An International Thanksgiving

Well, it's over. My first international Thanksgiving has come and gone, leaving me exhausted but pleased with how everything turned out in the end. Jeff and I celebrated this American holiday with 4 other Americans, 4 South Africans, 4 Nigerians, and 1 Indian. A truly international Thanksgiving!

During our first Thanksgiving away from our families, Jeff and I decided that we were going to host a more-or-less traditional American Thanksgiving potluck dinner for our life group. Everyone in our life group was invited, but several were traveling or attending office dinners instead, so there were supposed to be 10 of us total. Then we discovered that two expected arrivals were stuck in the U. S. a little longer than expected and wouldn't be able to join us after all, dropping the total to 8, with two of them being children. So what did I do once the guest list dropped to the point where I'd actually have matching forks for everyone (I have 12 china place settings but only 8 flatware settings, although we also have another set that Jeff used before we married)? I--through Jeff--invited four more people! Yes, it makes perfect sense to me, too. We invited our friend and neighbor, along with his daughter (his wife is traveling), and another couple that we met through the embassy, bringing the total to 12.

We decided to host the dinner the day after Thanksgiving, in deference to the fact that Thanksgiving is not an Egyptian or international holiday, and not all of our guests would be off work on Thursday. I've been thinking about and preparing mentally for the dinner for a few weeks now, but I started the real preparations on Wednesday. I went to this great handicraft shop called Markaz and bought two tablecloths: one for the table itself, and one smaller one that I could fold and turn into a runner for the buffet. Each one came with matching cloth napkins, so I ended up with 10 of those. I got home and pulled out the large tablecloth just to make sure it fit the table like I thought it would. Lo and behold, it was too small. I was sure the size I purchased should have worked, so I got out the tape measure and discovered that the package had been mislabeled; the tablecloth was a smaller size than I had purchased. I called the shop, expecting to be told to bring it back and exchange it for the larger size, but I had forgotten that I'm in Egypt now. The shopowner was incredibly apologetic, remembered exactly who I was and what I had purchased, asked for my address, and told me the "boy" would be there in 90 minutes or less with my tablecloth. Every shop here has a "boy," actually a grown man, who can deliver anything you want to buy. The "boy" is deployed at the drop of a hat if there's a problem that was the shop's fault. The customer must not be inconvenienced in any way! With the problem of the too-small tablecloth solved, I washed the tablecloths so they'd be ready for Friday. When the washer was done, I threw them in the dryer and went to bed.

On Thursday morning, I pulled the tablecloths out of the dryer and decided to check the fit again, since the saleslady had told me they would shrink when washed (they're 100% cotton). Lo and behold, the new larger tablecloth now fit the table just like the smaller one that I had sent back the previous day--it had shrunk a good foot in length! Now, this wasn't the shop's fault. They had told me it would shrink; I had underestimated just how much it would shrink. So I announced to my husband that we needed to buy another tablecloth, on top of all the other things I needed to do that day. We decided to look at a shop on Road 9 to see if there were any tablecloths there that would complement the runner for the buffet (it shrank too, but now it fits perfectly rather than being a little too big, so that was a good thing) rather than going all the way across Maadi back to Markaz to get a bigger one that was exactly the same. I had to go out to Road 9 anyway to pick up a donation for the bazaar and to drop off some complimentary tickets for a big donor.

So out we went to Road 9. We went to the home linen shop and found a tablecloth that matched the runner in color, but was a more formal material with a fancy design on it. It was the same size as the other one was originally, but we were promised that it wouldn't shrink, so we bought it. It came with 12 napkins, so now we have 22 cloth napkins, one large tablecloth that fits the table with the leaf in it, one smaller tablecloth that fits the table without the leaf in it, and one really small tablecloth that, when folded, works well as a runner for the buffet.

After that, we went to a shop where we picked up a gift certificate for the bazaar, then to another shop where I expected to just drop off the comp tickets and leave. But again, I forgot that I'm in Egypt now. You don't just run those quick little errands. The shopowner offers you a seat, which you must accept. Then you chat. And chat some more. The shopowner offers you tea, which you also should accept--although if you're a foreigner and you don't accept it, that's okay with the shopowners who are more world-wise, as this one was. This particular shopowner wanted to know how to cook a turkey. His wife wants to cook one for the upcoming eid, but Egyptian turkeys are dry, so he thinks he can get an American one either from a specialty shop or from a contact at the commissary (I don't want to know who that contact is, because it isn't allowed), but his wife doesn't know how to cook an American turkey, which is far larger than an Egyptian one. So I'm going to write down how you cook turkey--as soon as I figure it out--and give him the recipe. After a long discussion about turkey, Thanksgiving, and how the southern U. S. isn't the same as the big cities of the northeast and the western coast, Jeff and I left the shop.

On the way home, we had to stop at another shop to buy some more glasses. I had realized that the glasses we already had were a set of 10, and one of them broke years ago, so we only had 9 glasses. Twelve diners and 9 glasses is not a good combination, so we bought a new set of 12.

So we finally got home around 1:30 p.m. I made a quick lunch for Jeff and myself, then started on the cooking for Friday. I was making my mom's sweet potato casserole, a new cornbread dressing recipe I found on CookingLight.com, crescent rolls, pecan pie, and pumpkin pie. The guests were bringing the rest--including the turkey. Both the sweet potatoes and the cornbread could be prepped the day before and just baked the day of, so that's what I was working on.

I started with the dressing. Before too long, I realized that I had forgotten to buy a key ingredient: buttermilk. I sent Jeff down to Metro market to see if they had any (the commissary was closed), and he reported back that they had nothing that looked remotely like buttermilk. So, in a panic, I called Pam. "Is there anyplace other than the commissary where I can get buttermilk?" A thoughtful pause . . . "No." My mental response: What?! But I need buttermilk! I can't wait until the commissary opens tomorrow, this stuff has to chill for 8 hours before you can bake it! There has to be buttermilk. Then Pam said "But you should look in the Women's Guild cookbook. There's a list of substitutions in the front." I grabbed the cookbook and started flipping pages--and there it was. To make something approximating buttermilk, use one tablespoon of vinegar or lemon juice, then add enough regular milk to make a cup. I thanked Pam profusely and then went on with my preparations, with Jeff helping by dicing five cups of vegetables for me. (I'm a slow chopper; dicing that much onion and celery would have taken more time than I had.) With a break for church, the dressing and sweet potatoes both were chilling in the refrigerator by about 10:45 p.m.

The timing was just right for a video conference with my mother-in-law, her husband, and their family. There's a Thanksgiving tradition that we started participating in two years ago, and we didn't want to miss it just because we're on a different continent. But I'll blog about that separately. After the video conference, it was finally time to go to bed.

On Friday morning, with Jeff's help, I cleaned the public areas of the apartment, then started baking the sweet potatoes, dressing, pie, and crescent rolls. After a phone call to my mother--"Mom, the topping for the sweet potatoes is soupy. Is that normal?"--everything was ready but the dressing. Our first guests arrived while it was still in the oven. It was the couple we met through the embassy, and let me tell you, they were lifesavers! They brought appetizers--complete with serving dishes, because as I was told, "I remember when I was young and just starting out. I had no serving pieces at all, so I loved it when people brought serving pieces for the food they brought." She was right--I loved it, because I have very few serving pieces. She also helped me determine when the dressing should come out of the oven, because it never did turn "golden brown." Apparently the oven rack was too high or some such.

After that, it was a steady stream of arrivals. I also got a surprise when one guest--whom I had not realized was married--showed up with a wife and two kids. Yes, that meant I didn't have enough plates or glasses, but I pulled out salad plates and juice glasses for the five kids in attendance, so no one was the wiser. I think everyone had a good time. The kids chased each other around the house, provoking concern from the mothers, but none from me. Kitten-proofing the house is remarkably like child-proofing the house! There was lots of conversation as we all sat wherever we wanted--the table only seats 8, even extended, so we were on the couch, the loveseat, a couple of arm chairs, the recliner, the office chair, and around the dining room table. All of the food was really good. The salad was tasty, the turkey was juicy and flavorful, the green bean casserole tasted way too good to be vegetables, the dressing was so good it surprised me, and Mom's sweet potatoes received raving reviews (the topping hardened as it cooled, just like Mom said it would). Lawrence had provided soft drinks and juices, exotic (to me) ones like guava--yum. The dessert that Vijay brought was delicious. The pecan pie was okay. The pumpkin pie never set, so none of the guests knew it even existed.

