The Monastery of Saint Macarius

On Saturday, Jeff and I participated in a CSA tour to the Monastery of Saint Macarius and to Anafora, a Christian retreat center in the desert. The tour was led by Ibrahim, who amazed us all with his knowledge of Egyptian history, the history of Christians within Egypt, and current events. The tour was phenomenal. I originally was going to tell you about both places in this one post, but I think the monastery is enough for this one. I'll tell you about Anafora in another post. For the 49 best pictures of Saint Macarius, click here.

Saint Macarius is located 92 km (around 57 miles) north of Cairo, on the Alexandria Road. The drive took around an hour and a half, maybe a little longer, so in order to have any time at all at our destinations, we had to leave early. The tour was scheduled to leave from CSA at 7am. We planned on walking to CSA, so we left our apartment at 6:30 to make certain we were there on time. We were running late, as usual, but we had arranged to meet Lauren and her family outside, since they weren't certain exactly how to get to CSA, so I left Jeff eating breakfast and went down to meet them, confident that he would catch up. When I got downstairs, Lauren realized that she had forgotten her receipt, so she went back to get it. The rest of us went on, after I called Jeff to let him know not to leave without Lauren. The walk was pleasant, as it wasn't too hot yet.

Shortly after 7, Ibrahim started going down the list of people who had registered for the tour. As he called our names, we showed him our receipt and boarded the nicely air-conditioned bus. Of course, Ibrahim had told us that there would be no restrooms for at least two hours, but CSA wasn't open yet, so most of us ended up getting back off the bus once it became known that CSA was opening and we could use their restrooms. But eventually, maybe around 7:30, we all were on the bus and ready to go. Ibrahim told us that although lunch was included in the tour, it wouldn't be until 2pm, so he offered to stop at Metro market so we could buy snacks. Everyone declined, as most of us had brought snacks with us. (Jeff and I had three large bottles of water and two boxes of Fiber One bars; we had learned our lesson the day before.)

As we drove, Ibrahim pointed out the sites that we were passing. We drove up the Corniche to the Ring Road, which we used to cross the Nile and head into Giza. When we got off the Ring Road, we turned north. We went through Giza, passing very close to the Great Pyramids, and turned onto the Alexandria Road, reminiscent of a four-lane interstate highway back home, although there were turn-offs and turn-arounds rather than exit ramps.

Once we got out into the desert, where there was little to see outside, Ibrahim began a lecture about the history of Christianity in Egypt. Egyptians first were introduced to Christianity by the apostle Mark sometime before 50A.D. The first convert was Anianus, a shoemaker to whom Mark presented the gospel while Anianus repaired his shoe. Anianus later became the Bishop of Alexandria. There have been Christians in Egypt ever since. At first, there was just one worldwide church. The church leaders met as necessary to discuss doctrine and formally label as heresy teachings that were inconsistent with the founding beliefs of Christianity. I think Ibrahim said that it was around 500 A.D. (if I'm wrong on that date, it's my memory, not Ibrahim's lecture) that the Catholic church and the Coptic church split over differences regarding Mary's sinlessness, Jesus's dual nature, whether priests should marry, and other topics. But in many ways Coptic Christianity is similar to Catholicism, at least when viewed through the eyes of a Protestant like myself. Anyway, Copts have a pope, bishops, priests, monks, and nuns. There was much more to the lecture, lots of interesting information, but I unfortunately didn't take notes and therefore don't remember most of it. But he talked us all the way through ancient Egypt to the coming of the Romans, to Christianity, to the coming of the Arabs and Islam, and even touched on recent history. One interesting point (to me, at least) was that the Coptic language is--or at least is derived directly from--the language spoken by the ancient Egyptians. It was transliterated under Greek rule, so that it now is written mostly in Greek characters (with a few letters added to represent sounds that aren't present in Greek). Anyway, I digress from my own story . . .

We had to make a U-turn to get onto the west side of the Alexandria Road, then turned off to the right. Shortly thereafter, we reached the outer gates of Saint Macarius. After Ibrahim spoke with the guards, we were allowed in. The bus drove down a long road with farmland and decorative trees and flowers on each side. Ibrahim told us that until the 1970s, the monastery was all desert. At that time, it entered a period of reclamation and restoration. Wells were dug, and the monastery's land was turned into a functioning agricultural center. At the same time, the remains of the ancient monastery--there's been one there since 360A.D.--were uncovered and restored, under the supervision of the Egyptian Department of Antiquities. So what we saw was a wonderful combination of ancient and newer structures.

After we passed through the farmland, we came to a second gate, where we again were allowed to pass only after Ibrahim had talked with the guards. We drove up an asphalt driveway to a large parking lot just outside the walls of the main complex. We entered the complex through a low gate. It's deliberately low, because you're supposed to bow your head in reverence as you enter. Once through, I stopped in awe.

Just as soon as I stepped through the gate into the main complex at Saint Macarius, I felt at peace. It was as if a burden that I didn't even realize I was carrying had suddenly disappeared. The scene was utterly tranquil. There was a slight breeze, and it felt cool and comfortable. The sun was shining in a bright blue sky, the kind that we don't get to see in Cairo because of the pollution-induced haze. There was a monk, wearing a long black gallabeya, awaiting us. He introduced himself (I wish I remembered his name!) and welcomed us warmly. He was soft-spoken, but I had no difficulty hearing and understanding his every word. This feeling of tranquility and peace remained with me the whole time that I was at Saint Macarius.

The courtyard was beautiful, with grayish paving stones bordered by grass. There was a seating area with benches in front of planters, complete with something down at the bottom to keep the flies away. The seating area was shaded from the sun by a trellis. After you passed through the seating area, you descended some stone steps to pass underneath a beautiful archway. Our monk guide told us that the stone arch had been uncovered during the restoration work, and then a new concrete arch had been created underneath to support it.

We walked under the arch and into a beautiful courtyard that was shaded by the buildings around it. On one side was the arch, and there were churches on the other three sides, with room to walk between to go further into the complex. We first entered the church on the left (I forget the name), which is the largest church at Saint Macarius. We took our shoes off before entering, although the monk told the mother of a young child that there was no need to remove the child's shoes. We entered the church and proceeded to the front near the altar. There were long platforms on each side of the front with books similar to hymnals. Our guide told us that the monks meet in that church every morning at 4am to chant praises for two hours. He demonstrated some of the chanting for us; it was hauntingly beautiful, more singing than chanting. He allowed us to take pictures and even encouraged us to take pictures of the inner sanctum's ceiling, which was the original brick, although we could stand only in the door of the inner sanctum, not actually go in. He showed us a grave that was uncovered in the front corner of the church during the restoration. The entrance was covered with glass or a heavy plastic. They found graves of John the Baptist and of Elisha the Prophet; I don't remember which this was. Also inside the church was a niche in which there were three hard cylinders, each containing the bones (or relics) of one of the three Saint Macarius-es.

After we left that church, we crossed the courtyard to the Church of the Forty-Nine Monk Martyrs. This church was named after 49 monks who were killed during an attack of the Berbers. The monks are buried there in that church. Inside, we saw original stonework and woodwork. Our guide also told us about two of the symbols that appeared on many of the surfaces. Both are crosses. One has three points on each arm. The 12 points represent the apostles. Each arm represents the Trinity, as the three points converge into one arm. The other cross had two points on each arm. This cross represents the dual nature of Jesus: fully God and fully Man, yet one being.

Then we went back out into the courtyard and around to the side of the third church, to another courtyard. There we saw the entries into some of the ancient cells, which we also were allowed to enter. Each cell contained two small rooms. One was for sleeping and praying; the other was for living and studying. We didn't get pictures of them. The cells that are in use now (which we didn't see) have a sleeping room, a study, a bathroom, and a kitchen. Back in the courtyard, our monk pointed out the keep. The monastery didn't always have a wall, so when the Berbers attacked, the monks ran up some stairs and across a bridge into the keep. They pulled the bridge up behind them. There was a well and food inside the keep. They could stay in there for 2 or 3 weeks, until the Berbers went away. We were not able to go inside the keep.

Then we went into the third and final church (whose name I don't recall). In this church, we saw more original stonework and also some ancient paintings of the Madonna, the Black Madonna, the archangel Gabriel, Matthew, Mark, and Luke. If I recall correctly, the relics of either Saint John or Elisha were located here, again in hard cylinders.

