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)

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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.
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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?

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.