Sevcik's Blog

Teen 5 class addition

2006-08-22T22:41:00.000+03:00

I chatted with Fiona Chivers this morning for some time on gmail. Fiona is the new Children's Education Program Director for St. Andrews. It was so great to catch up with her and hear about the developments at St. Andrews.

In addition to a library and teacher's lounge renovation, there is some great news about the Teen program. In an earlier blog I mentioned that most of the Teen 4 class failed at the end of term because they didn't want to leave school. Fiona, Dick, Yohannes, Elizabeth and others put their brains together to devise a new plan. As of this fall, St. Andrews will enroll students in a Teen 5 class. It will be structured differently than other Teen classes. The boys will take Accounting, Business English, and Computers. The girls will volunteer with the younger students in the morning and have a few Childcare, Nutrition, Health, and Hygiene, Creative writing, computer, and accounting courses. At the end of the year they will receive a certificate stating they are employable. (In Egypt, most of these refugee woman hope for jobs as a house cleaner or caretaker, if they are lucky.) Right now I would just love to be there this fall and watch this unfold!

Reflections from the Land of 10,000 Lakes

2006-08-22T06:45:00.000+03:00

It has been almost three months since I wrote a blog about my time in Egypt. I came home on June 22nd, 2006, and since then I have been traveling around the states, from Missouri and Iowa to Washington, DC and NYC. I also spent almost three week in Montana volunteering at Flathead Lutheran Bible Camp and visiting my grandparents in York, Nebraska. Now, I am finally back home for good...at least for a while.

There are so many stories about Egypt and my experiences there I have not told. Some stories can only be told in person, as the blog doesn't give it justice. More than that, however, is the fact that some stories I just can't say over the Internet. It would be harmful for the people I love living in Egypt, and certainly could be harmful for the many Christians living in Egypt. One part of my reality as a Young Adult in Global Mission in Egypt was that I would have been kicked out of the country if I tried to convert anyone to Christianity. In truth, Christian persecution happens all over the world, but I never realized the extent of it (and how lucky I am to freely express my faith) until this past year. I only knew one person who converted from Islam to Christianity. At that, she didn't tell me until a week before I left, even though I knew her for almost 8 months. She had a cross in a zipped section of her purse and showed it to me in secrecy. She let me know no one but her husband knew about her conversion, and it must stay that way. Fortunately, she is lucky. Her husband is a Christian, so she is safe with him. This is not the case for everyone, however. I have heard stories of family abandonment, jail, and even death to people who convert to Christianity. I don't know if this is true or not, but I was told by a number of Copts that young Muslim men will seduce Christian women into falling in love with them because if they woman converts he will receive money from the Muslim Brotherhood. "It's no matter to them," they said. "Because when they get married the man treats her poorly and gets another wife." Whether or not this is true, a problem exist in that Copts believe it to be true. How are we to unite as humans when this is supposedly the case?

One of my duties as the administrator at St. Andrews was to meet once a month with representatives from other refugee schools around Cairo (about 9 schools). These meetings served as times to discuss such issues as summer school, curriculum development, and resource swapping. After the demonstration outbreak at the end of December, however, the meetings turned to discussions about the suffering of the Sudanese. The first meeting we had after the horrible incident was spent in our conference room in which Matt (our intern) and I were the only white, "privileged" individuals. Around the room stories were shared about the horror of witnessing the death of their family and friends, the sufferings of the hundreds of people suddenly without any home (many gave up their flats to sit at the park), and the immediate need for food, clothing, medical care, and money. I sat and listened during this conversation, until it turned to me. In desperation, the committee was demanding that I speak to the UNHCR (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees) on their behalf. They thought, as a white American, certainly I could do something, couldn't I? They had been trying to get the UNHCR to understand their wants and needs, but it wasn't working to their satisfaction, and somehow they thought I could have the solution. Of course, I didn't have a solution. Well, actually, that's not completely true. There is truth in the fact that I, as a white American, had more pull than they did. It's sad, but reality.

The UNHCR really gets a bad rap, but it serves a great purpose. The people I know who work for the UN really want the best for the people they serve and work very hard to make a positive change. One UNHCR program this past year was the Feeding Program. The UNHCR gave one Egyptian pound per child per school day to each of the refugee schools in Cairo. One pound is about 15 cents. This pound buys a fuul sandwich for each child and an additional ‘bonus’ of a banana or an orange one or twice a week. It is amazing what happened. Suddenly, students started showing up to school again. Not only did they come back to school to be fed, they stayed to learn and study. They didn't fall asleep as often and they were able to learn quicker and concentrate better. Also, they were less irritable. St. Andrews already had a feeding program, so we didn't see these effects to the same degree. But boy did I hear about them from others. As a side note, one thing I didn't know until the second semester is that many of our students don't eat their sandwich at school. Why? They take it home to share with their siblings. It's ridiculous that such a reality exists in our world.

Due to all these experiences you have read in my 101 blog entries, (you’ve read them all, haven’t you?? Hehe ☺ I have decided to apply to graduate school in the area of Public Health. Most of my awake hours are spent writing cover letter after cover letter for my job search and researching Public Health schools and programs for the fall of 2007. I often day dream about my time in Cairo, however. I miss it so very much. I miss my friends, my co-workers, my lifestyle. Sure, I never want to live without fresh air, green land, and warm greetings ever again, but there is a magic to Cairo I grew to love. There is an intense spirit and energy there, one I found myself mixed up in all the time. The rhythm of life is different--slower in some ways but quicker in others. As I sit here at my computer, I am forced to think about all the ways I can distinguish myself from others; ways I can rise above and compete with those around me. I think of ways to talk about myself as a product, as a marketing tool, as an asset. All this does is make me feel even more insignificant, more insufficient. I miss Egypt—the way people are valued as family members, and friends, as community leaders and mothers and shop owners and farmers. In America it’s so different. I feel like my lack of a second, higher degree means I am less than I should be. It means I am behind where I should be. I means I better get my act together and get busy if I want to succeed in this world. Buy more, use more, take more, earn more. At the end of the day, I find I feel better about myself as me in Egypt than I do in America.

Yes, I love education. I am excited at the prospect of being a student once again, especially if I'm lucky enough to be enrolled in a program in which I have so much passion. Yet, I can't help but feel overwhelmed by this American lifestyle. It’s hard to get anyone together here. People are always “to busy.” Thing is, I buy into it as well. In order to make up for the loss of connection with people, I took find myself “too busy” getting involved. Rather than wait for and expect to spend quality time with my family and friends, it makes more sense to add a one-line description to my resume. Because certainly I am “more” with it. Or am I?

Below is a prayer we often say at camp. It is one of my favorite prayers because it speaks to the truth of our condition.

God of perfect rest, we have run busily from one activity to another, from one possession to another, and from one love to another. We want to be quiet but we can't. We are distracted by the loud messages of the world calling us to buy and to sell, to build and to boast, and we look for a quiet place of rest. The noise of the traffic drowns out our dissatisfaction and we move from day to day in activities designed to climb the ladder of success. We are tired and must rest. Please be our resting place and let us sleep safely in your arms. Amen.

Modesty in Egypt

2006-06-01T10:57:00.000+03:00

Modesty in Egypt. In some ways it’s an oxymoron because modesty in Egypt can be such a contradiction. On the one hand, most women are covered. What does it mean to be covered? Well, it generally means showing little to no leg and covering the shoulders (but even in the heat of the summer, most women will cover all of their arms). For most, it means wearing the head scarf, and for more and more women, it also means covering the hands and face. Children learn this from an early age not just from observation and direct suggestion, but even from societal hints through toys. For example, Fulla dolls for girls come in two varieties—“Indoor clothing” which includes cute, bright-colored pants and t-shirt tops, and “outdoor clothing” of fully-clothed women in veil, usually black.

I certainly have some issues with this, of course. When I see a women in full-black—I can’t even see her eyes—in the heat of the Egyptian day, I wonder, is this really what God is asking for her to do? Women are the crown of creation, meant to express themselves and their beauty. They should radiate with life and love and beauty. But what does it mean to do so? Where is the line that separates expressing your beauty from putting too much value in the physical beauty of a women—only one aspect of a woman’s beauty and yet the one that is the most often abused? Much of the time I’m infuriated with the extent to which some women feel the need to be fully covered, because what I see is that it’s used as a way to make women responsible (and evidently put the blame on them) for men’s issues with sexuality and their lack of control. Women are “so powerful” in their beauty (no doubt) that they must cover themselves so that men won’t lose control? Come on.

However, there is a part of me that identifies with these ideas. It’s hard for me to reconcile in my mind. For instance, I find myself growing more and more frustrated with American culture and becoming more and more disgusted with issues of modesty as well. I recently started a Facebook profile online, and most of the time I search people I end up signing out feeling more angry and sad. I see people using it to show what they see is their “best side”—showing photos of themselves wearing close to nothing or making dramatic, sexual poses, trying to attract the opposite sex and validate themselves in such a way. In all honesty, this is one of the biggest issues I have about coming home—I don’t want to return to a sex-charged society. I don’t want to return to the US, where there is such pressure for women to flaunt their physical beauty and join the “game” of attraction and being noticed.

But, Egypt is sex-charged as well, even though Egyptians try to play it off it isn’t the case. Sure, many people respect modesty (as do many people in the US), but I daily see the contradiction of it. For one, even though most women are covering most of their skin, the majority are wearing some of the tightest clothing I have ever seen; much tighter than I would feel comfortable wearing. Their headscarves seem to be more of an accessory and fashion statement than just about anything else they wear. Everything is very color-coordinated and beautiful, and some go to great lengths to look so. You know the saying about a woman's mystery, how it turns men on. Well, I see that these women are 'smartly' doing their best to do the modest ('attractive') thing while showing of those femine curves, walking just right, and using their eyes.

Men expect women to dress very modest, but then they harass women nonetheless, and often seek sexual immorality with the foreign women, those seen as being less modest. Or, they value this modesty, and then hide away in their porn for sexual gratification. For fun most Egyptian men spend time at shesha bars, watching football (soccer) games, watching TV, and hanging out at internet cafes. On any building in Egypt you see the roof covered with satellite dishes; even the poorest families have satellite TV. What is on the TV? Well, a lot of sexuality. Sexuality through music videos, sex through pornography. And the internet-- where does one begin? Unfortunately even a couple of the people here in Egypt we were told to trust we have found to be porn-watching and sex-crazed individuals. Now, there are certainly a lot that goes into this. For one, men can’t get married until they have enough money to provide for the wife and future family, and they can’t date until they are ready to be married. The economy is so bad and so many people are unemployed, this generally means you have loads of 30-something men walking around the city desperately wanting to get married and start having sex, or at least date women.

Now, I’ve dealt with more sexual harassment than I care to express right now, and one thing that angers more than just about anything is when people give me more advice about what I should be doing to stop it. “Are you fully covered? Are you walking like you know where you are going? Are you keeping your eyes straight ahead and avoiding any contact with people?” Yes, yes, and yes. I’ve heard it all, and I do my best to avoid it. But, I’m white, I’m American, I’m young, and I’m a woman. I get harassed. Egyptian women get harassed. American women in America get harassed. It’s everywhere.

Still, I can’t stress enough what a disservice it is when I walk around downtown and see tourists visiting the city wearing tank-tops, shorts, and showing their bellies. Women!! Please, please, look around you and notice that NO ONE who lives here is doing this! People come for a week of vacation to Egypt and stay isolated in the fancy, high-class hotels and can, in their minds, stay clear of Egyptian society. On the one hand, I would agree—they aren’t seeing Egypt for what it is. However, people notice them; and the more they are noticed, the harder it is for the women living in Egypt. And, after being here for this long now, it shocks me every time I see so much skin. My immediate thought is, “You are not decent!”

I just got back from a holiday in Dahab, a laid-back backpackers resort town full of SCUBA and snorkeling in the Red Sea. I was constantly witnessing foreign women carelessly flirting with the Egyptian staff. What is acceptable to a Westerner is seen much differently here.

I’ve run into this problem as well. Frankly, I don’t have any male Egyptian friends, and I have no desire to have any. Sadly, I cannot be myself with any of them. I cannot be friendly or silly or fun. Anything like that is taken as a come-on. I cannot look at them in the eye. Even when I meet a man in a “respectable” situation, whether it be through a church or through mutual friends or ultimate frisbee, I am very stand-offish, and in my opinion, quite bitchy. Still, STILL, it can be taken the wrong way. Or, I’ll start to trust a man with time, only to find out a month or two down the road the relationship is not what I think it is. The few male ‘friends’ I have made are no longer—I’ve had to give them up in order to protect myself and protect them.

Some of the issues here center around misinterpretation or misunderstanding. Our cultures have different standards of modesty. And, like it or not, it sends signals about our sexuality. Still, nothing justifies harassment; a complete lack of respect for another human.

A month ago I went to a performance at AUC entitled “Bussy”. For those of you familiar with The Vagina Monologues, this performance is of the same nature but with an Egyptian twist—these are stories that Egyptian women have been through, their real struggles and frustrations and fears and joys. One women’s story was about her youth—at a very early age she wore the hijab (head covering), and when she was 10 an Imam (Muslim spiritual leader) molested her, and when she told her mom the mother said the girl must have done something wrong. Her response? “I was 10. I was dressed decently. I was wearing the hijab…”

Teacher Appreciation Part Duex

2006-06-01T10:37:00.000+03:00

Due to the protests outside of St. Andrews, we had to cancel the Teacher Appreciation evening, and I was more than disappointed. First of all, we need to appreciate the teachers! (Even though we rescheduled for July during summer school, I won't be here for it.) Also, it was my chance to give my own individual thanks to all the people who have worked so hard and put up with me all year. :-)

In the past every St. Andrew's volunteer has held a "going away" party at Dawson Hall, inviting the St. Andrew's staff and friends. I decided to do the same, and only have St. Andrew's staff and volunteers over as a joint "going away" and "teacher appreciation" evening.

I spent an hour to two buying supplies the day before the party, and then shopping ALL day the day of the party. See, in Egypt, there are no Targets or Rainbow foods. For vegetables I went to the veggie man, for fruit the fruit souk, for eggs I went to the egg man, for cake mix I went to the Metro Market, for cookies I went to the sweets shop, etc. I was all over Cairo, and without a car! Even with the help of the two maids at RCG who graciously picked up huge watermelons and other random things, it literally took a lot of arm strength and sweating around the 90 degree city to get prepared for this event.

It was a great time! Guests actually showed up on American time too! I almost wasn't ready for it! From 8pm to 11pm about 25 people came over for some snacks and desserts. Being that all my music is country or praise music, I was scrapping for some reggae and African tunes and thankfully Jay was able to set up his computer and speakers with a CD he got from a friend living in Zambia. A few teachers decided to show me how to dance African, which was a lot of me looking really silly and a lot of them enjoying a good laugh. I made Kool-aid, which turned out to be a big hit. The bright neon green-looking strawberry kiwi concoction really weirded people out at first, but who can deny such sugarly goodness? :-)

Towards the end of the night I was handing out cards and photos for my teachers and some staff when Yohannes told me we needed to gather and give speeches. A half-dozen or so people stood up to talk about the year. They told me I must not forget them, ever, and they want to see me in Sudan some day. One teacher even used the time to try to convince Dick he should open a St. Andrew's School in Sudan. What was clear to me was people feeling so appreciative that there are people who care about their situation, who recognize they are refugees, and who want to help. I felt so loved by this, and yet so undeserving. I then gave my own speech, explaining how much I care for them and how much I will miss them, but also apologizing for not getting to know them better--for staying in my office too much and running past them "being productive" too often. I do regret that, and it will be something I have to work through, knowing I missed out on a lot of relationships.

A couple of the men who work in the Arc came with gifts for me. One was a fuzzy handpurse with a puffy dog on the front, complete with pink ribbon on its ears, with the saying "I love you" on the bottom. The other came with a Pink Baby Minnie (complete with a bib!) stuffed animal. So wonderful!

Placement Exams

2006-05-24T00:17:00.000+03:00

This weekend we conducted a day of placement testing for all children who are interested in being St. Andrew's students. For a couple weeks I was feeling a bit overwhelmed trying to figure out how this all works and what my role in it should be, and I had to depend on staff to guide me through what needed to be done. Thankfully Mariam stepped up to spend a Saturday morning with our staff, teaching them (and me!) how to administer the tests.

When I arrived at work Saturday morning there were loads of people waiting for the exams. Here comes nervous excitement! Hadaf lined the students up according to height, starting with the smallest children. Scattered around the Guild Hall were a dozen tables covered with a series of exams and a handful of colored pencils. Each table had two chairs; one for the teacher and one for the student. Each student had to start at Pre-Beginner and if they passed at a certain level, they move don to the next placement test. So on and so forth.

It's certainly not a fail-proof system, of course. Not exactly standardized testing here, and I knew that each of us was going to administer the test differently, catered to our own understanding. The two main rules were to not give the answers, and to never speak in Arabic, which apparently has been difficult to control in the past. After going through the process, I can see why. You so want the child to do well and find ways to help them understand what is being asked.

I totally thrived on giving out these placement tests. I was so excited to be spending time directly with the children and trying to help them feel comfortable. Some of them were so very scared and shy. When I first met a prospective student I would slowly say, "My name is Sarah" while making outrageous hand and body gestures to make it obvious I am saying my name, just in case they didn't know any bit of English. Almost every child knows this phrase. The next question (before getting to the test) is, "How old are you?" I had 5 year-olds tell me they were "twenty" with some confidence. Adorable!