After we finished in the church, we went back up to the entrance. We were led into a building on the left side, which seemed to be a cafeteria. We were served hot tea, which was very good. After a little while, our monk came back to get us and led us to the bookstore. Jeff bought a few books, and I bought a couple of papyrus paintings for our apartment. One depicts the Lord's Supper, and the other depicts the Holy Family in Egypt (a part of history of which the Copts are proud, that the Holy Family sought refuge in their homeland). Then it was time to get back on the bus for the drive to Anafora.

Dahshur, Memphis, and Saqqara

We had a very busy weekend. On Friday, we joined our friend Lauren, along with her husband and parents, for a tour to Dahshur, Memphis, and Saqqara. On Saturday, we took a CSA tour to the Saint Makarious monastery and to Anaphora Retreat Center. Friday was physically exhausting; Saturday was long (it was a 12-hour tour) but incredibly relaxing. In this post, I’ll tell you about Friday; in the next one, I’ll write about Saturday. For now, be assured that this post is pretty long; if you're in a hurry, save it for another time. If you'd like to see 27 of the pictures from this trip, click here. A few are embedded in the post, but most are only available on Picasa.
 

Friday’s trip began at 9am, when Jeff and I went downstairs to meet Lauren; her husband, Zack; her parents, Mark and Leslie; and our guide, Radwa. The tour was supposed to last until 4pm, with lunch included. One of the first things Radwa told us was that some of the sites were closing early because of Ramadan, so lunch would need to wait until the end, and it’s available but not included. (I think there was a miscommunication due to language; to Americans, “included” means included in the price; apparently to the owner of this tour company, “included” means that it’s in the schedule.) Anyway, I quickly regretted the decision not to carry snacks and bottles of water, and Jeff and I both quickly appreciated that Lauren had brought extras of both.

As the trip progressed, I learned that our guide has definite opinions about the structures we were seeing. Her opinions do not necessarily match the opinions of most experts, so please forgive me if I get confused about the historical facts. Just take the historical information with a grain of salt.

We drove out of Maadi and up the Nile Corniche to the Ring Road (similar to the Beltway around Washington, DC). After crossing the Nile, we took an exit for the Saqqara Road. On the way, we passed through some of what I believe is Giza, a suburb of Cairo on the west bank of the Nile. We passed by some farmland and through some small villages. Then we turned off of the Saqqara Road and found ourselves in the desert. We could look one direction and see lush vegetation, with the Nile and Cairo in the distance, or we could look in the other three directions and see sand. The contrast was amazing.

Our first stop was Dahshur, where we saw the Bent Pyramid and the Red Pyramid. Both pyramids were built under the reign of Snefru. According to Radwa, the Bent Pyramid is the oldest structure that was built with the intention of it being a true pyramid, but there was a mistake made in its construction. The lower part of the pyramid angles in at 55 degrees. However, after construction began, it was realized that this angle was going to cause problems; either parts of the rooms and tunnels inside began to fall, or it was realized that it would be too difficult to complete the top of it. So the angle was changed mid-construction to a more manageable 43 degrees. This change gives the Bent Pyramid the unusual shape that resulted in its name. Radwa insisted that Snefru was buried in the Bent Pyramid (although online information indicated that most experts believe Snefru was buried in the Red Pyramid) because of certain characteristics of the pyramid: it has two entrances (to confuse grave robbers), the remains of both a mortuary temple and a valley temple, and a subsidiary pyramid, all of which she said is characteristic of pharoahs’ burial places. The online information I saw didn’t indicate what arguments favored the idea that Snefru was buried inside the Red Pyramid instead. We couldn’t go inside the Bent Pyramid, which was closed for restoration, but we took lots of pictures from outside.

After we walked around the Bent Pyramid, snapping pictures all the while, we drove back up the road about a kilometer to the Red Pyramid, which Radwa said was the first true pyramid. (Online sources say that the first pyramid was the Step Pyramid, which we saw later, but it didn’t have the smooth triangular shape; hence, not a “true” pyramid to Radwa.) Radwa discouraged us from going inside the Red Pyramid, since it was physically demanding and it was empty inside, but there was no deterring us. We were going in with or without her. We had no problem with her waiting outside, since it was physically demanding and her Muslim religion dictated that she have no food or water all day since it’s still Ramadan. However, she finally decided to come with us.

So we climbed the not-as-easy-as-they-looked stairs up to the entrance, waved at Leslie (who had decided to wait in the van), and began our descent. You had to duck to get into the entrance, and you couldn’t stand up all the way down. I don’t have pictures, because photography wasn’t allowed inside, but I found a website here that has pictures. We climbed down a passageway that was around 206 feet long, angled at 27 degrees. The original floor was smooth, but beams had been installed every few feet to act like stairs, although they reminded me more of ladder rungs. Jeff went down sideways, bent over and side-stepping down. Zack went backward, like he was descending a sloped ladder. I went down sideways until my muscles protested too much, then turned forward, grasped both handrails, and walked down for a while, before turning to the other side. I don’t know how Lauren, Mark, or Radwa went down. None of us could stand upright; we were bent over the whole time. Once we were down, the rooms were tall and we could stand, but the short passageways between rooms required us to bend over again. Most of what we saw are visible on the pictures. What you can’t tell from the pictures is that there was a strong odor—it smelled like a hair salon when everyone is getting perms. Someone later said it was ammonia. Anyway, we looked around inside, then started the long climb back up. The ascent was easier than the descent; we all just faced forward and climbed the sloped ladder, although we had to stop and rest a few times. Once we were back out, all of us felt like our legs were made of jell-o. I couldn’t walk down the external stairs without stopping at each landing to rest; my legs wanted to collapse. While Lauren took a breather, Radwa expressed concern over how she was doing, and Mark said that she was doing really well for someone who was 7 months pregnant. The look on Radwa’s face was priceless—she hadn’t realized Lauren was pregnant, and pregnant women are not allowed into the pyramids. Lauren was watched very closely by a chagrined Radwa after that.

We all gratefully retreated to the air-conditioned van after the expedition into the Red Pyramid. It was time to move on to Memphis, and boy, were were ready to sit down! On the way, Radwa told us a little about the history of Memphis. Apparently Egypt used to be divided into two kingdoms: the Upper Kingdom (southern, nearer the source of the Nile) and the Lower Kingdom (northern, nearer the delta and the Mediterranean). When the two kingdoms finally were united, Memphis was their first capital. There used to be a temple to Hatur (also known as Hathor) and another to Ptah. There really isn’t a whole lot left there now. There were several small statues, three large ones, and one colossal statue of Ramses II. Unfortunately, we forgot our camera in the van for this one, and we haven’t yet gotten the pictures from Lauren’s camera, so you can go to this website to see some pictures.

After Memphis, we went to Saqqara. At Saqqara, we first visited the Step Pyramid and the structures immediately around it. According to the internet, the Step Pyramid is the oldest pyramid. According to Radwa, the Step Pyramid really shouldn’t be called a pyramid at all, although it was an early step toward the construction of true pyramids. Although its general shape is pyramidal, it actually is a series of mastabas (rectangular burial chambers), built for the Pharoah Djoser (also known as Horus). We arrived outside the Step Pyramid and took a few pictures, then entered the site through a limestone structure. This site is believed to be the first place that limestone was used to create buildings. After passing through this entry, we found ourselves in a huge open court. On one side was the pyramid itself. Two sides were walled, and the fourth side had the remains of an ancient temple. We walked around to the other side of the temple to the Hepset Court, from which the king used to walk up to the temple roof to present an offering and request the god’s blessing to reign for another thirty years. Then we went back out to the open court and up some stairs to the wall, where we could clearly see the Bent and Red Pyramids in the distance. There also were some structures just outside the wall, but we didn’t really have time to walk among them.

When we left the Step Pyramid site, we drove just a little ways within the same complex to the tomb of . . . I don’t remember the name; by that time I was too tired to keep taking notes. And I don’t have pictures, as they weren’t allowed in the tomb or in the pyramid near it. Cameras were to be left in the vehicle, so I don’t even have pictures of the outside, and since I don’t remember the name of this area, I haven’t been able to find pictures online. Anyway, we went into this tomb. There were at least four rooms that we saw. All of the surfaces were covered with pictures. Radwa explained some of the scenes to us. One showed a worker who had done his best but who had collapsed from the effort; he was being nursed. Another showed a worker being beaten because he had not done his best. We also saw a statue of the man who was buried there.

