Sham el Nessim

Today is Sham el Nessim (pronounced Sham en-Nessim, due to the colloquial habit of dropping the "l" in "el" when it's followed by certain letters). It's a national holiday in Egypt, neither Coptic nor Muslim. It dates from Ancient Egypt. Interestingly, although it isn't a Coptic holiday, the date of its observance each year is dependent on the Coptic calendar. It's always the Monday after Coptic Easter. Maybe that has something to do with the Copts being the most direct descendants of the ancient Egyptians--at least that's what a tour guide told me once.

Sham el Nessim is the modern descendant of an ancient holiday that celebrated the beginning of the harvest season known as Shemu. "Shemu" refers both to the season and to the idea of "renewal of life." The feast of Shemu was celebrated as early as 2700 B.C. on the vernal equinox, which represented the beginning of creation. During the feast of Shemu, ancient Egyptians offered gifts of salted fish, lettuce, and onions to their gods. The fish symbolized fertility and general welfare. Lettuce represented hopefulness. I'm not sure what onions represented, but apparently they also were stuffed into mummies' eyes and were drawn on the walls of tombs. Some say that they keep away the evil eye. One legend is that the popular son of a Pharoah was cured, after being bed-ridden for years due to evil spirits, because a ripe onion was placed under his head and a sliced onion was placed near him so that he would inhale the fumes.

One interesting tidbit about the ancient celebration of this feast is that it included colored boiled eggs. They symbolized new life and luck. The ancient tradition of dying eggs and hanging them in temples may be one of the antecedents of modern Easter eggs, although there are other ancient celebrations that may have been the more direct inspiration.

Later in Egypt's history, during the time known as the Coptic age, the word "shemu" was corrupted into its current "sham," which means "to breathe or to smell." "El nessim," meaning "the breeze," was added. So "Sham el Nessim" literally means "to breathe or smell the breeze." And since Sham el Nessim marks the traditional beginning of the khamsiin season, it's appropriate. The khamsiin is a dry, hot, dusty wind which usually begins in April, although sometimes in March or May. Traditionally, it begins on Sham el Nessim and ends 49 days later, on the day of Pentecost.

In modern Egypt, Sham el Nessim is a celebration of spring. Traditionally, the celebration starts at daybreak, when families decorate eggs and prepare their food. According to the websites I read, Egyptians still eat the same traditional foods as their ancient ancestors did. They eat fiseekh, a dried and salted fish, usually sardines, mackerel, or anchovies. They also eat boiled eggs, lettuce, scallions or green onions, and lupini beans.

After dying the eggs and preparing their food, many Egyptians head outside. They find a patch of grass in a city park, or they head out into the countryside, or up the Nile, or to the zoo. They spread their blankets and have a picnic. The primary point seems to be spending time outside, "smelling the breeze." Many Cairenes and local expats take off work the day before Sham el Nessim and get out of the city for a long weekend--definitely recommended if you want to spend a lot of time outdoors and actually be able to smell the breeze rather than just the pollution! They go to Sharm el Sheikh, Hurghada, Ain Sukhna ... any of the resort/tourist destinations.

Jeff and I don't have any real plans for the day. Because the embassy observes local holidays as well as American ones, Jeff is off work, but we didn't do any traveling this weekend. Jeff worked yesterday. I may see if he wants to go out to the Wadi sometime today. We haven't been out there yet. From what I understand, there's no greenery--it's desert--but it's a little outside of the worst of the pollution. It's a popular place for people to run, walk, bike, or hunt for fossils. So we may go "smell the breeze" there ... or we may just laze around home. We'll see.

In any case, it's a holiday, it's spring, and I hope everyone can enjoy both. I don't know the traditional greeting for this holiday, or even if there is one--I'm taking this semester off from language classes, so there's no teacher to ask--so I can't say whatever I'm supposed to say. Instead, I'll just say this: Happy Sham el Nessim!

Update: We decided against the Wadi idea. Jeff's coworkers have warned him that traffic is horrendous on Sham el Nessim, so we aren't going anywhere that isn't within walking distance.

Maundy Thursday

I arrived at church last night to find a very different scene than usual. Usually, we have our plastic chairs lined up in rows, and the musicians' instruments are set up on the stage. But last night, there were only three musicians instead of the normal seven or so, and their equipment was on the floor in front of the stage. The plastic chairs were gone. In their place were many small, low round tables with wooden bases and metal tops. On each table was a candle, a small bowl of herbs, two large pieces of unleavened bread, and several cups of grape juice--not the little communion cups, but real ones. Not long after we sat down, a plate of mouth-watering lamb was placed on the table as well. There were a few cushions on the ground on which the early arrivers could sit, but most people sat on the ground.

Jeff and I were joined at a table by Karan, the pastor's wife. We were surrounded by other small groups at other small tables. I looked at the bread and the "wine" and knew it was Communion night. But it turned out to be so much more.

During tonight's service, we walked through the original Lord's Supper. The service incorporated Scripture reading, songs, and explanations by our pastor.

We started with the washing of the disciples' feet by Jesus. We listened to one of the Scripture passages about the event. We sang a song, written by Graham Kendrick, about it. The chorus says "This is what I'm asking you to do, this is why I'm kneeling here beside you. This is what I want I want my church to be, this is what I want the world to see: who it is you follow. So love each other, one another, in the way that I have loved you. Walk together, and whatever comes, love each other in in the way that I have loved you." (I probably have a few words off, but that was the idea, anyway.)

Then we talked about what the disciples were celebrating at that Passover meal. So we went back to Exodus. The pastor talked about the sufferings of the Israelites right here in Egypt, probably in the same area where we are now. We sang about Moses going to Pharoah and telling him to "let my people go." We heard about the plagues that occurred when Pharoah refused. We heard the Scriptural account of the final plague, the deaths of the firstborn, and what the Israelites were told to do to avoid falling under this plague themselves. We heard a little about how Jews continue to celebrate Passover, or Seder, with a meal of unleavened bread, the Passover lamb, and bitter herbs to remind them of the Israelites' suffering. We broke off pieces of our unleavened bread, dipped it in the herbs at our tables, and ate it. We ate the lamb provided for us.

Then it was back to the New Testament. We learned how the bread of the Lord's Supper represents more than we commonly consider. We always hear how it represents the body of Christ, broken for us--that's right out of the Bible itself. But according to the Didache, one of the early Christian writings, there is a communal prayer that was said during Communion in the early church. This prayer shows another layer of symbolism. It became clear as we recited that part of the Didache together: "We thank Thee, our Father, for the life and knowledge which You madest known to us through Jesus Thy Servant; to Thee be the glory for ever. Even as this broken bread was scattered over the hills, and was gathered together and became one, so let Thy Church be gathered together from the ends of the earth into Thy kingdom; for Thine is the glory and the power through Jesus Christ for ever." We also recited together the portions of the Didache that were said prior to the drinking of the cup and after the meal was over.