I met with a huge range of students that day, from children who couldn't figure out how to draw a line from a picture of one ball to a picture of another ball, to one child who soared through all five exams (this was a unique case). There was one young woman who was probably about 17 or 18 years old and has a moderate to severe mental disability. She was so frightened and kept stuttering as she was signing up for the exam. Peter asked me if I could work with her, because she knew me from the time I've spent with her family in The Arc and once at their home. He said she wouldn't feel comfortable with the other teachers. I was delighted to work with her, but also so sad when we worked through the exam and she only received 7 out of 41 on the Pre-Beginner exam. At the age of 17, I don't believe there will be a place for her at St. Andrews, and all I could do was say a prayer for her and thank God that in America we have resources for a case like this.

The exam itself is quite difficult, and I now have a greater understanding of just how bias tests are in regards to culture! These children had to know things like gingerbread man and dinosaurs and words like "robbers" and random things like weird-looking teenage guys with long hair wearing a duck inter tube, snorkels on his head, a coke in one hand and a hot dog in another, running. (I know, odd.) In one question there is a goofy picture of a personified pencil sharpener. In one exam children are asked to write the dates. One question is "Today is _________, __________, ___________." The next is "13/01/2005________________________" and the last is "Yesterday was ________________________." First of all, time is expressed very differently in different cultures so in general these questions might be strange, and secondly, I don't even know what they are asking for the student to do!

All in all, it was so fun to watch these kids try to come up with ANY English they knew to get through these exams, even if it made no sense at all. Fiona told me that in class once, Rob asked, "What is the opposite of tall?" and one student shot his hand up and yelled, "Small fish!!" Ah, so cute!

End of School Year

2006-05-22T14:56:00.000+03:00

I cannot believe the school year is already over, but it is! Last Wednesday was our closing ceremony day at St. Andrews. The last day of school was supposed to be Thursday, but we had to change that last minute due to the protests going on every Thursday around our school.

The ceremony was much like the fall; we invite parents to attend as each class presents a song or dance (this year included Jump, Jump, Voices of Peace, When you are happy and you know it, Boom Dee ah Dah, I love you, The Lost Children (Michael Jackson), Let's Talk about Love (Celine Dion), Let Me Love You) for the audience and then we give out certificates. Oh boy do we give out certificates. We had certificates for attendance, good conduct, math, science, sport, computer, language arts, music, art, and general studies. Also, every student received a certificate of 'attendance in the st. andrew's children education program' with their report card on the back of it. These thick paper certificates (that I had the privilege to design and sign!) are, to some people, as important as a high school diploma fis or Americans. A couple weeks ago when we realized time was running out and we had to cancel a couple days of school I was thinking of just giving out 3 types of certificates but Yohannes was quick to tell me that would not be good. The certificate is so very important to them in their culture.

Actually, an interesting story about a certificate. During the ceremony one young student came approached me as Yohannes and I were annoucing something to everyone and it was clear he was quite nervous and upset. He wanted to tell me that his certificate was not right. He was trying to explain that his second name was incorrect. I told him to sit down and talk with me after the ceremony. So, hours later he and his mom took the certificate to Yohannes and the mother (who I know well) was very upset. She told Yohannes that if the name wasn't spelt correctly, her husband could divorce her! It needed to be changed! I was trying to figure that one out. In this woman's case, her husband is Christian and she was a Muslim until just last month when she converted to Christianity. (Secretly of course because you must be secret about conversion or else you could be killed.) I was told she was probably really upset because an incorrect last name would be a disgrace to her husband, and even if he didn't want to divorce her he might have to in order to "save face", which is often one of the most important things to do. In many African and Arab cultures one's second name is his or her father's first name, and the third name is the grandfather's name, fourth name is great-grandfather. I actually know some people named such things as Mohammed Ishmail Mohamed Ahmed or Sadam Sadam Ahmed Sadam.

This weekend I received the final tally of report card marks for each class. Many students passed their classes and are able to move on. Some, unfortunately, are not. The most disturbing thing was to look at the Teen 4 class. Out of 15 students, 11 failed. Eleven! I knew that wasn't the whole story, however. There is more to it than meets the eye. Immediately I spoke with Dick about this and also with the Teen 4 teacher, Amany (who is an excellent teacher). Amany said that a few of the kids did indeed fail, but some of them just froze and didn't test well. At least two of the female students got so scared they just couldn't think and did poorly, even though they had done well all year.

However, there is a bigger issue--most of them just don't want to pass. Why? Because they don't know what else to do. Teen 4 is the highest level for our children's program, and most of the students are in the late teenage years. If they want to, they can join the adult program in a year or two, but they don't want to do that. These poor kids, they don't have a college to go to, they don't have plans for their future, they don't have jobs to apply for and work towards, they don't have reason to be motivated and work hard to get a good education because what ever comes of it? (Of course, we know for those who end up resettling to a place like America, they need an education and it matters. But here, it's not the case. A lot of the most educated people are the ones without jobs.) We are trying to think of what we can do to help them, such as providing more internet classes, an accounting class, and maybe some writing and literature courses. But when you think of it, it's just so sad. What do they do?

Cairo Choral Society

2006-05-22T13:55:00.000+03:00

This spring I joined the Cairo Choral Society, full of mostly ex-pats from Europe and America living in Cairo and wanting to sing semi-professionally again. In December Teri and I went to their Christmas concert (where they sang the Messiah) and it was completely wonderful and one of the most spiritual events for me during that time of the year. Well, Teri got the idea that we should join the choir. Ha! Join THAT choir?! Sure, Teri, who has great musical background, could think of it, but certainly not me. I've never had a trained voice before, and the first choir I have ever been in was last year with my home church. But, Teri wouldn't give up, and kept telling me I'd be just fine. Finally I said, okay, I'll go for the first night, but I'm probably not going to sing and I'll just go there for you.

That was back in January. We went to the first practice and I was scared out of my mind. The practice was 2 1/2 hours long and we started with all these breathing techniques I didn't know or understand and all these scale practices that I couldn't figure out. The director was intense (still is). We stood next to the woman who ended up being our soloist for the concert. We didn't know anyone, but everyone seemed to do the ex-pat-Cairo thing; that is, join something and be INTENSE about it. That first night we had to sign up and we were given a couple sheets of information about the choir--the concert dress code, the choir dues, the names of the people on The Board. For Le 150 we could join the choir, and that money helped pay for the ORCHESTRA that would play with us for the concert. We were given music and noticed almost all of our pieces were in German. Yikes. Oh, and some French and Latin. So, not only do I need to learn how to carry I tune, I need to learn to speak another language at the same time. Wow. Scary.

Somehow Teri convinced me to keep trying it, even though that first night I don't think more than a couple sounds left my lips. I didn't want anyone to know I really couldn't sing and certainly didn't belong in this choral society. I've always loved singing, but I've also always been self-conscious about it. Anyhow, Teri was a good support and told me of course I could sing, and she would know--after all, she does know what she is talking about.

So, four months later and a lot of long singing practices, it was time for the concert this past week. By this point I just thought it was a success that I could sing for more than two hours and not go home with a sore throat. Well, the concert was AWESOME! After a couple days of dress rehearsal and some set-backs (such as our hired tenor soloist backing out the night before the concert--our director has never seen anything like it!) we held two concerts; one at the American University in Cairo and the other at All Saints Cathedral in Zamalak. And Teri told me I was GOOD at singing. Yes, really pretty good, in fact. Darn tootin' sweetness.

I invited six of my St. Andrew's teen students to attend the first concert, and they all showed up, some bringing a cousin or two. They all said they've never seen anything like it--none had been to a music concert. We went out for some ice cream afterwards too. Such a great time! After the second concert the choir was invited to a home of one of the deans at AUC to celebrate with food and friends. I made zucchini bread and received compliments on it all night, mostly people talking about it without knowing I made it. People were trying to figure out how to make it and suggesting it to other people. The word "tremendous" was even used. Oh, what a great night!

The songs we sang:

"O Nuit" -Jean-Phillippe Rameau
"O sing unto the Lord a new song" -Henry Purcell
"Cantata No. 34" -J.S. Bach
~O ewiges Feuer, o Ursprung der Liebe
"Regina Coeli, KV 276" -Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
"Die Harmonie in der Ehe" -Franz Joseph Haydn
"Der Greis" -Franz Joseph Haydn
"Die Beredsamkeit" -Franz Joseph Haydn
"Mirjam's Siegesgesang" -Franz Schubert

Demonstrations turn violent

2006-05-16T00:12:00.000+03:00

Only two more days left of school at St. Andrews. Tomorrow is the last day of regular classes, then one day of the closing ceremony. I can't believe the school year is already over. I feel like I just arrived. In a sense, I have just arrived. It's taken me these 8 months to get acquainted with Egyptian culture, and then again with African culture. It's taken me 8 months to start learning the names of our students and remember just who is a Dinka or a Nuer. It's taken me 8 months to realize the situation in Sudan is more complex then you can imagine and there is no easy solutions. It has taken me 8 months to (hopefully) earn the trust of the teachers and students, even though I'm turning around and leaving them so soon. It's taken me 8 months of making many mistakes, learning from them, and finally feeling at the point where i could be prepared to be the Director of a Children's Educational Ministries for displaces people living in Cairo.

Well, there will be a lot of time to think more about that soon, but what I want to write about right now is why we only have two days left of school. See, we were supposed to have school this Thursday, as well as last Thursday, but both of these days were cancelled. Why? Massive demonstrations going on just outside our school. They are so massive and becoming so violent we've had to gate up our doors and close school so that the students don't find themselves in an unfortunate situation. I'm sure some of you have heard about these demonstrations. At least I certainly hope you have.

What are they all about? Well, it started when a couple judges spoke out against the presidential elections of last September in which Mubarak received about 90% of the vote--and he's been in office for, well, longer than any American president in history. After the judges spoke out against what they saw as some fraud and corruption, they were thrown into jail. The word on the street ( i.e., from my Egyptian friends and students) is that it has really only been in the last few years that people have been able to speak out against the government and talk about politics. Even at that, it's still not 'okay'. A lot of things are not 'okay' here. For instance, if I was ever to try to convert a Muslim to Christianity I would be thrown into jail or forced to leave the country. Scary.

Well, I'm not so involved in Egyptian politics, but I am all for democracy and people having the freedom to voice their opinions. Unfortunately, what starts out as a peaceful protest has turned into violence. I witnessed the first demonstration a couple weeks ago by climbing to the roof of Atia's home (our bohab, whose home is on the corner of St. Andrew's property and overlooking one of the busiest, loudest, dirtiest parts of the city.) The demonstrators came out around 11:30 a.m. and gathered in the streets. But, the police were ready. Thousands of riot police, wearing their intimidating black uniforms and helmets, carrying clubs and shields, lined up row after row to block the demonstrators and be ready to stop them at any given time. The demonstrators were shouting out things against the government, against the emergency law, against Mubarak. Just before noon they were given a warning that they had 5 minutes to leave. Well, then came the call to prayer, so men lined up and started praying towards Mecca. They didn't stop after the noon-time prayer, however. Instead, they continued in praying for the next call to prayer. They knew the police wouldn't attack them while they were praying.

I didn't see that demonstration get bloody, although I heard it did as it moved down the street. What I did hear was that the emergency law was officially re-instated only a couple days after this, infuriating Egyptians all the more. The last major demonstration was last Thursday that did turn violent. Speaking of journalists alone, almost a dozen journalists were beaten in order to keep them away from the scene taking photos. Still, Egyptians are not ready to let it go; apparently they will demonstrate every Thursday until something changes. Insha Allah.

New York Times Egyptian Forces Beat Back Demonstration for Judges http://www.nytimes.com/2006/05/11/world/middleeast/11cnd-egypt.html

Egypt Police Beat Pro-Democracy Marchershttp://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/egypt_protests;_ylt=AryWDJ4PDmK2ieU0uw23HKnFCBEB;_ylu=X3oDMTBiMW04NW9mBHNlYwMlJVRPUCUl

Baheyya, An Egyptian BlogRegime, Judges, and Public: Take Five
http://baheyya.blogspot.com/2006/05/regime-judges-and-public-take-five.html

Ethiopian wedding

2006-05-15T23:33:00.000+03:00

The Fira sisters invited me to an Ethiopian wedding last weekend. I absolutely love weddings, and a chance to attend one of another faith (Muslim) and another culture (Ethiopian) provided weeks of growing excitement. For a couple weeks before the wedding Mariam, Faiza, and Gitu where daily reminding me of the wedding date and asking me what I was going to wear. Will I wear their long silky silver dress? What about the fun, frilly, orange-peach summer dress? What kind of make-up will I put on?

A week before the wedding I visited the Fira home to meet the bride, some sort of distant cousin of the girls. Amina, the bride, was writing out invitations and transferring her friends and family's contact info. into a new address book. I spent the day learning how to make Ethiopian food. I was given the chance to make the flat bread, made like a crepe by spreading a thin layer of dough in a big pan. We cooked some lentils and vegetables, added a lot of spice and tons of onions and oil, and eventually, three hours later, produced some good cookin'. (Although it was fun, I certainly don't want to spend three hours cooking very often in the future!) It was my job to set the table, and after not finding enough forks I decided we would be fine with just spoons. Why not? It wasn't until we started eating that I remembered they don't use spoons. The bread and fingers are their utensils. They had a good laugh watching me start with the spoon only to soon ditch it in order to grease up my hands like them. Nothing like fitting in! :-) I brought some white chocolate--Mariam's favorite--over for desert that I bought in Prague, to conclude the meal.

Before I left, Amina gave me three invitations for the wedding; one for Khalil and me, one for Aaron and Alice, and one for Jay. The Fira girls cleaned Aaron, Alice, and Khalil's apartment once, and they knew Jay from St. Andrew's field trip. Amina had never met any of them, and probably didn't know who they were. Yet, here we were given real invitations! Sweet! Here's some new vocab for you, from a tribal Ethiopian language: "Kabajamtoota Keenya Cidha Obbo Mahdi Hassan fi Aadee Amina Abdallah". This means "Our Honorable Guest we kindly invite your honor to attend a wedding ceremony of Mr. Mahdi Hassan and Mrs. Amina Adhallah."

The first 'odd' thing about the wedding is that it was on Sunday night. That's weird for us Americans, but even in Egypt Sunday night is a working night. Anyhow, the invitation said the wedding ceremony started at 7pm at the Sofitel Hotel in Maadi. Jay, Jay's friend Shile, and I showed up at 7:05pm. We rushed up the stairs to find the banquet hall....empty. We searched around--maybe the wedding was being held somewhere else? We pondered...well, it wouldn't be held in a church...would it be in a mosque? Are weddings ever conducted in mosques? Was there even a wedding going on in our preconceived notions of what a wedding is? Finally we noticed one other woman sitting in the lobby; she had the invitation in her hand. Okay, so at least we weren't the only people who didn't know where to go.

Actually, we were in the right place. Our mistake was thinking in American time, not Ethiopian time. If a wedding starts at 7pm, it really means 9pm. Duh. We are in the MidEast, after all. Time is different here. Still, I think we got caught up in the idea that this was happening at a really nice hotel, a very western hotel. Heck, we even received an invitation!

Well, by 9pm most guests had arrived, and the wedding party was on their way. We were sitting in the banquet hall, over a hundred people sitting around tables, and we were the only Westerners/white people in there. The only English-as-first-language people. We were totally out of place, but not uncomfortable. For the most part, no one paid any attention to us, and I was relieved. I can't go anywhere in Egypt without getting noticed!

I received a call from Mariam then, who said they (wedding party) was downstairs in the hotel lobby and I needed to come see them. I made my way down to greet the wedding party and see Mariam and Faiza dressed in beautiful matching dark green gowns and gold headscarves; they were both flower girls. (But instead of having flowers they had a lot of confetti they would throw into people's hair.) Mariam shrieked when she saw me and came running over to me, grabbing my arm, and pulling me over to the wedding party. From then on, nearly everywhere they went, I was asked to come along by Mariam and take photos. At first I felt really odd doing this (obviously, I'm the one out of place here--I can't even speak to these people!) but I started to recognize that my role as a photographer was not only accepted, it was desired. Okay, great!

Before the wedding party came up the stairs, the bride and groom stood side by side while an Egyptian music group played a combination of Ethiopian music and Egyptian music (at one point including bagpipes--I have no idea what that was all about!) and the bridesmaids and flower girls perform traditional dances around the bride and groom for awhile. I was busy trying to get close and take pictures, when I suddenly realized the hired video camera man was asking me to go dance as well. What? No, way...there is no way I should go into this--I have no part in this. Before I could back away Mariam noticed what was going on, and she came over to grab Jay and me and lead us into the dancing circle. Well, okay! If you can't beat them, join them right? Jay and I started dancing and following along, trying to not look too silly as we imitated the amazing dance moves these women were making.

I soon discovered that the "wedding" had already taken place earlier in the day at the home with just a few family members around. I'm really not sure what that entails (as a Muslim wedding, as an Ethiopian wedding) but the wedding ceremony I attended was similar to what I would expect back home. We danced a lot, sat around talking a lot, and ate a lot (dinner didn't start until 11pm though.) The bride and groom sit in huge queen and king-looking chairs that are elevated on a platform facing everyone. The spend most of the ceremony sitting there, watching people. When the food first came out they stepped down from their thrones to exchange some kofta (a minced meat food) in the same way we share wine--Amina fed Madhi and he fed her.

