Ramadan Kareem

I believe that today is the first day of Ramadan. It's supposed to start on or around today, but you can't know for certain until the night it starts. You see, Ramadan is a month in the Islamic calendar, which is lunar. The month begins when religious authorities see the first sliver of the new moon with the naked eye, and it will end when religious authorities see the first sliver of the next new moon, probably around September 19. It was anticipated that it would be seen last night, and if it was, it will have been announced via TV, radio, and newspapers. But since I don't watch Egyptian TV, listen to Egyptian radio, or read Egyptian newspapers typically, I would have to make a special effort to find out, and I just haven't done that yet.

So why does it matter if Ramadan has started yet? After all, for most purposes, Egyptians use the same calendar we do, so I don't even know the names of the other Islamic months, much less care when they start or end. But Ramadan is special.

Ramadan is considered a holy month by Muslims. It is the month in which they believe that the first verses of the Quran were revealed to Mohammed by Allah. One of the five "pillars" of Islam concerns the month of Ramadan: Muslims--at least the ones who are not prevented by health reasons--are to fast from sunrise to sunset during this month. They are to refrain from eating, drinking, smoking, and having sex during the day. The fast is supposed to turn their hearts and minds toward Allah and spiritual concerns, including prayer and worship. It disciplines their bodies and helps them to regain control of their earthly desires. Because of the benefits of observing Ramadan, a typical greeting is "Ramadan kareem" (Ramadan is generous). The appropriate reply is "Allahu akram" (God is more generous).

The fast is broken each evening. The sunset call to prayer signals the end of the fast; at that time, the iftar meal begins. (I believe that iftar literally means breakfast, but I'm not certain of that.) Traditionally, the meal begins with a thin soup followed by a main course of fuul (a yummy bean dish) and/or meat served with vegetables, starches, and pickles. Drinks include karkadeh (hibiscus tea), tamr hindi (tamarind tea), and 'amar il-din (apricot juice). Dessert is always very sweet: konafa (a raisin and nut cake), 'atayif (a crepe with syrup, usually stuffed with nuts and raisins), or khushaf (fruit and nuts soaked in apricot juice). Iftar often is celebrated communally, with extended family, friends, and neighbors. It is popular among those who can afford it to go to a restaurant for iftar, as restaurants often have special menus for Ramadan. (If I were a Muslim woman, I'm pretty sure I would prefer going to a restaurant for iftar--can you imagine preparing a feast when you're hot, thirsty, and hungry, yet you still can't have so much as a sip of water? I do sympathize with Muslims who work in restaurants during this time!)

After iftar, life often turns to what would be normal during the day at other times of year. Many stores stay open until midnight or later (often not opening until late morning or afternoon, and closing during iftar), so people do their shopping then. They also socialize and celebrate until the wee hours.

Just before sunrise, Muslims eat another meal called suhoor. Suhoor usually is a lighter meal than iftar. It consists of fuul, yoghurt, fruit, cottage cheese, and/or eggs. Wise Muslims also will drink water at this meal, since they won't have any more throughout the long, hot day!

During the day, life is much slower than it is at other times of year. Many will go back to sleep after suhoor, since they stayed up so late the night before. Many businesses have shorter hours during Ramadan, and most restaurants (at least those that don't cater mostly to expats) will close. Traffic is very light in the mornings, which makes for the easiest and quickest commutes ever known in large cities. However, non-Muslims would do best not to leave work in the evenings until sunset, because traffic in the hours preceding iftar--beginning around 2pm--is at its craziest as people race home. For the unlucky ones who are not able to make it home in time, it is common to see people standing on street corners around iftar time, handing out bottled water and dates (a very popular food here, particularly during Ramadan) to passing motorists at no charge, as a charitable activity, which is one of the pillars of Islam. Wealthy individuals also support the ma'idat al-Rahman (literally, "table of the merciful"), which are iftar feasts held in public venues where anyone--particularly the poor or homeless--can come to break his or her fast.

The end of Ramadan is marked by Eid al-Fitr. During this 3-day "Feast of Fast-Breaking," parents give gifts of money and clothing to their children. Families and friends share large meals. Large congregational prayers are held. Small villages hold fairs. Jeff should get two of those days off work (it'll probably start on a Saturday, so the last two days will be embassy holidays).

Last year during Ramadan, I had only been here for a few short months. I was still getting used to being in Egypt at all; Ramadan was simply a month to get through, waiting for things to get back to normal so I could continue adjusting. This year, I probably still won't do much in observance of Ramadan--after all, I'm not Muslim. However, I would like to participate in an iftar meal as a cultural experience (maybe even skip lunch that day so it feels a little more authentic; I won't even pretend that I would fast all day or not drink water, though). Some of Jeff's friends from work are planning to go to a restaurant together for iftar one evening, and I'm looking forward to that. Other than that, my "participation" in Ramadan probably will consist of not eating or drinking in public during the day, although I'll eat and drink normally at home, and I won't avoid going to restaurants that are open during the day (I will avoid outdoor seating areas and window seats, however). I'll also be extra-careful when out and about between around 2pm and sunset--I've gotten accustomed to Egyptian traffic, but during the race-home-for-iftar rush, it reaches new heights of insanity.

I don't know if any Muslims read this blog, but if so: Ramadan Kareem! (And I whole-heartedly agree, Allahu akram.)


Information for this post was taken from two articles in the 20 August 2009 issue of The Niler (the newsletter for the "mission community"--everyone associated with the U. S. mission to Cairo). One article was a management notice providing information to mission members about Ramadan, what to expect, and appropriate behavior. The other was adapted from Egyptian Customs and Festivals by Samia Abdennour.)

Hijabi For a Day

Not too long after we arrived here, I started thinking that I would like to have a very conservative Egyptian outfit. Very conservative. As in, I wanted not only hijab, but an abaya. Actually, I wanted niqab. I wanted one outfit that I could put on and totally disguise the fact that I'm Western (at least until I tried to speak and my shwayya-shwayya Arabic gave me away).

[Okay, I'll translate that last paragraph for you ... Hijab refers to a modest style of dress that many, if not most, Muslims believe is required of them. For women, that means covering the hair and all skin but the face and hands, as well as a few other requirements. The word "hijab," though, is more commonly used to refer to the hair covering itself. "Hijabi" is someone who is wearing hijab. I found a blog that had several pictures of hijab here. An abaya is the long, loose, dress-like outergarment worn by conservative Muslim women. You can see a picture of a woman in a traditional Saudi abaya here, and you can see a couple of pictures from an abaya fashion show here. When combined with the head covering, it covers all but the face and hands. Niqab takes the modesty one step further. Niqabis (women who wear niqab) cover their hands and faces as well. There's a good picture of a niqabi here. Usually, the face covering is a veil that leaves the area around the eyes visible, but some veils actually have an additional, very thin, optional layer that can be worn over the eyes, so that no skin at all is visible. The women can see through this thin layer over their eyes, but no one can see them. These ultra-conservative women usually wear gloves as well, so that their hands are not visible. Oh, and "shwayya-shwayya" means "little-little." It's how I answer when someone asks if I speak Arabic.]

Like I said, I had toyed with the idea of niqab since I arrived here, even before, actually. But I never bought the outfit because I didn't know where to go, what to ask for, how much it should cost, or even how to put hijab on. I mentioned this desire for niqab when I first met Molly, the Multicultural Muslimah, and she kindly offered to help me shop for it. We were going to make an outing of it after I returned from my R&R, since I was leaving just a few days after I first met her. By the time I got back and we were able to try to get together, things were in full swing for Molly getting ready to move back to the States, so I really didn't think it was going to happen. But I'm lucky: Molly likes me, and she made it a priority to go shopping with me before she left. We went just last week.