After most of the guests left, the final couple--the same ones who had arrived early--stayed behind. I tried to get them to leave the cleanup for me (they were guests, after all), but there was no way that was happening. So while the men were in the dining room chatting about embassy life--the old hand imparting wisdom to the new guy--we women were doing the dishes and chatting in the kitchen. In that case, the experienced cook and hostess was imparting wisdom to the one who's never entertained and who only recently started cooking at all--before that, it was delivery and frozen or boxed meals only.

After everyone had left, Jeff and I tried to coax the kittens out of the bedroom, where they had been confined during the festivities. Isis came out and did a little exploring of the living room even before our last guests left, but poor Cleo . . . when I came into the bedroom after everyone had left, she ran away from me and hid under the bed. She finally let me pet her, and even pick her up, but the second I stepped out of the bedroom, she panicked. She clawed to get down, then ran back into the bedroom. All the noise and people and unfamiliar smells from the living room had scared her. The bedroom was her safe zone. She eventually came out and realized that her home is safe again. She's currently grooming herself on her blanket on top of the media center, perfectly content with Isis asleep beside her.

So that was our first international Thanksgiving. It was an adventure--a bit stressful, but a lot of fun. I don't think I'll be ready to host another such event by Christmas, but we'll see about next year.

Street Cleaning

Yesterday, I attended a street-cleaning event organized by the Maadi Environmental Rangers (MER). The MER is a group of women, mostly Egyptian women who have lived in Maadi for most or all of their lives, who are committed to bringing Maadi back to its former beauty. Apparently, Maadi was established by a group of four families and was governed by a set of rules designed to make Maadi a haven just outside of the craziness of Cairo. Each piece of property had a villa, a garden, and a wall. Outside the wall, there was a hedge and then a green area, or small lawn, next to the sidewalk.

Nirvana, one of the ladies in the MER, told me about how Maadi was run when she was growing up here: a private company, Sherka Maadi, ran the city. There were strictly-enforced regulations about cleanliness and water use. The presence of rubbish on the streets led to immediate fines; the wasting of water by allowing it to spill onto the sidewalks and roads also resulted in a fine. Trees were trimmed annually, so they provided beauty and shade, but did not interfere with use of sidewalks, which was common in those days.

Now, when walking through Maadi, rubbish is a common sight; I barely notice it anymore. Water frequently runs freely over the sidewalks and roads, as lawns and gardens are over-watered. Many sidewalks are un-useable, partially because of disrepair, but often because the trees and shrubs are so overgrown that there simply isn't room for a person to walk on them. The mission of the Maadi Environmental Rangers is to change all of that.

The Rangers have been on a long, slow campaign for change in Maadi. As with many projects for social change, they have found it wise to start with children in the schools. At first, they educated teachers and students about the importance of cleanliness in their classrooms. Then it expanded to the other areas of the school grounds. Now, the campaign is expanding to the streets around the schools. Eventually, the campaign will encompass all of Maadi.

One interesting subtext to this campaign is the reaction of the municipality and the company it has hired to clean Maadi. The current mayor of Maadi is new; he's been in office less than a year. His predecessor, however, signed a 20-year contract with a company that has not been diligent in fulfilling its obligations. The new mayor supports the MER's efforts and has begun imposing fines on the company in accordance with the contract. So far, there have been 28 fines of LE500 (roughly $100) each. The company cleaned some of the targeted area the day before yesterday's event, possibly because both the media and the mayor planned to be in attendance.

Yesterday's event was held around two public schools: Hadaek el Maadi el Qawmiya and Hadaek el Maadi el Tagribeyya. Twenty students from each school participated, ten from grades 4 and 5, and ten from grades 6 through 9. The students were divided into groups of three: most groups had two older students and one younger one, although some groups consisted of one adult volunteer and two younger students. Each group received a broom, a shovel, and a trash bag. Each student also received a t-shirt, gloves, and a mask.

The event ran from 10 a.m. to 1 p.m. Students from Hadaek el Maadi el Qawmiyah arrived when expected and were put to work on Road 82, Road 5, and Share' al-Sadd al-'Ali. Students from Hadaek el Maadi el Tagribeyya arrived about an hour late; there were inoculations they had to receive that morning. When they arrived, they were put to work on Road 82 and Road 3. The mayor arrived shortly thereafter. Unfortunately, I was photographing children near Road 5, and the mayor was speaking near Road 3, so I didn't know he was there until he was done. But I did get some pictures of him, and one of the organizers introduced me to him briefly. I wasn't expecting it; I was flustered enough that I even forgot to say "Forsa saida" (Happy opportunity, i.e., nice to meet you). Instead, I said the English equivalent, and Maggie translated.

I stayed until around 12:30 p.m., roaming around, taking pictures, and talking to a few of the children and adult volunteers. The children mostly said "hello" and that they love Maadi. They were more interested in asking me questions--"Where are you from? Do you know (insert name here)? He is from America too"--than in telling me what they thought of the clean up. But they loved smiling for the camera! The adults were eager to tell me about how beautiful Maadi used to be, how they want it to be that way again, and how important it is to teach the children--and their parents--about throwing trash away properly. I also met three newspaper journalists who were doing the same things I was doing--two of them young Americans working for English-language papers--and I saw three sets of TV journalists, although I didn't interact with them.

So why was I there, talking to people and taking pictures? It's simple: Debbie Nell, the editor of the Maadi Messenger, asked me to be there. She wants an article for the Messenger, but she had other obligations and couldn't go herself. So I was being a reporter for the first time in my life. I felt a little lost as far as what I was supposed to be doing, as evidenced by the fact that I missed the mayor's arrival, but the American journalists were encouraging. They told me who the mayor was; I didn't even notice him at first, because his bodyguard was dressed in a suit, too, and looked more imposing. I think I did too much photo-taking and not enough talking and listening, though. I probably should have interviewed people. I was lucky to see a couple of ladies that I've met through the Guild; they approached me and gave me information about what was going on. It'll be interesting modifying this blog post into something that passes for an acceptable "reporter-esque" article for the Messenger.

So, about those pictures--here are some more of my favorites. The rest of them are posted here.

Here are before/during/after shots of the corner of Road 5 and Road 82:






Here are some other random photos of kids, other volunteers, and the streets of Maadi:


















But now, it's time for me to go. All this talk about cleaning has reminded me of something: just how badly I need to clean my own home!

Maybe Next Year

I've mentioned a few times in this blog that Jeff and I have been preparing to go to the Marine Ball, to be held tonight in Zamalek. Well, it turns out that we won't be going after all.

Jeff is sick. He was off work on Tuesday for Veterans Day, and he took Wednesday and Thursday as well, just because he has the leave and he was ready for a break. It was the perfect opportunity to make it a 5-day weekend. But on Tuesday, he suddenly got very tired, just half an hour before we were to leave for life group. He took a short nap and then felt well enough to go not only to life group, but then to play basketball afterward. On Wednesday, he started complaining of a mild case of . . . digestive problems . . . as well as achy muscles. Due to some medicine he took, the digestive issues were better yesterday, although he was still tired and achy. He was able to go to church last night with no real problem, other than being tired enough to gratefully accept a friend's offer of a ride home rather than walking like we normally would have done. But this morning, when he woke up around 10 (late even for him nowadays), he was miserable. He was still exhausted, his muscles and joints ached, and he had more . . . digestive problems, opposite the problems he had on Wednesday.

So we discussed it and decided to call some friends of ours. These friends go to the Marine Ball every year but were unable to get tickets this year. We had offered to get tickets for them when we got ours--embassy families were allowed to buy one pair of tickets for themselves plus one extra pair before they were offered for sale to the larger community--but these friends felt bad about the group that they normally go with, so they decided to wait and try to get enough for their whole group. That didn't work out, so they ended up regretting their decision not to take us up on our offer. But now they're going after all . . . I hope they like the steak dinner option, since that's what they're having . . . (when purchasing tickets, you had to pick your main course for dinner: a choice of steak, fish, maybe something else, and a vegetarian option).

On the one hand, it's disappointing not to be able to go to the ball this year. On the other hand, I'm actually a little relieved. I've been ambivalent about going.

On the one hand, it's a way to support the Marines, and everyone says it's a really good time.