It didn't take long to realize that Khalil, Jay, Shile, and I were the honored guests of the night. Mariam, Faiza, and Gitu made sure we were very comfortable all night, but it was more than that. When we got in line to eat, a number of people tried to let us pass to get in the front of the line. When the bride and groom danced, we were often the first people pulled into it. I later heard that it's good luck for them to have a "white person" at a wedding ceremony--brings them years of happiness and good luck or something. Part of me wasn't at all comfortable with this--there is no reason we should have special treatment and it was really hard to accept, but then again, it was really sweet. Unlike most of my experiences in Egypt, people weren't treating us this way to get something from us, to use us, to expect more from us. In fact, no one really gave much attention to us other than to just make sure we knew we were a PART of what was going on; they were being hospitable in the way they knew was best.

Before I left for the night (around 2am) I was asked to give a speech. A speech! The best man gave the first speech, and then Mariam stepped in and told the announcer that I was next in line (because I needed to get going home). Um...what do I say? I knew some people knew English, but I assumed most did not. Also, who even knows me? How strange! But, okay, if she wanted me to talk, I can talk. I said I was so happy to be a part of a beautiful celebration, I wish the couple the best, and other good-feeling stuff like that. Ironically the husband lives in Minnesota; he works at the U of M as a lab technician and has been in America for about 7 years. I mentioned that I would love to see the couple in the future. Now it's a matter of how soon Amina can move. Amina is a refugee, so there is a process involved. In fact, Mahdi came to Egypt to get married in order to help the process move along more. They hadn't seen each other for 7 years. Although they talk on the phone and know they were/are interested in each other, I think it was a classic example of how family ties help one choose the 'perfect' spouse. In other words, this marriage has been 'in the making' for some time now. And they were lovely!

Elias Chacour

2006-05-14T21:35:00.000+03:00

Elias Chacour

For the spring Cairo Lectures, Elias Chacour, described as a Nobel Peace Prize nominee, Palestinian Archbishop of Galilee, and renowned "Ambassador for Peace and Reconciliation", visited and offered his words and wisdom. His vision has been to create a school for all children of Isreal--Christians, Muslims, Druze, Palestinians, Israelis. Today the Mar Elias Educational Institution exists for nearly 4,000 students from kindergarten through univeristy to learn together with a goal of building peace in the Middle East. Earlier this year I read one of Chacour's books, "Blood Brothers", which gives detail to Chacour's childhood and how he became a refugee in his own land. I absolutely loved his book, and I was ecstatic to hear that he was coming to Cairo.

One big struggle I have witnessed and experienced this year is the large (at times extreme) misunderstandings between people of various faiths. Muslims hating Christians, Christians hating Muslims, Christians hating Christians. I was not unaware of this before coming to Cairo, but living in it makes it so much more real, and makes me feel that much more sad, frustrated, scared, confused, and helpless. Every day I wake up trying to think of ways to bring people together, to increase the listening and decrease the talking.

Chacour was a breath of fresh air for me because he brought these issues to light. As I listened to him speak of the Palestinian and Israeli issues, I was awestruck and fully moved. This man, and this man's family and friends and people, have been through hell. Yet, he never showed signs of hatred. Rather, he said, "I was not born a Christian. I was born a baby. We are all born babies." Later he repeated this and then said, "But I was also born as the image of God. Do not try to convince your neighbor he is less than the image of God. When you persecute your neighbor, you are killing the image of God." Below I typed out some of the things he said that night I thought you might enjoy. But, more than anything, I encourage you to read his book. You'll love it.

"Everyone is the same. Everyone is a mixture of good and evil. It all depends on what we give more attention to."
--"...look for the hibernating friend in that person, do not look for the hibernating evil that is in BOTH of our hearts."

"Go to your Galilee--that place where someone needs forgiveness from you."

"In Aramaic the word we translate as "blessed" means "straighten up" and work to your destination. Do something if you are hungry and thirsty for justice."

"What starts on a large scale? Nothing--things start small; as small as a mustard seed."

"No one says, 'the land belongs to me also.' People say 'the land belongs to me.'"

"We need to read scripture to find inspiration, not justification for your preconceived ideas. It should storm your mind, bother your quietness and look at your left and right hand... to see what God has made most beautiful."

"Our God is not a Christian God; it would be miserable. God is God, otherwise he would be a reformed, not reformed, not yet reformed God."

"Peace doesn't need contemplaters. Peace needs actors."

"We are to witness to the fact that God loves everyone."

"I did not immigrate to Israel, Israel immigrated into my Palestine."

"Is Israel a state for Jews who tolerate Arabs? I hate "tolerance". I will 'tolerate' you until I get rid of you. Everyone is expected to be a danger, no one is expected to be a friend."

"I am a law-abiding citizen, unless the law is unjust, then I don't care."

"We people from Galilee, we do not make appointments, we make appearances."

"We hit the bottom of hope, but never hit the pit of despair."

"Peace takes much less weapons, much less dollars, and much more recognition that both sides are right, but in exaggerating that right they are wrong."

"We do not negotiate peace, we live it together."

"Don't raise hell, raise hope. But not from the top, make peace in and around you."

"You will find what you are looking for--enemy or friend."

Field Trip

2006-04-26T18:00:00.000+02:00

On April 18th St. Andrews had it's annual field trip. For most kids, field trip day is one of the best days of the school year, and this is no exception. The staff has been talking about the field trip for months, and the day finally came! Thanks much to Matt, who was the planner and organizer, the day went so smoothly and it was a blast!

When I first arrived to school that morning I knew something was different. First of all, every student was there early and ready to go (on time!), including the teens who don't normally come to school until 12:30pm. But, more than sheer numbers showed a change. The students were all dressed up! Girls came in their best outfits, many wearing cute skirts and high heels. They had different hair styles, and some of the Muslim girls decided to take off their hijab for the day, so it was the first time I'd seen their hair. One little boy, maybe 11 years old, was wearing a full suit with a bow tie! It was adorable! He looked like he was going to be a ring bearer for a wedding. Culturally, Africans dress up when they are "going out" like this, because it is such a big deal. (Funny, in America we wear our worst clothes on field trip day because we are bound to get dirty!) There was so much joy and excitement in the air. Everyone perked up so much and I've never seen them so excited and happy. Those kids need that more than anyone.

We loaded the kids onto buses and headed off to International Park, which was a better park than I expected. It was full of grassy areas and different landscaping, a tram going around the park, lots of snacks and ice cream, and plenty of activities (bumper cars, paddle boats, zoo area, garden area, etc.) We brought hulla hoops, soccer balls, jump ropes, one football and one basketball with us to keep the kids active. Actually, only one class was able to see the "zoo" area because of the birds. In other words, yes, they were afraid of the Bird Flu so we had to get out. So, the 'zoo'. It mostly had peacocks, other birds, and monkeys. Those poor animals looked so sick. The monkey's natural red bottoms were not their natural state--one poor monkey had layers of bubbling out infections all over its behind. It was so sad to see.

Onto the good day story...okay, so, like I said the kids had a wonderful day. As soon as we got to the park they were running all over playing games and laughing. I spent a lot of time in the morning talking with the Fira girls, so of course I was loving that. Mariam said her mom was nervous about all 5 of her children going on this field trip so she gave the youngest boy 5 pounds so long as he agreed to stay home. Apparently he jumped at that because he loves the Internet cafe so much. Cute.

After returning to St. Andrews we had a McDonalds hafla (party), which was a huge hit. Really, EVERYONE loved it. McDs had three of the characters come to school (Birdie Hamburgler, and Grimace) and they were dancing for a couple hours with the kids. The music? American rap and pop mixed with some Egyptian hits. The teens went nuts, and wow can they dance. They even danced the chicken dance! Of course, McDs is still 'ol McDonalds because in the end they handed out flags with the arch on one side and a character on the other, along with a bunch of stickers. A lot of advertisement. Fiona mentioned something that really struck me. Here we were dancing around and eating McDonalds, holding onto McDs flags and putting stickers on people, and next week we are going to be handing out packages of food given to us by the UNHCR for each student. Really, it was strange that a week ago we were receiving tons of staple food items from the UNHCR to give away and on field trip day the kids were munching on Mcburgers.

Where's the hole?

2006-04-17T16:52:00.000+02:00

When I leave RCG in the morning and head to work, I take a large short-cut by crossing traffic and walking through a hole in a green metal fence that brings me to "under the stairs" by the tram and metro. Jay discovered this path last November and what a blessing it has been to be able to avoid the crowds, stairs, and other issues I'd deal with going the other way.

Last weekend, though, my stroll home from work was confused by the realization that the gate had been barred up! I was walking along like I always do, sneaking through the sides of the stairs to get underneath and walk out the gate. There was no hole. "But there has to be a hole!" I thought. I wasn't the only one thinking this. Loads of people were looking for the hole in utter confusion. Jay later told me when he first discovered the barred up hole he decided to stay around and watch people for awhile as it was a hoot to see people get all confused and convinced that there MUST be a hole somewhere if you just look long and hard enough. They would walk back and forth, back and forth determined to find that hole!

But, there was no hole, sadly. For about one and 3/4 days we had to walk the old way, the very undesirable way. During this time Teri, Jason, Jay, and I wondered (nearly took a bet) on how long the gate would stay up. We weren't certain when we would be able to have our old route back, but we knew it would come! This is Egypt after all.

And it came. First, someone took out a metal pole and people started pushing their way through that. The next day it was blocked off with four new diagonal poles. Shoot. Next day, new hole next to the last attempt. Following day, blocked off again. Shoot. Fourth day a new hole, this time bigger. Along with the new hole came two police guards. The police attempted to keep people away for a day or so, but on the fifth day you found the police stationed 50 meters away from the hole; that way they would still be at their 'post' but really not have to do anything.

This progression was quite a joy to witness. Most of the time I get frustrated by the lack of 'working systems' in Egypt, but for this case I was glad to see Egyptians come through the way I expected them to. They weren't going to settle for less than the best route to the metro. Besides, people make a living under those stairs. There are bread sellers, cookie sellers (not the cookies you're thinking of) and nick-nack sellers. It's good to see them back in business. :-)

John and his new email account

2006-04-17T16:32:00.000+02:00

John Omot, a Sudanese man who is our office assistant, decided he was at that point in life where he was ready and willing to open an email account.

I love when people are at that point, because it's something we take for granted in America. Everyone is "on line" at home. Not so here, and certainly not with a refugee community.

So, today was John's day. I had him sit next to me by the computer and after he agreed to a hotmail account I started the process of signing him in.

I didn't think it would be hard to sign him in, but it wasn't so simple either. I had to choose the country he lives in, so naturally I chose "Egypt". Later it asked for the postal code, but we don't have one or know of one hotmail would accept. So, we tried a few other round-about ways of getting an email account. Didn't work. Finally I resorted to saying John is from the US living in Minnesota with a Northfield MN zip code. Hopefully this will never come back to haunt him. ;-)

Once he choose an email address and password and finished the formality of it all (including our acceptance of the terms and conditions, as well as typing in the corrected coded script) we were set! I first showed John how to get into his email account, and then I sent him an email and asked him to try.

It's easy to forget how easy some things can be for me while so hard for someone else. John wasn't sure how to make the @ symbol, or how to tab from typing his email to typing his password. And of course when I said, "Click out, we will try again" he was completely lost. Duh, Sarah. So, I explained to him what the white X in the little red box in the right hand corner of the screen is all about. He knew that, and now he knows what "click out" means. (It is humorous how many times these common yet very Western/American/English phrases are brought up and misunderstood or not understood.)

We made it through the process, and I am pleased to say John Omot is a happily networked with the world now! It's really so exciting!

It's Summer Time!

2006-04-17T15:54:00.000+02:00

Oh, Egypt is fun...and funny.

Being that I'm from Minnesota, I'm used to all kinds of weather. In the summer it is hot and humid, in the fall it's cooler and crisp, in the winter it can get to -40 degrees, and in the spring we have lots of rain. The seasons are so well-marked; we see leaves changing colors in the fall, snow and ice in the winter, budding leaves and color the spring, and consistent heat in the summer. Of course, this is not the case in Egypt. For the most part the weather is hot, hot, and more hot. Well... that's not completely true. In the winter time it does get pretty cool here, but only because there are no heating systems so you feel so cold in the brick homes. In Egypt people go outside in the winter time to warm up (to get in the sun)! So, that's the thing; Egypt is all about the sun. It is almost always sunny (with a pollution haze), it rarely rains, and there are some windstorms; and that's the way it is.

Still, Egyptians say they have a summer and a winter. Well, okay, maybe... if winter means "cooler" and summer means "warmer." Still, it's strange to think in those terms because there is no transition of sorts.

But oh, that is not true! There IS a transition! Is it bird migration? No. Is it the freshness of sweeping sandstorms? Not really. Is it the sudden increase in rainfall? Of course not. It's not a bird, it's not a plane, it's POLICE OFFICERS!

That's right. When the police officers change their clothes from black to white it means "Summer time!" No joke. All "winter" the police wear full suits of black. Poor guys, roasting away in that winter sun. But, one day everythings changes. Flip the switch we now have light--and I mean spankin' white brand-new looking police uniforms. I'm sure they will get dirty soon, but right now they just blind you with that reflection. This new color makes me aware of just how many police are on the streets of Cairo. They are EVERYWHERE.

Maybe they are everywhere because even though they have little authoritative power, they have a lot of power when it comes to Egyptian dress. Last week, before "summer" began, people were still wearing their winter sweaters and jackets--layering up while I, meanwhile, would be drenched in sweat wearing a thin, loose long-sleeve shirt. Now, dress has changed. People put away their winter clothes and took out their summer clothes. None of this"Well, the weather is such and such today so I will wear such and such." I was told by my Egyptian friends, students, and teachers that they literally wait for the day the men wear white and in a single act change their entire wardrobe. It's the nationally accepted transition into the season. Even the stores seemed to change overnight!

Just think of the power that one person has who tells the police what to wear. Amazing.

Habitat for Humanity, Egypt

2006-04-02T06:24:00.000+02:00

We YAGMs and YAVs decided to spend our March retreat in a village outside Minya working on a Habitat for Humanity project. I had been excited for this weekend since last October when I first found out about the opportunity to build homes during this year in Egypt. Finally the weekend arrived and we were on our way!

In Egypt, time is...well, not at all the way we think of time in America. Sticking to the clock is not necessary here, and I've grown accustomed to the laid-back nature of meeting times and days here. For the Habitat trip, however, we were back on America Time. Our weekend was mapped out starting 7:00am Friday morning (do not arrive at the train station even one minute late or else you might not be accepted into our weekend's program!). It was both frustrating and humorous for us to feel like a machine again--working on a set schedule and the expectations that come from that.

Also, from Friday morning 7a.m., we didn't take two steps away from the group without being followed by the Egyptian military escorts who traveled with us for the weekend. FYI--military men and Egyptian tourists police station themselves everywhere in Egypt, and although they carry huge guns, it's easy to forget they are there. Generally they just stand there, looking bored and tired, and sometimes sleeping. For the most part I am able to avoid them, but when a group of Americans travels together to a village town in Upper Egypt, it's mandatory to be escorted by these men. Frankly, it's a bit ridiculous. There are more escorts than Americans, and they cause more attention to us by surrounding us from all sides everywhere we go. But, i suppose it provides jobs, so that's okay.

When we arrived in Minya we hopped on a private bus and went to the small village, where we were let into a large room full of other military escorts and the major of Minya. We spent some time drinking tea, introducing ourselves, and asking the Major any questions we wanted to ask; discovering the main issue facing Minya is water sanitation and health problems related to this issue. Although these are concerns we face at home, the extent to which these issues matter to our daily lives is quite different. At home we might complain of too many minerals in the water; here people don't have running water, and if they do it's often too dirty to drink without becoming ill, but they drink it anyway.

After a late lunch, we split into smaller groups, each with a Habitat leader (an Egyptian man who spoke little English) and we worked on the homes. Jennifer, Stancil and I 'signed up' for roofing and became a team—YES! I can't tell you how excited I was to get out some nails and a hammer and do some manual labor. I just love this type of work. We grabbed our gear and we were off strolling the dirt-path maze of mud-brick homes.

Walking through a village is always a humbling experience, and it's easy to feel like you are in a fishbowl. Many of these people have never seen a Westerner in their life, and they are incredibly intrigued. As we walked through the village with our Habitat gear of carpenter's apron, hammer, saws, etc. young children and women came to the doors to peak out at us and giggle or stare. It was as if we were the parade and they are the spectators. I found out the next day there had been a rumor going on that we were from the World Health Organization and came to inspect the town for bird and the bird flu. Apparently everyone hid their birds that first day; I don't doubt it because on Day 2 I noticed people a bit more at ease about their chickens wandering around. (Don't worry, I didn't get the flu!)

