain youth prepared this on their own, he said, and wished with it to honor Qillini. It was a telling sign, however, for the extent to which Coptic political sentiment has adopted her as one of its chief representatives. Should Qillini’s words have any fruit, however, she may in time prove to be less exceptional. She certainly would prefer it this way.

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Personal

The World Cup and Objectivity: Scenes from the US Defeat

It has now been a few days since the US World Cup defeat against Ghana. While it is only about now that I could bring myself to write about it, recovering from the disappointment of shattered dreams, I must also apologize for opening old wounds for those of you now similarly recovered. Well, I’m sure there are a few-to-many non-soccer readers of this blog who wonder what the fuss is about. For you, hopefully the cultural scene will be entertaining; for those still mourning, all I can say is that we mourn together. Ah, the sting of what could have been.

As mentioned last post, to watch the game I went to downtown Cairo, meeting up with friends who live there. Maadi, the affluent suburb in which we live is a far cry from the vibrancy of city life. Here, while I have enjoyed watching matches in the local coffee shops frequented only by Egyptians, there has never been fervor in the audience, which has ranged from five or six to a high of forty or so, for the England-Algeria match. Interested fans, yes; cheering for goals, sort of. The scene is one of subdued approbation, perhaps akin to that of an accompanying friend at a pee-wee soccer game. “Nice job, kid.”

Downtown was entirely different. I was met at the metro by my friend, who led me through the busy streets for several minutes. We passed by many shops with TVs tuned to the game, and not a few cafés which were starting to fill up. We, however, were heading to the big screen TV in the open air, found recently by my friend, who enjoyed also the inexpensive tea and hookah.

When we turned the corner we entered a wide promenade, and the masses emerged. Every few feet I expected us to stop, as we passed by open-air cafés with large TV screens. Midway through we reached our goal. This café, wherever the physical location may have been, had arranged perhaps two hundred chairs around a projection system casting the game on the outside wall of a building. As we took our seat I scanned the whole promenade – surely there were several hundred to a thousand people gathered to watch the match. Of course, this was the US vs. Ghana – not exactly a blockbuster fixture unless you care for one of the teams. I didn’t bother to watch Japan-Paraguay, for example. Imagine what the crowd could have been for the England-Germany or Spain-Portugal match. Having not yet returned, I cannot say. It is a bit of a hassle to get downtown, and I enjoyed these matches from Maadi.

As game time approached, however, we discovered that we were among partisans. There were scattered other Americans here and there, and a few from our office met up to watch with us. The Africans, though, were present in the dozens. A number cheered at the close of the Ghanaian national anthem, but everyone erupted with their first goal less than a quarter hour into the game. We were outnumbered, and greatly.

They may have been Africans of any nationality, but they were supporting the lone African team to emerge from group play. The Egyptians who filled in the rest of the crowd rediscovered their African identity as well, and cheered wildly as we sunk dejectedly into our seats following yet another early deficit.

The crowd quieted as the Americans eventually took the better of play and converted a penalty kick to tie the game. They were quite nervous as we pressed for the winner denied repeatedly by good goaltending or profligate finishing. In extra time they found cause to cheer again, having been gifted their second goal, and held out happily to victory. One voice cried out in English, in an accent I couldn’t place, “Good bye America!” and I felt like spitting water in his face – whoever, wherever he was. Amazing the evil that sport can summon.

We left walking back with our friends, some of whom were European sympathizers, who may have felt it odd to watch Americans lament the outcome of a soccer game, but offered comfort nonetheless. I was too downtrodden to really notice the reaction of the African / Egyptian crowd, so I am afraid I cannot report. This is the problem, I suppose, when a journalist gets involved in the stories he covers. Objectivity goes out the window.

It is true, though, that the episode gains the touch of humanity often missing in the nightly news. In our work I feel like a pseudo-journalist; I must tell the story, but I have a goal beyond objectivity. We wish to aid understanding and peace building both here in Egypt and in intercultural relations in general. You are free and invited to question the descriptions given above, or in any other reports offered. Yet at the same time, please receive the dual assurance: I will not manipulate stories, and I will strive to care about our subjects, investing myself wherever possible. If either one of these is neglected, then why bother at all?

A final note, to return to the soccer narrative: Looking back, I can identify two premonitions that tugged at me as the game was about to begin. First, I do not generally consider myself a patriot, but I increasingly coordinated my clothing with US colors as the tournament went on. That evening I wore my red t-shirt only to find that it was Ghana wearing nearly the exact same color. I thought of removing it, but propriety intervened. Should I have done otherwise?

Second, our oldest daughter has always had difficulty pronouncing the name of her Uncle Aaron. In her parlance, he becomes ‘Uncle Gyan’. Gyan, though, is the name of the Ghanaian forward, and the player who tallied the winning goal. Why did this thought enter my head in the minutes before kickoff? What cosmic effect did the failure to exorcize it have on the outcome of the game? Was it worsened by the fact I remained shirted? Amazing the lunacy that sport can summon.

So, another four year World Cup cycle awaits. Ecstasy to agony is the story for all but the champion, including the legions of fans who fall by the wayside. Fortunately, the metro stays open until 1:00am during the summer, so the miserable ride home cost only eighteen cents rather than a four dollar taxi fare. Egypt is a wonderful country, even if their soccer fans side against us. Alas.

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Personal

Soccer, Twitter, and Electricity

With one day to go regarding the USA World Cup match tomorrow afternoon, I thought I would give a short summary of our experience with the last game, a last minute 1-0 triumph over Algeria.

I wish there was a lot to say. There could have been on two fronts.

On the first we are at fault. Having attended and reported on the England-Algeria match from a local coffee shop, I would have been curious to see who local Egyptians rooted for in the US-Algeria game. Would they finally find solidarity with their North African cousins, so that soccer animosity be overcome in antipathy against the United States?

I cannot say. A 5:00pm local start time suggested we end the day a little early at work, and my English colleague and I organized an office viewing at a local trendy restaurant, with few Egyptians present. It was a great place to watch the game – big screen TV and surround sound – but little cultural flavor.

On the second front the power grid is to blame. Our group from work, plus Julie and the girls and one other wife, numbered about ten, with seven Americans, but all pulling for the Yanks. For those who watched, you know the game was tense, and all were riveted to the screen.

(A drama reducing pause and clarification is needed, though. Shortly after intermission Julie and the girls went down to play on the playground, and were joined later by the other wife. So, not all were riveted. Even so, this was a good sign, for the US comeback against Slovenia commenced once my family similarly descended for the slides and swings.)

With about twenty minutes to play, the power went out. This is a frequent summer occurrence in Maadi. There is a disproportionately higher middle to upper class population, both foreigner and Egyptian, and the air conditioner use will overload the power grid, which will blackout a neighborhood or apartment building from anywhere to five minutes to an hour or longer.

This was not to be of the five minute variety.

Fortunately, Egypt is better equipped in another variety of technology. One colleague had a Blackberry and was able to pull in from the wide 3G network updates on his Twitter account. As the clock ticked, we stared at the black screen, waiting for resumption, but also getting 140 character status reports on the ever increasing missed American chances. Huddled mostly silent around a cell phone, we also lamented the loss of the air conditioning, trapped inside in 100 degree heat.

As all was lost, suddenly a colleague received a phone call from a friend informing of the winning goal. As we wondered in disbelief if it was a prank, seconds later Twitter confirmed the victory. Our cheer roared, informing the rest of the clientele about the result, and all went home happy, if bittersweet at missing the classic moment. Still, it is a story to be remembered forever.

Tomorrow I will bypass the restaurant in favor of a downtown café. With the US game not starting until 9:30pm local time, it will not be a family affair. Instead, I will join friends in the heart of Cairo, taking in my first game there, hoping also to find the pulse of the city for the World Cup in general. US-Ghana is not a powerhouse matchup, but will it take the imaginations of local Cairenes nonetheless? If there is a story to tell, be sure I will relate it. I just hope that the ending is happy.

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Personal

The New York Times in Cairo: Michael Slackman

Michael Slackman is the Cairo Bureau Chief for the New York Times, having served in this position for the past five years. Previously he worked in Albany, Los Angeles, and Russia, and this summer he will be ending his stay in Egypt to become bureau chief of Berlin. This move is forced upon him, as he has become blacklisted in Iran, and all but blacklisted additionally in Syria, Libya, and Algeria. Covering the Middle East is nearly impossible if the doors to these nations are closed. He leaves sadly, but with full appreciation for life abroad and the privileges it brings in being able to see the world through the eyes of another.

This is the perspective Slackman spoke of during a public lecture the evening of April 15 at the Abraham Forum. This initiative was developed by St. John’s Church as an effort to build bridges between East and West, Muslim and Christian, at the point of intersection in the church’s backyard of Maadi, Cairo. Rev. Paul-Gordon Chandler introduced Slackman with these words, believing the reflections of such a high placed journalist would help enlighten the local expatriate community about realities in the Middle East.

Slackman began his presentation by remarking that if those in attendance had done a Google search on his name, they may not have been interested to come. Spoken tongue-in-cheek, he explained how his work has come under much criticism. He has always made it his ambition to engage people in a free and open exchange of ideas, allowing the subjects he covers to be able to express themselves in a forum otherwise impenetrable. Unless the media carries their voices, the people of the Middle East will remain unheard.

Though Slackman emphasized he only reports, never advocates, this interest in conveying faithful representation has engendered significant controversy. He tries to show the cultural and political nuances of the word ‘terrorism’. He depicts wide questioning of the Holocaust. He even writes how the oft-perceived trash dump is in reality a loosely organized but effective recycling center. In all matters he defends his practice as both good journalism and in the interests of the United States. Should not a policy maker desire to know the reality of what people are thinking?

Slackman gains his perspective through the challenging but rewarding work of face-to-face journalism, certainly with political figures but primarily with people on the street. Though he requires the use of a translator he states that it is very easy to get to know Egyptians. As he has “hung out” with them he has sensed that they desire to make themselves known. Both here and elsewhere this gives him an appreciation for the “little things” that make such a difference in understanding a people and their culture.

Unfortunately, he states, these little things were lost on the United States during the invasion of Iraq. Everyone who lives in the Arab world understand that the hand signal for ‘slow down’ is to turn your palm upward and put your fingers together, bobbing it up and down. The US military signal, however, is to raise your fist and knock, as if against a door. Slackman stated he was reticent to say what this signal meant to the people of Iraq, as it was quite uncouth, but this failure to communicate caused countless incidents as Iraqis approached checkpoints and each misunderstood the ‘go slow’ signals of the other. Add this to the fact that the military could not comprehend that the “We love Bush” slogans they received were only the knee-jerk reaction mirroring the “We love Saddam” chants offered to the prior ruling power, and Iraq was a disaster waiting to happen, but could have been prevented.