I have to say that I have never before been to a Maundy Thursday service. I've never been part of a tradition that places much emphasis on it. But I'm so glad that I was able to experience this. There was something indescribably special about sitting in Egypt, celebrating Passover, linking it to the oh-so-familiar practice of the Lord's Supper, especially as we sat at the low tables in a style that is much more similar to what Jesus actually experienced than what we usually experience in pews or rows of chairs. We were under the tent, but we were outdoors, feeling the cool breeze, hearing the sounds of Egypt all around us. I can't express how moving it was.

I don't think this post does justice to what I experienced at this service. Easter sort of snuck up on me this year, without the cultural and social cues that I'm so accustomed to back in the States. I was surprised last week to realize that we were celebrating Palm Sunday--or in our case, Palm Thursday--already. I regret not having celebrated and anticipated the season more. Good Friday and Easter are the most holy days in Christianity, when we remember the awesome sacrifice of the Crucifixion and the awe-inspiring miracle of the Resurrection that jointly prove God's love and provision for us. This service, though not explicitly dealing with either of those events, brought my mind and my heart into focus, with Jesus at the center. And isn't that what any church service is supposed to do?

My Husband

My husband had a birthday not too long ago ... no, I won't say exactly when. He's a little on the paranoid side when it comes to privacy, and birthdays are used as personal identifiers, so he'd just as soon me not say exactly when it was on this, a public blog. But anyway, it was recent, and I wanted to take the occasion of his birthday to write a post about him ... but I couldn't publish it on his birthday; that would have given it away! But I can publish it now.

What can I say about my husband? He is the man God created for me, and the man for whom God created me. We are symbiotic. We both have been on our own in the past. We both prefer being together. In our household, his work outside of the home provides the income we need to sustain the home; my work inside the home transforms the house--or in this case, apartment--into a home. Our work together--on our relationship--makes us a family.

I met my husband in the fall of 1994, when I first started attending a public boarding school in my home state. No, it wasn't a disciplinary school; it was for students who weren't being challenged enough in their home high schools. Jeff was a year ahead of me, and our social circles overlapped but did not really include one another at that time. He actually dated one of my roommates that first year. But he had my attention, even though I never thought we'd actually end up together.

Jeff caught my eye very early on in the school year. I'd been at school for just a few weeks when a controversy erupted. A group of students--if I'm remembering correctly, it was something like 8 seniors and 2 juniors--had broken the rules in a major way. They were drinking alcohol, and a lot of it. One of the juniors had been left outside the dorm, so drunk that he could have died of alcohol poisoning. The others had left him there, alone, while they scattered, hoping to avoid being caught in the fallout. After all the facts came out, most of those involved were expelled, and the others were put on probation. The entire student body was called into a meeting. The faculty, some of the administration, and the housing staff filed into the room, faces like stone. After an intense lecture, we were told that we were being left alone to discuss amongst ourselves what had happened, how it impacted the school--which could have lost its state funding over the incident, sending us all home--and how we as a student body would respond. Then all the adults filed out, and we students were alone.

After a few moments of silence, someone stood up and started talking. I was shocked--the student was defending the students who had been expelled. The next student who spoke did the same. And the next. I sat there, quietly, not believing my ears. Those people had risked the life of one of their friends by not stopping him from drinking too much and then again by not seeking help for him. Those people had brought controversy down on our school in a time of statewide budget cuts, knowing that we depended on state funding to keep our school open. I wanted to speak up, to point out what irresponsible fools those students had been, to say that they deserved to be expelled; we had an honor code, they agreed to it, and they violated it--and in the process, they put someone's life in danger! But I was a chicken. I was painfully shy at that point, new to the school, without many friends yet ... I wanted to speak, but I felt like I was frozen in my seat, without the courage to stand or the words to say even if I did stand.

But then someone else stood. And this young man was angry. Angry at the people who had jeopardized one person's life and all of our educations. Angry at the students who were defending their idiocy. He stood and he spoke of responsibility, and values, and honor. And I fell in love then and there, although I didn't realize it until much later.

Some of the students branded Jeff a traitor for siding with the faculty over the other students; a few of the students vocally defended him; many of us quietly supported him. But it was clear that whether anyone supported him, whether anyone defended him, whether anyone even listened to him, he had principles, and he would stand by those principles.

We didn't date until around 15 months later. Even then, the relationship only lasted a month. It's a long, complicated story. But from the moment when he stood to speak in that student meeting, every young man I met was compared to him. I had seen a man of courage, of honor and integrity; that was what I wanted, and that was what I got ... eventually. Maybe if I remember, I'll tell you the rest of the story next year.

Happy birthday, Jeff. I love you, and I am grateful every day that God created you, just as you are, for me.

Blind

There is a woman--a British woman--who lives here in Maadi. She moved with her mother to Egypt many decades ago, as a child. She continues to live here, although her mother died a long time ago, because Egypt feels more like home to her than Britain does. Her name is Mary, although she more commonly is known as Blind Mary.

But this post is not about Blind Mary.

Blind Mary has a maid, Miriam. She cleans Mary's home and helps control Mary's diet. (Mary is a diabetic who does not always regulate her own sugar intake like she should.) Miriam provides companionship to Mary and sometimes brings her family to visit the lonely woman. Miriam and her husband both have eye problems of their own, although they are not blind.

But this post is not about Miriam.

Miriam has a son, Ungat. He is 13 years old. Ungat, like his parents, has an eye problem. Ungat, like his parents, is not blind. But Ungat, unlike his parents, will become blind.

This post is about Ungat.

I met Ungat one time, just before Christmas. One of the ladies in my life group visits Blind Mary, and she suggested that we go to Mary's home and sing Christmas carols with her. Our life group was joined by another life group--or maybe we joined them--who also has a member who visits Blind Mary. We agreed to visit Blind Mary as a group, sing carols, and share sugar-reduced goodies for the diabetic woman with a sweet tooth. One man brought his keyboard to accompany us, and the ladies who visit Mary brought her small Christmas gifts. Miriam and her family were invited to join the celebration.

Ungat was a happy boy. He was polite, though reserved, with our group of strange people. After some encouragement, he agreed to join his sister in singing "Jingle Bells" in Arabic. He laughed with his sister and his other younger siblings. He was caught at the last minute and barely prevented from drinking from a small cup of wine that he had poured for himself from the bottle that had been brought for the adults. He laughed good-naturedly and willingly relinquished the cup. He had a mischievous sparkle in his eye most of the evening.

It wasn't very long after Christmas when the doctor gave his family the bad news. Ungat has a congenital eye defect. There is nothing that can be done. He will go blind. The expat woman who took Ungat to the doctor now regrets trying to help; maybe it would have been better for him not to know, since nothing can be done.

Can you imagine the pain of this boy and his family? I can't. I've never received news so life-altering, so catastrophic. This boy is on the verge of manhood. He was completing his education in preparation to find work, find a wife, support his family. Now he will not be able to work, probably will not be able to marry, and will have to rely on his impoverished parents for lifelong support. He doesn't read Braille, and I don't think he has any opportunity to learn.