"Roofing" on a village home in rural Egypt is either not at all what you'd expect or exactly what you'd expect. In other words, don't think slanted roof with shingles, oh no. Roofing meant nailing a layer of somewhat flimsy, sometimes uneven boards into the foundation pillars and then plopping home-made rocky cement on a layer of plastic over the boards and smoothing the mixture as best as we could. The concept of “leveling” isn’t so important, either. At times when the board didn’t fit so well, men would take out the brick beneath the board and use a hammer to shave off the edges and make it smaller to fit underneath the wood. The mud-bricks easily crumble with a single blow of the hammer—they are “mud” bricks afterall. I fear what would happen to these homes if a heavy rain ever came.

In the hot sun we pounded those nails for hours as family members watched and laughed. The women made tea and brought us these piping hot glasses of 'syrup' (more sugar than water) to drink in the hot sun. J Towards the end of the second day I was getting pretty tired and my hands were blistering, so the father of the house took my hammer to show me how to do it right. I swear I heard him say, "Just Jam it!" a number of times, which made me laugh, as it was the only words of English I'd heard from any of them all weekend. Of course, he wasn't speaking English, but something else in Arabic. They were pleased with our work, however, saying, "Maya Maya!" or 100-100! to us throughout the day. The family children loved watching us work. They also loved getting their picture taken, and then rushing over to see the photo--digital technology is beyond fascinating to them.

I was so impressed by Habibat for Humanity, Egypt. I've always had a lot of respect for the organization, and the more I get to know the more I like it. Habitat works with families on an individual basis to find out exactly what they need for a home and offers the family a no-interest loan to buy the materials and build their home. They work out a deal for how long it should take for the family to pay back for the materials; and the family is also expected to put in "sweat time" meaning they must work on building their neighbor's home. It an incredible way to introduce more empowerment and service, as communities gather together to learn how to build and help each other.

Oh, more tourist police fun: At night we wanted to take a walk along the Nile Corniche and enjoy the fresh air; we had to wait awhile at the hotel until a big enough selection of tourist police could gather to join us. As we strolled along the road, a truck full of police slowly drove right next to us. When we stopped, they stopped. When we turned, they turned—or called out to us to come back and not turn. That's not suspicious or anything. ;-)

Editing Translation

2006-03-29T21:22:00.000+02:00

A North Sudanese friend of mine, Rania, asked me to help her edit a couplepapers she was writing for one of her AUC courses. Worth 20% of her final grade, she was translating Arabic newspaper articles intoEnglish, and she wanted help from a native English speaker regarding her sentences structure, grammar, and general flow. Sounded great to me! I've always enjoyed editing papers, even to the point of getting a job through the Psychology Department at St. Olaf in which I edited papers, so this really excited me. Of course, helping a friend is enjoyable in and ofitself.

So, I met Rania at the AUC yesterday and for the next four hours wesat and worked through her assignment. By the end my head and eyeshurt. I was reminded of my sophomore year of college studying Spanish, only this time I was giving the advice that I had once received withmuch anxiety and frustration.Rania is very articulate, so I was surprised to discover her written skills lacking far behind her oral communication skills. After my first reading of her work, I decided we needed to start from scratch and take it paragraph by paragraph in order to create a decent translation.

First, I asked Rania to start reading at the beginning of the articleand translate for me. What she said made more sense than her written translation, but it was still confusing and haphazard. It didn't takelong for me to figure out what was going on. She was reading inArabic and translating "in Arabic." I had the same problem whentranslating into Spanish--I would write sentences with the Spanish vocabulary I knew but in an English-sentence format. I laughed out loud thinking back to all those times my professors told me I have to think in Spanish in order to express myself in Spanish, and I never could do it well. So, new tactic. I told Rania to read a paragraph to herself, and thenI took the paper away from her and told her to tell me what it said. At first she wanted the paper back--the crutch--but she soon was ableto tell me what the article said in her own English words. Now wewere on a roll! From that point on we mostly got stuck on trying tof igure out the best English vocabulary word for the Arabic word or expression, which also proved to be difficult but entertaining. It was another experience (of many) that has given me a greater appreciation for the talented people who know more than one language. Now if only I can put that into better practice myself...:-)

minya el qamh

2006-03-29T21:12:00.000+02:00

Last Thursday Teri and I took a north-bound train to a village town in the Nile Delta to visit a small evangelical congregation. Pastor Nassif,a student at the Evangelical Theological Seminary in Cairo, had asked us to visit his church to speak with the young adult youth group whomeets every Thursday night for prayer and worship. Teri and I jumped on the chance to spend time with Egyptian Christian youth.

Frankly, Teri and I had no clue where we were going, other than we should get on a train going north into the delta. We didn't know what stop to get off at, nor could either of us remember the name of the town (and even if we could, we couldn't pronounce it). Nassif told us he would give us a "missed call" when the train arrived at the station, but that never happened. Luckily, we decided to call Nassif just as we were pulling away from the right station, so we did the hop-off-the-train-as-it-is-moving scene. Gosh I've always wanted to do that! Within minutes we met Nassif and Demiana, a young Coptic woman who attends Nassif's church and is also a student at RCG. (She takes thetrain to RCG and back home every day...talk about commute!) Following the two through the dirt streets we came to an unmarked door and found ourselves in a place of worship, just across and down the street from a large and expressive Coptic Orthodox church. Nassif's church was basically a hidden flat and I would never have been able to find it on my own.

Quoting from Teri (because I know how much she loves it :-): It turns out that the evangelical church uses this flat--with a room for a sanctuary, a room for Sunday school, a room for prayer meetings, and a small library--for all its worship, meetings and business because their school and land and church were confiscated under Nasser. You see, the Presbyterian missionaries in Egypt set up schools, and then churches. So churches often used the school building as a worship facility as well. Several decades ago, the Presbyterian church transferred most of the properties to the newly-independent Synod of the Nile of the Coptic Evangelical Church of Egypt (then the Evangelical Presbyterian Church). And then, when abd-el-Nasser came to power, foreigners (especially Christians) were kicked out and a lot of church property was confiscated and church schools were nationalized, becoming government schools. This is what happened in Minya-el-qamh (which, by the way, means something like "land of wheat" and is in the area of Goshen, where the Hebrews stayed while they were in Egypt. There are several traditional biblical sites in the area.). The Evangelical church lost its school and its worship space...and with it, quite a lot of members. The Orthodox church came in and built two large buildings. At one time, all the Christians in the town (about 1/4 of the population) were Evangelical. No longer...primarily because there is no place. One of Nassif's goals is to get money and permission to build a school with a worship space so that some of the families that aren't worshipping or participating will come back to the church.

Inside a group of women were waiting for Nassif to begin the woman's worship, so Teri and I sat in the back and watched the woman sing and pray to the Lord. After the woman's service we were given loads of cakes and desserts to eat, and then some fuul and taamia. As always, we were served well the Egyptian style :-) Soon about 20 youth showed up and we were ready to begin the worship. Teri and I did our best to follow along, and even though we couldn't understand the Arabic, we were able to piece some things together.

Soon it was time for Teri and me to give "the sermon". Teri began by talking about what's in a name, and how Abram and Sarai had their names changed as signs of their relationship with God. As I listened to Teri, a camp song kept running through my head, "I will change your name...you shall no longer be called wounded, outcast, lonely or afraid....I have changed your name...you shall now be called...confidence, joyfulness, overcoming one...faithfulness, friend of God, one who seeks my face..." and I was daydreaming back to good times at FLBC. Teri concluded by saying one way we have relationship through God is through prayer, and this transitioned into my part of the sermon; Prayer. I wanted the youth to get involved, so I asked them questions about what is prayer, why do we pray, when and where do we pray, and how do we pray? I wanted to get a good idea of what this group of young Egyptians thought about prayer and found that it was similar to my own and very deep. (I even had the sense they pray without ceasing. :-) We talked about Matthew 7:7-8, where Jesus says "Ask, and it shall given to you; seek and you shall find; knock and the door will be opened onto you. For whoever asks shall receive, whoever seeks shall find, and whoever knocks the door will be opened." R

emembering what I learned from my friend Kim Elg, I talked about being bold in prayer--do not be afraid, as our Lord so desperately wants to be in relationship with us. We also talked a lot about listening, and they seemed to like the concept of "we have only one mouth but two ears" --that tells us something about how we should live our lives. I was excited to find myself very comfortable in front of this group--to the point of feeling like I was just conversing with a bunch of old friends. The "sermon" was mostly on the fly, and I could sense the Holy Spirit helping me with continuous flowing thoughts and words. Nassif was standing next to me during this time, translating every sentence. It was an odd experience to speak about 10 words, then wait until you could say the next thought. In some ways it was distracting, and I know Teri had a hard time figuring out if she was repeating herself (did I say it or just think it?), but it was fun to speak and then watch the youth understand what I said five seconds later. It gave me the opportunity to concentrate more on their response than what I was saying.

After the service we were offered more food and time for fellowship, but it was cut short because we had to board the south-bound train for home. Still, in that short time I witnessed a great group of young adults who joyfully serve God and each other. Being a witness to those relationships gave me the sense that the church has a real sense of hope, peace, and love. Hopefully we'll visit again soon.

Fira Fun

2006-03-29T20:59:00.000+02:00

I'm at the point in my year where I'm spending time reflecting about what I've done thus far and what I want to do in the short time I have left. In doing this, I am thinking a lot about my friendships here. On the one hand, I want to meet as many people as I can to learn from each other, share stories with each other, and develop a friendship. On the other hand I don't want to spread myself too thin and not make any lasting relationships. Growing up I tended to be a bit of a social butterfly, but as time goes on I've decided to really work on developing fewer but stronger relationships. When I return home in a few months, I want to stay in contact with a few people I have come to love.

Through this analyzation, I've discovered just how much I adore the Fira girls. I've mentioned them a few times in my blogs--they are three sisters (ages 15-17) from Ethiopia, students in our teen program. I absolutely love these girls, and I love spending time with them, so lately I've been making a greater effort to find things to do with them. A couple weeks ago I took them to the Cairo Opera House to visit the Art Museum. Mariam has been telling me how much she loves art (esp. the type of art "with two meanings") so I thought they'd enjoy a museum. I was exhausted after looking at nearly every piece of art in this museum, but even after a couple hours the girls were still excited.

Last weekend their mom invited me to their home for a day of Ethiopian delights! They cooked some wonderful Ethiopian food, played Ethiopian music, and taught me to dance Ethiopian style. They dressed me in Ethiopian celebration clothing and we took pictures. Later the girls and I went to the nearby Fuji film shop to take professional photos with funky backgrounds. Before I left for the night Mother Fira gave me three wall decorations she had made in Ethiopia as well as the celebration dress I had been wearing as we were dancing. Their generosity is humbling, to say the least, and I was treated as a most honored guest.

Mother Fira used to work as a house cleaner, but her bad back has forced her give it up, so the girls have been looking for housecleaning work to support the family. While some people drop out of school in order to work and make money, I was told long ago the girls would not be willing to leave school--education is the most important thing. Of course, one must be well off enough to make that statement, because when there are mouths to feed it's clear that a job will come before school. Still, I was impressed to hear this was the case, and I've kept my eyes and ears open for an opportunities they might have.

The opportunity came last week, when my friend Khalil and his roommates agreed to hire the girls for a day of cleaning. Mariam, Faiza, Khalil and I spent hours in the afternoon washing the floor, spraying the windows, dusting the walls and ceiling, and continuously washing out filthy rags. You have never seen a dirty home until you've spent time in a college males flat in Cairo. In Cairo, even if you cleaned your house every day you'd wake up to a layer of dust every morning. In Khalil's case, I think it had been years since they cleaned certain parts of the flat. In the process we discovered a huge dead/dying plant that I've never noticed, and a lampshade that was in fact green, not brown. We really had a good time together, listening to music and watching the place turn from dirty mess to clean and refresh (rhymes ;-) and we were proud of our work. And wow can those girls clean! Khalil even made spaghetti with meat sauce to give the girls a little taste of our American food. I think our next activity will be a movie with popcorn and chocolate cake--yum!

motherly touch

2006-03-21T00:33:00.000+02:00

In my many roles as Assistant Director of Children's Education Program, the one that came out last Thursday was nurse and surrogate mother.

My boss has been on vacation all week and I have directing duties for the time being. This can mean anything from dealing with fights and discipline issues to working with Western volunteers. On Thursday, however, after the usual checking in with teachers and making sure our breakfast program was set to go, a teacher brought a young girl who was ill to my office. The poor thing had a burning fever and had just thrown up. She looked pretty miserable and shy, and unfortunately she didn't speak English or even Arabic! Even her teacher was having a hard time communicating with her. After some discussion, we decided to set up some comfy chairs for her to sleep on and give her a blanket until we could find a way to get ahold of someone who spoke Nuer.

In the meantime I decided to put aside any "duties" I might have and spent time just being there for the child. I figured she must be so uncomfortable and perhaps frightened. We went into the conference room and I sat next to her, rubbing her back and giving her some water to drink and a sandwich to eat. Soon she felt comfortable with me and laid her head on my lap and fell to sleep as a softly stroked her forehead. As I sat there I thought about touch, and how important it is for people to be held, especially when they are feeling ill and low. It's especially important for children to feel a motherly touch, and I hope I was able to provide her some comfort for the day. I'm not even sure she has a mother in her life now.