A vital difference highlighted by Slackman which goes far beyond the “little things” is the role of religion in society. In the United States it is common that a newspaper have a religion reporter, who occupies a rather minor and generally limited sphere of importance. This pattern though is impossible in Egypt and the Middle East, where religion touches upon and intertwines with every subject imaginable. For most people of the region the first identity is ‘Muslim’, second is the particular nationality, and third is ‘Arab’. Any reporting must take these factors into consideration.

Unfortunately, not only is it difficult for many Western reporters to appreciate the primacy of religion, the nature of religious perspective is also incomprehensible to them. His first example was from conversation with Fayyoumi fisherman near the Cairo island of Manial. When asked what religion meant, they esteemed the traditional pillars of Islam – prayer, fasting, etc. – but emphasized it was that God had placed a ceiling on their life, and they were to be content therein. Questioned if this indicated they did not have to work hard they disagreed. Within their allotment they must work hard to succeed. Transcending their position in life, however, was impossible. It is, as is always heard, in sha’ allah – if God wills. Due to this fact, and the fleeting nature of life, the only solution is to pray.

The second example was from Saudi young men who accompanied him on trips to the desert. Over time he got them to open up and from them he learned much about their society. One such lesson, however, was quite disturbing. One young man accused Slackman of being reckless. When asked why, he responded that he did not consider the danger joining these young men in the desert accompanied by his female translator. Should he wish, the man stated he would get rid of Slackman and then sexually approach the woman, raping her if she resisted. The other young men all nodded along, none disturbed or offended by this line of communication. When asked how this fit into their understanding of morality and religion, they stated that the mistake of a man stays in his pocket, but the mistake of a woman shames the whole tribe. Apparently, for him, this was enough.

On a third occasion Slackman was being asked about his religion, and he responded with admirable notions: I try to be a good person, I look to help others, I maintain a good family. To his surprise this was responded to with the follow-up question, “So you don’t believe, then?” Since then Slackman has utilized his lesson from the fisherman, and now answers, “Life is fleeting, so what is there to do but pray?” This answer has received much better reception. Reflection on these episodes, however, has led Slackman to criticize much Western religious reporting as focused on ritual, rather than on spirituality; unfortunately, as he finds in many Middle Easterners, this is how they manifest their religion.

When asked specifically about religious relations in Egypt, Slackman compared the situation to race relations in the United States. When whites are polled about the state of relations most hold that things are just fine. Most blacks, however, state they are the same as always and not getting better. It is a matter of majority-minority difference in perceptions. Without confirming local Coptic opinion, he has experienced, and conveys, that they almost universally decry their position.

In proceeding to describe the murders committed at Nag Hamadi he indicated sympathy for some of their complaints. After the atrocities the government in issuing its condemnation clearly and unequivocally stated that this was not a sectarian incident. Yet when it put forward its explanation, it did so in clear and unequivocal sectarian language. They did not put it that an Egyptian took revenge against an Egyptian rapist, but instead it was for the Christian rape of a Muslim girl. Unless the government acknowledges that sectarian tension is a problem, Slackman insisted, things will never improve.

Throughout his lecture Slackman often reiterated his great privilege of living overseas in general and in the Middle East in particular. This has not been for the Pyramids, or the Nile, but because of the nature and friendliness of the people themselves. He ended his presentation, however, with a statement of disappointment. The first is that he had to leave the region due to blacklisting, and that in particular he would not again be allowed to enter Iran. It is such an interesting country, the most pro-American of any regional population.

His second disappointment was that he was never able to interview President Mubarak. Had he the chance, he would have asked two questions. First, what do you believe is your legacy? Secondly, with all seriousness, why can you not pick up the garbage? These questions best summed up the political and social coverage he has devoted to Egypt. Michael Slackman was faithful to the people of Egypt and devoted to cover both breaking news and slice-of-life stories. The next Cairo Bureau Chief will have big shoes to fill, and at least these two questions to pursue.

To read a recent article by Michael Slackman on the health of President Mubarak and the future of Egypt, click here.

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Personal

Microbus Fiasco

We have a microbus stop outside our apartment building.  What this means is that anywhere from one to twenty minivans are parked in one or two lines, just a few feet from our front door, and they snake around the corner toward the main road.  It sometimes means a lot of noise and people traffic as there are busy times for people to be riding this mode of public transport.  Also there are small scuffles at times among the drivers and perhaps passengers, which involve yelling and frequent honking of horns.  For us personally, it means more air pollution, and sometimes, a longer walk to the main road if we choose to take the clean-air route and go all the way around the block.  All in all, it’s not terribly inconvenient or bothersome most of the time, but it would be nicer if this microbus stop was in another location.

We have rarely ridden on this microbus line as it goes to a section of town that we usually have no need to frequent.  It’s a poorer, more crowded neighborhood a little north of Maadi.  But the other day, on Easter, in fact, we planned to ride the microbus to the end of the line to have dinner at the home of one of Jayson’s friends.  It was quite an experience.

We exited our building and found a long line of microbuses, as usual, but we also found our doorman, our landlord’s son, and a police officer right outside the gate of our building.  We didn’t notice right away that there was a problem, but as Jayson spoke with the officer, who has a friendly relationship with him, and I was briefly talking to the doorman, there was some commotion around us, and the officer told Jayson he was busy at the moment.  A minute later, our landlord’s son got into his large white car, and backed it up and parked it blocking the entire line of microbuses.  He got out of the car, slammed the door and walked away from it.  Meanwhile, the doorman is saying to him, “Hey, no, this is wrong.  Give me the keys.”  But the son ignored him and walked around in a huff.  I thought, hmmm, this is interesting, we were just ready to board the microbus to meet our friend.  Hope he moves his car soon.  Surely, the police officer will do something about this.

So, Jayson and I, with the two girls, our bag, and a bag of chocolates for our host, boarded the microbus and waited.  And waited and waited and waited.  The microbus was full, as were the four or five that were surrounding us, but no one was moving because the big white car totally blocked the possibility.  The landlord’s son was standing on the street yelling and talking with the doorman, and some of the microbus drivers were yelling too.  Many of the passengers were looking around wondering what was happening and what they should do.  Jayson and I just sat there, with our girls in our laps, watching the scene.  Another son came down from their apartment to either watch or help, but his car stayed parked there for about ten minutes while the people who wanted to ride the microbus waited and questioned and fumed and threw their hands up.  At one point, most of the people in our microbus exited and walked away to find another way to their destination.  We didn’t really know where our destination was; we just had instructions to ride the microbus to the end of the line, and besides, we were interested in what would happen in this situation, so we stayed put.

I wondered where our landlord was, and thought that she could intervene and talk some sense into her son.  I mean, it seemed he had some problem with the drivers, but what about all these poor passengers who were now stuck?  I was also getting nervous for him as the crowds were gathering and tensions were getting high.  Jayson wondered at one point if he should get out and ask what was happening, and perhaps the presence of a foreigner would kind of shame the son into doing what’s right.  I wondered if he knew we were sitting inside one of the microbuses waiting to go, if that would make him move.  I mean, this is a guy who is often sitting in his parent’s living room while I visit with his mom.  Would he want to inconvenience his parents’ tenants?  But, we thought it best to just watch and learn.

After about ten minutes, he got in his car and drove off, swerving a bit wildly, down the street and screeching around the corner.  Well, I thought, now he’s safe from the crowds for the time being, and we can finally get moving.  But, the microbuses did not move.  It seems the drivers were quite upset about this whole thing and kind of went on strike for a little while.  At one point, one of the drivers who had been yelling and very agitated, started to run back behind us in the line of vans.  Two of the girls in our microbus got very nervous at that point and were afraid he was going to get into his bus and do something drastic.  So they quickly exited, along with some others.  But just as they were getting out, he ran up the sidewalk with a club in his hand.  I thought it would be best to stay in the van!  As is typical in Egyptian fashion, some of the other men around calmed him down enough to keep him from doing anything with that club (click here for a cultural explanation and personal reflection).  It was a little scary for a minute, and as the crowds continued to gather, since the microbuses had now been standing still for fifteen minutes, I wondered what could happen.  The drivers were angry, and surely the passengers would start to get angry that now the path was cleared and the drivers refused to go.  What a mess.

Meanwhile, Jayson called his friend and apologized for our delay and tried to explain the situation to him.  After he hung up, and it seemed there was no movement to go anywhere, we finally got out ourselves, and walked to the end of the street where we found a taxi who was taking a few other passengers to our destination.  Once inside the taxi, we asked one of the other passengers if she knew what the problem was.  She explained that one of the people who lives in the building by the microbuses (we knew who that was) was upset because the microbuses are loud and bothersome day after day and he finally got fed up and parked his car in their way.  Wow, I thought.  Yes, I could agree that they are sometimes louder and more bothersome than they need to be, but what good did it do for him to put his car there?  Surely this would not encourage the drivers to be more concerned for his comfort and well-being by keeping things quieter and not beeping incessantly when it wasn’t necessary.  No, instead it seems he just made stronger enemies who would now probably go out of their way to bother him.

We don’t know how long things were at a standstill on our street.  We arrived at our destination via taxi and had a nice dinner and time with Jayson’s friend, and by the time we were ready to return home, the microbuses were up and running again.  We haven’t seen our landlord or talked to the doorman about the situation, and we probably wouldn’t bring it up.  It is a curious thing, though, and provided a bit of entertainment and cultural insight on an otherwise nice, normal holiday.  Happy Easter.

Footnote:  A few days later I visited another neighbor who lives upstairs.  It seems she may have been home during this fiasco, and perhaps watching from her balcony.  She explained that maybe the son had a little more justification in doing what he did.  It seems he was parked on the side of the street and a microbus hit his car.  Whether this was on purpose or just because the driver was being a little careless, I don’t know.  But when he yelled at the driver, it seems the driver hit it a second time, intentionally for sure.  So, that is what started the whole thing.  When I asked my neighbor about all the innocent passengers who were inconvenienced, that didn’t seem to matter too much to her.  Her feelings are that the microbus drivers are generally not nice people.  She says they talk crudely to each other, but I don’t notice it because I don’t understand what they are saying.  She complains that they cause a lot of problems on our street, and it would be best if they could go somewhere else.  She wants to write a petition, signed by the residents of our building, and if Jayson and I sign on, she thinks it will go a long way in moving this line somewhere else.  We’ll see if anything happens with this plan.