Some of the expat women who visit Blind Mary want to help. It is possible, though doubtful, that a doctor outside of Egypt could help Ungat. Many times Egyptian doctors say "nothing can be done," when they really mean "with the amount of money you have, and the methods and equipment available to us in Egypt, nothing can be done." But if Ungat's problem is congenital, a local expat nurse says that even the best doctors with the newest equipment and latest methods probably would be unable to help him.

So now the group is trying to find a church that can help Ungat make the best of his situation. They want a church to "adopt" Ungat and provide for an appropriate education. He needs to learn Braille and to learn a trade that he'll be able to do even when his eyesight is completely gone. It will be expensive. He may have to leave Egypt to receive such an education. His family can't afford it. Blind Mary doesn't have much money, so she can't pay Miriam much. Ungat's father does the best he can, but like so many others, his family is poor. It's a desperate situation for Ungat and for his family.

I pray that God will reach down His hand and help them, either with a miraculous healing or with a God-sent source of funding for education.

Moulid el Nabi

Today is a holiday in Egypt. It's an Islamic holiday, Moulid el Nabi, and it celebrates the birth of Mohammed. I don't know much about the birth and life of Mohammed, so I won't try to give any history of this holiday or its origins.

I looked online for information about Moulid el Nabi and how it's celebrated, so I could share that information here. However, I wasn't able to find anything. Fortunately, my Arabic teacher, Hatem, likes to share information about local holidays and practices when the occasion comes up. For example, just after his first son was born, he taught me the words for "pregnant" and "give birth"; he also taught me about the subua (a celebration held seven days after a baby's birth).

According to Hatem, there are two primary ways that Egyptians celebrate Moulid el Nabi. The first way is not something that the Quran or Islam dictates, but I bet it's the celebration that the children enjoy the most. They make sweets to give to the children. The most well-known sweets for Moulid el Nabi are sugar dolls for the girls and sugar horses for the boys. However, they also make hummuseyya (hummus and sugar), sudaneyya (peanuts and sugar), mishmisheyya (apricot and sugar), and gozanhind (made of figs, coconut, and rolls).

The second way that Moulid el Nabi is celebrated, and the Islamic way of celebrating (according to Hatem; I have no idea myself), is with the reading of the Quran. This usually occurs at home. The celebrant is to read the Quran and to remember and emulate the life of Mohammed. On this day, a few large, well-known mosques may hold festivals, but this type of celebration is not the best way of celebrating Moulid el Nabi. Arabic-language television stations also show Islamic movies on this day, rather than the usual more secular fare.

Hatem also told me that the traditional greeting on Moulid el Nabi is "Kollesana tatuib," which means roughly the same as "Many happy returns." I know that "kollesana" means "all years," but I'm not sure of the literal translation of "tatuib." I'll just take Hatem's word for it that it's the appropriate greeting today.

So I say to all the Muslims and Muslimahs out there ... Kollesana tatuib!

A Tale of Two Tour Guides

I've posted before about my first trip to the cave churches at Mokattum. I recently made another visit, with a friend, her parents, and their tour guide. There was such a stark difference between this tour guide and the one that took me up there before that I just had to write about it.

On my first trip, either the tour guide or the driver was able to go straight from CSA to the cave church complex, using the most direct route, with not a single wrong turn.

On my second trip, we got to Garbage City with no problems, although I think we went the long way. Once we were in Garbage City, however, the driver immediately took a wrong turn. After stopping to ask directions two or three times, we finally made it to the cave churches.

Once you enter the cave church complex, there is a map carved into the mountain wall. On my first tour, the guide had the driver slow so we could see it as she explained it to us. On my second tour, we drove right by it, and the tour guide looked surprised when I pointed it out to my companions.

Not far after the map, there are a few small churches carved into the mountain. On my first tour, we got out of the vehicle there, went inside the churches, had some of the carvings explained to us, then proceeded to the arboretum, where we were told about the miracle of Mokkatum, and to the zoo. On my second tour, all of this was skipped.

Just past the arboretum is the area where the largest church is located. On my first tour, we saw the church and had the carvings and natural rock formations pointed out to us by our guide. On my second tour, the tour guide located a monk to tell us about the church while she translated. The monk did a wonderful job telling us about the miracle and a few of the carvings and rock formations. He also touched on the life story of the artist, about whom my first tour guide had told us as well. My first tour guide and the monk both took us to a large auditorium, also carved into the mountain, and told us about the carvings in there. The second guide rolled her eyes every time the monk talked about the miracle, how Jesus had changed his life, or how happy he was that he was able to read the Ingil (Bible). She really hated it when he peppered his remarks with "Hallelujah!"

After leaving the cave churches, both tour guides took us to the recycling center. For the first guide, it was a standard part of the trip. For the second, it was the second destination we had requested of her employing tour agency. She had to ask the monk how to get there.

At the recycling center, our first guide gave us a knowledgeable tour of the facilities, including an explanation of the processes by which the women there make their cloth products and their recycled paper products. She pointed out how this center provides an income for some of the poorest women in the Cairo metropolitan area. She said nothing either good or bad about the quality of their products or their prices.

Our second guide translated while two women who worked at the recycling center gave us a knowledgeable tour. While we looked around their two showrooms (one for cloth and one for paper), she told us that the quality was poor and the prices were high, not like the shops in Giza, where we should go. I pointed out that I had purchased their products before, had been very happy with them, and had seen them for sale in Maadi shops for much higher prices. She insisted that the products I had seen in Maadi shops couldn't have been from the recycling center; the quality isn't good enough. (I know they're the same; the tags on the shop merchandise said where the products came from.)

While driving through Garbage City, our first tour guide asked us not to take pictures. She explained that the people who lived in that area were ashamed of their poverty and their living conditions. The garbage collectors are in the lowest socioeconomic class in a country in which class matters a great deal. When pictures are taken of them, they feel like animals in a zoo, being ogled by their betters. This tour guide also told us that although it is mostly Christians who live around the cave churches, there is a significant Muslim population in Garbage City.

Our second tour guide neither encouraged nor discouraged us from taking pictures. She said that the garbage collectors are not that poor; they are happy. She also told us that there were very few, if any, Muslims who live in Garbage City. It is almost exclusively Christian. Although the monk had told us that 10% of his neighbors were Muslim, the tour guide said he must be wrong, because no Muslim would live among such filth. It's against their religion.

Our first tour ended at the recycling center; the second tour continued to the factory and showroom of the Luxor Alabaster Company, which is located just outside of Garbage City. My friends and I were fascinated at the stunning pieces in the showroom, which is huge, probably ten times larger than the small shop they have here in Maadi. I have purchased several of their pieces, two for myself and many others as gifts to send home. I always have been happy with the quality of their work, and their prices are reasonable, although it's possible to find lower prices at the Khan. Our tour guide, however, insisted--repeatedly, in front of the factory owners and workers--that good alabaster comes from and is worked only in Upper Egypt, in Luxor ... which is where this company obtains its raw alabaster and where its other factory is located.

As I'm sure you can guess, by this point, I was openly glaring at this tour guide and contradicting her fairly often. When we returned home, we gave the tour guide exactly her fee and not a piastre (the Egyptian equivalent of a penny) more, which we know good and well is a calculated insult here in Egypt. My friend did tip the driver, whom she's used before and really likes. I, personally, had already given my tip to the monk at the cave churches. He earned it more than the tour guide did.