On the other hand, I was really nervous about my appearance. I kind of felt like a little girl getting ready to play dress-up. The seamstress added a detail to my dress (the picture I showed her wasn't that great; it looked like the detail was there even though it wasn't) that I wasn't sure of at first and have decided that I don't like so much, and the straps I had her add take away from the dress more than I thought they would. They made it feel more like my junior bridesmaid's dress rather than the grown-up bridesmaid's dress. As of this morning, I still hadn't decided what to do with my hair--wearing it down seemed too casual and young, but I can't put it up well myself and I haven't done the research to find a good hairdresser here yet. Also, I usually don't wear makeup, because I hate how it feels on my face, and I haven't even gotten around to checking to see if my makeup (1) made it here from the States rather than being thrown away there and (2) is still in date and not clumpy or anything. So I was feeling a bit insecure about my appearance and I'm relieved to not be worrying about whether or not I'm going to make a fool of myself and embarrass Jeff (not that he'd ever tell me if I embarrassed him).

We've agreed with our friends that we'll go to the ball together next year--at least we will if the wehesh* choice of Obama doesn't cost their company their contract. By then, I'll make sure to have taken care of the makeup and hair details. I'll also have more time to decide on a dress style and be certain that I'll feel comfortable in it.

As for Jeff, he's sleeping on the couch now. He said that there was a bug going around the office not too long ago, and he thinks he got it, but his body wouldn't give in until he felt free to relax. If he isn't better by Sunday, he's going to visit the medical unit at the embassy.



*I love being able to use the word wehesh. It's really just the Arabic (masculine) word for bad--the feminine form is wehsha, and the plural is wehshiin--but it somehow seems to fit the meaning better than the English word.

Lunch at Condetti

Today I had lunch at the best-kept secret in Maadi: Condetti Restaurant and Cafe (named after a street in Rome). I heard about it from the owners themselves, when they signed the contract to be a food vendor at the Christmas bazaar a few weeks ago. The two owners had to meet with Marge, who happened to be with Pam and myself at the time. So all five of us were there for the contract signing. During the conversation that day, the owners made it clear that they wanted to treat the three of us to lunch one day so that we could experience the food and service firsthand and tell all our friends about it, if it was good. And let me tell you: IT'S GOOD.

Pam drove Marge and me over. We had a little difficulty finding it, but that's primarily because none of us are familiar with the part of Maadi to the west of the metro tracks, where Condetti is located. Once we found Road 6, it was easy to spot the sign pointing to the side street (Road 82) on which the restaurant is located. We parked around the block and walked to the restaurant, as parking is not the most abundant commodity anywhere in Maadi.

As we walked onto the charming porch, the door opened as if by magic. Of course, we soon saw the exceptionally polite young man in the snazzy uniform who had opened said door, but we were distracted almost immediately. The inside of the restaurant was gorgeous. There were comfortable seats around unique tables--the tabletops were glass, but they covered different compartments in the dark tables. On our corner booth table, one section had brightly colored beads showing through the glass, while another had leaves. I'm not sure what was in the other two sections, but the overall effect was very classy and upscale. Shania Twain's song "That Don't Impress Me Much" was playing quietly over the speakers--loud enough to hear, but not so loud as to interfere with conversation at all. Although it was a good song, it did not reflect our current experience--we were very impressed.

Very shortly after our arrival, we were greeted by one of the owners. He took our orders personally and relayed them to the waiter, although he amplified the orders a bit. I had ordered a club sandwich; Marge ordered an onion soup and a spring roll appetizer; and Pam ordered pea soup and a seafood salad. By the time we left our table, we had had those things, plus a bread basket, an extra bread loaf, a chicken caesar salad, and lasagna.

The bread basket arrived first. It was filled with different sorts of bread; there's no way I can identify what kinds. I first took a small triangular roll, which was delicious; then I had a darker round one--also delicious. Then the owner requested specifically that we try the multigrain loaf, which is new (he's deciding whether or not to keep it). It was without doubt the best bread I've had in a long time, if ever. Then he also pointed out a round roll with seeds on it, which also is new and therefore a special priority for him. It was not as good as the loaf, but still tasty.

While we were enjoying the plethora of bread, the soups arrived. Both received raving reviews. Then the salads arrived. Pam ate seafood salad; Marge ate chicken caesar; I tried a little of both. Both were good, but the chicken caesar was outstanding. There was something unusual about the dressing; I can't put my finger on it, but it was delicious.

Then the entrees arrived: my sandwich and Marge's spring roll appetizer. At this point, we already were full--even though we hadn't finished the salads. Maybe half of each salad was gone, but we were stuffed. So Marge ate one or two spring rolls and I ate one of the four sections of my sandwich, as well as the huge black olive attached to it (I love olives). The sandwich was very good, and Marge also had good reports on the spring rolls.

Then the lasagna arrived. We each had just a bite or two of it, because we had eaten so much already but the owner wanted our feedback. It was amazingly good. Stuffed as I was, I could have finished off that lasagna just because it was so good. Marge saved me from gorging myself by asking to have the food boxed up to go. She won't be hungry tonight and therefore won't cook, so her husband gets the rest of the lasagna and the caesar salad for dinner. I brought home my sandwich. Pam brought home the seafood salad . . . and there was something else in her bag, too, maybe the rest of Marge's spring rolls. Or maybe Pam ended up with the lasagna and Marge got the spring rolls. I'm not sure.

Then someone said something about wanting a smoke. There were ash trays on the table, as there are in every restaurant in Egypt, but since Pam had mentioned that I don't smoke, the owner suggested we go outside on the patio where the breeze would help diffuse the smoke. The smokers would have coffee and a smoke; I would have creme brulee. I came off on the better end of that deal; although the smokers did end up sharing a creme brulee, I had my own. And I ate it, too, every bite. It was light and sweet and very yummy.

As you can tell, I was impressed with everything about the restaurant. I particularly was impressed with the generosity of the owner. When Marge asked about the possibility of us ordering multigrain bread loaves for an upcoming Maadi Women's Guild meeting, he readily agreed and even gave a discounted price. We promised to make sure everyone knows where the bread came from.

The owner also showed us a review from the Maadi Messenger that was done back in May, I think, after the restaurant opened in April. There was one negative thing said about the restaurant in the review--that the diner was charged for the bread basket even though it was brought to the table as if it were included--and the owner wanted to make sure we knew that he listened to that criticism and made changes accordingly. Now, the price of the bread basket is listed on the menu, and the bread isn't brought unless it's ordered. He practically begged us to criticize something so he could make it right, but none of us could find anything to criticize.

The food, the service, the atmosphere . . . it was all wonderful. I would recommend this restaurant to anyone living in or visiting the Maadi area. It's located at 10 Road 82, just off Road 6. According to the business card, there's also a Condetti in Dokki at 33 Oman Street. It's also on Otlob, if you prefer delivery to eating out. Oh, and while I was perusing the menu, I took a look at the prices as well. They're a little more than you would pay for Egyptian food, but this food is primarily Italian with a little bit of everything else available, too, so you would expect to pay a little more for this than for Egyptian. And the serving sizes were huge, even if we hadn't ended up with multiple entrees per person, so it's well worth it.

Christmas Bazaar Update

The last couple of days have been busy getting ready for the Christmas bazaar. On Sunday afternoon, after Bible study in the morning, I met Pam to go solicit more donations. She had been out that morning with Marge and was feeling discouraged: they hadn't received a single item. Most stores were closed. It hadn't occurred to us that lots of places are closed on Fridays and Sundays here, rather than all weekend. Looking around, I noticed all the locked-up shops. Pam and I agreed that the best thing to do would be to wait until today, then try again. But neither of us wanted the day to end with nothing to show for it, so we agreed to stop at Volume 1 (a book and office supply shop) and ask there and at the other shops on that block. We still ended up the day with nothing in our hands, but we did get one firm commitment and a couple of others who promised to ask the owner or manager. We agreed to come back by some of those shops "bokra," which was today.

Not long after I got home, I got a phone call from Pam. Our plans had been changed by executive order. Marge had arranged for us to go to the Wadi Degla Club, where the bazaar will be held, to see the spaces set aside for us. Because we had committed to going back to those particular stores today, though, I wanted to make sure we went. Pam agreed; we decided to stop by on the way back from the club.