Molly asked me if I minded wearing hijab while we were shopping. She recommended that I do so because it would look very odd, to say the least, if an "uncovered" (non-hijabi) woman was interested in buying not only an abaya--which could very well be needed by any woman traveling to Saudi--but particularly the veil, which is worn by only the most conservative women. I had no problem wearing hijab; before I arrived in Egypt, I thought that I would be wearing hijab all the time. I hadn't realized how common it was among expat women and Egyptian Christians, and even a few Egyptian Muslims, not to cover. So Molly offered to lend me hijab.

We met at a bookstore over on Road 9. I arrived wearing my natural linen shirt--very loose with long sleeves--and a pair of trouser-cut jeans. Molly had brought me a brown ... I don't know what you call it, but it's like a headband that goes under the scarf to keep the scarf from slipping and to cover all the loose hairs around the face. So she brought me a brown one of those and a brown and cream plaid scarf. We went into the bathroom, where she showed me how to put it on. She secured the scarf with a single pin that she pulled out of her own hijab. Apparently, it only takes one pin to secure it, although many women wear two or even three for extra security and style--the pins are often colored or sparkly, so they can be a fashion statement.

Then we went to eat lunch. It was interesting eating with the hijab on. The brown headband goes under the chin, and the scarf wraps around the neck area--part of hijab includes covering your neck and chest with the scarf. As I ate, the brown thing inched its way forward on my face until it was shading my eyes. Molly noticed and told me to just put my hands against the side of my head and pull it back. The really interesting thing, though, is that the waiter pretty well ignored me. He looked at me only when I spoke to him or when he was required by his job to speak to me. I even had a hard time catching his eye from across the room to signal that I needed something, although that part could have just been poor service. When I've been in similar restaurants before, uncovered and with another uncovered woman, the waiters always have been friendly. They're respectful, but they usually smile and engage in a tiny little bit of small talk. I don't know if it was this particular waiter or if it was the fact that I was in hijab, but this guy was purely professional.

After lunch, we went to a couple of shops near Road 9 and then to Maadi Grand Mall. We went all over the mall. First we looked for the abaya. We checked in several shops. Molly showed me one that was all cotton, with a modern design that had several zippered pockets. It was loose but more form-following than more traditional abayas. I decided to go with a more traditional one, so that the veil wouldn't look out of place and so that it would be more appropriate if I can ever convince Jeff to take me to Saudi. (He insists that I really don't want to go there, but I would love to go see what it's like.) We visited a Saudi abaya shop in the mall that had very soft, very thin, and therefore as-cool-and-comfy-as-possible-in-the-heat abayas. But the abaya itself cost more than the amount I'd brought with me for the entire purchase, so that was a no-go. Finally we ended up in a shop that had a variety of abaya styles. There were colorful Lebanese ones that had attached hoods, "soiree" ones that serve as evening gowns for fancy parties, and a variety of conservative black ones, which is what I wanted. It was very interesting to see how even the all-black ones had different styles. Some were a little looser than others. Some had various patterns stiched on them with black thread. Some had zippers; others had buttons. We found one that fit me well and that I liked. It was on sale (woo-hoo!). I bought it.

Oh, something I found strange: there was a fitting room for trying on the abayas. The abayas that go over your clothes. I guess maybe it isn't all that strange if a woman who always wears abayas is shopping for a new one. She probably wouldn't just take off the old one to try on the new one in the middle of the store. Especially if she's one of the women who actually aren't fully--or modestly--clothed under the abaya, since it's hot and the abaya covers everything anyway. However, it was strange for the sales attendant to show me to a dressing room so that I could have privacy while I put on an abaya over the clothes I was wearing out in public for all to see.

After I bought the abaya, we started the hunt for a black headband, scarf, veil, gloves, and scarf pins. We also decided to get the "sleeves" (tight armbands that cover wrist to elbow) that most abaya-clad women wear so that their arms aren't visible when the loose sleeves flap open. So we visited several more shops. In every shop, Molly greeted the sales attendant in Arabic while I smiled, nodded, and in general tried to behave like I wanted to be friendly and polite but didn't speak enough of the language or understand enough of the culture to do it well. I assume that most of them believed that I'm a recent convert (or revert, as Muslims consider it) to Islam. Had any of them asked, both Molly and I would have told them the truth. However, none of them asked, so we made our purchases without discussing why we were making them.

I quickly became accustomed to wearing the hijab. It didn't feel particularly hot or uncomfortable, although Molly kept apologizing because she didn't have a lighter-weight scarf for me to wear. But the strangest thing was how completely comfortable it made the shopkeepers. When I've gone to that mall before, I did not feel comfortable even stepping foot in an abaya shop. I was an uncovered, Western woman who really had no business being in a shop that targeted conservative Muslim women. It was totally different as a hijabi. Part of it, I'm sure, was that I was trailing Molly, and she obviously was comfortable and competent in these shops, both with her Arabic language skills and with her familiarity with cultural norms. But there was more to it than that. We were welcomed as those people for whom the shop existed. When I've been in that mall before and went into a scarf shop, the sales attendant looked at me as if I were a Martian. When I went in as a covered woman who was shopping with another covered woman, however, the sales attendants were very friendly and helpful. I wasn't a tourist or an interloper checking out an Egyptian mall; I was a customer.

Even walking from shop to shop within the mall was different from when I was there before. Before, I was with my husband, so no men spoke to me other than shop attendants who were helping us--and even they spoke mostly to my husband. But that didn't stop them from looking. When I went back as a hijabi with Molly, I'm pretty sure I didn't get any second looks. I was safely anonymous, even though my fair skin made it obvious that I was a westerner. I was a covered westerner, and that made all the difference.

My favorite reaction, though, was the one I got once I arrived at home. Molly came with me. She was coming up to my apartment to help me put on the whole ensemble so we could see how it looked and so we both could be confident that I could put it on by myself. She asked me if I wanted to remove my hijab before I arrived at my compound, since I had expressed a little discomfort when I first put it on about how I would feel if other westerners saw me wearing it. But by that point, I was comfortable with it, and besides, I knew my hair would be sweaty, tangled, and matted to my head, so I'd just as soon keep it covered until I could brush it out.

So we showed up at my housing compound--two covered women. We had to ring the doorbell for admittance, because I don't have a key to the front gate, which is always manned by a guard. No one--not the guards, not the groundskeepers, not the domestic help, not the residents--no one is accustomed to covered women seeking unescorted access to the compound. No residents cover. Most of the maids and nannies don't cover. The guards and groundskeepers are all men. Most of the groundskeepers and maintenance men, and all of the guards, know the residents on sight. The guards would let us in without question no matter what we were wearing. But the guard on duty that day was new. He didn't know me. He--rightly--didn't want to let a non-resident in unescorted. He stood in the gate, mostly blocking it. I stepped around him, greeting him in Arabic. He became concerned. I'm not sure what he said, because my attention was diverted to one of the groundskeepers, who knows me and my husband and who was standing near the guardhouse.

At that moment, he was holding out a hand toward me (the polite Egyptian form of pointing at me), and he had the biggest grin on his face that I have ever seen. He started talking at the same time the guard did, and I couldn't understand either of them. Remember, my Arabic is only shwayya-shwayya, and they both were speaking Arabic. The groundskeeper knows shwayya-shwayya English and always speaks to me in Arabic (he helps teach me), and the guard probably didn't think about it, just spoke Arabic to two covered women because covered women in Egypt always speak Arabic.