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Maadi Messenger Published Articles

School Kids and Microbuses

A few weeks ago we provided a look into our local neighborhood here in Maadi, Cairo, during a seven minute video tour from our apartment to my work. Click here if you missed it or would like to see it again. Today we provide an extended look at one of the more lively sections of this walk, taken from our balcony depicting the street below.

Julie provides the commentary at the moment the kids from the boys’ school exit out onto the street, which also happens to be the beginning point of local public transportation in which microbuses carry residents from a nearby neighborhood back and forth. Our street is not always as noisy as the video will show, but neither is what she will show you unusual.

Please click here to enjoy the video on Vimeo (sorry, we had trouble with YouTube).

Note: Should the microbuses in particular strike your fancy, please pay attention for a coming post Julie is preparing which features another aspect of these, our illustrious neighbors…

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Personal

Metro Etiquette

Tonight I rode on the metro here for the first time WITH the kids and WITHOUT Jayson.  I’ve taken the metro by myself, and with Jayson, and with Jayson and the kids, but not on my own with the kids.  It actually went quite smoothly as the girls cooperated beautifully.

I am always impressed on public transportation at people’s kindness to the stranger.  I first noticed it in Tunisia when we would ride the bus.  When I entered the bus with a small child (or two), inevitably, someone would rise from their seat and offer it to me.  I haven’t ridden public transportation in the US ever, so I don’t know if the same rules apply there, but I always appreciated being able to sit down with the little one(s).

I think the same rules apply here in Egypt, but there is an interesting twist here.  One of the best features of the Egyptian metro system is their inclusion of a “ladies only” car.

Actually, there are two cars on each metro that are just for women.  I believe they differ slightly in that one of the cars allows men after a certain hour, but the other one is only for women all the time.  This is nice since the metro is often crowded, and at times crowded conditions can invite unwelcome attention.  Knowing one can enter a car reserved for just women gives a certain peace of mind.

I’ve ridden the metro by myself only a couple times, and have always chosen the women’s car at those times.  I was surprised a couple times to see some men in this car, but they definitely kept their distance from the women.  I could see that the women ruled in this car, and sometimes they would tell the men they shouldn’t be there.  Other times it seemed the men were with the women, but again, they kept their distance from the women they didn’t know.  The whole science of the “ladies only” car would be an interesting one to study if I had time to just ride the metro whenever I wanted.

But, alas, I don’t.  I can, however, make some observations from what I saw tonight. Jayson had a meeting downtown so we took the first leg of the journey together on the men’s car.  When I was on the first leg of the journey someone gave their seat up for me pretty quickly.  Later on, after Jayson left, I wondered if that might be one of the negatives of the ladies car.  I think that in general, the men might feel a little more obliged to give their seat up for a woman with small children, but for some reason, other women might not.  In some ways, you would think that they would feel more sympathy and offer their seat more readily, but I think there is something inside a man that just wants to help a woman in “distress.”  Anyway, at least on the first leg, someone offered me a seat.  I sat down with Hannah on one leg as it’s hard to put her in the middle of my lap as baby #3 is taking up more space these days.  Emma wanted to sit on her own so she sat right next to me.  I remember thinking at that point that it was nice to be in this position.  I never really had to think about getting up to offer someone a seat, as long as I had two little ones with me.  After all, there is a sign there which indicates the seats are there for, to translate literally, people with special needs: the elderly, the pregnant, women with young children, and the handicapped.

I didn’t even have to notice others’ needs as long as I was one of the needy ones.  As such, we had a nice, comfortable ride all the way to the first stop where we switched metros and Jayson went on his way.

The second leg took a little more work, but not too much.  These particular women must not have believed in the “woman in distress” theory, because when I boarded with two children in tow, and a third in my belly, no one made a motion to move.  Instead, an American twenty-something woman, who was also standing, noticed me, and asked someone if I could take her seat.  The sitting woman readily got up for me, but again, she didn’t do it on her own.  So we got to sit for that leg of the journey as well.

The return trip, also in a women’s car, went pretty well as someone got off their seat almost immediately and let me sit in a seat.  The girls were able to enjoy some lollipops that I had promised them during this twenty minute leg of the journey before we had to switch metro lines one last time.  We got on our last metro at a main station, so even the women’s car was quite crowded, and I as I looked around at the women seated, trying not to make eye contact exactly, but trying to notice if anyone made any slight motion to me, I realized that no one was making a move to get up.  Oh well. I did my best to keep my balance holding two little hands.  But nearby was a woman dressed in the niqab (a head covering that also covers the whole face except for two eye holes), and holding a toddler on her lap.  Her six year old daughter may have been on her lap as well, I didn’t notice at first, but almost immediately she saw my need and offered half her lap for one of my children.  Emma refused, so I put Hannah there instead where she played fairly happily for most of the ride.  I kind of marveled at the woman’s kindness as I thought about my ride earlier that evening when I didn’t even look for other people in need since I was the needy one.  I was grateful for her kindness and she even got up halfway through the ride when Hannah refused to sit on her lap any longer, and offered her seat to me.  Granted, she was getting out earlier than I was, but still, she gave up her space for me.

This was a good lesson for me to not just expect other’s kindness, and in some ways, demand it of them as I fit the description of a “needy passenger.”  Instead, I should look for ways that I can help others in need. I owe a big ‘thanks’ to the stranger in the niqab for teaching me about seeing others’ needs above my own.

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Personal

Stop and See the Flowers

Autumn has always been my favorite time of year.  Maybe it’s because the weather is cooling; maybe it’s because my birthday falls in October; or most likely, it’s because of the beautiful colors one can see in our home area of Pennsylvania and New Jersey.  I remember when I lived in Jordan and was asked what my favorite season was.  A few people told me that “autumn” is a strange answer.  There really wasn’t anything too special about autumn in Amman, and it just signaled the beginning of the cold, rainy weather.  If my Jordanian friends could see the fall foliage in my neck of the woods, however, they would understand my preference.

I may be developing a new favorite season, and if so, it is thanks to my two little girls, Emma and Hannah.  Emma, at 3½, pretty much knows all her colors, but Hannah (almost 2) is just learning to differentiate what is green, blue, purple, pink, orange, etc.  It seems she knows what some of them are, but just when we think she’s getting it, we ask her what color the tree is and she says, “Blue.”  Oh well.  It takes time.

The other day, as we were walking through our neighborhood taking Emma to her preschool, one of us noticed some of the colorful flowers that have begun to bloom here in Maadi.  I have never been a big fan of plants and flowers and don’t know the names of them, but for the first time, I started to notice the colors surrounding us.  As we walked along, the girls excitedly pointed out the pink and orange and purple flowers.  After a few minutes Hannah, especially, got excited every time she saw a color.  “Look Mommy!” she would exclaim.  Her enthusiasm is so wonderful as she kicks her feet in the stroller and points toward the tree, “Pink!”  What a wonderful way to learn colors!  Of course, God’s painting involves more than basic colors, and I find myself saying, “Well, yes, that is kind of purpley-pink,” or, “yellowish-orange,” or whatever, but hopefully she will slowly get the idea.

Thanks to my girls for showing me some of the natural beauty that surrounds us here in Maadi.  I know we’re blessed being in this part of the city where there is grass and trees and flowers; it’s not the norm in Cairo.  Of course, kids can see beauty in anything, and today as we walked, they were noticing the different colors of the cars parked along the street.  I might rather have noticed the dents, scratches, and rust. It’s a good reminder to appreciate what you see around you … whether that’s God’s handiwork in creation, or man’s creativity in imitation!

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Arab West Report Middle East Published Articles

Easter, Reluctantly

Easter in Egypt is a negotiated reality; this is true for both the nation’s Christians and myself.

All last week at work I wondered about the holiday schedule. Ours is a multi-religious and liberal office; if someone wishes a religious holiday, they can pretty much have it. The Copts who work with us would take the day off and go to be with family, some traveling six hours away by train to Upper Egypt. What about the foreigners, though? Or the Muslims, would they be expected to work? Unlike Christmas, Easter is not a national holiday in Egypt. Islam celebrates the birth of Jesus from the Virgin Mary, but denies the resurrection indirectly, for it denies first the crucifixion, believing Jesus ascended into heaven before his arrest. Though the government is not Islamic, in this matter it toes the line with the Muslim majority by not confessing the holiday.

Toeing the line is partial, however, as I discovered at work. National law allows Christians to take the day off from work en masse, but reckons it as a claimed vacation day. Given the reality of a national holiday the day after Easter – Shem al-Naseem, or literally, ‘Smelling the Breeze’ – this policy allows Christians to celebrate their holiday, but allows all citizens to create for themselves a four day weekend. Shem al-Naseem is a cultural vernal festival dating back to Pharaonic times; Muslims and Christians celebrate it equally, though I have not yet researched why it is tied to the Easter holiday. Some Copts see this as an implicit national recognition of Easter, though it is missing from the official calendar.

An event at our office disclosed to me another shade of Easter in Egypt. We have been trying to arrange an interview with a prominent Muslim scholar from al-Azhar University, and my supervisor told me we would meet Tuesday after Easter. I was quite happy with the news, but she continued adding that he originally asked for Saturday evening, but we proposed Tuesday instead. This news meant little to me, though I was somewhat glad not to have a work appointment on the weekend. I shrugged my shoulders however, saying, “OK, whatever the sheikh wants would have been fine.” I figured we should bow to his schedule, but at this my supervisor, a Coptic Christian, was aghast. “What,” she exclaimed, “don’t you celebrate Easter?” It took me a few seconds of puzzlement, but then I remembered that church celebrations always occur on the eve of a holiday, not the day of. The day of is a feast; a day to indulge after weeks of fasting. Children gather at the church to play and the priests open their offices to receive the well wishes of visitors, but there is no mass.

In the West we celebrate Christmas Eve, but there is no such thing as Easter Eve. Yet if you remember the events of Nag Hamadi, the murderer targeted the church around midnight the day before Christmas. As there is no correlation between Coptic Christmas and the Western calendar of December 25, this fact can easily be lost on the non-Orthodox reader. This year it so happens that Coptic and Western Easter fall on the same date. Yet even I, living here now for eight months and more tuned in than most foreigners to Orthodox affairs, was caught off guard by an Easter Eve service.

Unfortunately, once I had learned of it I was not that excited. We experienced the Christmas Eve service in Maghagha, which was wonderful as we enjoyed it with the family of a local priest in his small village. Yet we arrived by train halfway through the service, so we did not have to endure a four hour mass ending at midnight with two squirming, sleep deprived children. Managing them for an hour and a half was enough, but once it was over we went to the priest’s home and enjoyed a sumptuous feast of meat, meat, and more meat. You can read about this experience here.