So this afternoon--after staying very busy this morning with other commitments--I walked down to the church, where I met Nancy, the MWG treasurer. The two of us rode out to Wadi Degla together, where we joined the club manager and an Egyptian woman--I forget her name, that's awful of me--who is very involved in MWG. She was negotiating--very assertively--on the phone with the guy who rented us tables and chairs last year. I was proud of myself because I could understand about 25% of what she was saying. Pam, Marge, and Lidia joined us soon after we arrived.

The group of us talked some about how things worked last year and how they'll work this year. While we sat there, Marge received a phone call from a nice Cairo hotel--Halina dropped off a letter and made a request; they have an envelope waiting for us at the reception desk. We don't know yet if it'll be a free room or a free meal at their restaurant. I was given a pack of tickets to sell as the opportunity arises. (Shameless plug--those of you in Egypt who will be in town on 12 December 2008 and want something really fun and charitable to do between noon and 4pm, contact me--leave a comment if you don't know me personally--and we can make arrangements for you to buy a ticket from me. They're LE30 each.) Then we all went for a walk to see the different areas where we'd be.

The food vendors will set up on the tennis courts. They'll bring out long extension cords or generators or something to provide electricity. The product vendors will be on the soccer field, I think, or anyways, on a big grassy field near the tennis courts. The silent auction will be in an air conditioned (if we still need it by then) room. The room has four doors, but we'll probably only have two open for loss prevention reasons. The pillars in the room naturally divide it into three areas, with a fourth area created by a serving counter. (The room usually functions as a coffee shop.) We've got ideas about how to arrange the tables, but the final decision will wait until we know how much stuff we have.

Then Pam and I headed back into Maadi to make our stops for the day. On the way, Pam told me about her morning. She had gone out with Marge again, with some success. She had generous gift certificates to a restaurant that's popular among expats, a beautiful embroidered pillow sham, and a wooden box with metal (maybe bronze) overlay from an Indian home decor shop. She also received promises for items from other shops. At the shops we visited together, we received a nice duvet and two shams from one store, and two beautiful ceramic plates from another. We also were told by one manager that he had spoken with the owner and was pretty sure he'd donate; I'll go back on Wednesday while Pam has other commitments. We also stopped in at a shop that was closed yesterday; that shop's owner will be in tomorrow, so we'll go back then.

It's working out just like Marge said it would: we go, we go back, sometimes we get stuff then, sometimes we go back a third time. She said there will be fourth visits. We drop off letters if the decision-maker isn't there. Sometimes we're convinced the letter goes in the trash; sometimes it makes our next visit easier because the owner has read the letter and has decided already what to give. But things are happening. Pam was smiling today.

Not a Panacea

*Sigh*


I guess the fountain doesn't fix everything . . .

A Burden Lifted

There has been a burden lifted off my shoulders today. It had been there for a week before I even recognized that it was a burden. I don't know about you, but I'm pretty good at just not "feeling" some of my feelings . . . stress, in particular. My body reacts: I don't sleep. But that's pretty common for me whether I'm stressed or not, so I often don't subjectively recognize that I'm feeling stressed out.

Take this latest example. I did a post last week that I had been asked to take a leadership role in the silent auction and raffle for the 2008 Maadi Women's Guild Christmas Bazaar. The very day that I accepted the position, I stopped sleeping. I became restless. I suddenly had an urge to clean my flat. I felt a little anxiety about the bazaar; that was normal--I've never done anything like this, and there's a lot to do. But I shied away from doing anything. I didn't know where to start. Now, had I thought it through, I would have recognized what I was experiencing: my classic "I am overwhelmed/in over my head/incapable of handling this" response. But I didn't think it through. I just did some cleaning and focused on other things.

Then God decided that, yes, it is again time to remind Deborah to pay attention to her body's natural cues. So He gave me one I couldn't miss. At my Sunday morning study of the book Captivating (by John and Stasi Eldredge), while we were giving prayer requests, I asked the ladies in my group to pray for me because I was feeling a little anxious about this leadership role. I thought I was pretty casual about it. But Ute, our leader, saw that there was more to it than that, so she got me talking about it. The next thing I knew, I was bawling. All of the suppressed anxiety rose to the surface, and I realized just how unprepared I am for that responsibility. It's like a random, inexperienced, guy off the street was put in charge of a Fortune 500 company. No clue where to start. Even if people tell him what needs to be done, he really doesn't have the knowledge or experience to accomplish it. That's how I felt.

So we prayed, and after I got home, I prayed some more. I told God all about how unprepared I felt, and that while I was willing, I didn't think I had the knowledge or skills to be effective in this role. I asked that He either would give this responsibility to someone else or give me the peace that He would get it done even if it was through me. After I prayed, I had peace about the situation. I felt God impressing upon me that the leadership role was not where He wanted me this year. My assigned role was what I had originally volunteered for: to work in partnership with others and to learn the things that I would need to know to step up to a position of greater responsibility in the future. However, I also felt that it was not yet clear if that would be possible, due to a lack of volunteers who were willing and able to take responsibility. But my gracious God gave me a peace that even if I did need to continue in the leadership role, He would make it work, and I had nothing to worry about. If I continued in a leadership role this year, it wouldn't be His preferred plan, but He would bless the efforts anyway.

One of the other ladies in the group is working on the bazaar, too, and Marge actually had asked her to check in on me and see how I was doing. Marge had known I was hesitant and wanted to make sure I could handle it. So Marge was told that whether I could handle it or not, I didn't think I could, and I was very anxious about this. (No confidences were broken, even though we do have a rule that nothing from Sunday morning goes outside the group. Marge is a part of our group, but she wasn't able to be there this week. Also, before I had said much at all, the other lady told me that Marge had asked her to check on me, so I knew the information would be shared--and I wanted it to be; otherwise, I would have said so, and it wouldn't have been shared.)

So this morning, I had a meeting with Halina about the auction. When I got there, Marge was there as well. Marge has been busy! Marge has agreed to take responsibility--even though she has SO much other stuff on her plate--and there is a team of four of us who will work under her leadership. We will do most of the time-consuming footwork, since Marge has enough time-consuming activities to do as president of the Maadi Women's Guild and as coordinator for the commercial vendors at the bazaar. Halina is soliciting donations from the greater Cairo, non-Maadi, area, including the large donations such as Nile cruises, airline tickets, and hotel stays. Pam and I will take the lead on obtaining smaller donations from businesses within Maadi, with help from Jennifer, who also will decorate for the silent auction. Marge will go along the first time or two, since Pam and I haven't done that before. I'm doing the administrative stuff--keeping track of the donors so we can make sure they all get recognized on the bazaar map and in the January issue of the Maadi Messenger. I'll also take the lead on deciding what goes into the raffle as opposed to the auction, and I'll also try to figure out, based on the donations we receive, how to group donated items into "theme baskets," which tend to sell better than single items. Pam, who is more creative and artistic than I am, will assemble the baskets, making them look way better than I could. As we go along, other tasks will get assigned to the person best able to handle them.

So I'm still very involved, but I no longer have the final responsibility. Marge is overtasked, so her leadership will be primarily in the form of instruction and answering questions. The rest of the burden is spread out among four of us. I'm getting the opportunity to learn without it feeling so much like "sink or swim."

This afternoon, Marge, Pam, and I went to a few shops to solicit donations. In just a few minutes, we collected an inlay box, a lamp, two perfume bottles, and a bunch of children's books. We also have a commitment for some gift certificates to a local restaurant--the owners told us he would give them to us after we come and enjoy our free lunch; they recently purchased the restaurant, changed a lot of things, and want us to have personal testimony of the good food and service. We're going out again on Sunday.

My attitude has totally changed. I'm looking forward to going on Sunday. I'm excited about the bazaar again. I no longer shy away from even thinking about it. It truly is a burden lifted from my shoulders. Praise God, or as they say here in Cairo, "al ham du lee lah!"

The Joy of Water

Cleo has discovered the joys of running water.

She loves to hop up on the counter by the sink, get in the sink, play with the running water in the sink . . . I can't stop her. For a while, I squirted her with the water bottle every time she got on the counter or in the sink. Sometimes she'd jump down, sometimes she'd hide behind the microwave oven, and sometimes she'd attack the water bottle. Okay, if she wants escalation . . . I started turning the water on while she was in the sink, often when she was directly under the faucet. She'd hop out, groom herself for about 30 seconds, and hop back in. She also likes to stand on the ledge in between me and the bathroom sink when I brush my teeth. There have been times I've had to pick her up out of the sink so I could spit without getting toothpaste on her.