By then, Molly and I were inside the gate. I stopped because I knew that Molly, as a guest, needed to sign in. The guard was still trying to figure out who I was and what made me think I had the right to waltz right in when he obviously wanted me to remain on the sidewalk outside until he knew who I was and what I wanted. Finally I realized just how confused he was. For some reason, it was natural to me at that moment to speak in Arabic instead of English. "Ana sakna henna," I said. ("I live here.") He asked, in Arabic, what apartment I lived in. The groundskeeper--still grinning--and I both said my apartment number, in Arabic, at the same time. The guard took his word for it moreso than mine, I think, and allowed Molly to sign in before we went, unescorted, to my apartment. I would love to have overheard the conversation at the guard booth after I left! The four or five men who were gathered there at the time probably got an earful about that crazy woman who's trying to learn Arabic and who apparently is willing to defy the American diplomat norms by actually wearing hijab. Oh, if only they knew what I had in my shopping bags!

Molly and I went up to my apartment and I put on all my new clothes. Molly was kind enough to take a picture of me. What do you think--could I pass for Egyptian? Maybe even Saudi?



This is probably the only picture of me that will appear on this blog. My husband doesn't want me to be too recognizable on the street. Somehow I don't think this particular picture is a risk!

Mmm Mmm Good!

Back when I was just a kid, in maybe 5th or 6th grade, I went to this "camp"--actually a conference center--with my church youth group. The camp was called Ridgecrest, and it was a wonderful, wonderful place. We spent a week there, in large group worship sessions, small Bible classes, and just hanging out with each other and with new friends that we met there. It was a great time of worship, learning, and fellowship.

A lot of that fellowship occurred in the house that the church rented for us. It was across the interstate from Ridgecrest itself (don't worry, there was a bridge). There were several houses there that were rented out to different youth groups. I believe they all were owned by the same people. Everyone who stayed in one of those houses ate breakfast--possibly dinner, too, but I don't recall--in this one huge dining hall. The food was excellent, but best of all was the bread. It was homemade every morning. There were different varieties--white, wheat, raisin, cinnamon--all served fresh from the oven at breakfast. I had never had bread so good in my entire life!

I never expected to have bread so good again, either. But then we moved to Egypt, and I stopped working outside the home. I started reading blogs. I was inspired to try baking my own pita bread, and I was pretty happy with the result. I thought that maybe, just maybe, I'd try making some "real" bread sometime. That's where I ran into problems. I found plenty of recipes online, but so many of them just said "dump the ingredients into the bread machine ..." That's all well and good if you have a bread machine. I wasn't so sure about buying one when I wasn't certain that I'd use it a lot. Other recipes called for complicated starters that take days to make, or worse yet, assumed you had a starter and didn't bother telling you how to make it at all. Then I started reading comments on bread recipes and discovered that whole wheat bread, which is what my husband and I prefer, apparently is more complicated to make than white bread because the whole wheat flour absorbs more water or some such thing, making it more difficult to mix, easier to burn, more likely to turn out hard, and the problems continued. I gave up in frustration and started talking to my husband about buying a bread machine after all.

Then I was reading a blog--I think it was Terry over at Breathing Grace, or it may have been Antique Mommy--and she (whichever "she" it was) was talking about a simple, delicious recipe for whole wheat bread. She provided a link to the blog that had the recipe, which I of course followed, just to see what she considered "simple." I'd been surprised before at some of the "simple" recipes out there ... maybe simple if you've been baking bread since you were six! But this one looked manageable. So I bookmarked it, thinking that one day I'd get around to trying it.

"One day" turned out to be today. I actually had all the ingredients on hand, a fact that testifies to my increased domesticity since we've moved here. I never would have had whole wheat flour sitting in my kitchen cabinet or active yeast in my fridge back home! But anyway, I tried the recipe ... and it really was easy. It took some time, but most of that was letting the dough rise or rest while I did something else. So I followed the instructions and then set the two loaves of freshly baked bread to cool on my makeshift wire racks (actually two roasting pan inserts for my toaster oven, thus allowing air circulation ... one of them was even wire). I went back to my ironing--and the smell coming from the kitchen drove me crazy! I had smelled the bread baking and had been anxious to try it then, but it got so much worse when I knew that it was out of the oven, sitting there on the counter. So as soon as I finished the ironing, I went and sliced myself a piece. I took one bite ... and cut myself another piece or two. I felt like I was back at Ridgecrest for breakfast!


They came out a little short and flat, not to mention a little lopsided, but I'll just have to do a better job at shaping them next time. There certainly wasn't anything wrong with the taste! I know myself too well to say that I'll never buy bread from the supermarket--or the commissary--again; I can be lazy at times. But I can say this: I won't buy it again thinking that I'm getting a good deal either on the price or on the taste. It's so inexpensive to make it yourself, and it really does taste much better.

For those of you who are interested--and for myself, because I have this fear that the original post will be moved and I'll lose the recipe--here's the recipe I used:

Ingredients:

3- 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, divided
1 package active dry yeast (I used 2-1/4 tsp active dry yeast from a jar)
1-3/4 cup water
1/3 cup packed brown sugar (hey, I didn't say it was healthy!)
3 tablespoons butter or margarine
1-1/4 teaspoon salt
2 cups whole wheat flour

Directions:

In a large bowl, combine 2 cups all-purpose flour and yeast. Set it aside.

In a medium saucepan, combine water, brown sugar, butter or margarine, and salt. Heat until the butter almost melts. Apparently if you let it boil, it will kill the yeast.

Add sugar mixture to flour and yeast. Beat on low for 30 seconds, then on high for 3 minutes. The original post said that the batter would climb the beaters, but mine didn't.

Using a wooden spoon (or silicon, as I don't have any wooden ones), stir in the wheat flour and remaining 1-1/2 cups of all-purpose flour. Or just knead it in, like I ended up doing.

Put the dough on a floured surface. Knead it until the dough is smooth and elastic, not sticky. This takes 6 to 8 minutes. Shape the dough into a ball and put it in a lightly greased (or sprayed with cooking spray) bowl.

Leave it alone to rise for 90 minutes, being sure to keep the kittens entertained away from the kitchen in the meantime :) You know it's risen enough when you can stick your finger into it about a 1/2 inch and the impression remains.

Punch down the dough and turn it out onto a lightly floured surface. Divide it into two, cover each half, and let them rest for 10 minutes, again keeping the cats away from it.

Shape the two pieces into loaves and put into greased pans. Cover them and leave them alone to rise for 35 minutes. In the meantime, get the oven started preheating to 375 degrees Fahrenheit.

Bake them for 35 minutes. Cover them with foil for the last 10 minutes so the crust doesn't become too brown.

Take them out of the oven and let them cool on wire racks, or whatever you have lying around.

Slice and serve. It tastes great alone or with a little margarine ... probably also with jelly or used as a sandwich. I'll have to experiment and let you know.

Enjoy!

Homecoming Anniversary

Today is a special day in our home.

Exactly one year ago, we brought home our two kittens, Cleo and Isis, from the S.P.A.R.E. shelter. They were approximately six weeks old at the time. Weren't they adorable? (Cleo is all gray; Isis has a white belly and paws.)




























We had decided back in the States that we wanted a cat, but we decided to wait until we arrived here to get one. Our rented townhouse had punitive fees for pet ownership, and we didn't want to try to move a pet with us on our first international move, so we decided that the wise thing to do would be to wait. But I really wanted a cat, so as soon as our internet service was hooked up, I started looking for shelters.

Of course, it wasn't long before I realized that it really would be better for everyone involved if we were to adopt two cats, not just one. That way, they wouldn't be lonely when both Jeff and I were gone for the day--not to mention over our 3-week R&Rs. And because we wanted kittens, I knew that they'd be high-energy, and it would be helpful if they could entertain each other. Am I glad that we made that decision!

Cleo and Isis are sisters, littermates, so they've spent their whole lives together. They clung to each other during their traumatic ride to our apartment and for many days afterward. They play with each other and fight with each other. Although they usually prefer to sleep separately now, they still curl up together sometimes, especially when they're stressed.