For the last several days, I've been trying to figure out the difference between these two tour guides. It was obvious that one was very familiar with the cave churches and recycling center, whereas the other had never been to either. It also was obvious that one saw the people of Mokattum as people who deserved to be treated with dignity and respect. The other saw the garbage collectors as deserving of their status, the monks as crazy fools, the women of the recycling center as inferior, and the men of the alabaster factory as incompetent. Both tour guides were Muslim, so it wasn't just that a Christian viewed these people more sympathetically. One tour guide did have a higher fee and a higher level of professionalism to go with it, but that's a result of their differences more than a cause of them. I guess it just comes down to character. One had good character; the other was significantly lacking in that regard.

It just goes to show--you find all types in all cultures. Arrogance, incompetence, and spitefulness exist in all societies. Fortunately, so do dignity, integrity, and kindness.

Prayer

And Jesus answered them, “Have faith in God. Truly, I say to you, whoever says to this mountain, ‘Be taken up and thrown into the sea,’ and does not doubt in his heart, but believes that what he says will come to pass, it will be done for him. Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours.

-Mark 11: 22-24 (ESV)

Jesus, in this passage of Scripture, tells us in no uncertain terms that prayer is effective for those who believe. In Matthew 18: 19-20, Jesus says, "Again I say to you, if two of you agree on earth about anything they ask, it will be done for them by my Father in heaven. For where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I among them" (ESV). There are a few things, then, about which I would ask you Jesus-followers to pray.

Maher Ahmad El-Mo’otahssem Bellah El-Gohary

In my post "Imagine," from 15 January 2009, I told you about this gentleman and his attempts to change his official religion from Islam to Christianity. At that time, his case was in limbo. Now, he continues to struggle to get the Egyptian courts to recognize legally what already has occurred in his heart, but he faces a new challenge. Islamic lawyers are pressuring the court to declare him an apostate from Islam and sentence him to death. He is in hiding at this time, but he will have to come out of hiding for his next court appearance. He tried to have legal documents drawn up that would have allowed his lawyer to represent him without his presence in court, but staff members at the registry office swore at him and beat him when he appeared. Therefore, he is unable to allow his lawyer to handle the case. He will be in danger when he appears publicly for court. His lawyer also is hindered in how he can proceed with this case. The arguments against this man are based on Islamic law, and in this part of the world, you must be very careful in what you say about Islam and Islamic law. Anything considered misrepresentation or insult is punished severely. Further details are available here. Please pray for safety for this man and his family, for God to be in the midst of all court proceedings, and for this family to be allowed to leave Egypt if and when that becomes the best course of action for them.

Maadi Community Church

MCC truly has become our church home here. It is a shining light in this community, providing a place where expats and Egyptian Christians can worship together and reach out to help the less advantaged. However, MCC itself is in need of prayer. We currently have the great privilege of meeting on property that belongs to The Church of St. John the Baptist. St. John's has been gracious in allowing us to meet on their property for a number of years (I'm not sure how many), but our presence has made it difficult for them to grow, due in part to the need to coordinate schedules. It is becoming more and more apparent that the time is fast approaching when MCC will need to meet elsewhere. The church leadership is working on possible solutions, but details are not yet being made public, as publicity for church initiatives sometimes do more harm than good in this region of the world. Please pray that God will open the doors He wants us to walk through and close those doors that are not His provision for us at this time.

Also, there are staffing needs. I have seen local advertisements for a director of administration, and the website contains information regarding two pastoral vacancies: a pastor of youth ministries and a pastor of community life. Please pray that God will draw the people of His choice to these vacancies and that He will tear down all obstacles to filling these positions. Also pray that until these vacancies are filled, God will strengthen and equip those who are trying to fill the gaps.

Caritas Egypt

This week when I went to the baby wash, we had a special treat: a short tour of the other projects that occur in that location. It turns out that the baby wash is a part of Caritas Egypt, a social justice outreach of the Catholic Church. The building that houses baby wash also houses a clinic and daycare. Just across the street is a building that is used as a day center and school for street children. Those who want education attend the school; others simply "hang out" at the day center to avoid being arrested for vagrancy on the streets. Nearby is a facility where street children who are in the process of rehabilitation can sleep at night.

Children begin living on the streets for a myriad of factors, usually including poverty and/or abuse at home. Once they are on the street, they often become involved in drug abuse, fall prey to sexual predators, and develop other behaviors which make it impossible for them to re-enter society. Caritas helps to rehabilitate these children, but once they are rehabilitated, they still face problems. Often the families refuse to allow the children to come home, fearing the influence these former street children would have on younger siblings. Many people refuse to allow rehabilitated street children into schools or jobs. The leaders at Caritas want to open a community outreach center to educate the public about successful rehabilitation of street children in order to alleviate these problems.

There is a piece of property that is for sale and that would be suitable for the community outreach center. Please pray that God will provide clear leadership regarding the possible purchase of this land and that if it is His will for them to buy it, that He will knock down any obstacles. Also pray that He will continue to bless the ministry of Caritas Egypt and that He will provide the funding that is necessary both for continuing operations and for expansion, if that is His will for this ministry.


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I don't often ask for visitors to this blog to do anything; I simply share what's been happening in my life. However, those people who are involved in these situations need all the prayer support they can get. So I humbly ask you, if you are a believer, to pray about these situations. None of us as individuals are powerful enough to make any significant difference, but through prayer, we can draw on a much greater source.

Alexandria

Last weekend, Jeff and I participated in a PLP (Post Language Program) trip to Alexandria. The PLP is the embassy office through which we take our Arabic language classes. Every once in a while, they offer trips--usually shopping trips to various malls or souks--where a large part of the goal is to provide opportunities to use Arabic in real world situations. When they offered a trip to Alexandria for a very reasonable price, we jumped at the opportunity.

We left home on Friday morning around 7:45 a.m. We were meeting our group at a train station downtown; since it was right next to a metro station, we decided to metro in rather than take a taxi. We took the metro from Maadi station to Mubarak station, then followed the signs to the "real" train station, where we met our group, including two post language teachers (both women named Soheir). A third teacher, a man named Ali, lives in Alexandria and planned to meet us there.

The train pulled out of the station shortly after 9 a.m., with our group seated in the first class section. The seats were comfortable enough, although everything was filthy. But the tickets were cheap and it was reliable transportation, so a little dirt could be tolerated. The trip was fast, with no delays or slow-downs. It took us around two hours to get to Alexandria. The scenery varied from the congested, impoverished neighborhoods of Cairo to picturesque but also impoverished farms and small villages. I spent most of the trip reading.

Once we arrived in Alexandria, we took taxis to Mercure Hotel, where we were staying. We were early, so we sat in the lobby and went over some typical Arabic conversations--what you would say to buy train tickets (we hadn't had to do that, since ours were pre-purchased), to check in at a hotel, to order food at a restaurant, and to shop in a department store. A few people decided to check themselves in so they could practice; the rest of us just gave our passports to Soheir and let her take care of it. It turned out that the rooms wouldn't be ready for several hours, so they gave us two rooms where we could leave our bags, and we went on with our day.