Cleo taught Isis about the joys of running water. Of course, Isis isn't quite so sure about water of any kind. If I shake the water bottle at her, she jumps down and runs into the living room. I turned the water on once while both Isis and Cleo were in the sink. Isis hasn't come near the sink since. But, still, Cleo is a problem.

So we ordered a Drinkwell pet fountain. It arrived yesterday (thanks for forwarding it, Mom). The cats were enthralled before we even set it up. Cleo was soaking wet from getting on the table where I was unpacking it--the water bottle strikes there, too, not that it much matters to her. She'll hop up on the table, counter, or wherever she wants to be, even if she's already dripping. When I put the fountain on the floor, Isis got in on it. I put it in its spot and filled it with water using a cup. Isis sniffed around the bowl, backing off when I approached with water--apparently you never know what I'm going to do with water--but quickly returning once it was clear that the water was going in the bowl and wasn't splashing back up. Cleo followed me to and from the kitchen. When I filled the cup, she stood on the counter by the sink, stretched out over it, with one paw exerting pressure on the cup. I'm not sure if she was trying to pull it to her or tip it over. When I left the sink, she hopped down and followed me to the fountain.

You should have seen them when we turned the fountain on! Isis ran away at first, before coming to sit about a foot away and watch. Cleo stuck her paw in the water stream, then yanked it back out, shook it, and looked at it as if to say "Why is it wet?" Then she did it again. Yep, Cleo, water is still wet. She drank some, splashed some, had a good ole time. Isis eventually approached. First she drank out of the bowl. Then she stuck her paw in the stream. Then she drank some.

I didn't get my camera out soon enough. I wish I'd had it out when we first turned the fountain on; there would have been some really fun video. However, you'll have to be content with the pictures I got once they had settled down enough for me to stop laughing and think of the camera. I got one video of Cleo playing some with the water, but she kept stopping to look at the camera. I turned it off when she walked away from the fountain and started rubbing against my ankles. Anyway, here's the video I got:




I haven't caught Cleo in the sink since we plugged the fountain in . . .

It's Raining!

Or at least it was. I didn't actually see the rain. Jeff felt a couple of drops when he was downstairs putting the grocery cart back. I didn't really believe him when he told me (I asked if there had been a bird overhead), even though I had noticed earlier that the sky looked like rain. I figured, hey, I'm in Egypt; it probably isn't rain on the way, just a dust storm (which I have not yet experienced).

Then, just a few minutes ago, Jeff called me over to the window. The courtyard was wet, but not all over, like it is when they wash it. It was dry under the overhangs. We went out onto the walkway, and the railing was wet. But when we stuck our hands out, there was no rain. Jeff pointed out that it actually doesn't rain water here anyway. On those rare occasions when it rains, it rains mud. At least that's what we've been told.

I haven't seen rain since before we left the States, in mid-June. I hadn't even noticed until today.

An Egyptian First

My friend Lauren emailed me a link to a very interesting newspaper article this morning. Let me summarize:

In June 2007, in Cairo, a 28-year-old boy in a man's body (Sharif Gomaa) pulled his van alongside a 27-year-old woman (Noha Rushdie Saleh), reached out of his window, grabbed her breast, and pulled her toward his van. She pushed him away, falling down in the process. Gomaa then attempted to pull away, but--thank heaven for Cairo traffic--was unable to do so because another driver cut him off. Noha then did the unthinkable: she stood on the hood of Gomaa's vehicle to prevent him from getting away, and she asked passersby for help. They refused her. One woman even told Noha to "look at what [she was] wearing" because she wasn't wearing hijab. Noha was undeterred. She and a friend dragged Gomaa to a nearby police station . . . where the police initially refused to do anything. Eventually Noha herself drove a police officer and Gomaa to the main police station. Finally, over a year later, earlier this week, Gomaa was sentenced to three years in prison with hard labor. It's the first time in Egyptian history that a man has been sentenced for sexual harassment.

My initial reaction: Noha, you are one brave woman, and I respect you very much. Good for you, for not backing down, for demanding justice in a situation where everything about your history must have been telling you that you wouldn't get it. I am impressed.

Sexual harassment is not at all uncommon here in Egypt. Female tourists are advised to wear a wedding band, even if they aren't married, and that helps curb the harassment some, but it doesn't eliminate it. According to the news article, 83% of Egyptian women say that they have been harassed. Only 3% report it, because nothing will be done . . . there isn't even a specific law in Egypt banning sexual harassment. The common response is to blame the victim. She wasn't dressed modestly; she was asking for it. As if men are so weak that they have no control over their actions; a woman wearing loose long sleeves and loose long pants is just so alluring that they can't help themselves. Puh-lease. If you believe that, there's a bridge I'd like to sell you.

And it isn't even always the case that the victims aren't dressed modestly, even according to the Muslim definition. During the Eid (holiday) after Ramadan this year, a mob of around 100 youths attacked female pedestrians, I believe in Mohandiseen, a Cairo neighborhood. More details here and here. The same thing happened during the same Eid in 2006. The attackers ripped at the women's clothes, tearing them off. The women were wearing hijab. One even was wearing niqab, which covers the face as well as the hair. The attackers tried to tear it off. Now I understand why we foreigners are advised not to go out walking during the Eid. I'm not sure why it is that the end of a religious celebration--Ramadan--is marked by this kind of sexual violence, but it's a pattern and therefore should be recognized. On the positive side, this incident also pointed out some improvements in government response. Although no police officers were present when the mob began the attack, the police arrived quickly and put an end to it. Eight people were arrested. They went before a judge earlier this month, but I haven't seen any reports of the outcome.

The harassment usually is not violent like it was in these incidents. I know of one embassy wife who received a hard slap on the behind from some punk on a motorcycle, but most of the harassment is verbal. There will be catcalls or rude suggestions yelled at women. Women have been cautioned not to ever sit in the front of a taxi with the driver--some drivers assume that means you're sexually available, and they get free with their hands. There's also some inappropriate touching on the streets. (I've been told if that ever happens to me, it's perfectly acceptable for me to start yelling and screaming and berating whoever did it, as long as I don't curse or hit them. I'm not sure what my actual response would be; I haven't had to find out.)

I personally have experienced very little harassment. I'm pretty sure I've heard a few rude suggestions or comments, but since my Arabic is very limited, I didn't understand them, which is fine by me. There are some phrases I'd just as soon not learn. I had a cab driver yesterday yell at me out the window, as he pulled off to the side of the road to offer me a ride, "bee-yoo-ti-ful!" I scowled at him and kept walking. Even if I had wanted a ride, I wouldn't have gotten into his taxi. I had another taxi driver the other day who was marginal; in America, he would have been someone who just bungled a pick-up attempt, but here, he was bordering on rude, at the minimum. He kept staring in his mirror and telling me how good and beautiful American women are. So I responded by telling him how good and beautiful and smart and strong Egyptian women are. He said "No, they are not!" I told him he was wrong and got out of the cab. I pretended not to notice when he tried to give me his mobile number so I could call him when I needed a taxi. I just handed him my LE5 through the window and walked away.

So there you have it. Most, if not all, women in Cairo will experience some form of harassment at some point in time. Most of it is verbal; some involves physical touching. In rare cases, there will be violence. It's one of the trade-offs to living in Egypt, a trade-off that shouldn't have to be made, but that remains nonetheless. On the one hand, we Western women get to experience a totally different culture, visit some amazing archeological sites, and meet some incredible people. On the other hand, we have to put up with some offensive and shocking behavior. I would love to know how Egyptian women think about it--the ones who have been harassed, and the ones who haven't. Do most blame the victim, or is that a minority opinion among women? Do they view it as a normal part of life to be accepted, or does it anger them like it does Western women? And what do the majority of Egyptian men think--do they blame the victim or do they recognize that men are responsible for their own behavior? When their wife or daughter is the victim, who do they blame?

There are forces at work within Egypt to enhance women's legal and social standing and to decrease harassment, and progress is being made, as shown by the improved response to this year's Eid violence. Here's hoping the situation continues to improve.

Me? In Charge?

So I mentioned, I think, in a previous post that I signed up to help with the Maadi Women's Guild Christmas Bazaar. I have no experience in anything like this, so I was thinking that I'd play a nice little behind-the-scenes, supporting role. One where I couldn't mess anything up, seeing as how this is the biggest fundraiser of the year, and MWG counts on it for money to give grants to charities (orphanages, leprosy colonies, and medical clinics, among others). I thought I'd ease my way into it, learn a few things, and then maybe, if I had an aptitude, play a bigger role next year.