Then we went next door to the pyramid. I don’t remember whose pyramid it was. It was much smaller than the other pyramids we had seen, so the climb in wasn’t as long or as steep as it was at the Red Pyramid. The smell also was better. The inside of this pyramid was amazing. After we came out of the entry tunnel, we were in a small room with hieroglyphs all over the walls. Off of this room were two other rooms, one on each side. We went into the room to the right, ducking through a low door. The walls of this room also were covered with hieroglyphs. The ceiling was covered with carvings of stars, representing the night sky. There was a big stone sarcophagus in the room as well. I really wish I had been able to get pictures; this place was truly amazing. We didn’t go into the other room because the site was about to close. We were rushed back up the ladder/stairs pretty quickly. We were all huffing and puffing when we made it to the top, but it wasn’t anything like what we experienced climbing out of the Red Pyramid.

Then we went back to the van and headed home. It was around 3pm when we got home, and we hadn’t eaten lunch. Thanks to Lauren, we had been able to drink water, but there had been no time for lunch. Of course, it also was hot enough that even after I got home, I didn’t want any food for the first 15 or 20 minutes, until I had cooled off. My legs were wobbly for the rest of the night, due to the climb in and out of the Red Pyramid. Truth be told, they were sore all day yesterday, especially later in the day after the naproxen sodium wore off, and they’re still pretty sore. So for all of you who may visit Egypt, heed this advice: If you intend to go inside any of the large pyramids, also plan very restful activities for the two days following that particular expedition!

Oh, and just to show you the awesome contrast that is Egypt near the Nile: Here's a picture of the view toward Cairo from Saqqara.

Debt Free

Owe no one anything, except to love each other, for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law. -- Romans 13:8 (emphasis added)

In the New International Version, that verse reads "Let no debt remain outstanding, except the continuing debt to love one another, for he who loves his fellowman has fulfilled the law" (emphasis added).

Owe no one anything. Let no debt remain outstanding. That's not such an easy concept in today's credit-driven world. Life without a car payment, a student loan, or even a single credit card? Is that even possible? Jeff and I are here to tell you--yes, it absolutely is possible.

For the last two years, Jeff and I have been working diligently to follow a plan put forth by a certain Dave Ramsey. His plan helps people get their financial lives on track so that they can become and remain debt free. Dave's plan isn't rocket science, although it isn't easy, either. It relies on sacrifice and planning to get you through the seven baby steps. Jeff and I just finished baby step 2: the elimination of all debt except the house . . . and since we don't own a home, that means WE ARE TOTALLY DEBT-FREE!!! We paid off the last debt--my student loan--on Thursday.

Here's how we did it: We made a conscious choice to live on significantly less money than we earned, and we made a budget each month to ensure that we were spending our money deliberately in order to keep our expenses low. We stopped using credit cards for anything. In fact, we cut up all our credit cards when we first started the plan, and we closed each credit card as we paid it off. When we first started baby step 2, we listed all of our debts in order from smallest to largest. The smallest ones were the credit cards, then Jeff's student loan, then mine. We made our budget so that we accomplished these things, in order of priority: (1) we gave 10% to God's body on earth, the local church, in order to be obedient and to support God's work on earth; (2) we met our basic needs, including housing, food, utilities, transportation, and basic clothing--just what we needed, not what we wanted; (3) we stayed current on all of our debts, making minimum payments on time; and (4) we put every extra penny we had toward paying more than the minimum on our smallest debt. When we paid off a debt, we weren't finished and we didn't take a break; we started on the next-smallest debt. Then the next, and the next, and the next, until finally, on Thursday, there was no next-smallest debt because we had paid them all off.

Now it's time to move on to baby step 3: increasing our baby emergency fund (that was step 1) to a fully-funded emergency fund, so that even when we have a medical emergency, or the truck needs a new transmission, or the truck dies altogether and has to be replaced, we can pay for what we need with money we have rather than being tempted to go back into debt.

But for now, I just want to enjoy this feeling . . . I don't owe anyone anything, except for the continuing debt of Christian love. Do you know what this means? I'm free. The Bible says that the borrower is slave to the lender (Proverbs 22:7). Think about it. When you owe money, you're not working for yourself--your earnings, at least a portion of them, belong to your creditor by right, just like a slave's earnings belong to his or her master. When you are debt-free, your earnings belong to you (except for taxes, which I don't want to get into right now, because America's current tax structure just makes me mad and I'd rather celebrate at the moment.) For the first time in eight years, Jeff and I are not slaves to any bank, credit union, or financial entity. We are free. I just want to savor the moment.

Maadi to the Core

On Wednesday, I participated in my second ever CSA tour. This one was a tour of Maadi designed for newcomers. I know, I've been here for around three months now, but I really haven't explored a whole lot, so I wanted to see what else is out there. It was a good tour.

Lauren and I walked down to CSA in time for the tour to start at 9am. We actually got on the bus around 9:20, which is a fairly typical delay. Our guide was Mrs. Magda, who helpfully gave us a map of Maadi and a handout with a list of shops and her cell phone number. She told us to call her anytime we can't find a shop or service for what we need. (In general, CSA guides are very good and very friendly, but I tend to think that giving out the cell number . . . or mobile --pronounced mo-BILE here--is above and beyond.)

So we all piled on the bus and took off. Our first stop was SEEgypt, a travel agency. We were given handouts of things to do in Cairo, and we heard about a cookbook, compiled by the SEEgypt lady and Mrs. Magda, that contains all authentic Egyptian recipes. I'm considering going by to buy one, but I think I'll wait until I can take CSA's Egyptian cooking class and see how I like that first.

Anyway, after SEEgypt, we went all over Maadi and stopped at various types of shops. We were given free samples at a yummy pastry shop called Lanandine, on El Nasr Street. We drove by an office with a variety of medical doctors who tend to use Western standards. We saw samples of what was available from a fishmonger. A couple of restaurants and bakers were pointed out and recommended, as were barbers and hairstylists. Of course, there also were shops for clothing, home decor, and gifts.

We stopped and looked around in The Bookshop on El-Lasilki. Of course, this was one of my favorite stops. The shop was large by local standards, and most of the books were in English. There was a good variety, too--fiction, history, travel, even some about American politics. And there was a coffee shop inside :-) It doesn't get much better than that for a bookstore. Jeff and I probably will explore this shop a little more thoroughly at some point.

We went up and down Road 9, with which I'm fairly familiar already. Then we went across the flyover (for some reason, that's what we call the bridges over the metro tracks), where I haven't done any exploring at all. We stopped at a home linens shop just off Road 153. Mrs. Magda pointed out that a lot of their products were for export, so they had colors and patterns that Westerners tend to like but that Egyptians don't usually want. I was very impressed with the quality, prices, and variety. Of course everything was Egyptian cotton. I bought a small pillow that I thought the kittens might like in their basket . . . turns out, it was too thick for the basket; there wasn't enough room for the cat to sit on the pillow in the basket. And because it's so thick and cushy, it's very rounded on top, so the kittens slide off it if they try to lie on it . . . but it's a very nice pillow; it'll end up on the guest bed or maybe even just on the loveseat.

Mrs. Magda also pointed out a tailor that I may want to try . . . I forget his name; she said that she calls him "Same-same." That's because people who have clothing made often want one just like one they have, but in different fabric. So they bring him the new fabric and the old garment, and he uses the new fabric to make another one that's same-same as the old one. I like this idea, because I have a couple of shirts that I really like, except that they're sleeveless, so I won't wear them here without a jacket, and it's still too hot for that. So I'm considering have some more made, same-same, except that I'd want sleeves that are same-same from another shirt. I assume he could mix and match like that.

Then we went up to Khalifa ... yum. It's an ice cream shop. Well worth taking Jeff to. Good ice cream for only . . . what was it? LE2? LE3? Anyway, less than one U. S. dollar. But the most unusual part of the tour for me was something that happened on the way up Road 105. I had heard about traffic having to stop for herds of goats here, but I hadn't seen it . . . now I have! I didn't have my camera with me, but Lauren pulled out her camera and got a short video of the goats streaming by the bus. She wasn't able to get it out soon enough to get the whole herd approaching the bus, but still . . . it was an event. You can see the video here.

So the tour was both enjoyable and useful. Some of my previous finds were reinforced as good ones, and some new good ones were added to the list.