Today her father showed up at St. Andrews looking for some help. The girl is still sick, and they do not have the money needed to go to the doctor...

~~~Today remember the blessing of health, and say a prayer for those struggling to meet even the basic needs for taking care of their health.~~~

fish eyes

2006-03-09T20:32:00.000+02:00

John Rubena, St. Andrew’s database manager, is moving to Canada next Thursday. After a long wait, he finally found out only a week or two ago that he has the visa and is set to go. It’s an exciting opportunity for John, as he will be able to work in Canada, hopefully find a school to further his computer science degree, and meet with his to-be wife. Still, to be honest I’m really sad to see him go. John has become the best friend I have in Egypt, and I’m going to have a rough transition without him around. In the meantime, however, I (and others from work) have been trying to spend as much time with him as possible. This weekend we are going shopping (some items for Canada), see a Sudanese band concert, and have a little party. And this evening Matthew and I had the pleasure of joining John to his favorite Cairo restaurant—The Fish Market on the Nile.

Like most fish you buy in Egypt, you get the whole fish. To see fish eyes peering at me as I pick through scales and tiny bones really doesn’t alarm me any more, but to be served this excellent meal with a good friend who I don’t know when I will see again was bittersweet. We had a wonderful meal of deep conversation and laughter, and I’m left feeling very alive and fresh but also sad. This is the reality of life, however, and especially the reality of working at St. Andrews. We (St. Andrews) exist to help people, and often that means letting people move on and being happy for their new life and exciting future. I keep feeling like the people I get to know the best are the ones to leave, but in the end I am so thankful to have been blessed by their presence in this world.

Anyhow, here’s a story from dinner that I just have to share. So, after our meal the waiter comes by to give us an evaluation form. Will we please fill it out? Okay, no problem. We marked the appropriate squares regarding whether the restaurant was clean or not, whether the service was speedy and friendly or not, and if the food was of good quality and temperature or not. Other than one “fair” we answered “good” or “excellent” to all questions. Then, in the comment section, I wrote, “Very good food and service! Thank you!”

As our waiter took the comment card, Matthew noticed him open it up immediately and read it as he walked away. We had a good chuckle about that,
but it became even more hilarious when the waiter came back and spoke to John (in Arabic) about the card. Matthew and I weren’t sure what was going on, but when the waiter gave John a new card to fill out we had a clue. He didn’t like our response and we had to write another evaluation—a more ‘appropriate’ evaluation this time! By this time we were roaring. So, we filled out a new evaluation, taking out the one “fair” for “good” and this time writing “il hum du ‘allah” [Praise be to God] in the comments. The waiter double checked this card, asked John to tell him what our comment said, and after being satisfied he shook his head with thanks and let us go.

We kept the old evaluation, and Matthew and I are going to tape it up in our office at work. For us, this experience totally exemplified so much of what I’ve come to see in Egypt. Rather than being able to have my own opinion, there is a ‘correct’ answer I must give—there is a uniform way of thinking. Instead of fighting against the system, I must adapt my feelings about it and say everything is ‘just fine’ and ‘malish’. This lack of critical thinking/independent thought has seeped its way into the educational systems and culture of Egypt in many ways, to the point of not being able to give an honest feedback about my dinner experience!

The "Warm Up" Game

2006-03-09T20:16:00.000+02:00

It was Day 3 for the Cairo sandstorm (mild) and after the hot air of Tuesday, the desert brought in a cold, windy evening last night and cool day today. Our students, many without proper warm clothing, were pretty chilled.

During the breakfast break I was doing my usual walk around the courtyard greeting the children as they came running past me yelling, "Hi Miss Sarah!", shaking my hand as they kept moving on to run off to eat or play. I noticed a lot of their hands were cold, and finally one student, Nadeel, sat by me long enough for me to ask her if she was chilly and get a positive response. A couple other kids piped in and said they were cold as well.

What came to mind? None other than a game I learned at Flathead Lutheran Bible Camp used to keep us warm on those cold nights in the Glacier Wilderness. You hold hands with another and simultaneously try to jump on each other’s feet while not letting the other stomp on yours. It gets you warm in a jiffy :-)

Hadeel and I played this little game and within seconds she was shrieking with joy. Soon a few other girls came up and wanted to play. After a few minutes of intense down-ward looking concentration on our feets, I looked up to find clusters of kids all around the courtyard playing this “warm up” game. I had to laugh! It was adorable. (Gosh I love kids!) Yeah FLBC!

Siwa Oasis mini-vacation

2006-03-09T08:55:00.000+02:00

The "Alex girls" (Jen and Jennifer), their Swedish roommates (Nomi and Louise) and I spent last weekend in the most western oasis in Egypt, located in the Great Sand Sea of the Western Desert, near the Libyan border. From Cairo it took 12 1/2 hours to get there, but it was well worth any time spent travelling.

Siwa is considered "one of the most picturesque and idyllic places in Egypt," according to the Lonely Planet guide, and it's true. Surrounded by sand dunes, Siwa stands as a place with life; lush greenery of date palms, streams and springs, and mud-brick villages. Until recently Siwa was quite isolated. A road to Siwa (through the desert) wasn't built until about 20 years ago, in fact. This isolation natural makes Siwa and it’s people unique in many ways, including their primary language of Berber and their very traditional culture. Many women in Siwa do not leave their home, and when they do they are often covered from head to toe--you can't even see a glimpse of skin or eye. The very young girl, however, roam the streets with the young boys; running around laughing and playing. I even saw a few playing jump rope! Almost all of them have pig-tailed braids tied with large bright ribbons (usually red) on the ends.

When first arriving in Siwa the first thing we noticed was the transportation system--donkey carts! Young boys (some no older than 8) were waiting at the bus station to pick up the locals, other Egyptians, and our little group of women, with a sign on their donkey carts saying, "Siwa Taxi" or "Welcome to Siwa". We hopped on two carts and for Le 10 we went about 100 meters around the corner to our hotel. Although I know this has been the way of transportation for thousands of years, it was the last time I road on the donkey cart because I felt so bad for that small animal carting us around! The donkeys are so cute!

Even though it was already 9:00pm, we ended up heading out for the night with Mahmoud, the teenage man who ended up being our personal tour guide for the weekend. He took us to a hot spring where locals spend time bathing in mud baths and enjoying the refreshing warm water. It was like a massage! Jennifer and I lathered ourselves with the soft mud and soaked up time resting in this natural whirl pool. For the next two days we visited many cold springs (including one named "Cleopatra's Bath") for refreshing dips as well. These natural spring waters bubble up into a large stone pools; some even hold fishes swimming all around. They were full of algae, however, so most of our group did not partake in any fresh water dips.

After a good rest we woke up on Friday with an incredible breakfast of omelettes and crepes with bananas and honey. Without talking more about food, let me just say the food in Siwa was some of the best food I've had in months--and cheap! Anyhow, after our brunch we headed to Shali in the centre of town. Shali is the mud-brick remains of the 13-th century town on Siwa. It’s a "fortress enclave" built from material known as kershef, which are large chunks of salt mixed with rock and plastered in local clay. It's a labyrinth of old homes on a hill, really; with the original structures rising up four or five stories. For centuries few outsiders were admitted inside, but in 1926 a three-day rain (it almost never rains in Siwa!) was so damaging that the inhabitants have mostly abandoned Shali. A few buildings are still used, including a few home and a mosque that has a minaret looking like an old chimney. We met a few boys who took us to their grandfather's old home in Shali, mostly in ruins now. Shali is a photographer and adventurer's paradise, with its maze-like quality and beauty. I had a heyday taking literally 50 photos in there--including sunset photos from the top where you can look over all of Siwa.

My biggest excitement for the trip was a night camping out in the desert, and it was all I wanted it to be! With Mahmoud and a 4WD driver, we took off for the sand dunes in the late afternoon and stormed through the desert sea. Before reaching the sand, we had to flatten our tires so much it seemed wrong to me, but what do I know? Then we took off through the dunes, travelling fast over the hills and swerving around the sand sea. It was like an amusement park ride at times, and I can't believe that vehicle held out. A couple times we took down some steep hills and it was a wonder to me we didn't get stuck. (The vehicle did get stuck later, actually, but we were able to get some help.) After cruising around for awhile we found a good hill to try sand boarding. Much like snowboarding, you slide down the hill on a waxed board (waxed with hand soap!) and pray you make it to the bottom--or just jump off. Most of us decided to go 'sledding' instead, which seemed faster and safer, winding up with sand in our pants (just like snow!) Soon the sun was setting and we jumped back into the 4WD to rush for a great spot to watch the sunset and let our guides set up camp.

Like all good camping experiences, we spent the night cooking dinner on a fire and sleeping out under the stars. During our meal of Siwan cooked vegetables, meat, rice, and tea, we shared songs; Swedish songs, American songs, Egyptian songs, Siwan songs, and Bedouin songs. I’m still not sure what I was saying, other than a lot of “habibi” (meaning “my dear”) but it was a great bonding experience for all of us. We also sang a Happy Birthday to Jennifer, who was turning 23 at midnight. Soon we were all ready for bed and huddled close to one another under blankets and sleeping on small mattresses. Even though it gets so darn cold at night in the desert we had the stars to look at whenever the sand cleared. Of course, being so far away from any light source, the stars shown bright and beautiful! In the morning I woke up with crusted sand in the corner of my eyes and in my ears.

On Saturday we decided to rent bikes and tour the outskirts of the city, travelling on the dirt roads through the oasis palm trees. We visited the Temple of the Oracle, built in 6th century BC, dedicated to Amun and one of the most influential oracles in the ancient Mediterranean. It was so powerful and famous kings sent armies to try to destroy it. One legend, coming from Herodotus, is the tale of King Cambyses, who sent 50,000 men to destroy it and its priests. The army never reached the site, and legend has it they were swallowed up in a sandstorm, only reinforcing the political power of the Amun priesthood. Even Alexander the Great took an eight-day trek through the desert in 331 BC for an oracle consultation. He was seeking confirmation that he was the son of Zeus and that as the new pharaoh of Egypt he was also the son of Amun. Apparently he received the confirmation he desired. :-)

We saw the Gebel al-Mawta--Mountatin of the Dead—a hill filled with honey-comb rock tombs mostly from Ptolemaic and Roman times. The tombs were used as shelters when the Italians bombed the oasis in WWII. At that time many new tombs were discovered by not properly excavated. Apparently British soldiers paid Siwan families only a few piastres to cut away large chunk of the tomb paintings for souvenirs. Still, I really enjoyed the Mountain of the Dead for two reasons. One, the paintings are more recent than those of Luxor and Aswan, and therefore the artistic style is a bit different. Two, one tomb had skeletons and mummies in it! No joke! As tomb #3 was unlocked and we walked in I noticed a full-grown mummy and skeleton to my right and a child's skeleton and mummy on my left. There was also a box with a skull in it--hair still on its head. Wow! We tried asking why these weren't in a museum, but the guard, who knew little English, didn't understand why they would be taken away. "No, most pieces were taken from people...looted...this is what's left." Oh, okay!

By 10pm Jennifer and I were on an over-night bus heading back for Alexandria. A quick mini-vacation, but one of the greatest places I've visited in Egypt thus far.

"Suzie's" life

2006-03-07T07:59:00.000+02:00

Yesterday my position as "Director of CEP" was certainly put to use.

Yohannes, our administrative guru, set up a meeting with a student and her parent. This is common; at least once a week I have a meeting with a student and a parent to discuss discipline issues of some sort. We meet in the conference room; Yohannes to my left, the parent to my right, and the student somewhere near us as Yohannes translates the discussion for me. Yesterday's case was a bit different. The situation was that Suzie (obviously not her name) has been in the same class for a couple years now and is not showing improvement. We were concerned there was something negative going on in her family life.

Through the discussion we discovered that the parent was actually Suzie's "stepmom," as Yohannes put it. In fact, Suzie's father has/had three wifes. He is living in Sudan still while the three wives have been living in Egypt (except now the first wife is dead). For some reason Suzie is not living with the second wife, Suzie's mom, but instead living with the third wife. This isn't so much an issue in fact, being that in Sudan children are often raised by the whole community. Suzie is one of "Sandy's" (Wife #3) "own" in a sense. Also, the family is financially stable with enough money for rent, food, and clothing. There does not seem to be any sign of abuse.

Anyhow, Suzie and her sister (also a St. Andrews student) often miss school and tend to be missing on different days. Thus far Suzie's story has been that she says at her aunt's home or grandma's home and doesn't come to school because she sleeps in and stays there. Wife #3 explained that auntie and grandma give Suzie money for the metro and send her off at an appropriate time in the morning for class. So, essentially everyone is doing their part with the expectation that Suzie and her sister are at school. At the appropriate time after school ends Suzie comes home and everythings seems fine.

So yesterday the news came out that Suzie is in fact not at school all the time...yikes. Where she goes and what she is doing no one knows but it's obvious she is hiding something from everyone. We tried to get her to talk about it but she wouldn't say a word. She wouldn't look at any of us and wouldn't answer any questions.

My heart was breaking watching her. The worst case scenerios were running through my mind. Is this budding, beautiful 13-year old getting involved in drugs, gangs, or sex? What could she possibly be doing or wanting that would make her decide to not come to school? Thing is, St. Andrews is such a refuge for these children. On the streets they are harrassed but at St. Andrews they can relax, learn, and spend time with their peers. I cannot understand why anyone of them would actively choose to wander the streets (or whatever) instead of coming to school. Whatever is going on in Suzie's world it must be big and it frightens me for her.

Yohannes expressed his concern that Suzie just doesn't want to learn--perhaps she would prefer a school that teachs arabic instead of English. Maybe she doesn't like to live with Sandy. He asked me what we should do.

And what should we do? I said she must start coming to class more regularly is she is serious about learning. There have been families waiting to get children into St. Andrews for a couple years, so if a student is not going to try, we need to let other students come. Now that Sandy knows the situation about Suzie's unknown whereabouts, hopefully they can do something to make sure she stays off the streets and comes to class. I also told Suzie it is important for her to tell us what is going on in her life. Something is clearly wrong and we want to help her. Yohannes suggested that Suzie talk with either Mariam or Amany, two of our women teachers. However, he's not sure she will because, as he said, "In this culture the reputation is very important and she is scared about the gossip it will bring." Oh man.

My prayer is for Suzie to come clean to someone and let us know what is going on in her life. I fear that Suzie is too deeply involved in something or too scared to let it out, but insha 'allah she will get the help she needs.

Coptic fasting

2006-02-27T22:27:00.000+02:00

Today marks the beginning of the Orthodox Lenten fast--55 days of Vegan living! The Coptic Orthodox Christians are abstaining from all animal products for the next 55 days. No meat, no fish, no cheese, no milk, no eggs (or anything cooked with eggs!). [With the bird flu scare there's no problem avoiding chicken right now--no one is eating it!] I brought bakery biscuits to English conversation class at the Coptic Cathedral tonight and no one could even eat those. When I asked them what they do eat, Gabriel said, "Vegetables."

As Teri put it, this kind of puts the average american's "i gave up jelly beans, which i don't even like, for Lent" into perspective.

The students were fascinated about our fasting in America, however. One woman really liked the idea that we choose something for fasting because it can really be a sacrifice. For these Copts, becoming vegan is just what they've come to expect--they've adapted. When I gave them the example of my Mom giving up chocolate for Lent or my dad giving up the TV (okay, this one was a lie) they were impressed. I didn't have the heart to tell them that most people really don't give up something that would be a big sacrifice to them. It's making me think this year I should really do that.

The students were also really interested to hear about Ash Wednesday, as they did not know about this "marking-with-the-ashes-to-remember-our-mortality-and-baptism" concept. Again, it helps me appreciate all these things I have just grown up to expect and not clearly understand...and motives me to research more into them. Thanks God!

Bird Flu

2006-02-22T21:12:00.000+02:00

So the Bird Flu is in Egypt.

Not a surprise.

What is also not a surprise is to hear that rumors are spreading about the bird flu.

Yesterday news spread around work that NO ONE should drink the tap water. Why? Because thousands of birds were apparently killed and thrown into the Nile, contaminating the water. By evening last night almost every store was completely out of bottled water, and prices were doubled. Today we heard it was a big lie. No birds in thrown into the Nile, and the water has just as much chlorine-shocked treatment as ever.

We (Egypt) are in a financial crisis due to this bird issue. The poultry industry provides work for approximately 2.5-3 million people in Egypt. Here people by their meat by going to the souk, picking out a live bird, and having the butcher kill it and sent it off with the buyer. Now, these butchers are without business. Everyone is afraid of birds.

I have noticed the lack of birds lately, in fact. Normally they roam the streets and the souks. Not now. Now they are all dead, or soon to be dead I suppose.

In the meantime people are eating a lot of swarma and minced meat. Even at work today no one wanted the shish tawook (chicken). Is this the new SARS?

Luxor Marathon

2006-02-22T21:01:00.000+02:00

Just returned from a vacation to Luxor and Aswan in Upper Egypt with Stephen, Jennifer, Sarah Fuller, and Brice Rogers. SUCH a great trip!
The main reason for the vacation was the Egyptian Marathon--the only recognized marathon in all of Egypt, and Stephen and I signed up for it. Actually, Stephen for the full and I signed up for the 1/2.

For the past couple months I've been training for this race, using it as a good excuse to try to stay in shape. Well, a couple weeks ago I was nasty ill, losing a lot of energy and nutrients with it, and just as I recovered I was kicked in the shin and ankle playing football with the kids and again couldn't run for a few days. Still, the race went so well! I finished in under two hours for the sixth place for women in the 1/2 marathon (out of 26 women) from around the world. Stephen finished in 3 hours 8 minutes and qualified for the Boston Marathon. The race started at Queen Hatshipsuts' Temple and looped around the Valley of the Nobles, Memnon, and the Valley of the Kings. How cool is that?! It was sweet to be running a race only to look up and see huge "Never Ending Story"-looking stone statues from antiquity staring down at you. Wonder if people ever had races back then? hehe...probably not.

It was an odd race, however. Although pretty well organized, the only food and drink at the service stations was water and bananas; and nothing to eat at the end. Thankfully I had friends handing out Stephen's powerbars and GU to replenish the body. Apparently two years ago they ran out of water and people had to stop racing! I think they took care of it this year.
Our spectators were the village children. The race was on Friday, the Muslim holiday, so the kids had no school. (I' m not even sure many go to school in the first place).

With only 400 or so racers, we really needed those kids to cheer us on, and they certainly did more than that! These kids ran with us! I'd say about 1/4 to 1/3 of the race I had children running along side of me in their floppy sandles keeping up as long as they could. When they got tired they would stop and rest only to hook up with more racers later. They also loved to give high-fives. In the first 10 miles I thought this was really cute, but in the last three miles it took too much energy to be slapping all those young hands. Still, they were great for pushing me along, because they loved to run just a bit ahead of me to show they could do it too, so I sped up a bit when I had them with me. I noticed some children had their own racing numbers, and they were legitimate! I realized they must have received them last year from some runners and kept them all year to wear them for this race. How adorable!