God had other plans. It turns out that Marge, the MWG president and the person who's in charge of the bazaar, is having a really hard time getting anyone to agree to take a leadership role. She really wanted me to spearhead the raffle and the silent auction. This involves soliciting for donated items from local businesses, deciding what goes into the raffle and what goes into the auction, getting everything set up, setting start prices, getting volunteers to help with set-up and with monitoring the auction--can you believe someone stole a gold cartouche one year?--and probably more that I'm not thinking of right now. Luckily, for some of the donations, I have help: Marge and another lady both have relationships with some businesses that can provide Nile cruises and other large donations, and the lady in charge of the food vendors is going to hit them up for donations. But there's still a lot to be done, and not a lot of time in which to do it.

So--for those of you who are praying people, please pray for me and for this event. And for those of you who may have experience with anything like this--suggestions are welcome. And for those of you who live here in Egypt--please please please please please help me out with this. I need people to solicit donations (I'm really bad at that), put together baskets for the silent auction (I can sort items into different themes but I'm not good at packaging it to look nice . . . and I need someone to donate the containers, too), help me set up the day before the bazaar, and take a turn watching during the auction. I'm hoping for enough day-of volunteers so everyone can take some time to go shop without leaving anything vulnerable.

And everyone take a deep breath; it's going to be a rollercoaster!

My Tuesday

Today has been a bit on the busy side, but it's been good. I woke up at 6:30, all on my own with no help from an alarm clock. It's a good thing I woke up a good while before Jeff had to leave for work, because he wanted to eat breakfast at home today. Usually, I'm still in bed when he leaves, and he gets breakfast from the cafeteria once he gets to work. But it isn't entirely that I'm lazy in the mornings--I stopped getting up because Jeff never had time for breakfast; I'd fix it, and he'd have to run out the door without eating it. In fact, he was the one who woke me up (at my request). I stopped getting up when he stopped waking me up. But anyway, I got up and fixed breakfast for both of us, then got myself ready for the day when he left.

And I had to get myself ready for the day, rather than spend my usual lazy hour or so checking email, news, and my favorite blogs, because I had something important to do this morning: go to the October meeting of the Maadi Women's Guild! I've been looking forward to this ever since the September meeting. Not only was I looking forward to the meeting itself, but I was looking forward to the shopping beforehand! I wasn't disappointed, either. I knew three things I was hoping to find: a Christmas gift for my niece, a rug either for our entryway or for the kittens' room (they track litter all over it, so a rug with a good texture should help contain the mess), and the Arabic alphabet/number baby books (for a friend).

So I came in the gate and headed straight for the Recycling Center table--after a slight detour when someone at the welcome table waylaid me to sign in. Drat the delay; the competition is fierce for those bedspreads and rugs! I got to their table, though, and immediately saw the books, but it turns out that the price was higher than my friend had authorized me to pay. So on to the next goal--and there it was, a pretty blue and white rug with the texture I wanted for the kittens. It would look good in the entryway, but if it wasn't big enough (I forgot to measure and am horrible at judging by just looking at it), it still would work perfectly in the kittens' room. I picked it up for a closer look and had just decided to buy it when another woman asked me if she could check its price. I checked the tag and told her that it was only LE20, but that I was buying that one. She offered to arm wrestle me for it. No luck, it was mine! (Insert evil movie laugh here.)

As I chatted with the nice-but-too-late rug shopper, I happened to look up and there, draped across the wall, was the perfect gift for my niece: a white-background blanket/bedspread with traditional "dolls" in a variety of pastel colors, so that no matter how many times she changes her mind about her favorite color, it's likely to be in that blanket. (At five, she's a little old for a baby blanket, but she loved the one I sent her little brother a couple months ago, so her mother and I decided that a "big girl" blanket would be an appropriate Christmas gift.) So, again: there, draped across the wall, was the perfect gift for my niece. But then, right before my horrified eyes, one of the sales attendants pulled it down and handed it to a couple of women. Drats, foiled again! But, wait, they were handing it back . . . there is yet hope. As the other would-be buyers walked away, I approached the sales attendant and asked how much the blanket cost. A bit more than I had planned to spend . . . nuts. However, there is still hope--I spy three more blankets hanging on a rack. First check: the price. Yes, definitely much more reasonable. I am told these are cheaper because they're baby blankets. That's okay, a baby blanket makes a great big-girl throw. But there's a problem . . . three problems, actually. One is almost all baby boy blue. It's very pretty, but it's not a color I've seen my niece get excited over, and . . . well, it just doesn't look like my niece. The other two, I just don't like. It was the shapes on them. Just not pretty. My eye kept going back to the pastel pinks, purples, yellows, greens, and blues now hanging back over the wall. Yes, it's more than I planned to spend. Yes, it's a bit bigger than I intended--I actually had intended on more of a baby blanket size. But it's just so . . . right. So I bought it. Hopefully she'll like it.

With my three major goals accomplished--even with the negative results on the one mission--I just browsed through the rest of the stalls. I found a few more things to buy: some baby puzzles, handmade by handicapped people, for my youngest nephew; a carved wooden train with an engine car, a caboose, and two regular cars for another nephew; and an insulated canvas water bottle carrier with a shoulder strap for me. Then it was time to go in for the meeting.

I had a good time. I met some new women while waiting for things to get started, and we kidded around about how much of an old-timer I am; I've been here a whole month longer than one of them, who's been here a whole month longer than the other. I chatted with some ladies from my life group and some more from my Captivating (by John and Stasi Eldredge) study, which just started last week. I also chatted with the editor of the Maadi Messenger, who will be using some of my blog entries as magazine articles in coming months. I was amazed at the difference one short month can make! Just last month, I knew only two or three people there, and I was a bit shy about introducing myself. This month, I knew several people and felt no hesitation in introducing myself to more. I even remember two of their names! (Major accomplishment for someone with as bad a memory for names as mine.)

The highlight of the meeting definitely was the African Fashion Show. I had wanted to bring my camera specifically for that, but the battery was too low . . . I'll try to get pictures from a friend and post or link to them later. There was a carpeted runway down the center of the tables, and we were treated to a series of women from different African nations, all wearing traditional clothing of their country. There were women from Sudan, Congo, Liberia, Egypt, Ethiopia, Cameroon, Eritrea, Ghana, Kenya, Nigeria, Uganda, and Zimbabwe. All of the women were beautiful. Some had the stunning good looks of models; others may not have turned your head on the street under ordinary circumstances. But all of them were beautiful today, as they smiled so joyfully at sharing and having others appreciate a little bit of what makes them who they are. That ties in so well with what we've been talking about in the Captivating study . . .

Anyway, I rushed out of the meeting just before it actually ended. I was supposed to be at language class at 11:30 this morning, and the meeting didn't end until maybe 11:45. I had made the conscious decision to be late to class, because MWG is important to me, and because my language teacher hasn't been less than 15 minutes late--usually 20 or 30--since classes started, due to an earlier class in another part of town and bad traffic. So theoretically, I was okay with being late. But you know me . . . I abhor tardiness, especially when I'm the one who's late. I could feel my anxiety about it rising throughout the meeting. Finally I couldn't take it and I had to leave.

I flagged down a taxi pretty quickly and I was on my way . . . only to be chagrined as the driver pulled into a gas station, first promising "only ten minutes," then quickly reducing it to five minutes, then to one, as he saw the impatience on my face. He got the gas he needed, then started the car again . . . or tried to. He pushed the car backward up a slight hill (with me and my huge shopping bag still in it), then hopped in and tried to get it started while it rolled down. Didn't work. He tried again. After the fourth time, I just got out and handed him some money. I had gotten about five feet down the road when another taxi pulled out of the same gas station and picked me up, taking me the rest of the way to class. By this point, my anti-late mode was in full swing. I couldn't stand it! I hopped out of the taxi and headed inside the building--when I heard a familiar voice. I paused and turned . . . to see my teacher hopping out of another taxi behind me. Suddenly all the tension was gone, for me, at least. Even as we walked in together, my teacher apologized profusely for his tardiness. He didn't seem to understand that my own tardiness negated any ill will about his--for this time, at least; he probably was apologizing for the pattern rather than for today specifically. We went in, and I called a classmate, who has taken to staying at work until I call to let her know our teacher has arrived. Then she appears just a few minutes later. We had a good class, and I came home.