Sausage Biscuits and Monkey Bread

On Tuesday, after I got home from the Maadi Women's Guild meeting, I started prepping for Tuesday night. Jeff and I had volunteered to host this week's meeting of our cell ... uh, life ... group. These small groups, affiliated with Maadi Community Church (MCC), used to be called cell groups. Soon after I first mentioned them in a blog entry, a friend from home sent me an email joking that back there, "cell group" meant something entirely different from how it's used at MCC. Well, our pastor told us just a couple of weeks ago that the Egyptian government was a little concerned about our cell groups . . . so we changed their name to "life groups." Apparently that's all it took to satisfy the government. I guess the phrase "cell group" means the same thing to the Egyptian government as it does to most Americans :-)

Anyway, Jeff and I were hosting this week's life group meeting. That would be why I cleaned all day on Monday. So I spent Tuesday afternoon dusting the table tops again--funny, how dust reappears on the horizontal surfaces overnight in this part of the world--and moving the arm chairs from the den into the living room to provide some extra seating. Then I started cooking.

At our last meeting, I had discovered that the South African members of our group didn't quite understand what we Americans meant when we said the word "biscuit." They had some crazy notion that biscuits are sweet, cookie-like things. One even said how disgusted she had been when she heard Oprah talk about biscuits and gravy. So I decided that when we hosted cell ... life group this week, I would educate them about biscuits. The snacks for this week would include biscuits (complete with "filling" options of butter, apple butter, grape jelly, strawberry jam, and real Jimmy Dean pork sausage), apple pie, chips'n'dip, and peanuts. Then for good measure, I decided to add monkey bread. For those of you who aren't familiar with monkey bread, it's a cake consisting of chunks of biscuits coated in sugar and cinammon. The icing is a mix of powdered sugar and milk. I thought monkey bread would be great for cell group for two reasons: (1) it's another form of biscuit and (2) one of our life group members has started a running joke by convincing the small child of another member that "Monkey" is a more appropriate name than "Mommy." By introducing monkey bread, I could add a little fuel to that flame without actually getting involved. The trouble-maker in me just couldn't resist . . . and actually didn't try all that hard.

This was to be my first time making monkey bread without my mom actually being there. All went well while I prepared the monkey bread and put it in the oven. Jeff volunteered to pull it out after it was ready and put the icing on it while I went to get a shower and get ready for life group. The problems started 45 minutes later, when I came back to the kitchen to put the pie in the oven. The monkey bread was still in there, and it wasn't done yet. I had been thinking that it only took 15 minutes or so to cook, but it was nowhere near done. So we left it in for another 10 minutes or so . . . still not done. At this point, the pie had to go in the oven, and it had to cook at a hotter temperature than the monkey bread. So I turned the heat up to get the oven preheated for the pie, then did what any daughter does in a situation like that: I called Mom. It turns out that monkey bread usually takes 45 minutes to an hour to cook, and I had used more biscuits than Mom usually does, so it was going to take longer. Mom suggested that I take the monkey bread out of the oven, divide it into two pans, and put it back in for a few more minutes. But by then, I was fixated on getting the pie in, and Jeff, who hadn't eaten lunch or dinner, wanted to munch on the parts of the monkey bread that were done. I left the monkey bread in the oven a little while longer, then pulled it out, with predictable results. Part of it was burnt; part of it was raw; part of it was just right. Jeff ate the just right and part of the burnt. I put the pie in the oven and told Jeff I'd try to make him some more edible monkey bread some other time.

So eventually, the pie came out of the oven, the cats went in their own little room (they're not so good at staying off tables, especially when there's food around), and the food went on the table. People started showing up not long after that. The biscuits were a huge hit. Apparently American biscuits aren't readily available here, and I knew the pork sausage would be a rare treat. So the Americans in our group were delighted, and the South Africans seemed to understand and appreciate American biscuits too. Our discussion--about community, fellowship, and outreach--was peppered with references to sausage biscuits. It wasn't until after the Bible study was over that I mentioned that no one had touched the apple pie. "There's apple pie too?! I didn't notice that!" And three-fourths of the pie disappeared. I'd say the evening was a success, and the monkey bread wasn't missed . . . although it sure would have been fun to introduce.

Maadi Women's Guild

This week has felt like a pretty full, busy week to me . . . of course, it really hasn't been. On Sunday, I sat around reading all day because I wanted to finish the book . . . actually the series . . . The Dragon King series by Stephen Lawhead. He writes fantasy and some historical fiction. He's classified as a Christian writer, but the stuff I've read so far has Christian overtones without being as overt as some other Christian fiction, so it would be a great introduction to Christian fiction . . . anyway, I digress. On Monday I cleaned all day. On Tuesday morning I went to my first ever meeting of the Maadi Women's Guild, the actual subject of this post. Maybe more on the rest of the week some other time, or maybe not, if something more interesting comes up :-)

I've been looking forward to this meeting ever since we got here in mid-June. The Maadi Women's Guild (MWG) is a ministry of Maadi Community Church, and it includes monthly meetings, Bible studies, and benevolence opportunities. I heard about Maadi Women's Guild either just after or just before I arrived here, but it, like most other things, had shut down for the summer. So when I saw a new Maadi Messenger, the free magazine put out by the MWG, I eagerly scoured it for information about the first meeting of the year. And there it was, a full-page ad: "You're invited to a Par-tea." We'll get to that in a minute.

According to the ad, the shopping started at 9:30, and the meeting started at 10. Now what kind of woman would I be if I wasn't interested in the shopping? So my friend Lauren and I walked down to the church, where the meeting was held, and arrived shortly after 9:30. There were booths set up with various items for sale. I'm not sure, but I think that the booths all were run by charitable organizations. There was one that looked like it was from the recycling center that I visited on the Mokkatum tour (see here and here); it had the recycled cards, some rugs, a few blankets, and some cute kids' items: alphabet books (one even in Arabic!) and stuffed animals. Other booths were selling bags, jewelry, carved wood products . . . all sorts of things. I didn't see anything I couldn't live without, but Lauren purchased a small item or two.

Then it was time for the meeting to start. Everyone went around a large curtain that had been hung to divide the shopping and meeting areas. In the meeting area, several tables had been set up, each with place settings for eight to ten people. Each table also had a tea set and some sort of food -- cookies, pastries, or cake. There was a hostess assigned to each table whom I assume furnished the refreshments. So we enjoyed a tea party during the meeting; hence, "par-tea."

The meeting started out with all the newcomers standing up, introducing themselves, and saying how long they'd been in Maadi. There were a lot of newcomers, although not all of them were new to Egypt or even to Maadi. I think one woman had been in Cairo for 15 years but was attending her first meeting of the MWG. The newest arrival was Lauren, who had been here for about a week. All the newcomers received welcome kits--and they were great :-) Mine had a brochure about MWG, two post cards with a picture of an Egyptian shop, five greeting cards with a picture of camels, a couple of handouts about benevolence opportunities, the booklet "Helpful Hints & Health Notes for Cairo," and best of all, the 1999 edition of Cairo Khamsin Collection: Cookin' Up a Storm, a cookbook published by MWG. The recipes look like they'll be good to try out, but my favorite part is at the front. The cookbook lists Arabic translations relevant to cooking (Arabic names for cuts and kinds of meat, fruits, vegetables, spices and herbs), temperature conversion tables (since most of us use Fahrenheit, but the 220V appliances are labeled in Centigrade/Celsius), and lists of substitutions for items that aren't easily found here. Incredibly useful stuff!

After the introductions, we got a brief overview of MWG and what it's all about, plus some information provided by a gentleman associated with one of the charities MWG supports--this one helps children who have special needs. There also was a short devotion. We also had two ice breakers. For the first one, we separated ourselves into groups based on the month of our birthdays, got to know each other a little, and came up with a name for our group based on something we all had in common and something relevant to Egypt. There were only two of us November babies, so it was a bit easier for us. We became the Amazing American Cat Duo. Both of us had two cats that we had adopted since arriving in Egypt. For the second ice breaker, each table made a hat from a bag of supplies that was located under the table. Supplies included cardboard, ribbon, fake flower strands, colored tissue paper . . . some of the hats turned out to be really pretty, actually. (I don't remember in exactly what order all of these things happened, and I may have forgotten something, but you get the idea.)