Going to Luxor for the race was the first priority, but so long as we were there, why not make a vacation out of it, right? :-) We spent three days in Luxor and Jennifer and I spent one day in Aswan visiting the Nubian village and bussing to Abu Simbel--the HUGE Ramses II temple just north of Sudan. The most exciting thing in Luxor was certainly all the tombs and temples. I just love seeing how people lived over 4000 years ago by looking at the pharonic art. You see people resting under trees, using mirrors to look at one's beauty, putting incense in one's hair as perfume, hunting animals with bows and arrows on a horse chariot, carrying water, fishing, funeral processions, constructing homes, making shoes, using money through a balance of weights system, women playing music with harp-looking instruments, giving and receiving gifts [specifically ivory, monkeys, and leopards from the foreigners], offering sacrifices and gifts to the Gods, punishing people with sticks, harvesting wheat, etc. It's incredible how constant human nature, the day-to-day lifestyles and customs, and the blessings and sorrows of our lives as humans are! Oh, and the jewelry of 4000 years ago would be fashionable today—that’s really cool.

I especially thought a lot about the Old Testament when as I was looking at the hieroglyphics and art. There was such an emphasis on pleasing the lords with offerings and sacrifices of gold and grains and animals. In Karnak temple there were areas designated only for the pharaoh and high priests, and some places only for the high priests, who were the only people who could reach the Gods. I’ve just finished reading Leviticus and Numbers and I’m finding many parallels between these books of the bible and the ancient Egyptian religious practices.

The one frustrating thing about Luxor is that it is such a tourist trap. Everything was expensive (relatively speaking) and we were hassled a lot. Jennifer, who was born in South Korea, really gets irritated with this because people always yell out to her saying “Chinese!” or “Japanese!” No one believes she is from America, and no one thinks Korea either. We decided she should start making up places that she’s from, since no one seems to know or believe her anyway. So, we started saying both of us were from “Pluto” (yes, the planet). Oh was this funny. “You are from Pluto? I hear Pluto is nice! Very nice!” or “Ah, yes, Pluto! Very good! Very good!” A couple times people asked, “Where is Pluto” but for the most part we got away with it. One time a man asked me where we were from and I said, “Guess.” I ‘guess’ he didn’t know the word because he said, “Oh, Guess, that is a nice place!” :-)

Other things we saw:
· We got caught in a funeral procession at one point. The men walk down the streets of the village carrying the casket while the woman, dressed from head to toe in black and some wailing, follow behind leaving a good 100m space between the sexes.
· We got caught in a protest in Luxor. Men and young boys were swarming the streets with posters protesting Denmark. Everyone was shouting and chanting and hitting the ground with sticks. Not too pleasant, but we didn’t get involved so that’s good.

Baseball...is this heaven? :-)

2006-02-14T22:55:00.000+02:00

Dad, this one's for you! :-)

At conversation class last night I decided to begin by explaining the game of baseball to the class. During the previous class I had mentioned the game and they didn’t know what it was all about but wanted to learn. So, I started by drawing the diamond and explaining the field positions, making little dots of blue for all the field players and dots of black for the batting team. I explained the positions of pitcher, catcher, short-stop, basemen, and outfielders. As I began to explain how the game works I realized they knew nothing about baseball at all. "A pitcher throws the ball to the catcher? Why? Why does he stand in the middle? Can you run from base 1 to 3? How can you have more people on one team playing than another?" Etc. Etc. I slowly explained how the batting works--describing how you get strikes and balls and why you can walk to a base and what other players do if you walk vs. if you run and what your own team does if you walk to a base and the ways you can get out and yada yada. "So, you get an out if the ball is caught in the air, but not if it bounces? Is the strike zone the same for everyone? Why three strikes and you’re out but four balls and you can walk?" I asked students to stand up to help demonstrate the actions/movement of the pitcher, catcher, and batter. When I asked the pitcher to pretend to throw a ball, he threw underhand. At this, I demonstrated how to throw the way I've watched my dad throw since I was a little girl, and this got the class laughing! Also, at first they also didn't understand why a catcher would be crouching down, but I think we settled that more or less when we talked about the strike zone. Still, I'm not sure how well it worked.

Then I made a game scenario using examples of all the rules I had just described. I pretended one person walked, one person had a foul, another made it to second base, one person tagged out, another person out by a fly ball, etc. I described what happened as each player was up to bat; whether or not they got a strike or ball depending on what they and the pitcher and batter did. Throughout all of this I had to describe how the other players ran around the bases as well, and why they would or would not want to continue to the next base. Finally one player made it to home plate and as I said, "This is one point for the batting team" and the whole class laughed and exclaimed with a sigh of relief, "Finally! You really have to do all that work for just one point?!"

After three outs I said the teams switched roles and did the same thing again. This is one inning, and a game is either 7 or 9 innings. So, the game time is based on how well the players perform, not on a time schedule like football (soccer) or basketball. So, a game can take 2 hours, or it can take four. This was another interesting concept to them.

About a half an hour later we were finished talking about baseball. Wow. I had no idea how hard it would be to explain the game and its rules to people who had no concept of the sport. At the end of our discussion on baseball one person stated, "So, this is a violent game." Huh? I never made any allusion to that! Another piped in, "Yes, people hit each other all the time. This is how we see it in the movies." I thought, "Oh, no, they are seeing baseball movies where the players fight over the calls or whatever. Shoot, not the best way to see the game." And then BINGO it hit me. I realized they were thinking of American Football! The entire time at least some of the students thought I was describing how to play football, not baseball! Ha! Where had the confusion began? Well, last week I had described baseball as the "Egyptian football of America" meaning football (soccer) is to Egypt what baseball is to America. (Although football is MUCH greater to Egypt than any sport is to America.) Oops...I'll try to not make that mistake again. Still, next week the students want to learn about American Football at the beginning of class...whew...

an evening with the Fira sisters

2006-02-14T22:45:00.000+02:00

Sunday afternoon I invited three sisters who are in the teen program at St. Andrews over to my Dawson Hall flat. Over the past couple months I have been getting to know one of them, Mariam Fira, very well. Mariam stops by my office nearly every day, gives me hugs, kisses my cheek, and tells me she misses me. I adore her. She and her two sisters, Faiza and Gitu, are from Ethiopia. They live with two brothers, their mom, and another woman and her son. The three girls and the older brother share a room--the boy sleeps in the bed and the three girls sleep on the floor. They are a very happy family, certainly full of sorrow (their father is 'lost' in Ethiopia) but full of so much joy as well.

After meeting the girls at St. Andrews I brought them over to Ghamra to have dinner in my flat. They were amazed about how big it was, and kept oohing and aahing over this and that. Within no time they were making themselves at home; taking it upon themselves to look through my photo albums, play some pingpong, and eat any candy that was lying around. When we started to cook, the three grabbed the vegetables, washed them, and started chopping away...even went so far as going to another room to boil water and cook for me. I was impressed to see how comfortable they were to be so proactive. I decided to make brown rice with my "egyptian" sause (i.e., what I make while living in Egypt...it's really not an Egyptian dish) of cooked/fried eggplant, zucchini, onions, broccoli in a pasta sause/tomato paste/fresh tomato sause. We also had cooked green beans with Balsamic Vinegarette. I knew Mariam loved white chocolate, so I had Stephen buy some of it for us. The girls have never eaten broccoli before! (They also didn't recognize the eggplant, but I bet they've had it in salads.) I'm not certain they enjoyed the food even though they said it was wonderful, but I'm glad they tried something new. :-)

After eating we decided to watch a movie, which was another joy for them. Mariam said she liked "high school" moives and they decided on "She's All That." The girls were either silent or laughing throughout the movie--they were really excited to see the film, and they understood it pretty well...though I'm not sure in this case that's a good thing.

After dinner we went to Mariam Ephram's home, a good hour away from where I live. Mariam is another student at St. Andrews from Eritrea and a good friend to the Fira girls. She was 'traveling' (resettling) that night to NYC. Wow! Mariam really wanted me to see her one more time and asked that all four of us come to her home. What an honor to be there on the last night! When we arrived at her flat, the place was packed full of family, neighbors, and friends saying their goodbyes. In one room people were watching the home video from the going-away party held the day before at a church, in another room people were making sure all the suitcases and packages were put together and accounted for, another room was full of adult women discussing who knows what, and in the kitchen all the teens were hanging out and laughing. In less than an hour of being there it was time for the Ephrams to go, and we gathered outside to load up the van and see them off to the airport. Since I had a camera I was taking as many pictures as possible to send to Mariam later. Mariam kept saying that she was so scared, so uncertain. Although very exciting, I can only imagine how frightening it must be for them to move to America and leave behind everything and everyone. Thankfully Mariam has an uncle in NYC who hooked them up with a flat and get help them get situation. She is excited to join the 10th grade when she arrives, although I'm not sure her English is going to be good enough for that grade. We'll see...

I didn't get the Fira girls home until 11:30pm that night. It was a late night for me, but for them it was an incredibly unique evening. Their mom never lets them go out, but because they were with me she was okay with it. Before Sunday I had only met the mom once and yet she was putting all of her trust in me. In fact, the Fira girls had never been to Mariam's home before, even though she lives quite close and they are good friends. I realized the only reason they were able to go that night was because I was with them. I felt my responsibility as a caretaker and protector shoot way up, but I was pleased to have earned their trust.

Egypt wins!

2006-02-14T16:04:00.000+02:00

Egypt is victorious!

Mabrook for Egypt!

Yes, Egypt won the African Cup on Friday night in a shoot-out after a game of no scoring. What an intense night for Egypt! I was in Maadi, a good hour south of where I live in Cairo, watching the game at Lynn and Dick's home with the other volunteers. I won't say who (must protect our identities!) but two of us rooted for Ivory Coast and the rest of us wanted Egypt to win. I forgot how much I can really enjoy a competitive game. Can't wait for Basketball in America!

During the game the streets were relatively quiet as everyone had their eyes glued to the TV screen. A number of movie theatres even opened doors to show the game on the big screen. After the Egyptian win the streets were absolutely nuts. We took a taxi home from Maadi and ended up getting caught in a number of mobs on the street. I bought an Egyptian flag earlier in the day and waved it out the window through the streets, screaming "Yeah Egypt!" In fact, most cars of people had flags out the windows, people had their face painted red, white, and black, and everyone was honking and shouting. People were running through the streets with aerosol containers making sparks of fire, lighting off fireworks, doing cartwheels, banging on drums, and dancing around. Even some of the highways were swarmed so many people it stopped traffic. It was the most festive moment I’ve ever witnessed. The entire country banded together that night in exuberant joy. No one could use his cell phone for a good hour because the signals were so busy. I found that people smiled at me in a new way as well—it was a comradely I never experienced until that night when I was shouting joys of victory alongside the Egyptians. Great fun!

Aside: Earlier in the day I went to Islamic Cairo and toured Al Azhar Mosque---with the oldest university in world! I absolutely love Islamic art, and the mosque was gorgeous! Across the street is Al-Hussein Mosque, one of the most holy places in the Islamic world with the head of Hussein (the Prophet's grandson) inside.

African Cup and mild sand storm

2006-02-08T15:59:00.000+02:00

Last night was a victory for Egyptians. It's African Cup time here, so for the past couple of weeks the energy has been building as football (soccer) teams from around Africa have been competing for the African Cup title here in Cairo. Oh is it a big deal! Think of the hype for Superbowl and multiply it by 10. Or, if you are from Nebraska, think of game day for a Husker football game and times it by 5. Truly, things stop for these games. Even RCG had a half day yesterday due to the game. People are either at the game or glued to their TVs at home or in the sheesha shops yelling, laughing, and throwing their fists left and right. The traffic has been even more ridiculous than normal, if you can imagine that! Last night around 10pm the streets going into Cairo were at a stand-still and it looked like a tailgating party. Young adult men were waving Egyptian flags out of their car windows, running and screaming through the streets, and honking horns. If I didn't know it was due to a game victory I would have thought a riot was going on. Around 11pm my Egyptian friend Essam, who I haven't talked with for about a month, called. He was exuberant. Really, I had never heard him so happy. He called because he wanted to share the joy of the victory. "This is so good for Egypt, Sarah, you have no idea. We are all so very happy!" Friday marks championship game day.

Today has also been 'special' due to the weather. The wind is blowing hard and it's one of the coldest days we've had here. The 'special' part is the sky--it's full of sand. Although we're not in a full-out sand storm by any means, we are getting a taste of it today. There is a golden haze everywhere you look, and everyone's eyes are watering and people are coughing. Thankfully I have my handy-dandy good-luck sunglasses with me so I was able to avoid most of the sand-in-the-eye issues. Still, there is sand everywhere, and it seeps through doors and windows. Today at work I had to borrow printing paper from a printer near the window in my office (Matthew's desk) and the top page was filthy with dirt and sand. Not even twenty minutes later I asked Matthew for more paper and already the top paper was covered with a fine layer of sand again. The window in the bathroom was open for most of the day and the toilet beneath it was covered with black and brown sand/dirt. I'm interested (mumkin) to see a real sand storm...maybe. Actually, for an hour or two, it's quite fun!

update 8 feb: one more thing--I spent some time in The Arc yesterday and heard people saying "Madam" and trying a few French words. At that, I spent the next hour teaching a couple of them to speak greetings in both French and Spanish. Today when I saw Adam I noticed he had a couple papers with him in which he was practicing writing out "Gracias", "?et tu?", "Parle-vous francais?" etc. He said he spent the rest of the day yesterday practicing his Spanish, and next he will work on French. :-)

A new conversation class!

2006-02-06T20:08:00.000+02:00

I just returned from teaching Week 2 of the new semester at the Coptic Cathedral. I am now teaching level 6/7 class, a step up from the last class. And, as always, I LOVE IT! (Really, I think I need to be a teacher...just don't know who and what to teach.)

Tonight we had conversation on "Cultural Perspectives: Family Life in Egypt and America." (Yeah, catchy title, I'm creative ;-) Really, it was enlightening for all of us!

During the first half of class we talked a lot about childhood and teenage years. When I asked the class what children do for household chores (a new phrase for them) or responsibilities they all said "homework." That's it. What about making the bed? Brushing teeth? Doing dishes? Not fighting with your brother or sister? Taking the dog out for a walk? (Okay, that last chore not the least bit likely, but it's the point that counts.) Nope. The only responsibility(s) they could come up with is doing homework and having fun. With that, I decided to show them "The Chart." You know the one; where Mom writes all the kids names on the Y axis, the list of chores on the X axis, and puts stickers or stars in the boxes when a chore is completed. At the end of the week, you count the number of stars/stickers and you are rewarded with ice cream or a movie or money or whatever. The class was pretty intrigued by this, and an hour later at the end of class one woman came up to me and thanked me for the idea. She said she's going to try this chart concept with her children. I'm excited to hear how it goes!~

Then we discussed teenage years and the 'rights of passage' (another new phrase) into adulthood. I told them about driving at 16, smoking, voting, and gambling at 18, and drinking alcohol at 21. They were totally floored with these age markers. "So you mean you cannot buy a cigarette if you are 17?" [In Egypt, anyone can buy a cigarette.] "That's correct." "But, what if you are caught smoking and you are only 16?" "Well, unless the parents are upset, nothing really." "Well, then why do you have this law if it is not enforced?" A decent question. "And if you are under 21 and caught with alcohol, what happens?" "You are in trouble; maybe you go to jail." "And the parents are in trouble as well, right? Who is punished for this?" Hmmm...bingo. Difference in culture again. In America's individualistic society, only the person doing the crime is punished, but in Egypt it's a family ordeal.

Speaking of family ordeals, we soon started talking about marriage. In Egypt, you must have money, your own flat, and a stable job (if you are man) in order to get married. If you are woman, you must be patient and wait for a man (who is often 'chosen' by the family members) to have money, a flat, and a good job. Certainly an issue in a country where over 35% of the population is unemployed, and much more cannot afford his own flat.

I told them in America, you don't really need anything to get married. If you are in love, you can easy get married. We hit the jackpot with this topic, let me tell you! Suddenly questions were being asked left and right about issues of marriage and religion. While there are similarities in our views of love and marriage, there are great differences as well. When I asked the students what they desire in a companion, they said such things as, "someone close to your age, someone your family likes, someone with the same religion, someone with a stable job, someone with responsibility, someone you love."

For these Coptic Christians, divorce is not an option. It simply does not happen for them. In fact, they could not understand how someone can be following the bible (be a Christian) and get a divorce. I tried to explain issues of falling out of love, dealing with domestic abuse, etc. but found that I really hard a hard time expressing the issue. Even with abuse, one student said, "Then the father must leave for a while, control himself, and come back to the family." When I explained that sometimes the father (or mother) just doesn't come back for a variety of reasons, a student asked, "But, he is still the father, isn't he?" "Yes, he is." Look of confusion.

One student said, "Why is it okay for a man and woman to live together and have a child but not be married?" Another said, "So, you have strick rules about smoking and drugs but not about parenting and marriage? I don't understand." As the conversation continued, I found myself having a harder time understanding and/or expressing my culture as well. I mean, in a sense, it's interesting that we believe 20 year olds are not responsible enough to handle alcohol, yet there is no restriction on the same person for being a child into this world.

An interesting tid-bit: According to the students, the Coptic Church says a woman can marry a man up to 15 years older than her (but no more) and a man can marry a woman up to 3 years older than him (but no more). [However, this does not seem to be enforced.]

Henna and a shared meal

2006-02-06T16:45:00.000+02:00

Whenever I need a break at work, I spend time in The Arc with the women and men creating artwork. I sit around the sewing table talking in broken English with the woman who drink tea and we make great attempts at communication. A couple weeks ago, one woman, Miriam, decided she would like to dress me up for a Sudanese wedding, minus an actual wedding. So, near the end of the day on Thursday I made my way down to The Arc where Miriam and a few other women where waiting for me. The commotion began.