Our first stop was Balbaa (I think I got that right), a restaurant that's known for its fish but whose roasted chicken looked and smelled so good that most of us got that instead. The waiters spoke little to no English. It was the first restaurant I've visited in Egypt where there were no English menus and they wouldn't have understood what I wanted if I had ordered in English. The ordering process was a little complicated: We told our teachers what we wanted, they told us how to order it, we placed the order, the waiter confirmed with the teacher, and all our orders turned out right. I'm sure the waiters didn't appreciate the complication, but it all worked out, and the food was very tasty.

After that, we went to the ruins of the Roman amphitheater. One of the workers there told us a little about the site's history. The amphitheater was destroyed by an earthquake, and when the Muslims took over Alexandria, they built over the ruins. Over time, a hill was built up. The ruins were discovered during modern construction, but I don't remember when. We were able to climb all over the amphitheater itself, which is in remarkably good condition, and to walk partway down the remains of the Roman road that led to it. We were not allowed to explore the ruins along the road, however. There was an open-air museum area, as well, that had artifacts that had been recovered from the bottom of the Mediterranean, where the Pharos, the lighthouse of Alexandria, was located.

After stopping by the amphitheater, we made our way to the Alexandria National Museum. This beautiful building used to house the American Consulate in Alexandria, until budgetary constraints caused the consulate to become an "American presence post," basically a cultural center, staffed by only one American and a few locally employed staff. Now, the museum contains artifacts from the major periods of Egyptian history: Pharoanic Egypt, Roman Egypt, and more modern Egypt, with its Coptic and Islamic influences. The bottom floor of the museum is dedicated to Pharoanic Egypt, with the two floors above it getting progressively more modern. There's even a small sub-basement called "The Crypt," which contains a real mummy. I don't have any good pictures from inside the museum, because flash was forbidden, and it was too dark for pictures to turn out well, but I recommend a visit. The exhibits were well-labeled, which can't necessarily be said about all the museums in Egypt.

After we left the museum, we had a choice of where to go next. Soheir and Soheir were going to a local department store for shopping, and half of the women in our group decided to go with them. The two men and the rest of us women decided to go with Ali to the Bibliotheca Alexandrina, or Alexandria Library. But first, Ali caught us trying to take pictures of a very interesting bush in a park across the street, so he graciously offered us a detour. Here he is having a little fun with one of the three interesting bushes. (The other two bushes were frowning, but this smiley one was the most fun.)

Our little detour out of the way, we headed over to the Bibliotheca. It was amazing! I can't do justice to it on this blog. I could entertain myself in there for hours, and Jeff could spend days in there. He wants to take an entire vacation just to the Bibliotheca. But I'm getting ahead of myself. When we got there, we quickly discovered that we were not allowed to bring any bags into the library with us. Our purses, backpacks, basically everything larger than a wallet, had to be checked into a cubby in a nearby building. We were allowed to bring in cameras, though. We joined up with a tour that was just getting started and were given some fascinating information about the library and the projects being pursued. The library can hold something like 5 million books, although I think it has less than 2 million right now. The open reading area is the largest in the world. There also are conference rooms, a planetarium in an adjoining building, and multiple museum exhibits. There were two things that I found particularly amazing. First, the library has an archive of every page on every website on the internet from 1996 until 2007. The archive soon will be updated with information from 2008, as the update is done annually. Second, the library has one of the newest, most cutting edge printing presses that exist--the Espresso Book Machine, which can print and bind a 500-page book in 20 minutes. It can print just one copy, so it truly does print books on demand. It isn't yet open to the public, but the plan is that eventually, people will be able to come in and have a book printed to take home with them for minimal cost. Of course, it only will be available for books that are out of copyright or where the copyright owner has given permission. So far, I think they have about 1500 books that will be available when the service is opened to the public.

After we left the Bibliotheca, we went back to the hotel to clean up for dinner. We got into our rooms--tiny but clean . . . with NO soundproofing and uncomfortable beds, but hey, it was only for one night and it was cheap. Plus every room had a view of the Mediterranean--the picture on the right shows the view from ours. So it wasn't all that bad. Then we went to a mall for dinner. The plan had been to do a little shopping and then eat dinner at the food court, but some of our group were very tired, didn't want to shop, and did want a full sit-down dinner instead of a quick takeaway dinner. So we decided to skip the shopping and try a restaurant called Freddy's. Freddy's was marginal at best. Jeff's and my food was fine but nothing special, but some of the others really hated theirs. After that, it was back to the hotel for a little sleep.

The next morning, we ate breakfast in the hotel restaurant, then headed out to Qaitbay Citadel. Qaitbay is located right next to the now-submerged site where Pharos (the ancient lighthouse) used to be, and it is a beautiful place. You can tell I didn't get much sleep the night before, because I can't remember the information about the citadel that was presented to us. So I'll let the pictures do the talking on this one:


After Qaitbay, we went to the Automobile Club, one of the private clubs on the beach. One of our teachers is a member there, and they allowed us to come in, look around, and have a drink. The setting was beautiful, with large patios, multiple swimming pools (which were in a state of neglect due to winter, but which I'm sure are beautiful in summer), and the Mediterranean Sea in the background. Due to the current storm season, the water levels were high, and the waves literally crashed onto the patios several times. It was visually stunning, and the sound of the waves was so relaxing. Plus, the lack of air pollution made the sky a brilliant blue and allowed us all to breathe deeply in a way that you just don't do in Cairo. It was such a nice time, relaxing and chatting while we waited to go check out of the hotel!


After we left the Automobile Club, we went back to the hotel, checked out, and headed for the train station. There was a bit of a misunderstanding there, as we all sat at a track-side cafe to eat the lunches we had brought with us from Hardee's or Kentucky Fried Chicken. The manager didn't care if we ate our "outside" food there, but he did want us to buy something from him. Most of us bought a bottle of water, but two left the cafe, without buying anything, before the rest of us did. When the last of the people at that table got up to leave, the manager came out of the cafe, yelling and making a big fuss. I don't know what we would have done without our teachers there. The rest of us couldn't understand him and didn't know what he wanted. Our teachers figured out that he felt that he was owed the purchase of two more bottles of water, which he probably was, since his seating area had been used, denying it to other potential customers. Soheir bought the two bottles of water, and the man was satisfied. This incident vividly illustrated why it is important, when traveling, to make every effort to understand and follow local customs, and to try to see things from the local perspective.

After that little drama, we headed to our platform. The train showed up on time, and we headed back to Cairo. The trip took a little longer this time, as there were unexplained slow-downs at a couple of points, but it wasn't an unreasonable amount of time. When we arrived in Cairo, we decided to take a taxi home rather than the metro. Based on the recommendation of our language teachers, Jeff bargained the taxi ride down to LE35. The teachers said they probably could have gotten it for around LE25, but it's common for westerners to be charged more than Egyptians. Based on what we usually pay for a taxi from the embassy home (a slightly shorter trip), we had expected to pay LE50, so we were very happy with the price. And we were home around 30 minutes after getting off the train, as opposed to the hour or more that it would have been on the metro.