There will be another meeting next month. I'm looking forward to it. In the meantime, I filled out a card indicating an interest in becoming more involved with MWG. There's a Bible study I'd like to participate in, and I want to get involved volunteering with a charity or two. I wouldn't mind writing an article or two for the Maadi Messenger, although that would require that I come up with an idea of what to write about. And I'd like to get involved with the annual Christmas Bazaar, which is a big-deal community-wide sale that benefits charities, although I've never been involved in something that big before, so it would be best for me to play a small support role this year so I can see what's involved and how I can best help in the future. In short, I can see the Maadi Women's Guild becoming a significant part of my life here in Maadi.

Quick Kitten Update

I just wanted to do a quick update on the kittens. Isis recovered normally, no problems. Cleo appeared to recover normally at first, but then she regressed. On Thursday, she refused to eat, drink, move, or defend herself when Isis attacked her (real attacks, not just playing; the vet said it was because Cleo didn't smell like Cleo when she was sick). A friend was staying at our apartment to use our internet connection while Jeff and I both were at the embassy, and she reported when I got home that Cleo at one point couldn't even support her own head. She was wide awake, but her head suddenly flopped over onto its side. I called the vet. He said to bring both kittens in for more antibiotics. I called Jeff and asked him to come home. With Isis still attacking Cleo, I couldn't put them in the same carrier, so I needed an extra pair of hands. Plus, my kitten was sick, I was worried, and I wanted my husband. Also, Cleo most definitely has decided that she's Jeff's kitten, just like Isis has decided that she's mine. (The lap preferences are incredibly consistent.) It seemed entirely possible that Cleo was dying, and I wanted Jeff to be with her if that happened.

So Jeff came home. We borrowed an extra cat carrier from a neighbor, and we went off to the vet. Isis got her shot normally, loud protests and all. Cleo had her temperature taken--a very invasive procedure; think about it--and didn't protest at all. She just sat there for her shot. Of course this behavior didn't soothe our concerns. We arranged with the vet for his assistant to come by our apartment the next day to give Cleo another shot, since the vet is closed on Fridays.

By the time the assistant got here on Friday, it was clear that Cleo was recovering. She still was subdued, but she was eating and drinking normally--actually, more than normal, since she was making up for going without for a couple of days. Isis no longer was attacking her and instead was cuddling with her. But of course she got her shot anyway. She protested vehemently this time; as the one who was trying to hold her, I have the bright red dot on my finger to prove it. She improved throughout the weekend. Now she's acting normally, at least as normal as our crazy kittens ever act. She's even managed to pull out a stitch. The vet already had prescribed an antibiotic ointment for both kittens because they started trying to pull them out the day after they were put in. Originally, yesterday was the last day for the ointment treatment, but when the vet heard how much better Cleo was doing, he told us to continue with the ointment. He didn't say how long, but with these two, I think we'll keep using it until it runs out.

Rough Days

It has been a couple of rough days. We had the kittens spayed yesterday. So on Sunday night, we had to take away their food and water. Sunday night I didn't sleep well; I couldn't stop thinking about (1) how I was going to get the kittens safely and comfortably to and from the vet, since Jeff had to work, and (2) if things would go well, since I really have no idea about the standards here for cleanliness, etc., for animal surgeries. So I was exhausted--and therefore a bit more emotional than usual--all day.

It turned out to be easier than anticipated to get a taxi and make the driver understand what I wanted him to do. Even though the driver didn't speak English, I've learned enough Arabic that I was able to make him understand that I wanted him to take me to Maadi Degla, then wait for me for 5 or 10 minutes, then bring me back to where he'd picked me up. My grammar wasn't quite right, but he understood me, and he agreed. So I dropped the kittens off at the vet around 11AM and then came home.

I spent the day trying not to worry. For some reason, I think of Cleo as fragile (probably because she's skinnier and more loving than Isis), so I was particularly concerned about how she'd do with the surgery. I've always been a worrier, and I know that betrays a lack of trust in God and therefore is a sin, so I try really hard not to worry. So I tried to distract myself with a mountain of ironing. When our HHE arrived, I washed all the clothes that had been in boxes for 10 weeks, which meant that I had piles of ironing to do. (I still have piles of ironing, but smaller piles than before.) Then I boiled some chicken to tempt the kittens' appetite. The vet had told me that although they probably wouldn't eat anything, it would be okay to offer them food and water when they came home.

I was able to get a taxi to take me back to the vet to pick up the kittens. I think this driver spoke English, but he humored me and let me tell him what I needed in Arabic. He repeated some words in English to make sure he understood, but I really appreciated that he let me practice.

The kittens were moving in their case when I got to the vet. Cleo was standing, but she was very wobbly, and I'm thinking she shouldn't have been trying to stand at all. Isis was wobbling while lying down, if that's possible. But their eyes were open--although there was no indication that they knew who I was, where they were, or what was going on around them. The vet assured me that the surgeries had gone well and that their behaviors were normal for cats coming out from under the anesthesia. I asked about medicine for them, and he grimaced. He remembered all too well how we brought them to him to give him their worm medication because we couldn't get them to accept it, and that he himself could only get about half of it down them. He asked if I could bring them in for daily shots for a while instead. I agreed, thankful that I wouldn't have to try to force medicine down their throats.

On the way home, one of the kittens started crying. I assumed it was Isis, who always vocalizes during car rides. But when we got home, Isis was asleep. I opened the carrier, and Cleo stumbled out. She was trying to walk, but she couldn't even stand up all the way. She was doing this combination of crawling and dragging herself. She kept falling onto her side. She wanted to get away from Isis (as the vet had said they should, so their wobbling didn't disturb each other and so they didn't mess with each other's stitches), but she was looking for a dark, enclosed space. She kept bumping her head trying to crawl under the buffet. So I took the one remaining box from our HHE, dumped all the contents on the floor, put a towel in there, and let her hide there for a while. She still wasn't content, though. I think it wasn't dark enough. So I set up two separate areas in the hall storage room, one for each kitten. That's where they spent the night.

Isis pretty well slept until at least 8:30. Cleo, though . . . it was heartbreaking. She sat there and cried all evening. I'm not sure if it was because of pain, fear, confusion, or some combination of all three. I petted her when she'd let me, but I couldn't hold her because the vet had said not to, due to the stitches. She wouldn't eat or drink. She'd try to get out of her enclosure, then retreat to a back corner where I couldn't reach her, crying all the while. It was even more heartbreaking because Cleo never cries or vocalizes as a signal for fear or pain (unless it's acute, i.e., we step on her). I sat there and petted her with one hand while wiping my own tears with the other.

But all things pass, and they both were much better this morning. Cleo ate and drank some, although Isis didn't. The vet had said they could be let out this morning, so we set up their favorite basket in their favorite sun-drenched section of floor and created some steps up to the couch, since they can't jump that high right now. We both had to go into the embassy today, but we left them as comfortable as possible, with food and drink available. When I got home late this morning, Isis was asleep in the basket and Cleo was asleep on the couch. Both have eaten some chicken and drunk some water since I've been home. Now they're both asleep again in their favorite spots. I still won't pick them up for fear of hurting them, but whenever they want to crawl onto my lap, they're welcome. I'm hoping I'll be able to get them into their carrier for the trip to the vet this afternoon without having to pick them up. Sometimes they'll go in on their own.

So for those of you who've been asking about the kittens: They're not great right now, but they're getting better.

Secret Believers

Not too long ago, I read a very enlightening book. It's called Secret Believers: What Happens When Muslims Believe in Christ, and it was written by Brother Andrew and Al Janssen. I don't know Brother Andrew's last name; I first read of him in his book God's Smuggler, in which he talked about his first Christian ministry, smuggling Bibles into the Soviet Union. Once the Soviet Union collapsed and religious freedom meant that his smuggling services were no longer needed in the Soviet Union, Brother Andrew turned his attention to other locations where Christians were persecuted, including China and the Middle East.

Secret Believers is the true story of a small group of believers in an unnamed Middle Eastern country. I'm pretty certain that the unnamed country isn't Egypt--some of the factual details about the country's form of government don't match up with Egypt. But I don't know for certain what country it is. And all of the people's names have been changed, except for the occasions in which Brother Andrew himself shows up in the story.

The book begins with an event that I personally found disturbing, although as the book went on, I understood more and more why it happened the way it did. A teenage Muslim boy has become curious about Christianity, due to conversations with a friend who began questioning Islam while at college. Despite his abject fear of eternal punishment for even thinking disloyal thoughts about Islam, Ahmed--one of the main people the story follows--decides to visit a local Christian church. Here's the disturbing part: The pastor turns him away. The pastor fears two things: that the boy will claim Christianity until he marries a Christian girl, then go back to Islam and force her to convert as well; and that the Muslim community will accuse the church of proselytizing Muslims, which almost certainly would result in violence against the congregation. This is a vivid picture of the fear among Christians that persists throughout the book.