Easter Eve in Maadi had none of these advantages. Though we have been attending the local Orthodox Church since shortly after arrival, we have yet to make good friends there. In saying this I do not blame them; there are many legitimate reasons for this, which I describe here. Yet even so, the celebration for us would be the four hour mass, with two children, and no meat. We decided to pass.

I continued to waver. I was fully agreed that our girls should sleep and Julie would be home with them, but what about myself? I could go alone. In the days leading up to it I went back and forth on this decision several times. As a family we went to the international church Good Friday service, and we were content to let that be our Easter church attendance. We figured we would join the children’s escapades on Easter morning at the Orthodox Church, and in the afternoon a Coptic friend from the Bible Institute had invited us to join them for lunch Easter afternoon. So all in all we set aside time for the holiday, both by ourselves, with foreigners, and with Egyptians. I could appreciate a quiet evening home on Saturday, so why bother with another mass?

On the other hand I kept being jabbed by a conscious that reminds me we are trying to belong to the Coptic Orthodox Church. Who could confess this desire and yet ignore Easter, the holiest of holidays? There is a virtue in discipline, but I will not claim it here, for my assessment of personal motivation is far too cloudy, with a likelihood of showers. Is worshipping God and being thankful for the Resurrection anywhere near my decision making process? Hardly. Part of the reluctance of going alone is that there will be no ‘credit’. Usually, my daughter Hannah sits on my lap during the service, so I get ‘credit’ for being a good and spiritual father. Furthermore, the service will be packed and any individual will be lost among the crowd. Somewhere in my mind is the idea that if I am faithful in attendance over time I will be noticed and get ‘credit’ in this quest for acceptance and belonging. There would be none of that on Saturday. Worse, I was fully conscious that I could get at least get ‘credit’ in this blog, which would be impossible if I didn’t go. I will not bother to untangle these threads of condemnation, but in the end, go I did.

As I approached the church I was glad I did. I arrived at 8:45, less than an hour after it had begun. On most occasions the church would be about quarter full at this juncture in the mass, but tonight I noticed they had set up two outside areas with live feeds supplying the action on big screen TVs. These already had numerous people sitting comfortably in the cool evening breeze, but I pressed inside anyway and found a seat on the stairs leading upwards in the balcony. If nothing else, this was to be an experience.

As I took my place I noticed my supervisor with a friend of hers in the opposite corner. Ah, credit! The evening was starting out great. About half an hour later it got even better. During this time most of the mass, unfortunately for me, was held in Coptic. Coptic is a dead language except in liturgy, but it has been aggressively promoted in recent decades by church leadership seeking to strengthen Christian identity by, among many other methods, resurrection of the ancient Egyptian vernacular tongue. Many in the audience were chanting along, having memorized the hymns, reciting along with words they would otherwise have no idea of the meaning.

Suddenly, they switched into Arabic, chanting, as slowly as possible as the lights dimmed and the curtain was drawn across the opening in the iconostasis, “al-Masih qaam, bil-haqiqati qaam,” translating the phrase any Easter-going Christian would recognize, “Christ is risen; he is risen indeed.” Except that in accounting for the solemn, deliberate rendering it would more be like this: Chri-i-i-i-i-i-ist is rise-e-e-en; he-e-e-e-e-e-e is ri-i-i-i-s-e-e-e-e-en i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-inde-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e, e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-ed. It was eerie, but effective.

Meanwhile, in the Orthodox Church the iconostasis serves to separate the altar from the congregation, holding icons of Jesus, Mary, and the twelve disciples on a lattice which allows preparation of the Eucharistic host to be viewed by all. The main view, however, is through a wide opening in the center, which as mentioned was closed by a curtain as the lights dimmed. Symbolizing the curtain in the ancient Jewish temple which divided the sanctuary from the Holy of Holies, which only the high priest could enter once a year, the mass continued for several minutes in near darkness. Then, with the loud clash of cymbals the lights flashed on and the priest reopened the curtain, setting off a spell of ululation from the women congregants. The curtain was torn in two; Christ had risen from the grave. The mass continued, appropriately, with the reading of the Gospel account of the empty tomb.

I wish I could say the euphoria continued, at least in me. Sadly, though ultimate responsibility rests only in my own human heart, I can find blame in all others around. Allow me to explain.

As I described, I was getting caught up in the presentation. Before the darkness the Bible readings were of such inspiring passages as the resurrection body of I Corinthians, the first Pentecost sermon in Acts, and the Petrine celebration of Christ’s once-for-all death and descent into Hell to preach there the Gospel. When the lights dimmed I was caught completely by surprise, but found myself one with the worshippers even shedding a tear in the darkness. Why, then, did I find the flood of light just a little bit cheesy? Why did the ululation ring hollow, and end sooner than it seemingly should have? For me this was a first time experience, but for everyone else it was observed for however many years that person had been alive. In the darkness, there is no choice but to be silent; with the light comes rejoicing, but who can fake an excitement when it is completely expected? Worse, once the lights came back on several in the congregation began to exit.

I could only guess that most of these were women who needed to get back home to prepare the after mass feast. Surely they were to be excused, but their number increased as the mass continued on. Another large contingent left after the sermon, and the congregation dwindled to about the size of a normal, non-holiday mass. I looked at the time and noticed there was still another two hours to go, and the original ideas of wishing a quiet evening at home as opposed to yet-another-mass returned. If everyone else was leaving, why shouldn’t I? If only from stubbornness to see it through to the end, I stayed.

As I anticipated, it became just an ordinary mass, only on speed, which made things worse. Because of the additional events of the holiday the rest of the liturgy was accelerated to make sure everything ended by midnight. This included my favorite sing-along hymns, which stood in stark contrast to the earlier ‘He is risen’ solemnities. Not only was I conscious of everyone leaving, wondering why I was there, I was also growing tired and sleepy. Still I soldiered on – not the best attitude for worship, but still.

At the end communion was distributed, which surprised me, since there was no communion at the Christmas Eve service. For Lent the Orthodox will fast all day Friday, and then again for eight hours on Easter Eve leading up to the midnight Eucharist. After all had partaken the priest turned to address the congregation, rebuking them for failing to maintain an attitude of reverence in the church, beginning early their Easter revelry. With this, announcements were given, holy water was sprinkled on all, the Lord’s Prayer recited, and everyone exited.

I had told Julie that if offered I would accept an invitation to join someone for the Easter midnight feast. I did not really expect one to be given, but neither did I go out of my way to be friendly. Perhaps this is either a virtue or vice – I was not engaging but at least I held back from worming my way into someone’s hospitality. Instead I went forward to greet the priests, again straddling the line between sincerity and duplicity. On Easter one is to call all friends and wish them a happy holiday, and doing so in person now with the priests I whom I know additionally from the Bible Institute is an even better gesture. Of course, it also grants me the ‘credit’ I earlier was not expecting, grand manipulator that I am. Pausing to see if the third priest I know was also available (he was not), I made way to leave.

Exiting the church I maneuvered between a wonderful scene of Copts dressed to the nines, mingling with friends and exchanging Easter greetings in the cool air of 12:15am. I also exited to witness two other scenes which return to the theme of Easter negotiation in Egypt. Stretched grandly across the street between the trees of the traffic circle was hung a cloth banner impossible to ignore. In bold lettering it wished the brother Christian Copts of Egypt a ‘Glorious Resurrection Holiday’, to translate literally, presented by Muhammad Murshidi and Hussain Magawir, members of the national parliament. Remembering the earlier statement of Islam about Easter, these two Muslim names can either be praised for their commitment to tolerance and national unity or else admonished for shameless pandering for votes. In my opinion, I think the first is more likely, and this was my initial reaction, nearly causing another tear to trickle.

The second scene dried it up, though further reflection might stimulate the tear duct further. As I was walking away back home I saw on the other side of the banner six policemen keeping watch in the center of the traffic circle. I stopped to count; altogether around the church I found sixteen policemen on patrol. For context, churches in Egypt are always under guard, but only two or three are usually to be found, at least in Maadi. It was a clear and immediate reminder of Nag Hamadi, and the efforts of the government to prevent any similar tragedy from marring a second Christian holiday. Praise God, all was fine, as things are 99% of the time in Egypt. It is the 1%, however, which reminds the Egyptian Christian, and this foreign observer, that Easter is a holiday necessary to negotiate with a Muslim majority nation.  

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Personal

Rain, Rain, Go Away

The other day it rained in Cairo.  While this might not seem strange to you, rain in Cairo is not a common occurrence.  I would estimate that we have had some rain about five times in the six months that we’ve been here.  And that has mostly been light showers once or twice throughout a particular day.  So, when I go out in the morning, I sometimes will go on our balcony to check the temperature and see if we need jackets or not, but the idea of it raining never crosses my mind.

The day it rained, I didn’t even check the temperature, so I took the girls downstairs in the double stroller, on the way to Emma’s preschool, and was surprised to see the wet ground and smell the rain.  It wasn’t raining too hard, and because of the stroller canopies, I was the only one who would really get wet, so I didn’t want to change plans for the morning and take a taxi.  I figured that’s it is Cairo anyway, and we certainly wouldn’t have too much rain.  I was surprised that I did get wet on the way to preschool, but it had mostly slowed down by the time we got there. 

Hannah and I dropped Emma off, and then went to run some errands.  First we were going to drop some things off at an American friend’s house where we visited for about an hour as Hannah played with their little boy.  I noticed at one point as I looked out the window that it was raining quite hard, and I hoped it would stop because I had some errands I really wanted to run that morning.

By the time we left our friend’s house, it had slowed quite a bit, so we went to the grocery store and then to the post office and finally to a local restaurant to pick up a container of hummus.  I put Hannah’s shade back at the restaurant so I could keep my eye on her while I picked up the hummus, but then went and put it back down when I noticed she was getting rained on.  Fortunately this was our last stop and we got back home before getting too wet.

When we went out later to pick Emma up, I decided to take a taxi since this time I knew the rain was a problem.  We taxied there and back, but did notice the sun was shining and the clouds were clearing by this time.  It seemed simply to be another typical, though infrequent, rainy day for Cairo.  Jayson came home for lunch a short while later and said it was very nice out.  This encouraged me to put out some of the laundry I had kept inside earlier because of the rain. 