First, the women shielded me from the men by putting up a large sheet at the back of The Arc. This way I was able to properly undress down to a tank top with modesty. The women told me where to walk, where to sit, how to sit, and how to move. Miriam’s henna artist friend (her cousin) started her drawings, beginning with my upper arms. With the henna paint she drew flower designs around my arms, down my arms, and all over my hands. While the henna was drying, Miriam pulled out her bag of ‘goodies’—huge golden jewelry and headdresses to complete my wedding day outfit. After the henna dried, the woman pulled me out of the chair and led me outside to the hose, where they washed the henna off my skin to see the brown dye underneath. They then lathered me with a particular cream used to darken the henna into black markings. As the cream dried, the woman joked around about this “wedding day” for me…for a woman with henna is a married woman. Unfortunately, there was no man in my life to share it with. :-)

More ‘goodies’ came out of the bag full of Sudanese wedding materials. There were huge, heavy necklaces, gold bracelets, dangling 5-inch earrings that also clasped onto my nose, headdresses with black hair and jewels, purple and green scarves, etc. As the women put layer over layer of beads and fabrics over my head, around my arms and wrists, and around my shoulders, I felt completely at their whim, completely humbled. I was pampered. Miriam’s daughter and son, both students at the school, used my camera to take pictures. It was like taking senior pictures. They oohed and ahhed over me, telling me to put my hands here or head there and put the shall this way or that way. After each shot the children would giggle and show me the photo, then fight over who could take the next one.

Really, I felt like it was my wedding day, with all that attention and pampering. It is uncomfortable for me to have people serve me in such a way, so I had to keep reminding myself, “Be humble, be humble, this is their gift to you, just let yourself enjoy it and not worry about how much they are serving you.”

Still, I wanted to do something to show my appreciation, and after some thought I decided I should use my camera to photograph the family. I mean, the kids were going nuts over that thing, so photos could be a cool gift! Before I knew it, I basically invited myself over to Miriam’s home to take photos of her family. I suppose there’s no better way to meet the whole family, but I immediately realized that once again I’d be the guest, the one being served, in their home.

Yesterday was the day. Miriam’s oldest son Mohamed met me at St. Andrews at noon to bring me to the home. Mohamed is probably in his late 20s and spoke English pretty well. In fact, he’s the only one in the family who can really speak much English. Together we hopped on a microbus and it sped through the Cairo streets past the pyramids out to a suburb of Cairo. I didn’t realize we’d be out so far (it took an hour or so) but what a treat! The air was so fresh out there and I spent quite a bit of time on their porch soaking in the sun and breathing deep—a major blessing living in Egypt!

We took a quick stop for bread at Hyper One, the grocery store. As we walked into the mall we saw huge signs at every entrance and exit stating, “To Protect Our Islamic Identity Hyper One is Boycotting all Products from Denmark." Now, I've heard a lot about this issue of the Danish cartoons depicting Mohamed with a bomb-shaped turban, and know a few NON-practicing Muslims who are extrememly offended by it, but this really hit home. Teri just told me she saw a street full of cars with a sign stating something along the lines of, "Down with Haters of Islam, Destroy Demark today" in the back window.

When we arrived at the home, Miriam and the kids—Lubaba, Asga, Hadeel, and Sadam—were busy cooking. I took time to wander around the modest home, taking pictures of people in action. Like many modest Egyptian homes, the rooms are quite bare with very few material possessions with the exception of a huge satellite TV as the heart of the room. The kids took turns cooking and channel surfing the 200+ channels. Often they watched the Sudan channel with a music contest show and random talk-shows about the Danish cartoons and what it really means to be a Muslim. During the music contest the kids would shyly dance in their couch until I noticed and then giggle and stop. Miriam came into the room and danced a little for us, to which the kids giggled again and felt more confident to dance themselves. Eventually everyone was dancing in his seat.

As Mohamed made fruit salad, I helped the kitchen folk make the meal. It literally took FOUR hours before we were finished. We would cook one dish and I would think we were finished, but suddenly more food would come out and we’d start cooking again. A couple times Miriam said [in Arabic], “Today, I cook, you watch. Tomorrow, you cook, I watch!” and we laughed. I assured her I would come back and cook for the family one day, but for now I wanted to continue slicing potatoes. By four o’clock we were finished cooking and ended up with tomatoes, zucchini, and eggplant stuffed with meat and rice, home-made french fries, chicken nuggets, spaghetti with mushroom tomato sauce, a potato-meat dish, and babaganouh with bread. We had fresh orange juice and strawberry ice cream as well. Everything was cooked with a load of oil, and I was a bit nervous about my stomach (being that I’m still quite ill), but it was a wonderful meal.

It’s incredible what can be communicated without words. A lack of a common language is frustrating, no doubt, but the majority of our communication comes through body language, facial expressions, and a lot of gesturing. I spent most of the time observing, however. I was so impressed with the hospitality and servanthood of this family (and the Sudanese and Egyptian culture). I, as the guest, was consistently served first and given the best of everything. Then, all the kids made sure Mom was all set with food, drinks, and when she needed it, rest. Everyone was quick to help with the food preparation and the dish washing--no questions asked.

By 7:00pm I was thinking it was time to get going, so I started taking the family photos. Miriam's younger cousin, the woman who painted henna on my body, arrived with her husband and joined in. As I was getting ready to leave, she asked me to first come to her home and take photos with her daughters, as she only lived a 10 minute walk away. Sure! On the way I started teaching her English, explaining the difference between "in" and "on" with such sentences as "the car is ON the road" and "the mobile is IN my purse." The family plans to resettle in Australia someday and wants to learn English.

Boy was I glad to visit her home; her three children were absolutely adorable. Within the first minute of being in the home I sat down and the youngest, a one or two-year old, came over and sat on my lap. She never left that spot and occasionally buried her head in my chest. At first she was a quiet one, but once she started talking you couldn't stop her. She told the family I was her "aunt"--not a guest, but a family member. She played with my hair, twisting and turning it. She told Asga to braid my hair, since he's the one with special braiding skills. When I finally needed to leave, she wouldn't go back to her mom and insisted that I stay. Oh, it was so fun! I love children!

Just before I left, Sadam ran up to me and held out his hand. In it was a picture of famous Moroccan woman singer in a heart-shaped plastic keychain with a light. Assuming that these children have very few positions, I couldn't believe it. I insisted that he keep it for himself, but he wouldn't have it. Wow, so humbling. I can't wait for the next visit when I cook for them!

(Addition: As I was looking around the house, I noticed a few familiar things---a plastic blue bowl with yellow flowers on it, some Panteen Pro-V shampoo and conditioner, and various articles of clothing--all from donations at St. Andrews.)

A parasite

2006-02-06T16:03:00.000+02:00

I went to the doctor this morning to get another opinion on my nasty condition.

We'll get Final Results tonight, but as of now he said I have a parasite and an intestional infection. A parasite: an organism that grows, feeds, and is sheltered on or in a different organism while contributing nothing to the survival of its host. Oh does that ever explain so much. Now, I'm not at all happy at the idea that I have little worms in me eating me away (that explains the weight loss, the low energy, and other things you don't want to read), but there IS some good that came from all this.

What are the good things about being ill?

A. You get to use your imagination while using chicken broth.
B. You are on the brink of knowing the best brand of toilet paper around.
C. You learned the true meaning of Christian charity. I have been hosting a parasite for almost two weeks. [But, there is a time when you must say "bug off" and the time is now.]
D. You start reading the bible, because you have so much time on your hands lounging around.
E. A quick and easy weight-loss plan.

Truth-- During this illness I picked up the bible and decided I'd read it all in 90 days following the "Bible in 90 Days" series. It's great! I'm already on day 7 and really enjoying it! There is a silver lining to everything, isn't there?

Teacher Training

2006-01-31T21:01:00.000+02:00

Saturday 28 January. I am on cloud nine right now. Totally joyfulness! I just returned from our first Teacher Training session with the CEP teachers. Naadia Momberg, an educational psychologist who lives with us at RCG, agreed to run a three-part teacher training series on (Discipline, creative teaching, etc.) Every teacher was able to come, and they spent the two hours in total listening-mode. My staff is very determined to learn more about teaching, and I’m so pumped!

Naadia is from South Africa, so she was able to really connect with our refugee staff who also are trying to rebuilt a war-torn country. Naadia spoke of her country’s issues of war and violence, quoting Nelson Mandela regarding the replacement of guys for pencils and paper. He once said, “Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.” I agree, and so does the staff.

The main reason I’m so excited about this is because I have never been involved in something that mattered so much. I mean, these children are the future of Sudan! We need to teach them life skills now, because their parent’s generation doesn’t know it and can’t teach it. They need to have functional math, functional science, functional English. At the same time, we need to think about what we are telling them about the rules of the world; about morality and conflict resolution and teamwork. When I sat in the teacher training session today I could just feel the positive energy in the room! It’s been so gloomy for these refugees for so long, and the demonstration has really put them over the edge. But for those couple of hours at least, we were really getting somewhere. Now I pray that we can build on that and see what good can come from this.

a lesson for life

2006-01-25T21:08:00.000+02:00

This has been a week of growing and learning for me.

The incident
The school week began early Monday morning when Dick and I taxied our way into St. Andrews and found ourselves bombarded with over 40 adult refugees who game looking for money. Apparently word got out that St. Andrew's was giving out $300 is US bills and a blanket to anyone who showed up. Not true. As the hour went on, more and more people were showing up and in the end Dick shooed everyone away and no one got help. For the rest of the day (and most of Tuesday) Dick, John, and a couple others stayed at the closed gate to make sure only students and staff were allowed inside the compound. I went out for lunch at one point and saw a good hundred refugees just hanging around, waiting, even though Atia at the gate told them they must leave.

My Reaction
At first I was really upset. I mean, these people need HELP, and they need help NOW! We have the means to help, so why don't we? But, as the day went on I could understand Dick's wisdom in making everyone leave. Let me back up. See, last Wednesday I held a teacher's meeting, and I told the staff we have some money from AMERA so they should invite people to come in for financial help. The next morning a good 30 people came in, so Dick and Matthew spent the majority of the day interviewing most of them and handing out aid. Also, one of my teachers brought a list of his tribal members who were just let out of jail and have nothing because they lost it all at the park. Dick agreed to help the people on the list. Thing is, news travels fast in Sudanese circles, so when one person comes to get help, 10 more will show up the next day, so on and so forth. Hense the situation Monday morning. It's such a disaster, because we need to help people, but once we help one we need to help literally thousands. (Another example; after the demonstration breakup, one refugee school opened their doors to 200 people, but a couple thousand showed up and eventually they had to shut it all down.) There are problems with mob mentality and security and desperation and everything. We can't just open our doors, because it would be absolute chaos, and we have a school and church to take care of. Also, we have to be careful with the police, because they can shut down the school if they want. So, we have to keep a low profile.

What did I learn?
First of all, I'm a people-pleaser. I've always known this, and I've managed to find a good balance in life where I want to serve others while also not sacrificing myself. But, so often I come up with grandiose ideas and jump right into something with passion and energy. I don’t always look to the future to see what the outcomes might be. In my personal life I have really improved on this, but I need to think about it in this job as well. I think part of me just wants it all to “just work” since we are here to help people and we can do just that. So, we should do it! But, like anything else, it isn’t immediate, even when I want it to be. There is a system to it, and order, and organization. This experience is helping me appreciate so many NGOs, with their red-tape and hoops and all. There is a good reason for such categorizing, ordering, classifying, and regulation.

One thing to think about: good intentions do not always lead to good outcomes. It’s unfortunate, but it happens so often in missionary work and humanitarian aid work. Those of us with better educations, more resources, a lot of drive, etc. come into situations wanting to do everything in our capacity to help others, and sometimes we just mess it up. Sometimes we try to change things too fast. Sometimes we change things people don’t want to be changed. Sometimes what we are doing divides peoples more than it keeps them together.

For one thing, sometimes we are getting to a point where we are contributing to other’s dependability on a system. So many of us continue to give, give, give. What should we really be doing for others? Think of the classic story of a man who is one day given a fish, so he continues to visit every day to receive a fish. However, had the man learned how to fish himself he would be self-sufficient and reap loads of fish himself. Regarding the refugee situation, we need to find a way to the balance the immediate needs of people while also providing them with the skills for future self-sufficiency.

Our Role?
My mind whirls thinking about this. For the past couple weeks all I can think about is what we should or should not be doing at St. Andrews. How can we really develop people so they can rebuild their country one day? The more I think about it, the more I feel St. Andrews had a HUGE responsibility. We are training the people who will one day be running the wealthiest countries in Africa. (South Sudan has enough fertile farm land to feed all of Africa, tons of gold and oil, the Nile, etc. Once it’s rebuilt it will be an extremely wealthy place.) Because of the war(s), generations have been skipped. The Sudanese youth are not prepared to be teachers, doctors, engineers, peace-makers, cooks, lawyers, politicians, etc. It is essential to concentrate on what is happening now, because it will be the foundation of the future. Sudan is, for the most part, literally starting from ground zero. One thing we have to realize we’re not dealing with ‘institutions’ that existed in the past and were suddenly/continually destroyed from decades of war and famine. They didn’t exist to begin with. We are truly on the ground level in building a nation, and the only people who can really do it are the Sudanese themselves. Therefore, what they know and believe is of vital importance.

Lately I’ve been feeling like I’m spreading myself too thin. There are so many things I want to work on, develop, change, improve, etc. and I’m running around and hitting dead-ends. I’m coming to a point where I think I need to just sit down, make a list of these ideas, prioritize, and start crossing out a bunch. Frankly, not everything is going to work out ‘just as I see it.’ As Brice said, my position at St. Andrew’s is probably changing me more than I’m changing the organization. Organizations have a certain elasticity and a long memory. I’m going to get burnt out if I expect too much from it. So, we have to start somewhere. It begins this weekend, with the first day of teacher training. Insha ‘allah this will get somewhere….

any given week

2006-01-25T21:04:00.000+02:00

On any given day at St. Andrews a number of emotions run through me, from spirited joy to utter frustration. Take this week for instance. Beyond everything I just wrote in the other entry, add to that these couple of issues.
One: One of our teacher’s sisters was killed at the demonstration. She had just married one month ago.
Two: I just found out another teacher’s daughter died on December 23rd. She was sick for only a short time toward the end of December, and we gave money to cover the hospital bills while the girl went home feeling much better on December 18th. Yesterday I asked Peter, "How's your daughter doing?!" and he said, "Oh, Sarah, she died." Yelp. Fortunately he was able to talk it out and I think he'll be okay. He said, "God brings death along with life. We have to learn just to accept it, even though we are really struggling." His daughter was six.
Three: One of my favorite students, Fathi from a teen class, ‘traveled’ today. She came to school last Monday, the first day of class, to tell me she found out she’ll be resettled in New Mexico. She came again today to say goodbye. She is excited but also so very scared. I cried. Four: Yesterday Lynn started counseling the teen students in the aftermath of the protest break-up, who are in the process of learning that it’s okay for them to express how they feel. Some were able to admit their fear, anger, and grief. Others are plastering their wounds with walls so high the puss and infection of their hearts is only going to eat away inside of them until they allow themselves to let it out. They will never forget what happened, and how they learn to deal with now will impact them in the future.

may hope prevail

2006-01-22T23:54:00.000+02:00

The past week at St. Andrews was busy with the sounds of people rushing around, talking, laughing, and resting. It was an odd week in many ways. On the one hand, I was in a great mood after the month break from school. I was so excited to see my friends--the staff and students--and share our jokes and laughs like always. Plus, I love to be busy and I thrive on challenges, so it was a great week in that respect too. However, it was tough week for everyone else. Africans are incredibly resilient people; I suppose they’ve learned to be after living in a civil war for most or all of their life. I think their great humor comes out of this—comedy is a great healer and coping mechanism.

Still, this week was especially gloomy. As I said in the last blog, I walked into Monday morning seeing a student who had been beaten up at the protest break up. Most of our staff is housing people who have almost nothing—sometimes not even more than the clothes on their backs. Hope is giving way to bitterness, anger, and hopelessness. The Sudanese have trouble going back to Sudan (because of visas, there is nothing left for them in Sudan, they are scared, etc.), they are not being resettled to other countries, and they are dealing with intense discrimination in this country that doesn’t want them. Now, they don’t know who to trust, as they are disillusioned about the UNHCR and lack trust in that organization.

We are doing as much as we can at St. Andrew’s to help out. Much of this week was spent interviewing adults who had been at the demonstration and now have nothing. They are seeking any help they can get, and we are able to provide some money for food, clothes, and shelter. But, it’s not much. Their stories are horrible. One woman came in after she had been released from prison (about 180 women and children were finally released from children this past Wednesday night after being held for over two weeks) only to find out her two children had been killed. Other people are still desperately trying to find their children, parents, or other family members…they are not sure if the family members are alive or dead. Right now they are just “missing.” Once all refugees are released from prison a final count can be taken. Right now it looks like about 200-300 people actually died, but this is not being reported. It seems the ‘world’ has already forgotten this incident has even happened.

One of our Adult Education teachers, a northern Sudanese woman named Rania, has been working her butt off to help us find therapists for the students. Today, Rania, two of her students, and I went to AMERA, a Legal Aid for refugees. Rania was concerned about the mental state of these two students. One had been understandably depressed/low before the protest breakdown, but suddenly became joyful afterwards; a certain contradiction of emotions. The other student had said, “This [death, beating, etc.] isn’t new to me. I’ve seen my family killed in front of me; it happened three times in Sudan. I’m okay.” No, not okay. I had decided to come with them to AMERA today to get a sense of the aid and see if I could make some connections for our children in the program. I walked away with a good meeting and some forms under my belt. Insha ‘allah we’ll be able to get some students there. Also, Rania was able to get another woman’s name for me to connect who might be able to come to St. Andrew’s to meet with students individually during the school day. Oh, let it be so!