Another central person in the book is Butros. Butros is a Christian, from the same country as Ahmed. While studying in England, he met his wife, Nadira, who is a Christian from another Middle East country. After he finished his education, Butros and Nadira had to decide where they would live: England, Nadira's home country, or Butros's home country. Butros became convinced that God was calling him back to his native land, where he was to strengthen the church by ministering to the ministers in whatever ways they needed. Nadira agreed, so the two signed up for a life of poverty and persecution, foregoing the good-paying jobs that would have been theirs in England.

Eventually Ahmed and Butros meet up with each other, and with a few others who, like Ahmed, are Muslim-background believers (MBBs). The conversion experiences all are different, yet all have the same result. The former Muslim is beaten severely by his or her family. The beatings occur in order to convince the "apostate" that he or she is wrong, that he or she must revert to Islam or face even worse punishment after death. If the convert does not revert, the family may kill him or her in order to restore the family honor. The one woman whose story is detailed in the book--Salima--wasn't even sure she was a Christian when her interest in the Bible and the prophet Isa (Jesus) was discovered, but still, her father tore her Bible apart and burned it, beat her, and informed her that he had arranged a marriage for her to a very strict Muslim. She had to run away from home to avoid being forced into an intolerable marriage. Almost all of the MBBs detailed in this book either left their homes because of their conversion or hid their conversion from everyone around them, at least for a time.

Butros, Ahmed, and Salima are joined by Mustafa and Hassan. They do not openly proselytize, as that is a crime punishable by death. When Ahmed and some other new believers are baptized, they are baptized by Brother Andrew, not by any citizen of their country. This is because baptism of a converted Muslim also is a crime punishable by death, both for the baptizer and for the one who is baptized. A Muslim who converts to Christianity can revert back to Islam up until the time when he is baptized; then, he is an apostate who must be killed. So the local pastors can't baptize them without risking their own lives. Brother Andrew must baptize the first group; after that, leaders among the MBBs baptize other MBBs--since they already are under the death penalty, their risk is not increased the way it would be for the pastors. All the Muslim-background believers keep their baptism a secret, except from each other. But even that is not enough to protect them. Ahmed, Mustafa, and Hassan become targets because of their ministry, teaching Christians to read in order to help them earn better incomes. Two of these believers end up dead; the other flees the country because the police--knowing he is innocent--decide that he is the murderer simply because he was the last to meet with the two before their deaths.

The Muslim-background believers aren't the only ones who face persecution. The "official Christians"--those who were born into Christian families--also face persecution in this country, which has signed the United Nations Declaration on Human Rights, which expressly states that everyone has the right to freedom of religion, including the right to change his religion. In the country of this book, the only ones who have the right to change religion are Christians, who can become Muslim at any time. Christians are highly encouraged to convert and sometimes are given no choice. Layla, born into a Christian home, is only a teenager. She is abducted, forced under penalty of death to say the shahada (covert to Islam), and forced into physical and sexual slavery to a "man" whose imam illegally married them without her, or her father's, consent.

There is so much more in this book. At the end, there is a section in which Brother Andrew talks about the nature of the problem throughout the Middle East. He talks about believers in Afghanistan, in Pakistan, in Egypt. Across the board, Christians in the Middle East tell Brother Andrew what they need from believers in the West. They need believers in the West to come, with maturity and love. They need believers in the West to pressure the government--both theirs and ours--for true freedom of religion. They need believers in the West to impact their own cultures by living differently and by showing the watching masses that Christianity is not synonymous with modern Western culture. Above all, they need prayer. They cannot proselytize, but they can and do respond when seekers find them. And seekers are finding them--God is calling people through dreams and visions, causing people to seek out the believers who can answer their questions. It's a dangerous time and a dangerous path for Christians in the Middle East, and many flee. But some who could afford to leave choose to stay, for the sake of the seekers.

If you're interested in more information, I would encourage you to visit SecretBelievers.org. Among other things, you can sign up for free emails containing excerpts from the book.

Life in the Bubbles

More and more, I'm realizing that I live inside bubbles--no, that wasn't a typo; I really did say bubbles, as in more than one. I live in a bubble inside another bubble.

The larger bubble within which I live is affectionately known as the "Expat Bubble." It consists of all--okay many of--the expatriates who make Cairo their home. Included are Americans, Brits, South Africans, Indians . . . and many others.

I say that the expat bubble consists of many of the expats here, not all of them, because there are some expats who have a much more difficult life. These include the refugees. I've met one refugee through my church and have heard stories that would make a heart of stone soften. Some refugees are here illegally and could be deported, some back to countries where they would face immediate execution, at any time. Most refugees are poor, unable to get permanent employment, taking any job that comes their way. For a blog entry from Mark Jaffrey that will give you a much better idea of what life is like for the refugees, click here.

Anyway, those of us in the expat bubble have a pretty nice life. We're rich by Egyptian standards, even those of us who are not rich by the standards of our home countries. We live in very nice flats ("flat" is a much more commonly used word than "apartment" here), and we shop. A lot. We buy custom-made furniture. We buy alabaster. We buy all sorts of things. Many of us have maids and drivers. We're not worried about where the next meal will come from or how we're going to pay next month's rent. Many of us work with Egyptians, usually as supervisors or others with authority, although some interact with the Egyptian government as well. Those of us who are wives often don't work; we entertain ourselves with shopping or CSA activities. Some do volunteer work. But mostly we associate with each other. When the unemployed expat wives come into contact with Egyptians, it's usually because the Egyptian is our employee or a shopkeeper, or maybe a beggar on the street. We don't often get to know the Egyptians with whom we come into contact, unless it's our bawwab (doorman), maid, or driver. We live a sheltered life, although I can't really give too many details about what life is like outside the expat bubble. I'm still working on coming out of my smaller bubble and becoming more involved in the expat bubble. In time, I hope to venture out of the expat bubble and get to know more Egyptians and what their lives outside the bubble are like.

Within the expat bubble, there's an even more pampered group of people. This is the "Embassy Bubble," in which I am snugly ensconced. The embassy bubble specifically consists of Americans who work for the U. S. Mission to Cairo (the embassy and USAID, or the U. S. Agency for International Development, as well as NAMRU, the Navy something Medical Research Unit) and the families of those employees. We are pampered beyond belief. Our incomes are not as high as many of the other expats' (think oil), although it is higher than some.

The embassy people tend to live almost exclusively within our own little bubble. Those who work, work with other embassy people. Those who do not work socialize with other unemployed embassy spouses. Many of us live in embassy-owned compounds, although some live in embassy-owned apartments on the economy. Our housing compounds don't have bawwabs, but we do have armed guards. No one who doesn't "belong" is allowed in. Deliveries are dropped off at the gate, unless it's a big delivery, in which case the deliveryman waits at the gate until we come to escort him. (We can have visitors who don't have to be escorted, but they do have to sign in.) And our other privileges make it unnecessary for us to step too far outside of the embassy bubble.

We can eat out at the Maadi House. The Maadi House is a walled villa. On its grounds are a pool, a playground, a grassy area, a restaurant, and a bar. I think I remember seeing tennis courts, too, and there may be more in there. We've used it only for the restaurant so far; they have an excellent buffet on Thursday nights--good marinated steak--and a very good brunch buffet on Friday mornings. The food comes from the commissary (see the next paragraph). The Maadi House exists as a social club for the embassy. There's a yearly fee (I forget how much), because you have to join it. Guests are allowed, with members, for a fee of LE3, or around 60 cents. So combine the Maadi House with Otlob (an online service that lets you order from a multitude of restaurants, who all deliver, including McDonald's), and you don't have to go outside the bubble even if you don't want to cook . . . even if you haven't hired your own personal chef, which is also a possibility here.