Later that afternoon, after the girls woke from their naps and I was doing something in the kitchen, I heard a strange noise.  It took me a few minutes to realize that the sound was that of pouring rain!  I quickly remembered the laundry and ran to the balcony to bring it in, but not until after it had caught quite a bit of dirt from the rain.  It also caught a few little hail balls.  Wow, how cool!  When I opened the balcony door and Emma and Hannah heard the sounds, they were quite scared.  It also was thundering and lightning which is something they haven’t heard now for six months.  I know it can be scary for many kids, and ours were no exception.  I was pretty excited since a storm was so rare here, but I also realized that Jayson would be walking home soon and was wondering how he was going to make it home dry!  He returned about half an hour later with a shirt that was wet and dirty from a strong Cairo rain.  Fortunately the thunder and lightning didn’t continue long enough to disturb the girls from going to bed, but the storm did seem to make an internet connection difficult which messed up plans to Skype grandparents.  It probably didn’t help that they were getting a strong snowstorm at the same time we were having our rainstorm.  I wondered what all the rain was going to do to the roads we usually walk around town.  The next day was Friday, first day of our weekend, and the day we usually attend church.  We’d have to see if the way would be walkable.

The next morning I looked out on the balcony and it had stopped raining, but it was chilly, and everything around was wet, including a small lake at the schoolyard across the street.  I knew that trying to walk to church with the stroller would be quite messy and perhaps impossible at some points, and our normal Friday schedule of sitting at their outdoor coffee area while Emma attended Sunday School would not work too well either due to the cold and the wet.  So, we opted to stay in all day.  It made me realize that it’s kind of hard here to find things to go out and do, if the weather is bad.  It’s a good thing the weather isn’t bad too often!  

I did actually get to venture out later that day on my own, as the girls were napping.  I needed to do some shopping in another part of town, and Jayson being home allowed me to get this done without the girls in tow.  I first of all walked a few blocks to board one of the local minibuses to travel to another part of town. I noticed the main street where I like to walk for shopping was basically a lake.  It confirmed that taking a stroller out would have been a bad idea.  We drove through a lot of large puddles on our way to the store and I noticed lots of people out and about.  I remembered that today was the celebration of the ‘Mawlid’ (the Prophet Muhammad’s birthday.)  This isn’t a big holiday among Muslims, and isn’t one they are commanded to observe, but there have been special traditions and foods associated with this day in each of the countries we’ve lived in.  I felt bad that the weather may have hindered some of the visiting or celebrations for some on this day, but did notice that some of the amusement rides that people put up for these holidays were still in use.  We passed one section of town where there was a temporary carousel and two large swings for the kids to enjoy for the day.  I am guessing that each child would have had to pay one or two guinea (18-36 cents) for a few minutes on the ride.  The rain didn’t stop them from this fun.

I went out again the next day, and the big puddles had evaporated a bit.  It was still very messy to walk from our house to the main street as the water combined with the dirt and grime of the street to make for a very messy path.  But brave it we did and all in all, we didn’t get too wet.  It looked like things would be close to normal by Sunday, in time for us to begin another work week and return to Emma’s preschool.  It was weird to have so much rain in one day, and it affected our whole weekend.  Hopefully it at least cleaned the air a bit and watered the land.

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Personal

A Seven Minute Walk to Work

We have been blessed in our location here in Maadi, Cairo, in that my office is located walking distance from our home. Seven minutes walking distance, to be precise. Since working hours can be somewhat flexible, this means that most days I am able to come home for lunch, then return to work for the afternoon. This makes four jaunts every day, equaling nearly half an hour. Not a bad exercise routine.

We don’t know if this arrangement will last forever. Our oldest daughter is three years old, meaning that we are already considering schooling options, many of which are outside of Maadi. While it is not a given that we would live in the same neighborhood as the school, it is our current preference. This would likely mean a twenty to thirty minute metro ride, twice a day, not nearly as good for exercise or for lunch options.

The other consideration is that we do stay in Maadi, but in another apartment. The one we are renting currently is furnished, which was our choice for year one in Egypt but more expensive long term. There are many nice parts of Maadi, but while some might be even closer to work, others might mean my exercise program increases to twenty or thirty minute stretches. Possible lunch complications are here as well.

Do you get the idea I enjoy lunch? Being able to be home in the middle of the day also gives us the advantage of having our big meal earlier, allowing for bread, cheese, fruit, vegetables, yoghurt, and hummus to serve as dinner on most nights. It is a nice privilege to arrange the day in this way, but may be threatened by a future move.

Anyway, the point of this post is to allow you a look into my daily commute. I have provided narration for the various landmarks I pass, which for me is by now normal, but gives a good picture of a typical Maadi neighborhood. Maadi is not at all a typical Egyptian neighborhood, however; please notice the greenery you will encounter is rare for the concrete jungle of Cairo.

One final note: Apologies for the final scene – I forgot in filming that I had just utilized the zoom lens.

Please click here to enjoy the YouTube video.

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Personal

A Tale of Three Refrigerators

Once upon a time there was one refrigerator. 

It was a decent refrigerator.  Big enough for our family’s needs, not brand new, but basically clean.  This was the refrigerator present in our apartment on the day we moved in.  We had seen our apartment originally without much furniture, but the landlord promised to furnish it completely by the time we moved in.  We were certainly glad to have a refrigerator; it seemed important.  There was one problem, however.  While the freezer worked just fine, the refrigerator part did not get very cold.  It wasn’t sufficiently cold for us, and after fiddling with the settings and trying it out for several days, we realized it wasn’t going to work.  The landlord called the refrigerator repairman, who, surprisingly came quite quickly, and confirmed that, even with adding some freon, this refrigerator really couldn’t be helped.  Time for plan B: Refrigerator number 2.

It didn’t take long for the second refrigerator to come.  Turns out it was just next door at the doorman’s place.  This caused a little trouble as he announced when he delivered our refrigerator.  His family had been using it since their refrigerator wasn’t working properly, and now that we needed it, he had to pay a lot of money to get theirs fixed.  He definitely wasn’t happy.  I felt bad for him, and a little guilty.  I knew they didn’t have a lot of money, but at the same time, I just asked the landlord to provide a refrigerator; I didn’t realize it meant taking it from the doorman.  So, he vented to me, but really, it was an issue between the doorman and landlord.  Anyway, he delivered the second refrigerator and right away I was concerned.

It was a little on the small side.  Not big enough for our family’s needs.  I opened it looking for the freezer.  Oh, there it was!

I usually like to make things ahead of time and freeze them, especially here in Egypt where you can’t easily get all the convenience foods.  Where will I put my tortillas?  And what about the off-season fruits and vegetables?  And of course we need space for that occasional box of ice cream!  Needless to say, I wasn’t quite satisfied with this refrigerator.  But what do we do about it?  The first one didn’t work so the landlord replaced it.  And if we ask for yet another one, what will that do?

I forgot to mention that when the doorman brought refrigerator number 2, he didn’t take refrigerator number one out of the kitchen.  He did manage to break the plug off, though, so that when we thought about maybe combining the two refrigerators and using the freezer on the big one, it was further complicated by needing to fix the plug.  The other complication to that plan was space.  The kitchen really couldn’t take two refrigerators.  It was getting tight in there.

Oh well, make the best of it.  That seemed our only choice.  A couple days later, things were complicated by the presence of lots and lots of little ants.  We had been pleasantly surprised by the complete lack of bugs in the apartment.  Both ants and cockroaches were absent, and that was a wonderful thing.  But all of the sudden, we had a colony of ants in the kitchen.  It seems they were coming from refrigerator number 2.  Ugh.  A very small refrigerator with almost no freezer space, infested with ants.  This is not what we signed up for! 

I killed a lot of ants in those first few days.  I mainly stepped on them or used a rag and smushed them or washed them down the sink.  I was able to get a lot of them at once when they made a long line from the refrigerator to our trash can.  I took the lid off the trash can and just ran water over it drowning all the ants who dared to venture out of their home.  However, if you’ve ever battled ants, you may know it’s a losing battle.  Somehow, they just keep coming back.  I eventually bought some spray and sprayed the refrigerator down each night, then swept up the dead ants in the morning.  Oh, and just to clarify, the ants weren’t really INSIDE the refrigerator, it was mostly in the back.  But my main problem was that they were coming out of the refrigerator into my kitchen! 

A few days later, we noticed the next problem with this small, no-freezer-space, bug-infested refrigerator.  It did not have that handy “no frost” feature that more modern refrigerators have.  This means that every so often, I would have to take everything out, unplug the refrigerator and let all the ice melt that had accumulated mainly all around the freezer box, and then wipe that up from inside and outside the refrigerator.

I don’t really know what the average period of time is that you usually need to do this … every six weeks, maybe three months.  But, this refrigerator required defrosting every 10 days!  It seemed to ice up quickly, and also as the ice grew, the space in the freezer shrunk … not a good thing.  So, now I felt like I had a lot of maintenance on this piece of equipment, and I was getting a little stressed out about the refrigerator situation, as I started referring to it.  When people would come visit our apartment, I would give them a tour, then show them the kitchen with two refrigerators in it, and briefly say we have a “refrigerator situation.”  I think it became some sort of badge with me.

Well, things started looking up a month or so after receiving refrigerator number 2.  We were gone all day and when we came back, there was a lot of water on the floor near the fridge.  Yes, the refrigerator is broken!  I was ready to sign on to that.  But the landlord wasn’t so sure.  She wanted to make sure the door had been closed all the way.  I think it had, but I couldn’t be totally sure.  Either way, it was kind of random as that was the first time it leaked water everywhere, and it still seemed cold inside.  Maybe it’s not broken!  Over the next few days, I tried to convince the landlord that this refrigerator had problems.  I brought her to see it when there was a long line of ants coming out of it, and when the ice had accumulated.  But she suggested bug spray and defrosting.  I weakly explained it really isn’t big enough as I like to make things ahead of time when the kids are napping and I have a spare moment.  I think we had a little problem.  We REALLY wanted a new refrigerator, and they REALLY didn’t want to buy one.  Jayson went to bat for us a couple times, but it didn’t seem to make them budge.

But eventually, budge they did.  I can’t even remember quite how we ever got this refrigerator situation resolved, but I think the landlord realized that we weren’t really given what we were promised, and this refrigerator number 2 was not the best.  So, we are happy to say we now have refrigerator number 3 in our kitchen, and numbers one and two are gone.

Although getting the first two refrigerators removed took some work in itself — the doorman and his daughter carried them out the door and into the hallway to the elevator, and we didn’t care to pay attention after that. It feels like we have a new kitchen … expanded.  This new refrigerator is not huge, but it’s definitely sufficient and it has the “no frost” feature!  We were so grateful and a bit surprised when she told me a new refrigerator would be delivered the next day!  But I’m happy to say I now have some tortillas and strawberries in the freezer … as well as some frozen chocolate chip cookies to pull out when guests come.

And we hope that is the end of this tale, as we all live happily ever after with refrigerator number three … at least through the end of our year-long lease.