Life with kittens has been an adventure. They had their vaccinations and preventive worm medication--although they didn't get a full dose of that, because we couldn't get them to take the liquid, and the vet almost lost a finger forcing them to take one pill each. They went into heat at the age of 4 months, a full 2 months earlier than the vet had wanted to spay them. He spayed them anyway, but they both pulled their stitches out too early. Cleo got an infection and almost died. Both of them have "pouches" or large folds of skin that hang down from their bellies--we think it's from where they pulled their stitches out, but we aren't sure. They don't seem bothered by their pouches, so we don't worry about them.

After their surgeries and Cleo's recovery from her infection, they turned back into rambunctious kittens. Cleo developed a fondness for video games. She also developed a fondness for water that the pet fountain did not totally eradicate, although the Scat Mat and Ssscat compressed air cans have kept her mostly away from the sink for a while. Then she locked herself into our bedroom and made a bit of a mess, but not until after either she or Isis had kidnapped the baby Jesus from our nativity set. I told you back in February that they both were still getting into trouble.

It hasn't really let up. We tried to put two wall hangings up ... Cleo thought it'd be fun to get the tassles that dangle from them, so they spend most of their time on top of the china cabinet. Jeff says that she has "mad hops"--she can jump as high as his shoulder if we hold up a toy or something that she wants. Isis has put a semi-permanent dent in the top of the cushion that goes on the back of an armchair--it's one of her favorite spots. Both kittens regularly open the lower cabinets in the kitchen, particularly the one that holds their food, but also the ones that hold the pots and pans, the pyrex, and a bag of napkins--the bag that used to close using a drawstring, until it somehow got ripped off. They also regularly open the pantry and climb in there, either to sit on top of the water boxes or to make a mess of the toilet paper and paper towels.

About a week ago, I took their food out of the cabinet and put it on top of the freezer. This was after I walked into the kitchen one morning to find the cabinet open, a hole in one bag of cat food, and food scattered on the floor. Later that day, Cleo was desperately scratching at something in the back of that cabinet. When I pulled her out and investigated, I found a bag of Pupperoni that lives in the drawer above the cabinet. Cleo had reached up behind the drawer and was in the process of pulling the Pupperoni out of the drawer and into the cabinet, where she undoubtedly would have torn a hole in the bag and gorged herself on Pupperoni, sharing with Isis, of course. She had the bag halfway down. (Yes, I know that Pupperoni is for dogs, but we can't find any cat treats that they like anywhere near as much, at least not with the limited selection we have here, so dog treats it is.)

Oh, yes, and food has become an issue for them. Cleo is a skin-and-bones kind of cat. She weighs 4 kilos, or not quite 9 lb. Isis is ... how do I put this delicately ... okay, I don't ... she's fat. Very fat. She weighs 6.3 kilos, or almost 14 lb. We've started feeding them different foods. Isis eats a low-fat food, and Cleo is back to kitten food for a little while, until she gets fattened up sufficiently. So they're no longer allowed to share food bowls like they used to, and they must be supervised while they eat. Isis will eat all the food she can reach, and Cleo will give her food to Isis willingly. Isis lets me know she's hungry by following me into the kitchen and meowing pitifully while looking to the top of the refrigerator, where the food bowls live. I ignore this cue; it loses its effectiveness when it happens each and every time I approach the kitchen. Cleo lets me know she's hungry by rising up on her hind legs, reaching as high as she can with her front paws, and digging her claws into the backs of my thighs. This behavior gets a reaction, but it isn't always the reaction she wants. If she stops before she hits skin, she gets fed. If she hits skin, my reaction is not always polite. But she gets fed anyway.

So for those of you who have been wondering about the kittens, they're doing well. They survived our 3-week absence with the help of our cat-sitter. She came over to feed them, clean their litter box, and provide a little human companionship every day. She also brought the young daughter of our neighbor (her full-time job was as their maid and nanny) over to play with the kittens, at our invitation. We had made certain to let both the girl and her parents know that she was welcome to play with them at any time while we were gone. Apparently the invitation had its desired effect--our neighbor and our cat-sitter both told us that she pestered them constantly to come play with the kittens.

At this point, I'm not sure what I would do without the kittens. I'm so glad that they came home with us. They provide companionship and stress relief to both Jeff and me. Sometimes when he's a little stressed from a long day at work, he just picks up Cleo--Isis won't let us pick her up--and cuddles her. A soft, warm, purring cat is a great relaxant! Isis climbs into my lap most afternoons if I sit down, Cleo occasionally curls up beside me, and both of them are calming influences ... whenever they aren't digging their claws into me, which they still do, since we're not all that great about trimming their claws regularly. Of course, it should be obvious as well that they provide lots of laughter and exasperation along with the companionship and stress relief.

Happy homecoming anniversary, Isis and Cleo! We're very happy to have you as a part of our family!



P.S. Cleo currently is pawing at the leather recliner like a scratching post ... at least she isn't actually scratching it (this time).

So Long, Good-bye, and Hello

So long. Good-bye.

Those are not so much words that we as humans like to say, the more permanent "good-bye" in particular, yet we've all had to say them. In the last few months, it's been driven home to me just how much more frequently I will be saying them now than I have in the past.

I knew that as a diplomat's wife, I'd be moving a lot, every two to three years. When I thought about it, I realized that since the entire embassy staff doesn't rotate in or out on identical schedules, the embassy community wouldn't be stable even during those two or three years when we lived in any given country. When I thought about it, I realized this. Yet, in the hustle, bustle, and confusion of preparing for and then making our first international move, I didn't think about it often. Instead, I rejoiced that we were able to meet a few people in America who would be our neighbors, friends, and Jeff's coworkers while we were in Egypt. I rejoiced in the emails we received from Egypt, emails that contained encouragement, offers of assistance, and much-needed information.

We arrived in mid-June last year. I didn't realize it at the time, but the year's mass exodus was winding up and was pretty well finished by the time I emerged from my first week or so of self-imposed isolation, adjusting to the idea that I was really in Egypt. As I adjusted to the expat life throughout the summer and early fall, those people who were here at my arrival stayed. New people came in gradually during July and early August, then in a rush in late August. Embassy people, oil people, defense contractors, teachers ... those who were moving here for the first time tended to arrive in late summer, just before school started up again. At the same time, expat wives who had lived here for anywhere from one year to thirty years returned from their summer vacations in their home countries. My first few months here consisted of meeting new people and becoming friends with them, with new people constantly being added but few if any leaving.

Then January came around. One couple with whom we were friends from life group decided to return to their home in South Africa. We had known for a while that they were considering moving on, but the time between the final decision and the departure was short. Then my friends from Bible study started talking about their summer plans. Most of the expat women here leave during the summer, escaping the heat and taking the opportunity to visit family and friends and to re-acquaint their children with their homelands. I started to realize that last year's pleasant solitude could become this year's lonely boredom if I don't figure out ways to keep myself occupied--preferably indoors--this summer. Still, I had time to make my plans.

Then some friends from Jeff's office--a couple whom we had first met in the States and who served as both spiritual and professional mentors and encouragers during our first year in this strange new life--rotated out not long before we left for our R&R in early May. I actually never spent a lot of time with this couple, although Jeff saw them regularly at the embassy. When I did see them, their love for others, for this country and its citizens, and for God shone through in a way that was uplifting. Even when I wasn't around them, it was encouraging to know that they were nearby, just a phone call away. So even though I wasn't heart-broken, I was sad to say good-bye to them*.

We returned from R&R to find preparations for more departures in full swing. My friends are leaving for the summer, one by one. One actually left a couple of months ago; others left right after school let out. It seems like an endless chorus of "So long, I'll see you this fall! Have a great summer!"