After lunch, I did some laundry and some dishes. Then I baked cookies for tonight's life group meeting. We have a couple who have offered to host it each week, and we just bring pot-luck snacks. Last week I took apple pie. Tonight . . . chocolate chip cookies. I started this blog while the first batch baked. Now I'm finishing up and waiting for Jeff to get home . . .

So that's my Tuesday. How has yours been?

Baby Wash

Today I participated in the Baby Wash program for the first time. Once a week, a group of English-speaking ladies meets at the Community Services Association (CSA) in Maadi, a suburb of Cairo, Egypt. From there, the group takes a trip over to Giza, just across the Nile and north a little, to volunteer at a community center type of ministry. This center houses a medical clinic, a program to educate street children in a trade so they can earn a living, and the baby wash. Although the English speakers only go once a week, the ministry is not neglected. Each day of the week has a different group at the baby wash—I know an Italian group goes one day, but I’m not sure who fills in the other three days.

The baby wash is the fundraiser for this ministry. The mothers who bring their children pay a very nominal fee, I think just LE1 or 2. The groups who go provide the bulk of the financial support. We pay roughly 2000USD per year. The money, at least for our group, is donated by a church back in the United States whose congregation wants to help these babies, their mothers, and the others who benefit from the center.

At the baby wash, mothers bring in their babies to be weighed, washed, and screened for obvious medical difficulties. It’s a four-week program with weekly visits, and the children receive a gift each time. During the first visit, they receive a pair of pants, a t-shirt, and a cloth diaper that the volunteers never actually put on the baby because we don't know how--we use disposable diapers on them. A photograph also is taken of the baby and mother during this first visit; it is given to the mothers during the second visit. For many of these women, this will be the only picture they ever have of themselves with their beloved child—some women participate in the program exclusively because they want this picture. During the second visit, participants also receive an adorable little gallabeya, another pair of pants, and a pair of socks. During the third visit, they receive a thick sweater, matching pants, and a hat. During the fourth and final visit, they receive a baby blanket. All of the items are purchased from local women who make the items out of soft Egyptian cotton. In this way, the ministry helps the working poor of the community, not just those who benefit directly from the center’s services.

While the babies are bathed, a couple of things happen simultaneously. New mothers who may not know how to bathe their babies learn by observation, and the babies are given a good once-over to make certain that any obvious medical problems are addressed. Babies can be sent over to the clinic if necessary, but it's more common for the women to be given supplies, such as diaper rash cream or a moisturizing lotion or oil, and to be told how to use them to care for their babies' routine needs.

This morning, six expat women met at CSA to take the trip over. Two of us were "in training" to bathe the babies. Neither of us had ever bathed a baby! Two were regular volunteers--one actually is in charge of coordinating the program for our group. One had been to the baby wash once before and is a mother herself. The final volunteer was a baby wash regular, but she was going this time to be trained in the administrative role of weighing the babies and keeping the records, which would be her responsibility while the usual coordinator was traveling over the next month.

At the clinic, we set up in a good-sized room that obviously was designed for the program. There were three sinks, each with a baby tub and ample counter space, and a couple of tables. Cushy pads rested on the counters, to lay the babies on while drying them. Baby wash, shampoo, lotion, and oil were stored in a locked cabinet and were distributed quickly to each station. A baby scale was on one table, and the second quickly became filled with the baby garments and diapers that were taken from the storage room next door.

Before any mothers or babies came in, my trainer showed me how to clean the tub in between each baby. Then we filled the tub with warm water--constantly adjusting the water flow, because the hot water kept cutting in and out--and set up the towels and washcloth that we'd need for our first "client." One of the other more experienced women did the same with our other newbie in training at the sink beside us. The remaining two women made sure all the supplies were ready, set up the scale, and got out the records that they keep on each child.

When the first baby came in, she was stripped off and weighed, then handed off to the pair beside us. The second one was ours. My mentor and I had agreed that I would watch her take care of the first one, then she would supervise me taking care of the second, and then I'd be ready to be on my own. So I watched as my trainer bathed the baby and washed her hair, explaining all the while what she was doing. Then she pulled the baby out of the tub and wrapped her up in a towel, dried her off, checked for diaper rash, and put her diaper and new clothes on. Easy enough. While she brushed the baby's hair and helped with the picture, I cleaned out and refilled the tub for the next one.

The next one also was a little girl. After she was weighed, she was placed in my arms. I have to admit, I took my time getting over to the tub. It was so nice just to hold such a tiny, precious baby! But then we were at the tub, and I had to put her down (of course while continuing to support her little head and keep it out of the water). It was easier than expected to bathe her. I've been in the room before when my sister or sister-in-law were bathing their little ones, but until today, I was never the one who actually bathed the child. I always assumed it would take a master of coordination to support the baby's head while also bathing the baby, washing her hair, and rinsing everything off. Nope. It was easy. I bet it would have been different had she decided to fight me, but all my babies today were easy. When I was finished, I pulled her out of the tub and laid her down on a clean towel spread out over the cushion. Her mother, who had been standing beside me the whole time, started drying her off before I even got my hands off her. So I had help from then on out. Apparently this is normal. Some mothers stand back and let you do your thing; others want to help.

When we were finished with that baby, I was pronounced ready to do it on my own. However, our other newbie also was ready to do it on her own, and there were only three sinks. So the two experienced ladies each had a sink to themselves, and we novices shared. My companion washed the first one, then I dried and clothed her. We swapped roles for the second baby, then swapped again for the third and final baby of the day. I noticed while my partner bathed Ramadan that he had severe diaper rash. When she pulled him out of the tub, I tried to be very gentle as I dried him off. Luckily, he was a happy baby, just lying there grinning up at me. One of the other ladies brought me some diaper rash cream, which I smeared on everywhere he seemed red and irritated. The poor baby--his rash was extensive. Everywhere his diaper covered, even halfway up his back and down his little legs where the diaper didn't even go, was red. I learned later that the rash was so bad because his mother didn't realize how often his diaper needed to be changed; she was a first-time mother, and even the more experienced mothers here often don't change the diapers enough because diapers are expensive, and there isn't enough money to buy more than absolutely required. Ramadan was in the same diaper for a whole day and night. We gave the mom some diaper rash cream, and the woman who works at the clinic full-time—the only one of us who speaks fluent Arabic—told her how and when to apply it.

I think we bathed eleven or so babies total this morning. There were the two while I was training, the two that the other training pair did during the same time, three that we novices bathed, and then I'm assuming another two each for the other volunteers. There may have been more, though; we novices probably were slower than the others.

I've been told that I'll be able to go to the Baby Wash around once a month. They can use only a limited number of volunteers, because there are only three sinks, so not everyone goes each time. But I'm looking forward to going again.

One of the other women also told me about the volunteering that she does a few times a week at Mother Teresa's in Mokkatum. The nuns run an orphanage and a daycare so that impoverished parents can work, and volunteers come in to help care for the babies. There also is a special needs room, where handicapped children are cared for. I'm going to see about going up there at least once or twice to see if that's a place where I can get involved in helping out.

It's really heartbreaking, when you think about all the needs. You don't really see a lot of it in Maadi, other than a few beggars and street children selling tissue paper for a pound a pack, but there is immense need in Egypt. In a previous post, I talked a little about Garbage City, or Mokkatum. And then there are the street children. It makes me want to get involved wherever I can. Updates as events warrant.


9 February 2009 Update:

Since I originally wrote this post, I have been back to the baby wash three or four times. I have seen many babies who are well cared for and a few others whose mothers do the best they can. In each case where more appropriate care is needed, the mothers have been very receptive to instruction, and the results are apparent on the baby’s next visit.

Unfortunately, little Ramadan’s case of diaper rash is not the worst I have seen. Just last week, I saw a little boy whose diaper rash was so severe that his skin looked raw and wrinkled, as if he had been burned. He also had sores on his face. His mother was very concerned about his condition and had been doing all she knew to alleviate his discomfort. This child went from the baby wash directly to the doctor’s office in the same building, where the mother was given instructions about his care and a medical ointment to use on his sores. I look forward to hearing that he is much better on future visits, although I can’t be sure that I’ll see him again. Each baby comes in only for four visits, and I do not always get to see them more than once.

I also had the opportunity to visit Mother Teresa’s recently. I intend to begin going there regularly. You can read about my first visit here.