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Arab West Report Middle East Published Articles

Coptic Christmas: Day Three

Today we visited two “Holy Family Sites” near Maghagha.    For those who know the Bible story, you may remember that due to the threat of Herod’s soldiers coming to kill the babies under age 2 in Bethlehem, Joseph took his small family down to Egypt before returning to Nazareth.  From what I know and remember, the Bible doesn’t say much more than, “They went down to Egypt,” but here in Egypt, there is a whole route mapped out where Joseph, Mary, and Jesus, i.e. The Holy Family, went.  I am not sure where all the information comes from, but just about a month ago, I learned that Maadi, the town where we live in Egypt, was one of the Holy Family stops.  There is now a church built on the spot, right along the banks of the Nile.  In some ways, this reminds me of our visit to Jerusalem a few years ago where we walked along the Via Delarosa … the path Jesus took to the cross.  There is a lot of history and archeology that could map a basic route he walked, but there are also places along the way that seem impossible to believe, like the place where Jesus stumbled and fell and his hand print is embedded in the wall.  But, the Holy Family tour is one of the important Coptic things in Egypt, and since Maghagha is near two of these sites, we took the opportunity to visit.

Our gracious host, a priest in a village near Maghagha, was unable to go with us this morning, but he did provide a driver, and another priest, to accompany us.  Not only that, but we rode in the Bishop’s private van … complete with air conditioning and curtains on the windows.  We felt a little like secret service or something since no one could see in.  It was very clean and comfortable … at least before we started the trip.

Traveling to the first site, Dair al-Garnous, took about 40 minutes.  I had been prepared for Emma to get car sick because she sometimes does, and I warned her that if she started to feel sick, she should close her eyes and lay her head back.  After about 30 minutes, she said she wasn’t feeling good, so she actually laid down in the empty back seat.  Hannah laid on my lap most of the time, not sleeping exactly, but resting.   I should have taken that as a clue that she wasn’t feeling well, but I didn’t think of it.  With about ten minutes left in the trip, although we didn’t really know how much longer it would be, Hannah wanted to join Emma in the back.  I didn’t mention yet that the road we traveled on was sometimes just dirt, very bumpy, and required lots of stopping to let the donkey carts, people, or other animals pass by, so it wasn’t a very smooth ride.  I took Hannah back myself because I didn’t want her to fall over.  A couple minutes after getting to the back, Hannah lost her breakfast all over herself and me.  I quickly called for Jayson’s assistance and he got me the bag I had prepared for Emma.  It didn’t do too much good since Hannah didn’t give us the warning that Emma usually does, and my clothes and hers were pretty much a mess.  I sent Emma toward the front because I didn’t want her to get sick from the smell, and I would have liked to get out of there at that point too since my stomach wasn’t doing too well either from all the bumping around.  Jayson offered me his undershirt to wear under my sweater; fortunately I had taken off my sweater since it was warm in the van, so I could wear his undershirt under my still-clean sweater.  I had a change of clothes for Hannah since she is still being potty trained, so I took off her dirty clothes and let Jayson hold her in her dressed-down state while I changed and cleaned up.  All in all, we didn’t get too much in the van itself.

When we were about one minute away, Hannah and I were changed and Jayson was holding Emma when she said “bag.”  We quickly grabbed the bag Hannah had used and caught Emma’s breakfast.  Poor kids!  She managed to stay quite clean thanks to her forewarning, and Jayson did too.  Good thing as we didn’t have any more clothes to spare!  And with that, we arrived at the site, all four of us feeling a bit queasy, and glad to get out, walk around a bit in the fresh air.

This first site was actually the second of the two in order of Jesus’ visits.  Since it was Friday morning, the day of worship for most Egyptians, the church at the site was filled with children having Sunday school.

This place was interesting because it was in an entirely Christian village of about 12,000 people.  No Muslims live in this town.  The well where Jesus’ family drank from was locked up, but we saw it, and by the end of our time there, they found a key so Jayson could drink from it. 

We all drank some Sprite to settle our stomachs, and I visited the bathroom while Jayson and Emma climbed the steps to the top of the under-construction new church

so they could see the whole village.  Since this post has been graphic enough, I won’t share too many details of the bathroom.  It wasn’t the most pleasant experience, and they didn’t have anything but a hole in the ground, and I did think to myself while I was in there, “Oh boy, what a trip this has been,” but we made the best of it, and Hannah and I soon joined the other two at the top of the building.  I remember being glad that both girls lost their breakfast in the van, as I thought they might have trouble using the facilities if they needed them. 

The view was very interesting with lots of unique things on people’s roofs like pigeons, chickens and ducks, which people raise to sell.   The roofs here are flat so that allows for people to store things, or raise things on them until they may decide to add another floor to their existing building. 

The steeple of the evangelical church in town was not too far from this site. 

The one unique thing about what we saw from our view was that there were no mosques … a rare thing in Egypt.

But, as I said, this was an entirely Christian village, and we later found out that when a Muslim family wanted to move in, they were refused.

After looking around for a bit and taking some pictures, we climbed back into the van … somewhat hesitantly.  We knew the ride to the next place would also be bumpy, but we hoped for the best.  We all sat as close to the front as we could, and each held a daughter on our lap.  The girls took a short nap and Jayson and I kept our eyes closed as we rode to the next place.  Fortunately it didn’t take too long to get to Shineen al-Nasara, which means ‘garden of the Christians’ in the Coptic language, where the Holy Family had come directly from Maadi (our current town) and spent seven days before traveling on.  This was an interesting place for us to visit because this is where our host had been priest for about 20 years. They had a life-size manger scene set up and the girls enjoyed getting close to baby Jesus and the animals, cardboard, though they were. 

Then we entered the church where Jayson took pictures and the girls played “church,” and I just sat and rested.  The church was decorated with streamers and balloons for the holiday celebrations of New Years and Christmas.

It was an interesting look considering Coptic churches are filled with icons of Jesus, Mary, the apostles and other saints; the streamers and balloons didn’t quite fit in.  The church also houses a 500-year old baptismal, a small one, since it is for infants.

We couldn’t stay in the church too long since a funeral was about to take place.  Just 30 seconds after we exited, the wailing women came into the church followed by a group of men carrying a coffin high above their heads.  We went to a different building in the complex where they had two smaller churches, a guesthouse and a large reception room. 

We climbed to the roof to get a better view of the surrounding area and we could see the thirteen domes on top of the church—representing the twelve apostles, with a larger one representing Jesus. 

We climbed back down the steps and saw another well which the Holy Family drank from, and also the plaque on the wall with the names of the people who helped to build the building, our priest being one of them.

Then it was time to climb back in the van for our return trip to the priest’s house for lunch.  We had planned to visit a third site after lunch, but seeing what the long car rides did to the girls, and knowing they really needed afternoon naps, especially as we planned to go to someone else’s house for a 9:30pm dinner, we decided to split responsibilities and let Jayson visit the site while I stayed home and napped with the girls.  So Jayson may write about his visit in a later post.

The rest of the day was somewhat restful—after too big of a lunch, the girls and I, along with the priest’s wife, all took naps, while Jayson and the priest went to visit the site of a modern day saint, whose lowly dwelling place has now been transformed into a massive church as a place for local pilgrimage. It was a late nap for Emma and Hannah, but we figured a late night was coming up, and we were right.

Around 8:15pm, the priest and Jayson finally returned home to pick us up to take us a few blocks to one of his daughter’s houses.  She had visited us the night before and really wanted to meet the girls, but they were already in bed.  It worked out for our schedules to visit and have dinner with her and her husband on this night so we climbed 8 floors to their new apartment as they are still waiting for their elevator to be installed.  Everyone was quite concerned for me, being pregnant, but the steps didn’t bother me at all.  Even Emma and Hannah walked the whole way up.  The apartment was very nice, and we enjoyed some nice conversation as Emma proceeded into a separate living room where she eventually put all of the pillows from the couches, maybe 6 or 7 large pillows and 3 or 4 smaller ones in all, on the floor and created a pillow train to jump on. 

She was having a blast, and Hannah joined her. 

Even though I am sure the furniture was brand new, our hosts didn’t mind and in fact, enjoyed the entertainment the girls provided.  At around 9:15, they asked if we wanted to eat dinner yet, or just feed the girls, and I said that we were ready to eat dinner, but I guess it was still early for them.  They kind of agreed as 10pm is more normal for them, so we compromised and said between 9:30-9:45 we could aim to eat.  Good thing the girls got late naps! 

Dinner was delicious, but once again, way too big!  We had a plate full of rice, large pieces of chicken, kefta, another meat dish, cut up raw vegetables and okra.  At just about every meal, we had to eat some of everything, and I felt like I ate quite a bit, yet at each meal they asked me, “Why haven’t you eaten anything yet?  Why does your plate look the same as when you started?”  We really had to insist that we had enough, everything was delicious, and thank you, thank you, thank you!  We sat and talked and drank Pepsi and ate fruit for another hour or so after dinner was over, as the priest fell asleep on the couch after his very busy few days. 

Finally, after 11pm, we were able to take a group picture

and then leave their house, descending the 8 flights of stairs and returning to our hosts’ house.  Fortunately, our next day wasn’t starting too early, and we could sleep in.  But for now, the Christmas celebrations were over and therefore Day 3 ends this series of posts!

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.

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Personal

Omar, the Devil

The other night we went downstairs to visit our doorman’s family (see other story).  One of the girls of the family, Hibba, was having a birthday, and wanted us to come down. Due to her mom’s health, still having trouble recovering from her brain surgery, Hibba wasn’t able to have a party, but it seemed important for us to at least stop by.  It was kind of an awkward time as I think Hibba was busy doing things for her mom and she wasn’t around much.  We ended up sitting at her mom’s bedside and talking a little bit with her as she drifted in and out of sleep. 

There was one other member of the family present most of the time, and that was the four year old, youngest child and only son, Omar.  Now, if you ask Emma, she’ll probably tell you Omar is one of her friends.  He is the first child we met here at our apartment, and they have played together a few times.  He was the only child to attend her three-year old birthday party as we held that a couple weeks after moving into our apartment.  I have invited him to our apartment numerous times to play, but his whole family–sisters, mom and dad–have all said that, no, he can’t come, because he is a naughty boy… in their words, a “satan.”  (Now, this may just be a language/cultural thing that I don’t understand, but if a child is misbehaved and somewhat or very out of control, they are called “shaytaan,” which translates “devil or Satan.”  I don’t think it’s quite literal, but as one not a part of the culture, I kind of hear it as literal.) I feel bad that he has this stigma, but truthfully, I have seen it exhibited.  However, I still wish he could come to our house to play sometimes.  On the selfish side, it would be so much easier for me to be in my own place with the kids, but on the positive side, I, perhaps proudly, feel that I could handle him in our house.  I wouldn’t let him get away with things, and he would have no choice but to stay within our boundaries … or leave.  I may be naive in thinking that my “child-raising techniques” could work with him, but I guess that the challenge would be fun too.  Anyway, regardless of my lofty ambitions, his family doesn’t want him to come to our place.  This means Emma’s chance to play with him is down at his house. 