I think the biggest loss for us, though, is the one that will occur in just a couple more days. Our neighbors, whom we had expected to be here for another year, have accepted a position that requires them to cut this tour short and head to a new post. This couple has done more for us than I can say. They were our unofficial sponsors--our official embassy sponsor who was supposed to help us through the transition of moving here was a joke, and this couple stepped in to fill the gap. They drove us around until our vehicle arrived. They showed us where the commissary is. They explained how the embassy shuttle service works. They introduced us to convenient, good, and safe restaurants, one of them on the very evening we arrived, so I wouldn't have to cook and we wouldn't have to figure out how to obtain food in this strange new place. They answered innumerable questions which must have seemed silly at the time--about internet service, mobile phone service, how to get our AFN television service set up, where to buy phone cords, ADSL routers, and countless other things. They took us to the Khan for the first time. They are the embassy people with whom I've socialized the most (most of my socializing is through non-embassy circles), and possibly the people here with whom Jeff is closest. The news that they're leaving came unexpectedly not that long ago. It rocked my feelings of being settled here much more than I would have expected it to, probably because it seemed so sudden. More than anyone else, these people have felt like my mentors, and I expected them to be here for another year ... even though I have other friends who have been here longer than they have and who function as mentors to me, it was a shock to my equilibrium to hear that they were leaving*.

But in the midst of these "so long's" and "farewells," there are spots of "glad you're here" and "hello." A few--a very few, but a few--of the expat wives stay over the summer. They may go on vacation now and then, but only for a week or two. I know that I can count on one or two of the women in my life group to be here most of the summer. One friend who moved here just before me will be in town this summer; she lives in another part of Cairo and is about to start a part-time job, so I don't see her often, but when the cabin fever kicks in, I know she'll be there. I've also had the pleasure of meeting, for the first time, a couple who has been in our life group longer than I have. I believe the husband was the leader of the group before they returned to Canada for last summer, and then events just kept occuring to keep them there. But they're finally back now, so there's a "hello" in the midst of my "goodbyes."

And I know that come August, there will be more "hello" and "nice to meet you" going on. This summer will be the empty time, after "goodbye" but before "hello." But then, it doesn't have to be empty. That part is up to me. This time can be full, too, just full of different things than the fall, winter, and spring. There won't be any ladies' Bible studies; there aren't any ladies to attend--but there can and should be personal Bible studies throughout the year. There won't be any meetings of the Maadi Women's Guild--but there will continue to be life group meetings. There won't be the baby wash volunteer work--but there can be orphanage volunteer work, if I ever get my act in gear and arrange for a driver. There can be language classes. There can be time to take care of my home--cleaning, cooking, setting up the guest room, finishing up the "settling in" process that usually takes me about 18 months longer than I wish it did. And there can be time to rest, to read, to relax with a kitten in my lap or curled up beside me, to prepare myself for the busiest time of year here--the fall, when all the usual activities start up again, accompanied by kick-off events, pleas for help with charities (think Christmas bazaar), helping out those newbies who are feeling as overwhelmed as I did last year, and then finally, our own holiday preparations.

"So longs" are not fun. "Good-byes" are hard. "Hellos" are good. The time in between ... maybe that's a gift from God, who knows what I need much better than, and long before, I know it myself.




*One consolation to knowing that both they and we are foreign service families: It's almost inevitable that we'll meet again, in another overseas post or a Stateside tour.

Permission Denied

In January of this year, I first brought you the news about Maher El-Gohary, a Christian man of Muslim background who had petitioned the government of Egypt to recognize his change of religion on his official identification card. At that point, he had followed the procedure outlined in Egyptian law for a person to request a change in his official religion, but his request had been denied because it is not allowable in Islam for a Muslim to convert to any other religion. In February, I told you of how opposing lawyers tried to convince the judge to order El-Gohary's death for apostasy and of how El-Gohary was beaten when he tried to obtain and file paperwork to allow his lawyer to represent him. Since February, quite a bit has happened in this case . . .

The judge required El-Gohary to obtain two documents to prove his conversion. He was required to present a certificate of baptism and a letter of acceptance into the Coptic Orthodox Church. Both of these documents were very difficult for El-Gohary to obtain. Most priests in the Middle East will not baptize--or at least will not acknowledge publicly that they have baptized--a former Muslim for fear of retaliation against themselves, their families, or their congregations. El-Gohary traveled to Cyprus to obtain his baptism and certificate of baptism. Then Father Matthias Manqarious, a Coptic priest, issued a certificate of conversion or letter of acceptance to El-Gohary, and the Coptic Church endorsed the certificate--the first time that the Coptic Church has issued such a letter and taken an open stand in support of converts' rights. This action took an immense amount of bravery on the part of Father Manqarious and the church leadership. Father Manqarious himself now has been the target of death threats, along with El-Gohary, who went into hiding.

In April or May--I'm not sure which--the State Council chimed in. The State Council is "a consultative body of Egypt's Administrative Court," as described by Compass Direct. The council sent a report to Judge Hamdy Yasin to express their opinion on El-Gohary's case. According to this report, El-Gohary's "audacity" in filing this case causes a threat to social order and violates sharia, upon which Egyptian law is based. According to this report, all Christians are infidels, those who seek to leave Islam are apostates, and apostates face the death penalty.

Then it was time to appear in court again. This past Saturday, 13 June, was the big day. Judge Hamdy Yasin was to issue his ruling. The hearing took only 10 minutes. Yasin's decision: permission for El-Gohary to change his official religion is denied.

One of El-Gohary's lawyers pointed out that the judge who had requested certificates of baptism and acceptance from the church refused to accept the very certificates that he had requested "because the remit of the church is to deal with Christians, not to deal with Muslims who convert to Christianity; this is outside their remit" (Compass Direct). I find it interesting that the judge does not define converts as Christians, even though most people would define a Christian as someone who accepts or converts to Christianity. The same lawyer believes that Egyptian judges may fear to allow conversion from Islam to Christianity because "they’re afraid that if they allow it, then all Muslims will become Christians . . . They know there are many converts, and they will all officially become Christians” (Compass Direct). The assumption is that the judge ordered El-Gohary to obtain these documents because the judge believed it would be impossible for him to do so, and the judge therefore would not have to make a decision. However, El-Gohary did obtain the documents, the judge was forced to make a decision, and he decided against El-Gohary's right to convert.

El-Gohary and his lawyers do plan to appeal. So does Mohammed Ahmed Hegazy, the first Egyptian Christian of Muslim background who tried to change his official religion. His request was denied early last year, I believe, and he, his wife, and his young daughter are in hiding. According to Compass Direct's article dated 12 September 2008, Hegazy and his family had been forced to move five times in eight months when their whereabouts became known to those who would kill them for apostasy. Hegazy's own family has threatened to kill the couple, and his father is trying to get custody of their daughter so that she will be raised as a Muslim. Hegazy still plans to fight (legally) for his rights and the rights of other converts, but the violent reaction to his conversion does not bode well for other public converts in Egypt, such as El-Gohary.

This information, about both El-Gohary and Hegazy, has raised some questions in my mind. How is it that followers of "the religion of peace" advocate violence against those who peacefully choose to leave that religion, and that there is no public outcry by peaceful Muslims against those who advocate violence? How is it that a country that guarantees the "freedom of belief and the freedom of practice of religious rites" in Article 46 of its constitution actually prohibits the majority of its citizens from choosing beliefs and religious rites that differ from those of their parents? When will those in power realize that its refusal to officially recognize conversions doesn't mean that the conversions never happened? Or do the government's representatives actually believe that these self-proclaimed Christians are, in reality, Muslims--merely because the government says so?