All in all, I enjoyed my first trip to Alexandria. I'm sure we'll be back--Jeff wants to spend some serious time in the library, and I just want to see that blue sky and breathe that clear air again!

Kitten Mischief

*Sigh*

My cats . . . let me just show you.












They're not allowed on the entertainment system. They know this; they have been squirted with water, pulled down, cajoled down . . . except, of course, for this time, when I let them stay where they were while I got the camera. The only reason the Scat Mat hasn't been placed there to really deter them is that it can't be used on metal objects. But of course, Cleo just loves getting way up high and peering over the top of the TV, and Isis enjoys sneaking around the lower part. We haven't found a good way to deter them.













And then there's the whole issue with electrical cords. Every time they're seen biting one, or even playing with it, they get squirted with water, pulled away from it, scolded . . . but Isis developed an obsession with the power cord to our emergency radio. I guess 18V isn't enough to hurt a cat. Jeff is going to see about getting a replacement today. But we still have to figure out how to keep Isis away from it. Those stinky sprays, designed as animal deterrents, last for about 30 seconds flat with these two. Jeff's vote is for putting the Scat Mat down on the floor to keep them out of the whole area where we keep the radio. Of course, the table on which it sits could be reached easily by a kitten leaping from the bed, with no need to hit the floor . . . until of course, the not-so-sturdy table falls over because of their shifting weight, if not from the impact of their landing. I don't think we can risk the radio itself hitting the Scat Mat on the way down, either.

Speaking of the Scat Mat . . . we used it to teach the kittens not to get on the kitchen counters. But of course, the point is that you leave it there for a while so they learn, and then you can remove the Scat Mat and use your counters again. The cats did great at first. Two jumps onto the counter each, and they avoided that section of counter like the plague. They continued avoiding it when we moved the mat--both the previously protected section and the currently protected section. For about a month now they've avoided countertops that have ever had the mat on it, as we gradually moved the mat around to all of our counters. Until earlier today. I heard a thump that I recognize as a cat landing on a counter. But all of the kitchen counters should be safe now, as just this morning I moved the Scat Mat over to the last area. But no. There was Isis, standing innocently on the counter, on the very first section that got the mat. Aargh!

Any suggestions?




P.S. While I was reading over this prior to publishing it, I heard a funny noise from the area where their pet fountain is. Take a look at what I found:










Yes, that thing sticking up from the water is the lid to the filter well. The one that snaps into place and therefore can't be removed by pets.

My Pita Experiment

Those of you who know me know that I am not so much a Martha Stewart kind of person. Cleaning is hit or miss, crafts are a big joke, and cooking is . . . well, cooking has improved over the last year since I quit working outside the home, but it's still not great. Simple recipes, easy stuff--mostly stuff from Cooking Light. Bread of any kind--that's not simple. Therefore, my bread gets purchased, not baked.

But recently, I've been reading these blogs from these women who stay home, focus on their families, home school their kids, and even bake their own bread. I started remembering the divine taste of the homemade bread that I used to get at the boarding house where my youth group stayed when we went to Ridgecrest all those years ago. And I started wondering . . . how hard is it, really?

So I tried an experiment. Something triggered me to start thinking about homemade pita bread in particular. I think I read an old post at one of the blogs where she mentioned baking pita bread and how good and easy it was. So I went looking for recipes online. I found one that seemed tailor-made for beginners. I already had all of the necessary ingredients on-hand--mostly due to easy recipes that called for just one tablespoon of all-purpose flour, or whole-wheat flour, but also because I got the bright idea to make homemade pizza last night (it turned out pretty well, I thought, but you'd have to ask Jeff, the pizza expert, to be sure). So today I decided to give it a try.

Step one: figure out if I need to activate my yeast according to package directions or if I can just toss it in the flour mixture like the recipe says. Nope, have to activate it. Okay, easy enough: mix 2 teaspoons of yeast with half a cup of hot water and throw in some honey. Wait for five minutes to make sure it gets all big and bubbly. While doing that, measure my three cups of flour. I think I'll go with 2 1/2 cups of all purpose and 1/2 cup of whole wheat. That way I can pretend they're healthy pitas without worrying about them not "puffing" because of using too much whole wheat. Done. Might as well go ahead and add the salt, too. Okay. Next? Check the yeast mixture. Oh, yeah, it's big and bubbly, almost out of the tiny little bowl I put it in.

Step 2: Dump the yeast mixture into the flour mixture. Add a couple tablespoons of olive oil--you can get great olive oil here. Stir with a wooden spoon. Oops, I don't have a wooden spoon. A plastic spatula will have to do. Stir until all the flour sticks to the mixture, none to the bowl. Okay, done.

Step 3: Dump the whole mixture onto a lightly floured surface and knead it for 10 minutes. (The recipe even provided kneading instructions, thank goodness!) Well, I just cleaned my countertop, so toss some flour on it and knead away. Oh, this is really really sticky. I don't think it's supposed to be this sticky. "Jeff!" I call into the other room. "Can you come help me?" Jeff comes running--if I call for help from the kitchen, it's possible there's a fire--and I ask him to dump some more flour on the counter and on the big messy ball of stuff in my hands. I didn't do it myself because I couldn't disengage my hands from the aforementioned big messy ball. My wonderful husband didn't complain or roll his eyes; he just dumped the flour and went back to the other room. Now the kneading works better. Much better. Ten minutes later . . .

Step 4: Make the formerly sticky mixture into a big ball. Coat a bowl with olive oil and toss the ball in. Spin and roll the ball to make sure it's coated with the olive oil. Hmm, another easy step.

Step 5: Cover the bowl loosely with plastic wrap and leave it alone for 90 minutes, until it doubles in size. No problem. I got stuff to do, see ya later! Sixty minutes later, I can't resist checking . . . it's doubled in size all right. It's tripled already. I guess it doesn't need those final thirty minutes.

Step 6: Punch the dough. Hmm, sounds a little violent, but okay. Consider the dough punched. Then divide it into eight equal parts, roll them into balls, and let them sit under a damp towel for 20 minutes to "rest." Why does dough need to rest? Oh, well, the recipe says let it rest, so it shall rest. Meanwhile, preheat the oven and pizza stone to 400 degrees Fahrenheit.

Step 7: After the dough is sufficiently rested, roll each ball out into a disk that is 1/8 to 1/4 inch thick. Okay. Oops, I think I forgot the floured surface part, this thing is sticking to my brand new rolling pin. Throw some flour on the counter and on the rolling pin and try it again. Much better. Once the first one is done, get started on step 8 while finishing step 7.

Step 8: Put the dough disk into the hot oven, on the hot pizza stone, for 3 minutes. Then take it off and replace it with a new one. (In the interests of full disclosure: Jeff came in to help with this step. He's heard too many yelps from the kitchen, followed by running water as his wife sticks her newly-burned hand under the faucet.) Meanwhile, keep rolling (step 7), but also keep an eye in the window oven because apparently it's really cool to see them "puff." Yep, it is kinda cool to see them puff up in the middle. I've wondered how they make pitas have the two layers.