One of the things that makes it difficult for me to take the girls there is that so much of their property is outside, with lots of dust, dirt and animal droppings, not to mention miscellaneous trash that attracts Hannah’s attention.  I have a hard time sitting, drinking tea, and listening to the mom talk, while keeping one eye on Hannah and the other eye on Emma.  Now that the weather is getting cooler, it may be easier as we move inside, but that has its challenges too.  And this particular visit, the challenge was Omar. 

When we arrived at the house, the birthday girl was busy, but Omar quickly ran to some special spot outside, and retrieved a large bag of mostly broken toys and toy parts.  He seemed excited to show Emma his toys and play together.  Take note that he did play in our house during Emma’s party and enjoyed the two boxes of unbroken toys that she has.  So, at first, he took the toys out one by one and seemed to let Emma and Hannah play with them as they wished.  At one point, he pulled out a pair of binoculars and this grabbed Emma’s attention.  She asked for them, but he put them around his neck instead.  No big deal, they are his toys, he certainly doesn’t have to share.  Emma really wanted to play with the binoculars and made her request known the best she could without really speaking the same language as him.  It seemed that the more interested she was in what he had, the more he wanted to withhold things.  I think at one point, either I or his sister conviced him to let Emma hold the binoculars, but after about 10 seconds, he started to cry.  Now, I’ve seen this before with him … he is finally convinced to share something, then he starts to cry, and his sister says, “sorry Emma, I’m so sorry.”  Meaning: Omar wants something; you can’t play with it any more … give it back.  So, she gave the binoculars back at which time he put all the toys back in the big bag, and stuffed the bag under the bed as far as could reach.  Emma looked at me sadly, “why is he doing that?”  Hmmm, what to say.  “Because he’s a spoiled brat.”  “Because he is mean.”  “Because he is a bully.”  These were the responses that came to my mind immediately, but I don’t want Emma to see him as the “Satan” that people say he is.  (By the way, they call him this to his face as well, so he has a reputation to live up to.)  So, I thought about it awhile, and said, “I’m really sorry, Emma, that Omar isn’t being very kind right now.  It’s not nice to not share your toys.  But they are his toys, and he can do with them what he wants.  You know what else, his mom is very sick, and he is probably sad, but he can’t understand what’s happening.  I’m sorry it makes you sad, I would be sad too.” 

I hope that was a good answer for Emma.  I know I can’t protect her forever from getting hurt by others, but of course, I want to as long as I can.  I want her to learn from kids who aren’t nice, that it’s exactly that, “not nice.”  At least this way, it’s useful for something to interact with kids like this.  Maybe it will prevent Emma from being mean in the future.  But really, what’s most important?  I want her to see Omar as a person who isn’t perfect, but deserves our love and kindness, regardless of what he does.  Sure, that’s the ideal, but in such a simple offense, we can do that.  As Emma grows and the offenses do too, that will get harder and harder.  I pray God gives us wisdom to help Emma learn these things, as we do too.  We all have a long way to go.

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Personal

Crazy for Soccer

I should have known that the soccer match coming up was a big one, when I saw the large announcement posted outside the main entrance to the Coptic Church in town.  Between the pictures and a few Arabic words that I could make out quickly, I noticed that the church was hosting a showing of the upcoming soccer game between Egypt and Algeria.  It wasn’t until a few days later, that our neighbor/landlord told us that it was a qualifier for the world cup.  Egypt, who has won the Africa cup a few times lately, was in danger of not making it to the world cup.  I learned that they had to win this game by 3 goals to advance.  Only 2 goals meant a rematch in a neutral country.

Unfortunately Jayson was out of town and beyond the reach of television during this game, otherwise, he may have been able to participate in the hype and excitement as he gathered with Egyptians to watch.  For me, the game started at 7:30 on a Saturday night…just about the time I was giving the girls a bath and putting them to bed.  We don’t have a television in our house, so I wasn’t going to watch, but I was cheering for Egypt as it would make for a more interesting World Cup this summer if the country we reside in was playing.

Two days before the game we got an alert email from the US embassy in Cairo.  It informed us of the game coming up, and urged all US citizens to stay away from the area of the stadium due to crazy traffic and the possibility of riots–even non-violent ones–before or after the game.  It seemed a little over the top to me.  Sure, I would avoid the area like crazy.  Don’t want to deal with the crowds and traffic, but I wondered about the threat of riots.

As I walked around town today, the day of the game, I could see the number of Egyptian flags had increased on cars and in shops and from people’s homes.  People were gearing up for the big game.  As I was doing my errands that day, a girl from a local shop stopped me to ask if I was cheering for Egypt.  “Of course,” I replied.  She seemed tickled by that.  I really don’t know how I couldn’t cheer for them, and still live here.  We talked a bit about the game and I showed my knowledge of the situation.  She said that if they didn’t advance tonight, but still won, the next game would be played in Sudan.

So, 7:30 rolled around and I gave the girls a bath and put them in bed.  I had some things to do after that and was busy in the kitchen around 9:30 when I heard a loud cheer go up from our building.  It was a collective cheer from below, above, outside and inside.  I thought, they must have won!  I quickly ran to my neighbors and rang her bell.  She came to the door quickly and returned to the TV even more quickly. 

“Did they win?”  I asked.

“No, just scored a second goal.  There’s only a few minutes left.” 

She kept watching the screen, cheering, holding her breath, getting down on her knees, shivering with excitement as Egypt had another good chance on goal.  (Take note that my landlord is a 50 year old mother of 3 grown sons.)  Another minute passed and the game ended.  Another loud cheer went up and all of Egypt celebrated their team’s victory.  I still think it meant they had to play another game, but at least they were still alive.  That was only the beginning of the celebration.

Now it is about 11:30pm and I was planning to be asleep by now.  But it’s near impossible as people are cheering and horns are beeping and sirens are wailing all around.  Our building is not located in a loud place…we rarely hear traffic besides the minivans that begin their route in front of our building.  But we are right next to a bridge that runs out of town, and for the last two hours, people have been constantly beeping their horns as they drive over the bridge.  I just keep praying that all this noise doesn’t wake the girls up! 

I’m glad for them–the team, the people of Egypt.  It’s probably something that unifies this country…Muslims and Christians alike.  I hope Egypt advances and does well, but right now, I would really like to sleep!  Oh well, that can be difficult in a country that doesn’t really sleep on a normal day until 2am.  It’s just that on this night, there is national permission to celebrate loudly and freely…probably until people fizzle out around 2am.  I hope I sleep before that!

 

Postscript: The rematch in Sudan is this evening, so the country is enraptured once again. Even Emma the other day chanted. “Go Masr, Go Masr!” (‘Masr’ is Arabic for ‘Egypt’.) We hope they win, even if it costs us another night’s sleep.

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Personal

First Days in Cairo: Househunting from Jail

Apartment-hunting in Cairo was tough considering Jayson was beginning a new job and we were housesitting in a place which was a 45-minute drive from Maadi, the neighborhood where we hoped to live.  This meant timing our visits there in between or in spite of naps and bedtime for our two girls.  Jayson didn’t have a lot of time to walk around Maadi and look for places, and once he left for the day, I was kind of stuck at the villa.  So, I did what I could from afar and looked in magazines and made some phone calls and even checked the internet.  Surprisingly, one of the best resources for finding an apartment was the ever popular Craigslist site online.

I saw a place on Craigslist on a Monday and tried calling about it, but the person never picked up.  We had been using a lot of real estate agents to find places and this was another one advertising a 3-bedroom place within our budget.  The details of the place sounded good, but we couldn’t do much about it if there was no answer.  I sent an email to the Craigslist address and finally on Friday night, got a reply that he had been out of town but would now answer his phone.  Well, Saturday was the first day of Ramadan…so the first day of the fast…and I tried calling him several times that morning as we were looking to decide on places, but still no answer. We had narrowed our choices down to a simple ground floor place (drawbacks were no bathtub and a very uneven floor…making the table and chairs a bit tipsy) and a 2-bedroom place across from the office (a good spot…but a little small and seemed a bit expensive compared to other places; plus, there were a lot of mice droppings from its short time vacant).  So, we weren’t super happy with either of these two options.  Finally in the afternoon, someone answered the phone.  He had slept in due to the fasting and it’s hard adjusting to the first day…especially since he’s a smoker.  Anyway, we agreed to see the place at 5:30 that evening…an hour before the time of breaking the fast.

We got the girls up from their nap and got ready to go into town.  Since it takes at least 45 minutes to get there from the villa we had to go early…and on the way, the real estate agent texted me to say the key wasn’t available at this time so we had to cancel the appointment.  It was really the only reason we were going all the way into town, so that was no good.  I called him and he thought that we could meet at 8pm and the key would be there.  Plus maybe he could show us some other spots.  So, we arrived in town around 5pm…what to do with three hours?!  Jayson stopped by the office and found there was an interview with some journalists taking place, and his boss invited him to stay for the interview.  Good and interesting for him.  A little hard for us.

It’s hard to keep the girls entertained and somewhat less than filthy, playing outside Jayson’s office building.  You see, the ground and everything outside is always covered by a layer of dust/dirt.  Fortunately Hannah is mostly walking now, but both her and Emma get quite dirty playing outside…and then I get dirty because they sit on my lap or I hold them.  I really can’t get from our house to our next stop in the car with a clean shirt and pants.  Oh well, something to adjust to.  Anyway, back to the time at the office.  So, to avoid the dirt, we played inside Jayson’s office building for a little while, but I didn’t want to make too much noise and disturb the interview. Then we left the office, closing the locked door behind us, only to find that the gate to get out of the building was also locked.  So, we were stuck in the stairwell.  And of course, Hannah crawls up steps, cleaning them as she goes!  We were stuck there for about half an hour, and at one point, Emma said we were in jail…something I hadn’t thought of but seemed fitting to our situation.  We tried to stay occupied by telling stories and singing songs, and we attempted to stay a little less than filthy.  The “little less than filthy” was unsuccessful, but we survived until someone who lived in the building came in and let us out!  We went to the car then for a snack until Jayson was done, then to his boss’ house for a drink.  By the time this was all over, it was about 7pm…still an hour until we meet the real estate agent, and I was quite ready to just go back home!  Enough for one day…but the night was yet young!  We got the girls some yogurt to eat and waited for the agent by our rendezvous spot. He showed up a couple minutes past our appointment time and we continued the adventure.