Another interesting piece of information that I learned today: an Egyptian representative sits on the United Nations Human Rights Council:

Egypt is a member of the U.N. Human Rights Council, an inter-governmental body made up of 47 states responsible for strengthening the promotion and protection of human rights around the globe. On April 18, 2007, in its written statement applying for a seat to the Human Rights Council, the representative of Egypt to the U.N. stated that if elected it would emphasize promoting cultural and religious tolerance, among other human rights. (last paragraph, this article from Compass Direct).

Shouldn't religious tolerance include the granting of the freedom to change one's religion?

Familiar Yet Strange: Adapting to America(!?) and Egypt (Again)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Far be it from me not to give credit where credit is due: This post was inspired by Susie's post, "On Being Normal," over at Susie's Big Adventure.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Familiarity is a strange thing. I have commented to my husband, back when we were long-distance daters, how strange traveling often made me feel. When I was out West, attending school, my life there was familiar and normal. When I traveled to the East Coast to visit him, it was as if my normal life was a dream, and all that existed was my life with him. When I returned to school, everything felt familiar yet strange, as if I didn't belong there, for a day or two, until I settled back into my life. I hadn't thought of those feelings of blended familiarity and unfamiliarity, normality and strangeness, for years . . . at least not until my recent trip home to the United States.

I expected to feel a little strange when I left the airport on my way to my mother-in-law's home. After all, we'd been traveling for around 23 hours, with only an hour or two of sleep on the plane. But by the next day, I anticipated that I'd be back to normal, other than jet lag. Imagine my surprise when "normal" just didn't happen! At first, it seemed fine--when Jeff and I went to Target the day after our arrival, I commented gleefully that I hadn't even noticed the woman wearing shorts and a spaghetti-strap shirt, until I noticed that I didn't get angry at the sight of her. (When I see Westerners dressed that revealingly here, it makes me angry, because it contributes to the perception that all Westerners are immodest, easy, and disrespectful of the culture, thereby making life a little more difficult for all expats.) We cruised around Target, oohing and aahing over the variety of merchandise available, the attractive presentation of said merchandise, and the orderly way that people moved their shopping carts while following commonly accepted "rules of the road."

But as time went on, I noticed more and more how things just didn't feel normal to me. It was little things. Jeff and I gloated over how well-behaved drivers were--but every time I saw the cars all lined up in their lanes at the stop light, I had a momentary thought of how strange they looked. Didn't they understand that, in a four- or five-lane road, they could fit an additional two or three cars at the line? And why were they just sitting there anyway, when no one was coming on the other road? It seemed such a waste for them to sit there, waiting patiently, even when there was no oncoming traffic. It just didn't seem right. And the single-family homes were so big, with so much yard around them. I have no problem with large homes and big gardens yards (they're called gardens here; even my language isn't cooperating!), but it just seemed so strange, almost surreal, compared to the reality of close-set apartment buildings and walled villas.

I should have expected that normal, everyday life in America would feel different to me after almost a year in Egypt. My first clue came before I even left, when I was deciding what clothing to take with me. I never even considered taking my short-sleeved shirts, other than the ones I use while exercising (I had good intentions to exercise while on the trip, although it didn't happen). I just feel more comfortable now when I'm more covered than that. I prefer loose shirts with 3/4-length or long sleeves, and if the shirt itself is long, too, so much the better. A year ago, as soon as the weather heated up, I'd pull out my sleeveless shirts and wear them until it got cold again. Now, it just feels too revealing to wear anything that hits significantly above the elbow. So the only clothing I wanted to wear in the United States was clothing that I would wear publicly in Egypt. That should have been a clue!

Most of my behavior while at home didn't reflect these unreal feelings of disconnectedness from my own culture. Usually it was just internal reflections and feelings of strangeness. There were some questions about my clothing, especially when, on a hot day, I would wear one of the shirts I bought at the Khan el Khalili. These tunics are long, long-sleeved, loose, and very comfortable in all weather conditions, even in the heat. On one such day, my sister took one look at me and said, "What are you wearing?" She didn't believe me when I told her how comfortable it was. I think she even doubted my sister-in-law, who was wearing one that she had received for her birthday and who defended the comfort and coolness of the shirt. But other than my clothing choices, I don't think there was much evidence that any of my perceptions had changed . . . until, of course, I was introduced to two men.

I first was introduced to the husband of one of my high school roommates. It had been years since I had seen Tina; I had attended her wedding but not the reception, so I hadn't met her husband at all. We arranged to meet them at a restaurant to catch up. I hugged Tina enthusiastically, but when she introduced her husband, I'm pretty sure I didn't even shake his hand. I smiled, I greeted him, I made eye contact but not a whole lot of it, and I did not approach him or extend my hand. I think at the end of our meal, when everyone was saying good-bye, we may have exchanged hugs; I'm not certain. But when I first met him, my instinct was to treat him like I treat Egyptian men who I meet for the first time: Be polite, be pleasant and to some degree friendly, but above all, be distant. Don't touch them; don't allow them to touch you.

Something similar happened when I met one of my husband's male friends. We were introduced, and he stuck his hand out for a handshake. Common enough in America. But it felt so strange and unexpected to me! I think I responded quickly enough to mask it, but my first reaction was surprise. It felt like I just stood there and stared at his hand for a moment, not comprehending that I was supposed to reach out and take it, although no one behaved as if I had acted strangely.

So it was the little things. Overall, I was fine. I certainly felt comfortable shopping in the many malls we visited (although there was a distinct difference in how I treated the male and female sales attendants), dining at our favorite restaurants, hanging out in the home in which I grew up, visiting my husband's family, seeing old friends . . . but I wouldn't wear short sleeves, my instinct was to maintain distance between myself and any men with whom I wasn't already familiar, and the traffic and the houses, stores, and other buildings just seemed . . . strange, too spread out, not as crowded as would have been "normal" to me.

I didn't drive while I was home--mostly due to exhaustion from jet lag and a busy schedule--but now I'm wishing that I had. Would I have driven like I used to, like the other Americans? Or would my husband have had to remind me where I was? Would I have been more confident than I used to be? I consider myself a mediocre driver, and I always was nervous in traffic. Here, it doesn't bother me, because the habits that made me a not-so-great driver in the States fit right in here. So would I have been confident, even too confident, or would my old caution have returned? I guess I'll have to wait until next year to find out.

Now that I've returned to Egypt, things feel strange again. At first, on the way home from the airport, I looked out the window and felt the difference from the only other time I've made that trip. The buildings, the dust, the children playing, even the pickup trucks piled cab-high with stuff--they were all familiar and comforting. The traffic that had me squeezing Jeff's hand in fear last time didn't raise an eyebrow this time.

But then I got to the compound, and I greeted the guard in English. He responded in Arabic, because that's our usual language of interaction, at least for common greetings and phrases that I know. I responded appropriately in Arabic, but . . . I had first spoken to him in English. It's been months since I did that. The next day, as I drove to the commissary, I felt reckless. I drove the same way I always do, for the most part--there was that big bus that I bullied out of my way, which is still not all that common for me. But I felt reckless just driving down the wide, mostly empty street, because I ignored lanes while swerving to avoid potholes, slow drivers, and inattentive pedestrians. I got a little nervous when I approached a busy intersection--those intersections haven't bothered me for a long time. And everything just seemed so loud and so dirty!

My time in the States hasn't completely undone the progress I had made in adapting to life in Egypt, but there definitely is some ground that will have to be regained. I mostly expected that. But what I still can't get over is how strange it felt to be back home. And this is after having been gone for not even a full year! What will it be like next year, I wonder? What will it be like--what will I be like--if we make the Department of State and various overseas postings our life for the next 20 years? It's a daunting thought . . . but I am an adventurer at heart, so I must admit to looking forward to answering that very question.

Heading Home

By the time this is posted, Jeff and I will be back in the United States for our first R&R. (I'm liking the ability to write this post days ahead of time and schedule it to post at the exact day and time of my choosing!)