In the middle of step 7/8, I realized that although my dough disks and baked pitas were the right thickness according to the measurement, they looked way too thin and spread out. So the final three or four pitas were a little thicker and more compact. They looked a lot more like what I've been seeing here, although they didn't really puff.

The verdict: Making pitas at home is simple, a bit messy, and a little time-consuming. The actual work doesn't take long; it's the rising and resting. But the final product was pretty good. Not as good as the pita bread we get from one local restaurant, but better than what we get from another.

Tonight I discovered the way to make fairly good pita bread into a very yummy dessert. Want to know the trick? Heat up one piece of pita bread in the microwave. Spread cool whip over it. Drizzle honey over that. Then roll it up like a burrito. A very messy but lick-your-plate-good dessert. It works best with the really big, thin pieces, of which there are none left now. Probably a good thing.

Not All Roses

I love living here in Egypt. I really do. But there are some things that will annoy me until the day I leave. For example . . .

Today I was walking back home after running by the church for a minute. I was minding my own business. I was dressed in jeans and a cotton shirt--conservative neckline, 3/4-length sleeves. It wasn't as long as it should be by Egyptian standards, because it didn't cover my rear end, but it's an outfit that I usually can wear and be treated with some amount of courtesy by Egyptian men. Or maybe not, because sometimes I do hear comments as I pass by, but they're not always directed at me (I think). They're in Arabic, so I don't usually understand them. They're often made by a man who is speaking to another man, so for all I know, they could be discussing the weather. I choose to make that assumption unless they give me concrete reason to believe otherwise.

And then there's today. I pass by a policeman. I say again, a policeman. In uniform, on duty. No one else in speaking distance, no phone to his ear. And he starts speaking. In English. I can't give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Hello. You're [didn't quite make it out, but I think it was 'sweet']. I love you." Said in a low, smooth that I assume was meant to sound suave.

I know, I know, not incredibly rude by Western standards. But we're not in the West. We're in Egypt, and in Egypt, those statements are incredibly rude. It's equivalent to a man--a policeman--saying "Hey, sexy, wanna move in with me?" to a random woman walking down the street. Shoot, an American cop probably would get fired for saying exactly what this Egyptian cop said, even without considering cultural differences.

Aargh! I wish he at least would've stuck to Arabic, but I may have understood even that. I definitely would have understood "ahlan, enti helua" (hello, you're sweet) and many other forms of that statement. I may have understood "I love you"; I've been taught how to say that I really like something, though I don't recall the word now, and I would recognize -ik, the suffix for you (feminine). Maybe I shouldn't have been so eager to learn Arabic . . .

Okay, done venting. Moving on to thinking about some of the things I really do like about living here, to erase the negative impression that traffic cop left. The guards at my housing compound are super-friendly and helpful in my Arabic learning, and they never cross any lines of propriety--Egyptian or American. I have opportunities to get involved in wonderful charities and to make new friends through the Maadi Women's Guild and church. I get to visit some really cool places--pyramids, cave churches, and I'll eventually get around to the Citadel, Coptic Cairo, and the Egyptian Museum. Prices are cheap, and shopkeepers are very friendly (and proper). There are camels here. Most of the people are friendly.

I'm feeling better now. Time to get off this computer and go do something useful.

A Good Message

On Friday, we had a special treat at church--a guest speaker. Some of you may have heard of him: Josh McDowell. For those of you who haven't heard of him, he's a well-known Christian author and speaker. He's known for apologetics--defined as "the branch of theology that is concerned with defending or proving the truth of Christian doctrines" or "formal argumentation in defense of something, such as a position or system" (from TheFreeDictionary.com). Among his books are Evidence That Demands a Verdict and More Than a Carpenter. Based on his reputation and what I know of his books, I expected an intellectual message that had something to do with apologetics. I got something even better.

Josh started out by telling us that what he was going to be talking about is considered heretical by some Christians. Of course, the audience perked right up at that! Anything that smacks of controversy is always an interesting topic of discussion. But as he went on, I realized that although the topic often is misunderstood and misapplied by Christians, it isn't a message I've never heard before--though it is a message that bears repeating. The topic, to put it simply, was how we actually do and should view ourselves--our self-concept, to go back to my days as a psych student. And the point of the message was that, although of course we should not err by thinking too much of ourselves, we also should not err by thinking too little of ourselves.

I don't know about you, but I always am amazed at the beauty of a waterfall, the tranquility of a beach, the grandeur of a mountain view. Josh pointed out that most of us are in awe of the majesty of nature, but we fail to be amazed at God's crowning creation . . . ourselves. We all have a picture of who we are, but that self-portrait is rarely accurate. We see ourselves trying to become who we think we ought to be, in accordance with what we're taught by our culture, our family, or our own reasoning. But in order to know who we truly are, we have to see the picture from the Creator's view. Only He knows us inside and out, with all our flaws, yes, but also with all of our possibilities and as-yet-undiscovered gifts.

Josh gave the example of a pilot who is flying during a bad storm. It's possible for the pilot to get so confused that he's flying upside down without realizing it. That's why pilots are taught to always, above all, trust their instruments. Don't trust your own feeling of what's up and what's down; trust the instruments. Don't trust your own judgment of how high off the ground you are; trust the instruments. The instruments see reality objectively; your feelings and judgments can be skewed. In the same way, we as individuals have our own feelings and judgments about who we are and what we're worth, but our feelings and judgments can be skewed. We, like the pilots, need to learn to trust the instruments--in our case, the Word of God.

But in trusting our instrument, it also is critically important that we read the instrument correctly, that we interpret it as we should. So many people read the Bible and come away with a message that is not what is written there. One example: Romans 12:3 says "For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned" (ESV). Many people, including some that I have known, read that verse and say "See! You should not think highly of yourself!" But that isn't what it says. It says that no one should think of himself "more highly than he ought to think" (emphasis added), not that we shouldn't think highly of ourselves at all.

And we should think highly of ourselves--God does. We should value ourselves--God does. After all, what is a good way to determine something's value or worth? What is anything really worth in this world? Josh McDowell, Dave Ramsey, and many other sensible people agree: Things are worth whatever someone is willing to give up in order to obtain them--what someone is willing to pay for them. And just think about what God was willing to exchange for us, not just for us corporately, but for each of us individually: His one and only Son, Jesus Christ.

Thinking about that in the wrong way could result in some real arrogance, let me tell you!

Of course, Josh did point out how we can think about that in the right way. There are these economic terms: inherent value and derived value. Things with inherent value are valuable because of what they are. Things with derived value are given value by something external to the thing itself. For example, a Tommy Hilfiger shirt and an off-brand shirt both have some amount of intrinsic value as a piece of cloth that can be used to cover a person's torso and help keep that torso warm. However, the Tommy shirt usually has more value to most people; they're willing to part with more of their money to get it than to get the off-brand shirt. Where does that extra value come from? It comes from the fact that it's a Tommy shirt--it comes from the label, from the designer. Similarly, our value is derived from our Creator, who created us in His image as individuals who have the capacity to know and to worship Him as a personal being, as individuals who are capable of exerting will, of loving, of thinking, of choosing.