We didn’t start out at the Craigslist place.  He took us to another apartment building where we were going to see two places.  But instead, we waited and waited and waited and waited for the doorman to come back with the key.  He had gone to the mosque for Ramadan prayers and was coming “any minute.”  This went on for about half an hour.  The good news is, Emma liked this “Amu” (Arabic word for uncle) for some reason and played with him real well despite the fact that it was going on 9pm by the time we finally said, that’s enough waiting, let’s go to the other place.

So, then we were going to see yet another place before the Craigslist place, but this one was on the opposite side of the metro track.  We don’t know why he suggested this, but we parked at one spot, walked up and over the metro (lots and lots of stairs) and then preceded to walk what felt like a mile…remember, 9pm, me carrying Hannah, Jayson carrying Emma, through the dark streets…until we finally got to an apartment where we went to the third floor (no elevator).  Now, what’s frustrating about this is we specifally told the agent we didn’t want a high floor without an elevator…it’s just too hard with the kids.  But, we saw the place anyway.  It was a decent place but didn’t have a bathtub, so that was a problem. (Besides being on the third floor).  Then, while Jayson was looking at the back bedroom with the landlord and agent, the landlord closed the shutters on the window, knocking a beehive open…and bees started to swarm into the bedroom!  Fortunately I didn’t witness this myself, but the owner got stung and Jayson made it out of there without harm.  The landlord felt really bad and assured us he would spray and take care of that problem!

So then onto the place we had been waiting to see for five days or five hours…depending on when you started counting!  Fortunately, we didn’t have to walk too far to the next place, it was just up and over the metro again.

We got to the building and there was a large family gathering taking place in the downstairs aptartment.  Again, it was the first day of Ramadan and the family was celebrating the fast-breaking meal.  And of course, the key was not there, but would be back in about 20 minutes! Ugh!  It was already 10pm!  Well, we came this far, so we had to wait.

The family invited us in…or maybe Hannah just kind of walked in and we had to follow her, and we enjoyed a visit with them…having some dessert and juice and chatting some with the people. It was a large group…uncles, aunts, cousins, etc.  The girls did okay despite the hour, and Emma was a little overwhelmed as people would pick her up when she didn’t want them to…but all in all, it was a nice introduction to the owner of the buildings large family.

So, finally the key came and we went up to look at the place.  I liked it immediately although it was supposed to be a furnished place and there was only some furniture…so that was tricky, but they promised to furnish it if we took it.  We took a look at it and talked some with the brother of the owner, as the owner himself was out of town…and told them we would think about it.  After about 1/2 an hour of looking around and talking, we headed back out…took a taxi back to our car, dropped the agent off, and headed back to the villa…fortunately there wasn’t much traffic and we made good time…both of the girls sleeping from the time we got in the car.

As a postscript: This is the apartment we did finally settle on, just a few days after our crazy night.  It was a good reminder that things take longer to do here…something we need to get used to.  We’re thankful that our kids are flexible, and glad to be done the househunting for the time being.

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First Days in Cairo: A Dinner Invitation

We moved into our apartment in a nice section of Cairo…Maadi, the town of foreigners, or ex-pats, as we are sometimes called. (To clarify, out of the three million people who live in this town, one million of them are ex-pats…leaving two million Egyptians.)  We moved in on a Sunday evening during Ramadan.  Ramadan is the month of fasting for Muslims, and the majority of Muslims in Egypt fasted from sunrise to sunset…breaking the fast at the call to prayer.  A couple days after we moved in, we passed the doorman and his wife walking on the street.  This was about one hour before the breaking of the fast. 

“Please come and break the fast with us,” the doorman said to Jayson.

“Thank you, thank you,” was the reply.

“Yes, please come and have dinner with us tonight,” added the doorman’s wife.

I kind of looked at Jayson and immediately thought that we couldn’t do it tonight…although I didn’t have a good reason…I’m just not always ready for spontaneity!  “Well, thank you so much.  We can’t tonight.  Um, um, thank you though, you’re so generous,” I kind of stuttered.

Jayson saved me and added, “Thank you for the invitation, God willing, we can join you tomorrow for the fast-breaking.”

The doorman replied, “Yes, God willing, tomorrow.”  And we went on our way.

So, sure enough, the next night, we joined them in their home next to our apartment building.  They live in what appears to be a half-knocked down building, but if you don’t mind that the floor above you is half-broken down, it’s really quite big and spacious. 

brokendownhouse

They also have enough land to grow some vegetables and keep farm animals!  As the wife told me, it’s a villa!  We sat outside, on a mat on the ground and shared a simple, yet delicious meal. 

outside viewbawaab

The doorman’s wife was with us for 10 minutes or so before she disappeared inside.  We ate somewhat quickly…as is customary during the fast-breaking meal, and washed our hands as the kids got up to play and the doorman’s daughter got up to clear the “table.”  A little while later, I was invited inside to visit with the wife who had gone to lay down in her bed to rest.  You see, she had had brain surgery about two weeks prior to this night.  Apparently she had a tumor removed.  It’s not appropriate in this culture, to ask too much about sicknesses or if it was cancerous, for example, but I don’t know of any follow-up treatment she is getting so, I am guessing it was benign.  But still, a brain tumor!

So, as I was pondering our dinner invitation a few days later, some things struck me when I realized that I would never have invited ourselves over if I were in their shoes.

Consider:

We are foreigners…wealthy Americans who are, in a sense, their employer, since we live in the building where they work.   Their daughter knocks on our door twice a day to run errands for us and collect our garbage.  Yet, they didn’t mind having someone from a “higher class” and a foreign country, to their simple home for a meal.

The first time they invited us was one hour before the meal!  I don’t know about you, but if I am having someone over, I like to have some notice!  I like to have everything prepared and the house clean and the table set.  But this family, and as is common in this culture, is always prepared for guests…expected or not.  They would have had enough food to serve us if we came at that first invitation.  They are always ready to serve anyone who might show up.  Talk about generous.  And this from a poorer family.

The wife, the woman of the house, had major surgery two weeks ago!  This is the kicker for me.  I can’t think of many women I know who would invite people to their house when they are recovering from brain surgery!  Yes, maybe for a sick visit, but, “Please, come have dinner with us.  I won’t be able to sit with you long, I have to rest because of my recent brain surgery, but please, come, be with us.  Sit with my family.  My daughters will take care of you.  You are welcome here!”  Hmmm, inviting a new family in the neighborhood to my house, in that situation, would not have been the first thing on my mind.

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Finding Church (part two)

Within the Arab World, no nation contains as many Christians as Egypt. As a nation there are approximately 80 million Egyptians, and it is commonly constituted that 10% of these are Christian. Yet while some Copts (the name of local Christians, and the word from with ‘Egypt’ is derived) occasionally claim that there are even up to 10 or 12 million Christian Egyptians, the true figure may be as low as 6%. The percentage of Christians has steadily declined in the last several decades, due to various factors. Muslims maintain a higher birthrate than Christians, Christians emigrate abroad in greater number than Muslims, and due to complicated social factors, deserving its own blog sometime in the future, it is not uncommon for Copts to convert to Islam for domestic reasons, be it marriage, divorce, or an oppressive family setting. Add these factors together, and similar to Christianity in much of the Middle East, the church is contracting.

                Yet in Egypt at least, unlike in Palestine for example, there is no crisis, if only because any percentage of 80 million people is sizeable. To break down the numbers further, of the Christian population, perhaps 90-95% is Orthodox. Catholics and Protestants have an influence greater than their percentage would suggest, for they can often find support from their international denominations, both in terms of money and theological education, and as such their leaders are accorded national prominence greater than their numerical due.

                 Behind these logistics is the local setting in Maadi, Cairo, where we reside. Maadi is one of the popular areas for internationals to live, and as such, there are a plethora of worship choices. Among the most popular is Maadi Community Church – http://www.maadichurch.com/. As a Protestant non-denominational church, it attracts over 1000 worshipers during three Friday afternoon services, including one especially tailored for African internationals, both professional and refugee. There is another English language service held at St. John’s Anglican Episcopal, which also operates as an interdenominational fellowship, though high church in tradition. They are smaller in size, meet Friday mornings for traditional service and Thursday evenings for contemplative communion, and have a Rector who has written an interesting book on Muslims and Christians, which you can find through the who’s who link at their webpage – http://www.maadichurch.org/. The local Coptic Church, St. Mark’s – http://www.stmarkmaadi.com/ (Arabic site, but interesting pictures if you dare to experiment; place your cursor on the first rollover link on the column to the right, then click on the third option given. Finally, let us know if you succeed so we can applaud you) even has an English mass once a month on Saturday morning. Of course, we have already written about our general attitude toward belonging to the international community, which you can review in our first post.

                 Similar to our situation in Jordan, discussed last post, we have a local evangelical church only five minutes walking distance away from our home. Unfortunately, the only meeting time begins at 7pm on Sunday evening. With care given to Egyptian timekeeping, it often does not really begin until later, and then does not end until 9pm or so. Since church is more than just a service, but rather a web of relationships in a community of people, in order to get to know anyone we would need to stay even later to have any fellowship. In general we put Emma and Hannah to bed at 8pm. We wrote in our first post that we will try to become like them as much as possible, though we know we will never succeed, and it would be foolish to imagine we could. The issue of children’s bedtime exposes us in terms of the latter half of that sentence. It seems to us that Egyptian children have little bedtime expectations. Since the vast majority grow up to be responsible adults anyway, we see just how difficult it is to jettison our own cultural superiority. We should mention that the church does have a good Sunday School program, meeting at 12:30pm on Fridays, which Emma has been enjoying, and even memorized her first verse in Arabic last week, Exodus 15:26.

                 There is also a somewhat famous evangelical church in downtown Cairo, which we could get to by about a 20-30 minute metro ride. They have several services throughout the weekend, some of which have 1000 people at one time. You can check this church out at http://www.kdec.net/, but it is only an Arabic site, it seems. We would prefer a neighborhood church, and one that would be a bit smaller, but still, it is an option.

                 This leaves one last option, which would involve a resurrection of the quest to discover Christian diversity. St. Mark’s Orthodox Church is located about a twenty minute walk away from our home, and has Friday morning services which include a Sunday School time following a children’s mass. Unfortunately, there is much that would need to be written to introduce this option, so we ask your patience in awaiting part three of this theme…