We'll be in the States for a few weeks, visiting family and friends. In the process, we'll visit four states, scattered around the country. We're going to be busy! I don't know if I'll have the time to post anything while we're gone, or even to check email and moderate comments, so don't be surprised if this is it for a while. I'll do what I can, but no promises. Spending time with the people we're going to see is more important than the blog, no matter how much I enjoy the blog!

I'll get back online within a couple days of getting back to Egypt, if all goes according to plan. In the meantime, check out the websites and blogs I recommend on my sidebar, if you haven't already.

Mussa's Story

We Westerners take so much for granted.

We are free to be of any religion or no religion. We are free to change our religion at will. Most of us don't even have to tell the government that we've done it, because our religious affiliation and beliefs have no bearing on anything the government does. We have no official religion to list on our driver's license or identity card. The government doesn't consider the religion of the man and woman involved when recognizing marriages--the couple's religions are none of the government's business. This separation between government and religion, while taken too far at times, was instituted to protect individuals from unwarranted government intrusion into their personal lives. And we take it all for granted.

I read a news article last week. It reports on a situation that can happen only in a country where the government is able to intrude at will into the personal lives of its citizens. It can happen only in a country where the government explicitly favors one religion over another. It can happen only in a country where religious freedom may exist for some, but not for all.

Should this situation be possible in a country that is a signatory to the U. N. Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which allows for freedom of religion, including conversion?

Read about the situation; then you decide:

Raheal Henen Mussa was born into a Muslim family 22 years ago. Three years ago, she decided to become a Christian. She did not attempt to change her official religion, knowing that government authorities would not allow it. It would cause major problems if she tried. She could even face the death penalty for apostasy.

Mussa had another problem. She wanted to get married. To a Christian. But she wasn't allowed to do that. Sharia, or Islamic, law forbids Muslim women from marrying Christians. Even if the woman is really a Christian whose government says she's a Muslim. And her government says in its constitution that Sharia is the basis for legislation. Mussa knew that she would not be allowed to marry a Christian in the traditional manner. So Mussa and her beloved, Sarwat George Ryiad, found another solution.

Traditional marriages that are recognized by the government are performed by clerics in front of witnesses. But these official marriages cannot take place until the couple is able to secure and furnish a home, which can take years in a difficult economy. So many young people instead opt for zawag al 'urfi marriages. These marriages are not officiated by clerics, and there are no witnesses. Instead, there is a lawyer and a marriage contract. These marriages are not recognized as "official marriages" by the government, but the couple involved are bound by the contract and consider themselves married.

It isn't an ideal situation, but it is a solution, so Mussa and Ryiad took it and were married. They realize that in the eyes of their government, they are not married. They never requested any official recognition of their marriage. Because they did not request official marriage status, they have violated no civil law of their country.

But they have violated Sharia law. And their country responded by arresting Mussa. She was held by the secret police for seven days before being turned over to her Muslim family. Her family burned from her arm the tattoo that identified her as a Christian. Two days after she was placed in her family's custody, Mussa escaped. She and her husband fled the city and went into hiding, afraid of being arrested, beaten, and forcibly separated. This government apparently has the ability to interfere in any marriage, whether or not it recognizes the existence of the marriage.

There are multiple issues here. One of them is the government deciding who a person can and cannot marry based on religion. Another is the government being able to influence a person's official religion, whether it is by saying that a child's religion must be the same as the parents' religion or by deciding when a person can or cannot change religions.* The fundamental issue, however, is government interest in what we Westerners view as an intensely personal matter--an individual's spiritual and religious life--an interest that, even in the Western world, would open the door to government intrusion.

No one but God knows how this situation will turn out. Mussa lives in a country where there is nominal freedom of religion, but she isn't allowed to change her official religion or to marry a man who shares her personal religion. Her options were severely limited. She could have remained unmarried--a huge social stigma, and a denial of basic human needs and desires. She could have married a Muslim man and quite possibly have been abused for her "apostasy." She could have married a Christian whose identification card also read "Muslim," thereby putting off the problem to the next generation. She chose to marry the man she loved, an official Christian, without receiving government recognition of the marriage but also without breaking any civil law. Why, then, is she being treated like a criminal?


*There is one man who is trying to change his official religion from Islam to Christianity. He has another hearing in early May. The outcome of his case could have profound implications for people like Mussa.

Big Like a Horse

A friend told me yesterday of an interesting experience that one of her friends had.

She was in the lobby of her building, when a stout Egyptian woman walked by--one whose size and shape wouldn't have been considered particularly pleasing to most westerners. The bowab and the other men who were in the lobby started talking to each other, and their tones of voice alerted the expat to the fact that something interesting was being said. So she asked the bowab what they were saying.

"We're admiring that woman. She's big like a horse!"

Well, that explains why, when I'm out walking with Jeff, young Egytian men sometimes look at me, then grin and give Jeff a thumbs-up. Apparently overweight is good here!

A Trip to the Pyramids at Giza

Last weekend, Jeff and I finally took our first trip to see the Great Pyramid, a couple of other pyramids, the Sphinx, and the Solar Boat Museum over in Giza. I know, I know, what took us so long? We've been here almost a year! But we finally did it.

The morning started at 8:30 a.m., when we met our CLO-organized group at the Maadi House. There were two vans' worth of people, including our CLO representative, Gloria, and our SEEgypt tour guide, Samir. We were remarkably on time--we left Maadi House at 8:37! (I know, it's weird that I know that, but it's become a game with me to check and see just how on-time versus late we are whenever I'm in a large group.)

For our first stop, we literally pulled over to the side of the road. Samir wanted us to see the pyramids as close as possible to how the ancient Egyptians would have seen them, and the best view for that was on the side of the Ring Road. Luckily, traffic isn't very heavy on a Friday morning, so we were safe.


From this vantage, we could clearly see the pyramids in the background, with fertile farmland in the foreground. Samir explained that most ancient Egyptians would have had the pyramids looming over them every day as they worked in their fields. The pyramids needed to be close to the fields, because people had to be able to get to them for burials and other ceremonies, but they couldn't be in the actual floodplain. The people revered their Pharoahs, but they didn't want their bodies floating around during the Nile's annual flood! So the pyramids--burial structures for the dead Pharoahs who were believed to have gone on to join the sun god--were built in the desert just outside the fertile floodplain. They towered over the farmers, a constant reminder of the Pharoah's divinity and power.

After we loaded back into our vans, we went to the actual site of the pyramids. Admission to the site is free for diplomats, but those without diplomatic identification cards ("dip cards") had to pay LE50, I believe. Several people also purchased tickets to enter the Great Pyramid itself. Non-diplomatic ID holders had to pay LE100; with the dip card, it was LE50. Jeff and I decided to skip going in this time. We both remembered the physical price we paid to see the inside of the Red Pyramid, and since this pyramid also is empty, we decided to save it for another day.

We spent some time walking around the Great Pyramid while some of the others went in. We took tons of pictures and video, as Jeff enjoyed playing with our new video camera. We said "La, shokran" ("No, thank you") more times than I can count, and even then, we found ourselves being led to the side of the pyramid where the camel owners we offering pictures and rides for a fee. Jeff was feeling generous, so we each took a picture with a camel.

After everyone had come out of the pyramid, we walked around it to the Solar Boat Museum. On the way, we passed a trench in the ground. Samir told us that there were five such trenches around the pyramid, and the two smallest had been found with boats in them. The assumption, therefore, is that there originally were five solar boats, the three largest of which were removed by thieves.