Maadi Grand Mall

Yesterday afternoon, Jeff and I walked down to Maadi Grand Mall (MGM) to go tuxedo-shopping. We had been told by a friend that there was a good tailor there who could make Jeff's tux for the Marine Ball, and since we didn't know how long it would take, we decided that we needed to get moving on that. I also needed to get a rhinestone accent piece for my dress, and my tailor had told me that there was a store in MGM where I could find what I needed. I'd been there once, but only for a few minutes, and only on one floor, so I didn't fully understand what I was letting myself in for.

Jeff and I had a pleasant walk to MGM. The weather has started to cool off some. The temperature was probably in the low 80s, and there was a breeze, and it was shady most of the way. And it was comfortable inside, too; it must be air-conditioned.

We had no idea where in the mall we needed to go. The mall is pretty big, with maybe five floors. According to the internet, there are around 300 spaces for stores. Each floor is laid out around a central balcony. One or two rows of stores flank the balcony, and on each end there's a little maze with other stores. It can be a little overwhelming when you're searching for something specific but don't know the store's name and therefore can't really ask for help. I also noticed that the mall map didn't seem to have any store names, just numbered boxes to represent the stores.

We decided to start at the bottom and work our way up. We roamed the ground floor and saw two or three tailors and one thread shop. No sparklies in the thread shop, so no luck there. We also saw a food court, some scarf shops, some menswear shops (dressy and casual), some kids' shops, and of course, a lot of women's shops. Of these, many had western clothes, from casual to evening wear, and quite a few had gallabeyas, also ranging from casual to evening. On to the first floor . . . and the second . . . and on up. Somewhere in the middle--I forget which floor we were on--we spotted a larger-than-expected shop that had to have been where my dressmaker had sent me. One wall was covered with fancy threads and ribbons. Two walls were covered from floor to ceiling with boxes. Each box had a small, clear plastic bag on front that had samples of what was inside: decorative items that could be sewn onto clothing, drapes, or whatever. There were "useful" items like buttons, and there were purely decorative items. Most were gold- or silver-toned. Two or three were rhinestone. I had hoped for one piece, long and delicate-looking, like what was on the original bridesmaids' dresses. No luck there. But I found some small flower-shaped pieces and bought ten of them. If they're put in a wavy line, they should mimic the look I want. I don't think the dressmaker will use them all, but I'd rather have too many than too few. I was surprised at their cost--LE8.5 each. At current exchange rates, that's around $1.50 each. It was more than expected, but everything else on the dress was so inexpensive that I don't really mind. So my mission was accomplished; how about Jeff's?

All in all, we saw probably seven tailors. We had no idea which one had gotten the recommendation as a good, inexpensive tuxedo maker. We called our friend who had told us about him; our friend had never used him and didn't know where in the mall he was, just that someone had been pleased with his work. Jeff admitted that he really wasn't so keen on the idea of having one made without knowing that someone had had good luck with the specific tailor we were using, and I agreed. Jeff also admitted that he wasn't so keen on the idea of having one made in the first place; he'd rather buy one off the rack. It's easier.

So we went back to a men's shop that had had nice suits and one nice tuxedo in the window. A sales attendant came up to us immediately, and Jeff just said "Tuxedo?"

"Yes, yes. Here." He pulled out a nice, classic, conservative black tuxedo coat (no tails), with satin on the lapels. Jeff and I both liked the look of it. The salesman, however, took another look at Jeff, looked at the tag on the coat's sleeve, and frowned. He pulled out another coat and started trying to convince us that it was better. In reality, it was pin-striped. The lapel was the same material as the rest of the coat, except that it was bordered in satin. Jeff was a good sport; he tried it on and looked in the mirror. Neither one of us liked it so well. We told the salesman that we really preferred the other. He said that the only one they had in Jeff's size was the striped one. We prepared to leave the store. The salesman hurriedly told us to just wait a moment while he ran over and got on the phone. He came back with a downcast face, and we knew we'd be leaving.

We headed across the mall to another nice men's store; I think it was called Lorenzo's. This one didn't have a tux in the window, but the suits were really nice, so we were hopeful. We had seen tuxes in other windows, but they were . . . not so much Jeff's--or my--style. Very current and stylish . . . okay, to speak plainly, they were in line with some very UGLY fads. We wanted a classic look, in line with the suits we saw in this particular window. So we went in, and a salesman again immediately greeted us. Jeff used his one-word question again: "Tuxedo?"

"Oh, yes, yes. This way." The sales attendant led us to the back of the shop. Tucked away in a corner, there was a rack of tuxedos, all hanging nicely in their plastic bags to keep the inevitable dust off. There were boxes of vests, ties, and handkerchiefs stacked neatly on a table. Shirts of all colors were nestled in their plastic bags on shelves. The store looked similar to what I would expect of a nice store back in the States. The attendant showed us some vests. Some very modern vests. We finally found one that was more subdued, with a black-on-black pattern. It was available in medium or in 2X. I was doubtful, but Jeff pointed out that Egyptian men tend to be smaller than him, so the 2X may work. He was right.

The attendant eyeballed Jeff and said a coat size (I forget what, but it was in the sizing system we're used to). Jeff was doubtful but went along with it. The coat fit perfectly. It was a nice classic look. There were some random strings and fuzz, but when the salesman saw me start picking them off--partly to make sure they weren't attached and partly out of an uncontrollable impulse that most women seem to share--he quickly got most of them off. As Jeff turned around to look in the mirror, I spotted someting on the back of his shoulder: a pick in the fabric. The salesman was horrified. "Don't worry, I have another one, same size. No problem. The fit is good?" We agreed that we liked the coat, just not the pick, and like magic, a new one appeared. This one was in good condition--no, it was in excellent condition; the first one had been in good condition. The attendant asked Jeff his pant size--actually he asked Jeff if he was this size or that size (I don't know if Jeff really wants his pant size on the internet, so I won't say what sizes he named). Jeff indicated the larger, and the attendant frowned. He asked Jeff to try on the pants. Jeff disappeared into the fitting room.

While he was gone, the attendant laid the coat out on a table and showed me some black satin material and some fancy button covers. He said that we had choices: we could take the coat as it was, with plain lapels and buttons; we could have the lapels and buttons covered with a matte black satin to make it a little more formal; or we could have the lapels and buttons covered with a shiny black satin to make it really formal. He pointed out that the satin all could be replaced at any time; just bring it in. Around that time, Jeff came out, wearing his own clothes. The pants were too tight. While he was out there, I showed him the satin, and we agreed that if it was going to be a tux, it should be formal. Shiny satin it is. Once that decision had been made, the salesman ushered Jeff back into the fitting room, where he was to put the pants back on, too small or not, so the on-site tailor could get a look at them. A few minutes later, Jeff came back out and we chatted while the pants were let out.

Jeff tried the pants on again. Perfect fit in the waist. The attendant folded up the pants leg and asked my opinion of the length. I have no idea where the pant leg should hit the shoe. I just know it's too short when I see it flapping in the breeze when he walks, and it's too long when he steps on it. I deferred to Jeff's opinion. He deferred to the attendant's.

Next the attendant pulled out a white shirt. Back into the fitting room. Eventually we settled on a complete outfit, except that Jeff didn't need any socks and we have to check the shiny black shoes he currently owns to see if they'll look nice or if we need to buy him some more shoes too. The work on the coat and the pant hem will take three days, so we can pick it all up anytime after Tuesday night. I'll try to get Jeff to model for the camera.

So we bought a tuxedo for Jeff. The really nice thing: it cost about the same as what we paid for one of Jeff's suits back in the States. Just for reference, for those who may not know us all that well . . . we don't pay a lot for suits. We get nice suits, but not huge names, and we get them from outlet stores or off clearance racks. We've never paid $200 for a suit, and I doubt we ever will.

Ater our main goals at the mall were accomplished, it was time to just look around. We visited an electronics store and a Timberland store. Even before the mission was accomplished, Jeff hadn't been able to resist a computer store and a Nike store. All in all, I was pleasantly surprised by the mall. There's a lot more in there than you would think. The stores all seemed to be nicely maintained, and the salespeople are friendly and helpful. They spoke English, but they smiled when I attempted to communicate in Arabic. That's pretty common here in Maadi. You can get by without any Arabic (other than with taxi drivers), but the already-friendly people get just a little bit friendlier when you try to speak Arabic, even if you do mangle it.