A more coveted privilege we have--possibly the most coveted--is our access to the commissary. Egyptians and most expats have to either go out to Carrefour (think Super Wal-Mart) to buy necessities, or they have to go to various small shops near their homes. To prepare for a dinner, they must visit the bread shop, the fruit and vegetable stand, the butcher, the spice shop . . . each shop tends to be specialized to one product, so you have to traipse all over Maadi, or Zamalek, or wherever you live. Even then, some things that you take for granted back home simply aren't available here. Your favorite brand of soap or shampoo may be available at the local pharmacy, but probably not. Want some real pork bacon, sausage, or hot dogs? Out of luck, not going to find it here. Not unless you have comissary privileges. It's like a small, but incredibly well-stocked, grocery store. We have produce, frozen meats, milk we can be confident has been pasteurized properly, pet food (available but very expensive on the local economy), cleaning supplies, a personal hygiene section . . . and if they don't have your favorite brand, you can request it. They may just be able to get it for you. Only embassy personnel are allowed to step foot in the commissary. Even the Department of Defense (DOD) contractors, who have access to the DOD-run PX and convenience stores, don't get in the commissary. On our first day at the embassy, they made up special commissary cards for us. No commissary card, no access, no exceptions. And someone with commissary privileges can lose those privileges by buying things at the commissary for someone without commissary privileges. It's okay to buy gifts there; we've given hot dogs as a gift to someone without commissary privileges, and we've had people over and served hot dogs from the commissary. But the recipient cannot pay you back without the risk that you'll lose your privileges. And there's no way I'm risking that.

Our other highly prized privilege--the other strong contender for the title of "most coveted"--are our APO privileges. Imagine being in a foreign country where the things to which you're accustomed are not available. What do you do? Well, if you have APO privileges, you get on Amazon.com or you call your mom and tell her what to ship to you (thanks, Mom!). The APO is the military mail system that provides a U. S. mailing address for those of us who are overseas. Many online vendors will ship to APOs, and if they won't, they'll ship to someone in the States who can forward the package for you. You don't even have to pay for the shipping from the APO collection point (I think it's New York for this region) to the final destination. Other expats have to pay international shipping fees, and even then packages may not arrive in a timely manner or at all, or they have to find someone who is traveling from the States (or Britain, or India, or whatever country they're from) and ask that person--sometimes a friend of a friend--to bring the item along. I received an email recently from a friend who wanted a book from the States. I was tempted to offer to let her order it off of Amazon or ChristianBook.com and ship it to me, but there's a catch: Just like with the commissary, if you extend the privilege to someone who isn't entitled to it, you can lose it. And with as much as Jeff and I depend on the APO, that isn't an option. So I offered instead to talk to a friend who's going home next month to pick up her two cats. (It wasn't necessary; someone else is coming back this week, so she won't have to wait as long for her book.)

Many "embassy people" don't stray outside of the embassy bubble. And some of those who do venture forth create resentment by lording their privileges over the other expats, or just by being arrogant in general. "Embassy people" don't necessarily have the best reputation within the expat community. You're more likely to hear someone say "Yeah, he's an embassy guy, but he's nice" rather than "Yeah, he's an embassy guy but he's a real arrogant jerk." And you don't have to say "He's an embassy guy and he's a jerk"; that's kind of redundant in many minds.

I'm trying to strike a balance between my two competing instincts: I certainly don't want to talk too much about privileges that I can't share, as much as I would like to share them, but I am very curious about what the other expats do in order to compensate for not having commissary and APO privileges. So when I'm with other expats at church or at cell group, I'm trying to listen more than I speak about those things.

So, uh, if you're a non-embassy expat and you're reading this particular blog entry . . . please don't hold it against me. :-)

Driving in Cairo . . . or Maadi, Anyway

Well, I did it. I've driven in Maadi. (Thanks to Mom for reminding me that I hadn't done a blog about it and that some of her friends were getting antsy.)

Last Friday morning, Jeff and I planned to go to church and then straight to the commissary for our weekly shopping, so we decided to just drive to church instead of walking like we usually do. We were running a little late, so Jeff drove. I'm the first to admit that I'm not a confident driver, so no way was I driving for the first time here when we were in a hurry.

Also because we were running late, we didn't have time for breakfast before church, so we decided after church to just walk over to the Maadi House for brunch. So we ate breakfast . . . after that it was time for the commissary run.

I drove. As we approached our Ford Explorer, Jeff tossed me the keys. After we got in and I started the vehicle, Jeff reminded me to put the side mirror back out. Before I came to Egypt, I hadn't even realized that the side mirrors folded in. Here it's crucial when parking on the street to put the mirrors in; even that doesn't always save you from having them scraped or knocked off, but it minimizes the likelihood. So I rolled down the window and popped out the mirror, then checked and adjusted all three mirrors. Jeff had parked on the side of a street pointing the way we needed to go, so I just pulled out and went. (Unlike many local drivers, I did look to make sure I wasn't pulling out in front of anyone.)

The first left was a semi-blind turn. The road was at an angle, and there were trees or signs (I forget what) partially obstructing my view. I looked as well as I could then just went for it. As we proceeded to the commissary, I got a little giddy. I hadn't driven in almost two months, and now I was driving again. It felt like I was really free to travel around Cairo for the first time. (I know, it's actually easier in most cases to take cabs, and I can get anywhere I need to go with them, but it's a psychological boost to be able to get yourself where you want to go without relying on anyone else.) Besides, I just enjoy driving, even though I'm not all that great at it.

Jeff had to remind me of a couple of the turns. On previous trips to the commissary, I've remembered all the turns, but I was paying attention to other things while behind the wheel. Things like whether or not someone was going to come flying out of a side street or how I'm going to navigate around all the cars that are parked on the street near that mosque. Traffic was very light for Maadi, as it usually is on Fridays, so there weren't any real heart-stoppers, but I was prepared for them anyway.

One thing I hadn't really realized before was how steep the speed bumps are. The speed bumps here are an adventure in themselves. They're not always yellow, or sometimes they're only yellow at the end because the paint has worn off in the middle, so they blend in with the road. They also don't stay in the same place-a speed bump may appear or disappear overnight, so you can never be certain where they are. Sometimes where there used to be a speed bump, there's a trough instead. Some, but not all, of the speed bumps have silver reflective things on the road before you get to them. But if they don't, you don't always see them in time to slow down appropriately. If you don't slow down enough, you can catch a little air off them. Trust me on this one. Jeff is very concerned about the Explorer's shocks.

It was kind of fun not worrying about lanes. If someone was in front of me and I wanted to go the speed they were going, I naturally lined up behind them, no matter where in the road they were. If I wanted to pass them, I did. On the left, on the right, it didn't matter. No blinkers necessary, just be prepared to honk the horn if they start to drift over into you. And be aware that if you start to drift over into someone else, they'll use their horns to let you know they're there. Drifting around all over the road isn't a problem at all. If there's a hole on each side, take the middle. If the speed bump only goes across three fourths of the road, it's quite all right to move from the far left to the far right to go around it. No blinkers, minimal looking (Jeff didn't like that part), no problem. My kind of driving, as long as traffic's light. I have yet to drive in heavy, or even medium, traffic to see how I like that.

I drove again today. It wasn't quite as fun, probably because I just drove last week so it isn't quite as novel. I'm still not looking out for the speed bumps quite enough. Today I forgot to pop the driver's side mirror back out. I didn't miss it. (Jeff groaned when he realized this fact.) When I come back to America, I'm either going to be a great driver or a lousy one. Great if I get to the point where I can drive in heavier traffic without scraping anyone, lousy if I just get used to the laissez-faire style of driving without practicing my limits.

This and That

Okay, so it's been this weird combination of not much happening and lots of stuff happening, so this is a random miscellaneous kind of post, to let you know about all the small stuff that's been going on in our lives lately.

Our UAB is here!! The UAB (unaccompanied air baggage) is a small portion of our stuff from the States that gets shipped here by air; we were limited to . . . I think 450 lb. But it's here! It got here last week. So now I have almost half of our dishes (I wanted all of them, but there was that weight restriction thing), two of our bath towels, one of our hand towels, one of our washcloths, all of our kitchen knives, our pots and pans, one piece of bakeware, our very own sheets (oh so soft and luxurious compared to the adequate-but-nothing-special ones in our welcome kit!) . . . oh, yeah, and a Roomba! I'm so excited about the Roomba. For those who may not know, it's a robotic vacuum. I hate to vacuum, but Roomba does it for me while I do whatever else I want. I've missed my Roomba. (The kittens are terrified of Roomba when he's vacuuming, but they make themselves feel better by pouncing him and walking on him when he's on his base/charger.) Oh, and Jeff's XBox 360 is here. I'll have to let him be all excited about that one. We also were able to fit in some DVDs and decorative items . . . although I forgot to add in a bath mat, silverware, or any trash cans. So we've done a little shopping to replace some of the welcome kit items that we gave back. Overall, though, it's been a great trade.