Once in the Solar Boat Museum (which has separate entry fees for people without dip cards), Samir told us a little about the believed reason for the boats. Ancient Egyptians believed that their Pharoahs were divine and that they would join the sun god after death. They also believed that there was a sea above the sky--makes sense if you look at the color and think about the water that sometimes "leaks" through--and that the sun god made his daily journey across the sky in a boat. Therefore, the dead Pharoah would need boats in order for himself and his stuff to join the sun god. The ancient Egyptians were accomplished boat-builders, so they simply made boats and buried them near the burial pyramid for Pharoah's use.

Inside the museum, we saw the recovered and assembled solar boat (named in honor of its function of carrying Pharoah to the sun god). I say that it was assembled because it was found in pieces. Apparently, the ancient Egyptians not only knew how to make boats, but to make them in such a way that they could be stored and transported over land in pieces, then assembled when they were needed. The boat was buried in pieces so that it could be assembled when it was needed by Pharoah in the afterlife. An interesting piece of trivia: when the boat was found, the archaeologists were hesitant to manipulate the pieces to figure out how they fit together, for fear of damaging the ancient wood, so they made miniature models of each piece and used those to figure out the puzzle.


There were a couple of other fascinating things about this boat, in addition to its being found in pieces and being assembled without an instruction manual. There is not a single nail in this boat! Modern metals weren't in use yet, so this entire boat is constructed without it. It's made of wood--cedar believed to be from Lebanon--and rope. The boat literally is tied together! When it was assembled, it was realized that it was not water-tight. How could this be, considering that the ancient Egyptians were very good at building this type of boat? It turns out that the first time the boat hits the water, the wood expands and the rope contracts. So if it's exposed to water in a controlled way, it becomes water-tight without sinking. Fascinating, isn't it?

The other interesting thing about this boat is the oars. They're skinnier than most oars, and they're pointed instead of rounded at the ends. That design is extremely inefficient for paddling through water. However, the ancient Egyptians believed that the heavenly sea was different from earthly seas. I'm not sure what differences in the water they expected that would make these oars efficient for paddling, but Samir told us that they expected vicious sea creatures to attack the boats before they reached the sun god. That's why the oars have pointed tips, so that they can be used to spear the sea creatures.

After we left the museum, we drove by the other two pyramids on the way to an observation point. From there, you could see all three pyramids easily: the Great Pyramid (built for Cheops) and the two smaller ones (built for the son and grandson of Cheops). There was a large overlook, where we took tons of pictures.


Then we followed Gloria to a side area where the camels and their owners were. There's a camel owner that she knows who doesn't charge a set fee for pictures. He knows that he ends up with more money because people like Gloria, who bring groups there often, always go to him. He gets business from several people, who each pay him LE5 or LE10 for a picture of themselves on his camel, and he ends up making more in less time than the other camel owners who spend all their time trying to cajole other tourists to give them LE50 or more for a picture.

Jeff and I had our picture taken on the camel, and it was a strange experience! We got on the camel while he was sitting--no problem so far. Jeff sat behind me while I sat in the front of the saddle. Then it was time for the camel to get up. That's where the problems began. No one had ever told me that seated camels get up onto their back legs first. We were sitting there, just fine, when the camel owner suddenly told me to hold on and lean back. Then the camel stood on his back legs while remaining on his front knees. I almost flipped over the front of the camel! Then, when he did stand all the way up, I felt like I was sliding off the right side of the camel. Jeff insists that we weren't crooked and we weren't sliding, but I'm not so sure I trust his assessment on that one. After a friend took pictures for us, the camel sat back down so we could get off. I again almost flipped off the front of the camel. Meanwhile, the owner is telling me to relax and hold on--all while trying to contain his laughter. I was never so glad to get off an animal in my life! I have decided that I am not interested in a camel-back tour of the pyramids; I'd be willing to ride a horse, but not a camel.

After we were all pictured-out at the observation area, we got back in the vans to go see the Sphinx. Samir told us that the Sphinx was carved out of a single piece of rock. The rock originally was much larger than it is now--huge blocks of it were carved out and used in the pyramids. When the pyramids were completed, there still was a huge slab of rock right in front of the pyramids. This was not acceptable! The ancient Egyptians decided to carve the Sphinx rather than carve out and haul away the remainder of the rock.


The Sphinx depicts Pharoah's head on the body of a lion. Samir asked us what we thought the symbolism meant. Of course, most of us said that the lion represented strength, so the Sphinx is a symbol of Pharoah's strength. We were wrong. As Samir told us several times, you can't understand ancient Egyptian symbology without having at least a basic knowledge of their religion. If they had wanted to symbolize Pharoah's strength, they would have done it by depicting him with a bull's tail, as bulls symbolized strength to them moreso than a lion did. The lion represents divinity, because lions guarded the sun god. By putting Pharoah's head on a lion's body, they were representing Pharoah's connection with the sun god.

One of the most common questions asked about the Sphinx is: What happened to the nose? It obviously isn't there anymore. Most guidebooks say that the nose was shot off by Napoleon's soldiers, who used it as target practice in 1798. Samir disagrees with this belief. He cites Napoleon's respect for antiquities, saying that it wouldn't have been allowed. Also, guns in that time were not particularly accurate, so there would be damage on the rest of the face had anyone back then been shooting at the nose. Finally, he cites a picture that was drawn decades before Napoleon's arrival. This picture shows the Sphinx with no nose. So, then, what did happen to the nose? Samir believes that the Sphinx was damaged intentionally by either Muslim or Christian zealots who wanted to deface the symbol of the older religion to show that it was false. (Online information tends to blame a Muslim sect, but few Egyptian Muslims would concede the point without incontrovertible proof.) As evidence for this theory, he points to apparent chisel marks just above and to the right of the nose. What do you think?



The Sphinx was our last stop for the day. After that, we headed back to Maadi. We were back at the Maadi House by 1pm. Not a bad way to spend a pleasant, breezy morning.

Update on Ungat

Last month, I told you about Ungat, an Egyptian boy who was told by his doctor that he was going blind. You can read the original post here. Well, now it's time for an update.

Many people have been praying for Ungat, and several people have offered or given tangible assistance. Ungat and his family are grateful. They are even more grateful right now to God, who has answered those prayers and magnified the effect of the assistance they've received. You see, there was a possibility that Ungat could be sent to the United States for medical treatment, but the decision was made to seek a second opinion here before that step was taken. Part of the concern was that, in addition to financial issues, there may have been difficulty with visas and other requirements for international travel, so it was likely that any treatment would have to occur here. So Ungat visited a second Egyptian doctor earlier this week, and this doctor gave Ungat a drastically different prognosis. Ungat may not go blind after all.

I'm not a medical expert, and my information is coming second- or third-hand, so bear with me. But this is what I've been told about the latest doctor's visit: Ungat has multiple congenital eye defects. His vision is very poor. His current glasses are adequate, but ideally he would have glasses with transition lenses--that get darker in the sun--in order to protect his eyes as much as possible. (I have not been told that someone is providing these glasses for Ungat, but I'll check on that. I'll be surprised if there aren't already plans to order them.) He needs special treatment at school, including the opportunity to sit at the front of his class. He could use a magnifying glass to help him read his schoolbooks. (One of those is on the way already.) For now, that's enough. There's no need to pull him out of his current school and send him somewhere to learn Braille, as the first doctor recommended.

The pressure in Ungat's eyes needs to be checked regularly. If it gets worse, he'll need special eyedrops to relieve the pressure. For now, treatment isn't necessary. One of the local expats who has been most involved with this family will be in Egypt for the next three years. She's going to continue to be involved with the family at least until that time, and I know that she'll do what she can to make sure Ungat receives all the care he needs.

Ungat is in the best of hands. Not only is he under the care of his loving parents, caring expats, and a medical professional, but he is in God's hands. God already has transformed this situation, and we trust and pray that He will continue to work in Ungat's life.

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?