And the really beautiful thing is that we all have this derived value. It's what sets us apart from the rest of creation--makes us even more amazing than the most awe-inspiring piece of nature you've ever seen--but it doesn't make any one of us worth more than any other of us, which goes back to the whole thing of not thinking more highly of ourselves than we ought (which is the part that so many Christians focus on). We all have this unfathomable worth that is given to us by our Creator.

Of course, none of us wants to be just like each other--even as we strive to be the same (look at how we dress, talk, and behave)--we all want to be special. And we are! God created us to be unique. Each individual one of us is special, created to be something previously unseen in the universe. But that uniqueness doesn't make any of us worth any more than the other; if anything, it enhances all of our worths because all of us are rare, one-of-a-kind creations of the best Designer who has ever existed. And we all have a goal that is as similar as it is dissimilar: We each are designed to become the best possible us that we can become. You are designed to become the best you that you can be. You aren't designed to be the best him, her, or me. I'm not supposed to be trying to be a better you than you are. We're not in competition. As Josh says, "You're not in competition with anyone to be yourself."

To me, that is a liberating concept. I don't have to be the prettiest woman around; I just need to be the prettiest me that I can be. I don't have to be the smartest person in the room, just the smartest me I can become. As a blog author, I don't need to be trying to have the most widely read blog on the internet; I just need to be the best blog author that I can be. I'm not meant to strive to become the best person in the world at anything other than being me--and since no one else could be more me than me, even if they tried, I can't fail! I'm meant to fill my own specialized niche in this world, and to fill it to the best of my ability. As long as I'm being the best me that I can be, I'm fine, even if the best me that I can be doesn't look like what others think it ought to look like.

Now that's what I call a good message!

The Camel Market

Last Friday, Jeff and I participated in a "CLO on the Go" trip. (The CLO is the Community Liaison Office, an office within the embassy that produces the newsletter, provides orientation briefings, organizes fun trips, and basically provides information and tools to make this whole living abroad thing as stress-free and fun as possible for mission members and their families.) This particular trip promised to be unique and entertaining . . . the Camel Market!

Jeff and I, along with several other mission members, showed up at the Maadi House last Friday at the unfortunate hour of 7a.m. We piled into two of the embassy's vans and pulled out around 7:30. (We were delayed because the second van had gone to a downtown housing compound in order to pick up people who never showed, so it had to wait on them, delaying all of us. Shame on those inconsiderates!) We headed out to the Corniche and drove north to the Ring Road, which we used to cross the Nile. We took the Giza exit and headed north, passing close by the Giza pyramids. But we didn't take the main road that headed north; we stayed on a much narrower road that . . . I think it was dirt. I don't remember. Anyway, we headed north, then eventually took a left onto a road that definitely was not paved. After another left, we arrived at the gates to the camel market.

Our CLO representative paid the entry and camera fees, and we walked in. This is the sight that greeted us:


The camel market was a single, wide road, with enclosures on either side. There were camels everywhere. There also were many Egyptians, mostly men, with a few children and even fewer Egyptian women. We were told to watch out for camels and trucks, because neither would likely do much to avoid us.

Basically, while we were there, we just walked down the road, looked around, took pictures, and then went back to the vans. We were there for maybe an hour or so. But some of the pictures were amazing, so that's what I want to show you, with just a little commentary added in.

Almost all of the camels had one leg tied up. This was to make it easier to catch the camels when they tried to run away. At first, I thought it was to prevent them from running away, but I realized my mistake quickly when I saw a camel making a run for the gate on three legs. It was going pretty fast. The dash for freedom was unsuccessful, but if it hadn't had a leg tied up, the outcome could very well have been different.

This is how the camels were transported to and from the market. It's the first time I've seen that many camels in a truck, although I have seen pickups transporting a couple of camels in the back. The camels seemed pretty willing to sit down when their handlers wanted them to, and they were content to stay seated rather than trying to stand back up, so I guess it was safe enough to travel with them in the back. Of course, in Egypt, it doesn't always matter if it's safe.


While we were there, I also received a lesson about the attitudes of Egyptian men toward women. This man was in charge of a camel that was targeted for petting by one of the women with us. He was very cooperative, allowing anyone who wanted to pet the camel. He also showed us how the camel could "lip" someone--like biting, but using only the lips, with no teeth. He was very insistent on having many of us experience this, including me. I allowed it, knowing that Jeff was there if there were any problems. Then, he indicated that he'd like to have Jeff take a picture of him and me, with the camel in the background. During the picture, he took the opportunity to reach over and give me a big smacking kiss on the cheek. I shoved him away, but he was still pretty proud of himself. Of course, I didn't learn my lesson, because I allowed a picture to be taken with another Egyptian man, who started with his hand respectably (by our standards) in the middle of my back. However, that hand slid a little lower before I put a stop to it, and that particular man almost left the camel market with a nice big bruise on his cheek.

There's no particular story for this picture. I just thought it was cute, so I decided to include it. For some more pictures from this excursion, click here. I don't think I've put most of the best pictures on the blog, because they don't have stories, but there were some that I thought turned out really well, especially given the conditions. It was really bright and dusty, and most of the time, I wasn't able to actually see what the picture would look like when I snapped it. I just pointed toward something interesting and hoped it turned out!

This fellow was quite happy to pose for me in such a way that highlighted the stick that he's carrying. In fact, when I first started to take the picture, he was just standing there. When he saw my camera, he chose this pose for himself with no prompting from me. Most of the men and boys at the camel market carried sticks like these. They were used to "encourage" the camels to do whatever the person wanted them to do at the time, be it sit, stand, walk, stop running, or whatever.

Obviously, the camels are hit with the sticks. Most of the camels showed no obvious sign of injury, although there doesn't have to visible injury for it to hurt. One man, however, was sporting a gallabeya that was stained with blood from a camel that had resisted being put on a truck. My stance of trying to understand the Egyptians' viewpoint, rather than just seeing the camels' pain, didn't work so well when I realized what had caused those stains.

I don't remember if it was this little boy or another one, but one of the kids did infuriate me because of his cruelty, which went beyond a simple lack of empathy for the camels. He was roaming around the market with his stick, randomly hitting camels that were doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing. He'd just walk down the street, hitting whatever camel happened to be nearest to him. The camels obviously were accustomed to this type of behavior; they just stayed sitting or standing wherever they were, while the boy roamed on down the street. I didn't see adults engaging in this type of wanton cruelty, so I really hope that the kid will grow out of it. Of course, no one stopped him, so maybe the adults just weren't bored enough to go around hitting the camels like the kid was.

All in all, I'm glad I went on this trip. The camel market isn't someplace I want to go again and again, but it's definitely a good place to go once. I'll close with just a couple of my favorite pictures that don't necessarily have a story, just to encourage you to visit my Picasa page.

Oh, and here's a short video that Jeff took. It shows a little bit of what it was like to walk through the market.

(I promise, I didn't pose them like that!)