Our Ford Explorer arrived yesterday! This is a mixed blessing. Theoretically, I now have more freedom and the opportunity to do something that I kind of enjoyed back in the States--driving. On the other hand, I now have no excuse not to brave the Cairo--or at least the Maadi--traffic. But I'm going to do it. I'm driving to the commissary tomorrow. Depending on how stressful the drive is for both me and Jeff, he may be driving back. We'll see. It shouldn't be too bad tomorrow; the streets are usually deserted on Fridays, but if we pick the wrong time, we'll be dealing with all the mosque-goers' cars blocking the road. I'm going to be optimistic. I'll do fine.

We've started taking classes in Egyptian Colloquial Arabic. This basically is a dialect of formal, or Modern Standard, Arabic, just like the particular version of English that we speak in the South is a dialect of the Queen's English. So I've been up to my eyeballs in the difference between "minfadlik" and "minfadlak," the fact that "enta" means "you" and "emta" means . . . "when," I think. Not to mention the decision as to whether or not I'll follow the Egyptian custom of adding "al ham du lee la" whenever I say that I'm fine. It means "Praise/thanks be to God/Allah." The decision part comes in because if it's a general "thanks be to God," I'm okay with that; I am not, however, okay with thanking the specific Muslim god Allah for anything. I don't think Muslims see any difference between God and Allah, though, so even getting an answer to the question of precisely what the phrase means may be difficult. One of my friends from church says "Al ham du Jesus." That certainly avoids any confusion.

The kittens have started their vaccinations. They did NOT enjoy their first visit to the vet, nor are they likely to enjoy their second. Poor little Isis meowed pitifully the whole way (thankfully it was a short drive), so apparently her reaction on the drive home from the shelter wasn't totally due to the water bowl on her head--I made sure there was no water in the bowl this time, although I had bottled water I could use if they needed it. Even the vet looked a little chagrined while he was examining her because he and his assistant couldn't calm her down either. Just for the record, Isis does not like being examined, she does not like having her claws trimmed, and she *absolutely* does not like getting a shot. Cleo was more stoic. During her examination and claw-trimming, she stood quietly in the grip of the assistant, looking daggers at Jeff and me for putting her through this indignity. But she totally rebelled when the needle came out. You would have thought the vet was sticking that needle through her heart instead of through a fold of her skin. Isis, whom I was holding and comforting at the time, couldn't decide between trying to bolt for the window (it was closed), trying to get to Cleo (I had her turned so she couldn't see what was happening), or just huddling in a little shaking ball of terror (my preferred reaction, as it made her easier to hold). Cleo refused to be held and comforted by us (I think she was mad), so we put them both back in their travel case, where they cuddled up with each other and eventually calmed each other down. The meowing started up again as soon as we picked up the case; there's something about a moving "room" that the kittens don't seem to like. The vet prescribed some deworming medicine for them (they don't have worms; it's a precaution), but we haven't been able to get them to take it. We traumatize them when we try. I think we're going to let the vet give it to them when we take them back for their second round of shots next weekend. We also need to talk to the vet about having them microchipped and spayed. They may never forgive us for those.

If you want to see some pictures of the kittens with Jeff, click here.

So that's about it for us . . . I'll let you know as stuff happens :-)

(Jeff's Hijack) -- Dark Knight + Golden Stars = AWESOME

(We interrupt your normally wonderful blog posts for a guest spot by the husband. Deborah will be back in this space soon.)

Last weekend, we went to see The Dark Knight, the latest Batman movie that's been racking up jillions of dollars since its release. The movie was great (if you even thought about enjoying Batman Begins and by some chance haven't seen this yet, I highly recommend seeing it in the theater -- some of the visuals definitely belong on the big screen), but there was something competing for my wow-factor that night -- the theater itself.

We went to see TDK (I love acronyms) at the Golden Stars cinema. This is part of City Stars, which is a business/residential/retail development in Heliopolis, northeast of downtown Cairo. It'll get its own post later (6 stories, 600 shops, and that's just the retail portion). After about a 30-minute mostly-boring (by Egyptian standards) ride there, we found the theater and bought our tickets. Here's where things got interesting. First, the tickets were LE100 each (a little under $20, $18.87 with a good exchange rate), which is about 4x the going rate most places here (and even more expensive than most theaters in the States). Next, I got to pick our seats. There was a touchscreen with a diagram of the theater and I picked out seats D3 and D4 for us. We got our tickets, each of which had an individually printed label on the back identifying our particular seat. Did I mention there were only 36 seats in the whole theater? I knew this was going to be interesting.

Since we had about 45 minutes before the start of the movie, and the previous show wasn't out yet, we went into the lounge area. There we picked our dinner off of the menu (we both decided on a cheeseburger with chips, I got some chocolate ice cream too), gave our order to one of the staff, and bought some popcorn and water (about $4 for a popcorn and 2 bottles of water--that felt bizarrely cheap in a theater).

Once the previous show was out and the theater was open, we went on inside. When we walked in, we were greeted by an usher who asked for our tickets and then showed us to our seats, which happened to be leather recliners, facing about a 15-foot movie screen. There were 6 rows, with an aisle dividing each row into one pair of seats and then the other 4 (Yes, I know the pictures show it differently. They're wrong, but the only photos of the theater I could find online. Deborah's very good at painting a picture with words. I just settle for lots of links to other websites and promo shots). They were spaced far enough that each seat could fully recline without kicking anyone in the head (no way someone could "accidentally" kick your seat in this place!). The recliners were all a bluish-gray and VERY comfortable -- they really did recline ALL THE WAY back. There was a small wooden table (roughly 24" in diameter) between our seats, so we had a place for our popcorn and water. The crowd was definitely upscale, several Westerners, probably a couple of Saudis, and several well-to-do Egyptians.

About 7:10 or so (the showtime was 7, Egyptian standard time), the lights went down and the screen came alive with . . . a blue "insert DVD" screen which quickly led to a "loading" message and then a fairly grainy image of a standard-definition DVD playing some commercials. I'm sure it would've looked fine on a regular-size screen, but at the size it was being projected to, it looked pretty rotten if you were expecting a typical movie picture. Luckily, after a couple of commercials and previews for upcoming Egyptian films, the picture went dark for a second, then came back with a much better picture (apparently there are two projectors, one for the commercials/previews, one for the movie). During the opening (naturally), a waiter arrived, bringing our previously-ordered cheeseburgers. He set the tray on the table and quickly departed. While the movie was very entertaining, the cheeseburger was only mediocre, but the novelty still made it worth having done once.

About 1/2 way through the movie, at a fairly critical point . . . the lights came on, and I remembered the "quaint" Egyptian habit of having an intermission during movies. Having drunk too much water and Pepsi, I decided that rather than be annoyed at the interruption I'd put it to good use, so I made a dash to the facilities. Deborah decided that since the theater was a little chilly for her liking, some hot chocolate was in order, and put in the order with the usher who came around with our bill, putting off the moment of reckoning.

Once everyone was back in their seats, the movie continued to its thrilling conclusion. Unfortunately, I missed a crucial moment because . . . the bill arrived. I would have thought it could have waited until the end, but no, once the hot chocolate was there, the waiter wanted to settle the bill immediately (I wonder how many people who'll pay 4x the going price to see a movie try to skip out on the food bill?). So, by the light of his cell phone, I read the bill (not much, if any, more than we would've paid at a restaurant), fished out the appropriate bills, and sent him on his way with a hushed "no change!" more to avoid another interruption than out of gratitude for the service (which was good, just poorly timed).

Once the movie was over, we headed back outside for the slightly-longer trip home, which was much more "exciting" and authentically Egyptian, due to the traffic jams, the lack of headlights (at 10:30 at night), and the parked cars and standing people which left barely enough room to squeeze by.

A couple of things (besides the seats and layout) that made the theater worth the extra price were the 1)lack of smoking in the theater and 2)lack of talking during the movie. Neither of these are a given when going to the movies in Egypt, so depending on other theaters in the area, Golden Stars may become the default for any movie that's showing there (there are only 4 "VIP" screens). We definitely know where we'll be for "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince" this fall (assuming it comes to Golden Stars). Maybe I'll try the pizza next time . . .

(We now return you to your regularly scheduled good blog posts by Deborah)