On a good note, our staff is just incredible. It almost brings me to tears thinking of how great they are—really supportive of each other and working so hard to continue to be strong and a good role model for the students. I told some of them to be careful about how they act around the students—even if they have bitterness in their hearts they must not pass it onto the children and continue the rift with Egypt. I suppose I don’t pick up on everything, but I really believe they are doing an amazing job at keeping things positive despite the intense suffering they are dealing with as well.

I get so frustrated at this point. Thing is, I want to help them in any way I can, but there is a very large boundary. For one, I don’t speak the language, so automatically I cannot connect with most of the people. Secondly, I cannot empathize with them. I can sympathize until the cows come home, but I have no concept of what they are truly going through. Third, cultural barriers; in other words, I can’t read people as well as I can with Westerners. With Americans I can be insightful and perceptive about what’s really going on, but I just can’t read the Sudanese. This frustrates me to no end, because in some cases I, or someone I know, have the resources to help. Really, want I want to do is be there to listen, knowing that’s the best way I can serve. But, why would someone want to talk to someone who would be just like talking to a wall, since I wouldn’t understand? Anyhow, I know this issue is so beyond myself (it’s not ‘about me’ at all), I just have the passion to do more and feeling somewhat stuck.

Over the weekend I went to Minya and had a wonderful time with Stephen, Eric, and Samia (Stephen’s boss, who invited us over for lunch). Yesterday I spent the day traveling with the seminary folk (including the Luther Seminary students) around the villages of Minya, where Medhat (and Egyptian seminary student) is the pastor of a church. The village was your typical Egyptian Upper Egypt village; dirt streets, donkeys and water buffalos roaming the streets, children running around playing in the dirt, little running water and electricity, smiling, joyful people in need of dental work, and incredible hospitality. Medhat’s church is in the process of being rebuilt. Right now it’s just the foundation of mud and bricks, and they are waiting for more donations in order to start the next phase. Medhat’s determination is so inspiring; ½ the week he’s working intensely as a student in Cairo and the other half he’s trying to build a church in a village. Please pray for his ministry! A joy to share about this; most of the village is Muslim, and the Muslims have been some of the greatest help in building the church through donations and manual labor. Once again I get the sense God’s love and blessings shine through those with “little” to show those of us with “much” what life is really all about. Gotta love how Jesus turns the tables. :-)

Right now, please pray for the safety and protection of the Sudanese. Pray that they learn to forgive and keep their hearts filled with love and peace. From Romans 15:13; "May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit."

Hate and Love

2006-01-17T00:45:00.000+02:00

It’s the first day back to school! I can’t tell you how excited I was to return to St. Andrew’s today. For the past two weeks I’ve felt pretty lazy and useless, and too much time to sit around and think is never a good thing for me. So, back to work it is, and what I joy! I missed seeing the teachers and students and staff so much. One of the teen students came to my office to inform me that she’ll be “traveling” on the 26th of this month, meaning she will resettle, specifically in New Mexico. What?! No warning! I was so sad to think of her leaving I actually cried, right there in front of her. Thing is, in past years this was so common; people were resettled all the time. Since the peace in Sudan, however, resettlement has mostly stopped. Of course, this is a happy moment for the student and her family, so I reminded myself in those tears that they are also tears of joy for her future, even when my selfishness wishes her to leave at the end of the term, not now. :-)

While the day was full of joyous hugs and kisses as we reunited with each other, it was also full of sadness. I spent a good portion of the day talking with students and teachers about the violence that ensued last week when Egyptian authorities raided the camp where thousands of refugees have held a 24/7 demonstration for the past three months. From what I know (which may be incorrect…I’ll keep searching for the truth in this), the ‘leaders’ of this demonstration finally signed an agreement with the UNHCR in which the UNHCR would offer financial assistance for housing and interviews on refugee status (esp. for closed file people) in return for the evacuation of all demonstrators in the camp area. (For the past few months, the UNHCR has been trying to meet the demonstrators’ demands, but has not had the resources or authority to fulfill such demands, such as resettlement to a western country.) Unfortunately, the leaders did not inform the demonstrators about their end of the bargain, and they continued to live in the grassy area in front of a mosque in Mohandeseen. After another week passed, the Egyptian government had no choice but to surround the area and demand the refugees leave the area. The refugees refused. Finally, around 3:30am on December 29th, police started firing water cannons at the protestors.

Women and children tried to hide under blankets, already chilled to the bone in these cold Cairo nights. Violence irrupted, and a stampede followed. Egyptian police were clubbing the refugees, and the refugees fought back. Only 27 deaths have been reported, but all I’ve heard in the past week is that the number is much higher—like 200 to 300 people, mostly children who were trampled.

Every refugee I spoke with today had a friend, family member, or clan member die or sent to jail in this mess. Our teachers have been quick to respond. Many are housing the homeless demonstrators for the time being, and just as many have spent this holiday break helping others look for lost loved ones. Some are in jail, some are dead. On my desk is a list of eleven children (including their name, age, and tribe) who are still looking for their parents. John Peter showed me a photograph from BBC, pointing out his friend who was being forced into a bus.

One of our students, an 8-year old boy who was at the demonstration, was badly beaten. His younger sister, four years old, was sent to jail for 2 weeks until Dick was finally able to get her out. She came to St. Andrew’s yesterday with her mom and brother, explaining that every time she tried to cry in the jail someone would cover her mouth with their hand to silence her. Another student , whose mother had been badly beaten (with broken arms and shoulders), has been traumatized and spent much of the day talking about her feelings to one of the teachers. All of the students are traumatized. Mariam tried to get her students to talk about it, first by asking them what came to mind when she said the name of the park where we took the field trip on Dec. 22nd. They said such things as “good food, reminds me of home, fun bike riding, good games.” Then she asked them what they thought when she said the name of the park, and the class grew silent. Finally some said, “babies dying, water, cold…” As I was discussing this with Mariam, one student brought her a drawing of the park (by this point Mariam’s class was in Art), showing violent police officers, crying children, and many exclaiming questions of “Why?!”

I’m holding a teacher’s meeting on Wednesday to discuss ideas of what we can do to help. What we really need is a professional counselor; someone who speaks Arabic and would be willing to serve us for awhile. Some are concerned the children won’t talk to any Egyptian right now, so we aren’t sure where to find an appropriate professional. Then again, maybe it would be beneficially for them to talk to an Egyptian counselor. Right now what I fear most is the hatred that is breeding within the hearts of Sudanese and Egyptians alike.

*****
It is Martin Luther King Jr. Day in America. This afternoon I downloaded one of his speeches to read and ponder. King spoke so strongly of nonviolence, of peace, of justice, of love. No matter how much people continued to hate him because of the color of his skin, he never let hatred enter his heart. Ironically, last night I watched the three-hour movie Gandhi, and found myself thinking about such issues of hatred and love. I thought, “Gandhi is a great man; I wish I could be filled with that much love even when those around me are beating me down.” I find I’ve often failed at filling my heart with love for the people who have demoralized and harassed me this year in Egypt. Sometimes I really feel like I’m being weak in this way; that I need to have thicker skin and a kinder soul. I went to bed last night feeling encouraged to wake up today with greater love than the day before. Now, I pray that our Sudanese and Egyptian friends can do the same.

Gandhi once said, “People fight for two reasons—for change or for punishment. I say leave the punishment for God.” I hope in the days to come we all fight for change, and fill our hearts with love as we do it.

News articles:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/4569662.stm (The man in the photos is our teacher’s
friend.)
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/4568340.stm

Eid al Adha (Jan. 10th)

2006-01-11T02:19:00.000+02:00

Today was the Eid el Adha, or the feast of sacrifice. Apparently it’s the “greater” feast but actually less celebrated than the Eid el Fitr, which is at the end of Ramadan. The Eid el Adha remembers Abraham’s readiness to sacrifice is son to Allah, and it is celebrated on the last days of the annual pilgrimage to Mecca. (There are about 2 million Muslims on pilgrimage right now.) Before the feast is the prayer at Mt. Arafat, then the symbolic stoning of Satan by throwing pebbles at a certain monument. The next act is the sacrifice. In a sense, those participating in the sacrifice are participating in the pilgrimage of those in Mecca. “As you are able,” each family is expected to sacrifice a sheep. However, at roughly Le 900 for each sheep, most individual families cannot afford the sheep. With whatever is purchased, 1/3 of the meat should be given to the poor, 1/3 given to friends, and 1/3 is left for one’s family to enjoy. It is common that on such festival days Muslims take great concern that the poor are taken care of, as it is one of the five pillars of Islam. (See end of entry for a quick review of Islam.)

The Eid lasts all week, so all eight of us volunteers are on holiday from work. While some of our group is traveling around Egypt, taking cruises down the Nile, or going to Beirut, a few of us are still here to participate in the once-in-a-lifetime (for me, anyhow) witnessing of the sheep sacrifice. Jennifer, Stephen, John (Stephen’s friend), Andrew, Erin (Jen’s visitor), and I woke up at 4:00am this morning to walk through the dark streets towards the seminary to meet with a group of students and professors from Luther Seminary. Even though Cairo is the city that never sleeps, I was a bit surprised at how many people were awake at 4:30am. I saw a number of convenience-type stores, juices stands, and automobile stores open. A 24-hour internet café was half full of Egyptian men playing video games. For the next three hours we wandered around Abbasayya, watching Muslim families stream out of Mosques before sunrise (the men in front, followed by women and children 10 paces back). A bit later we were invited into a side street where we could sit and drink tea before the slaughtering began.

By 8:00am we had witnessed the sacrifice of three large sheep. It was a family event, especially for the males. The young boys would drag the sheep by their front legs to a back alley where they helped the older brothers slit the sheep’s throat. The sheep would thrash around, squirting blood all over the ground, until their eyes rolled back into their head and they were pronounced dead. The older boys would cut a hole into a leg of each animal and start blowing into the carcass until the animal was poofy like a big balloon. This was to separate the skin from the rest of the animal, making it easier to remove. Meanwhile the young boys and girls place their tiny hands into the pool of blood forming on the street and make hand print marks on the doors and walls of the closest buildings. (Think Passover.) We stayed long enough to see the men starting to cut the animals open and separate the body parts. As Stephen and John stayed behind to watch, we later found out there was a room were useless pieces of carcass were tossed for the time being (such as the head), while the rest of the meat was continually divided out and would later be given to friends and the needy.

A quick review of Islam: The Koran, the Muslim Holy book, contains 114 Suras (chapters). The year 622AD is the Hajira, or the year of the beginning of the Muslim calendar. There are three main parts to the religion. 1. Islam (submission to God). “The things Muslims do.” This includes the 5 pillars of Islam: the profession of faith in Allah [God], praying five times a day, the paying of alms [usually 2.5% of your income to the poor], fasting from eating, drinking, and satisfying sexual needs from dawn until dusk during month of Ramadan, the ninth month of the Islamic lunar calendar, and the pilgrimage to Mecca during the month of Zul Hijjah.
2. Iman (faith). “The things Muslims believe” (Gods, angels, decree of good and evil, books, messengers/apostles, last day) 3. Ihsan (best behavior). “Doing what is beautiful to God.”

Jerusalem

2006-01-11T01:30:00.000+02:00

Jerusalem
We spent three full days in Jerusalem. Below I describe some of the things we saw and did during that time. The four mornings all began the same, starting with the Call to Prayer around 5:30 am. About ½ hour later the bells of the Church of the Redeemer would start chiming. I LOVED waking up to these two beautiful sounds, for many reasons. First, it called people to prayer and helped me think about God and begin my day praising Him. Secondly, it was beautiful symbolism of two religions living side by side in the Holiest place on earth. Thirdly, it was just beautiful; music for the soul. The bells especially reminded me of York, Nebraska and memories of good family times.

Being that our hostel was inside the Old City Walls, it was to find most things—everything is within walking distance. For instance, I walked past the Wailing Wall at least 8 times and watched Jews pray along the wall at all hours of the day. The Wall is separated into two sections- a larger section for males to pray and a smaller section for the women. Both sexes approach the wall, praying and swaying back and forth (and often many cry) in front of it, and leave the wall bowing down towards it without turning their back. A very spiritual place.

Ramparts Walk—This is where you get to walk around on Ottoman-empire Walls that are now the walls of the Old City and look both inside Old Jerusalem and out towards the rest of the city and residential areas. A lot of great views from here, and a LOT of walking up and down stairs. We pretended to be like characters from the LOTR with bows and arrows.
Temple Mount (including Dome of the Rock). This is the site of Abraham’s near-sacrifice of his son, where Jesus must have thrown the money-changers’ tables over, and Mt. Moriah. What lies on the mount now is al-Aqsa Mosque and the Dome of the Rock, but we weren’t able to inside, being that we are not Muslim. In fact, in order to get to the Temple Mount we had to go through security and they confiscated Jay’s Bible. Funny you can’t bring a Bible to a most holy place.

Mount of Olives-- The mount of olives overlooks Jerusalem and includes the Tombs of the prophets Haggai and Maleachi, Dominus Flevit (the place where the Lord wept—see Luke 19, Matthew 23 and now a church in the shape of a tear drop stands), the graves of thousands of Jews (who want to be buried as close to the Old city as possible), Mother Mary’s Tomb, and Gethsemane (where Jesus prayed the night he was condemned). Gethsemane was especially beautiful, as it contained a garden with olive trees over 2000 years old.

Stations of the Cross—There are 14 stations of the cross in Old Jerusalem. We started at the Lion’s Gate and walked down the Via Dolorosa, which are now a couple street bazaars full of touristy knick-knacks. The first two stations are the spots were Jesus was condemned to death and receives the cross—now the Chapel of the Condemnation and the Chapel of the Flagellation. Following the Via Dolorosa, you come to the place were Jesus fell under the cross for the first time, where Jesus meets His mother Mary, where the cross is taken by Simon of Cyrene, where Veronica wipes the sweat from Jesus’ face, where Jesus falls again, where He consoles the women of Jerusalem, and where He falls for the third time. A few of the stations are marked with just a big Roman numeral sign on the wall of a building. The final 5 stations are all in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, including the place were Jesus is stripped of His clothes, nailed to the cross, died on the cross, and laid into the Sepulchre.

The Garden Tomb—According to Protestants, this is the place were Jesus was actually buried in the tomb, and it’s certainly much more historically convincing in comparison to the Holy Sepulchre spot. As me about this if you are interested.
Lutheran Church of the Redeemer—Yeah for a Lutheran Church! A well-known church with the highest bell tower in the city. Pay three shekels and you can see a birds-eye view of the Holy Land.

Dormition Abbey—This was by far my favorite church in the holy city, and the place were some people believed that the Virgin Mary fell into a deep sleep instead of dying. The church was gorgeous. In the basement you find a tomb for Mary and on the ceiling above it you find mosaics of six of the most important women of the bible surrounded a mosaic of Jesus. Around the sides of the circular room you find altars sponsored by different countries around the world, each with a distinct style of artwork. (See the pictures.) Another fun thing—we went to the “Upper Room”—but it was a complete joke of course. Funny, though, to see.

Walking around quarters of Old Jerusalem—There are four quarters to Old Jerusalem: Christian, Moslem, Armenian, and Jewish. I’ve never seen anything like it. In only one square kilometer of land you have four distinct neighborhoods living together. The distinction is obvious too. For instance, the Muslim quarter feels like you are in Cairo—crowded, loud, lots of color, lots of fresh produce markets, and women wearing veils. Going south you reach the Jewish quarter where you find men and women much more reserved and quiet. The men are all wearing black suits and hats, with their ringlets of long hair on either side of their face.

Holocaust Museum: Very touching, very emotional, and quite different than the one in Washington, D.C. The museum tour ends with an outdoor incredible view of the city. (Political, perhaps?)

Orthodox Jew neighborhood—When we got a bit lost looking for the Garden Tomb (which ended up being just outside Damascus Gate), we ended up in a Orthodox Jew neighborhood where we quickly realized we needed to turn around and leave. There was a big sign that read “Women and girls: We the neighborhood residents beg you with all our hearts—PLEASE DO NOT PASS THROUGH OUR NEIGHBORHOOD IN INMODEST CLOTHES. Modest clothes include closed blouse with long sleeves, long skirt, no trousers, no tight-fitting clothes. Please do not disturb our children’s education and our way of life as Jews committed to God and the Torah.” Looking around, we suddenly noticed that not one woman was wearing jeans or pants like we were—all of them, including the children, were wearing long skirts. Oops!

Sunset at Mt of Olives—Other than the two mornings I woke up extra early to run around the city, this was the most spiritual time for me. I had my walkman with me and listened to some Bebo Norman as I saw the sun set past Jerusalem and tried to picture Jesus sitting near this very place, blessing Jerusalem from afar. A most incredible sight!

Praise music guitar on rooftop—During our last night in town I went to the roof of our hostel where you can overlook the whole city, and another man with a guitar played Christian Praise music. One of the best moments of the vacation by far.

Sea of Galilee--December 26th

2006-01-09T15:49:00.000+02:00

On the 26th of December I woke up at 5:00 am because I just couldn’t sleep. After lying in bed for a while I finally decided to get up and go outside. The Church of the Nativity opens at 6:00am so I decided to spend some time in prayer inside. Walking into the church, I found that I was the only person there who wasn’t a monk, priest, or nun. Down in the manger area a few monks were holding a service (in Hebrew?) as well. At first this made me feel a bit uncomfortable, but I decided I had a right to pray in there as well. It was quite dark inside, candles as the only light source, and this gave it a surreal but beautiful atmosphere. Without the crowd of tourists, I felt the presence of God so much more. In the stillness, I was able to visualize Jesus born into this manger and the wise men following the star to this very place. It’s hard to place the emotion of such an experience.

When I left the church the sun had still not risen, but there was a soft glow over the city of Bethlehem. The combination of quiet cobblestone streets, low light, and mist made the city very romantic and peaceful. I took off up the hill to wander for the next hour and watch the city come to life.

A few blocks up the hill from Manger Square I started using my nose to lead me in the direction of a small room where men were baking bread in a large fire oven. I watched them for a while, and then tried to be discreet about taking a picture (it didn’t work). One man called me over to him and gave me a piece of fresh warm flatbread to eat. Once again I was impressed with Palestinian generosity and spent the next half an hour wandering the streets alone in prayer and gratitude for the blessing of a beautiful, peaceful morning.

I returned around 7:00am in time for a quick breakfast and check-out of the hotel. Then we were off again—this time for a 3 hour drive to the Sea of Galilee to see the Mount of Beatitudes, Tabgha (Church of the Multiplication of Loaves and Fishes), the Church of the Primacy of St. Peter (see John 21), and the town of Jesus, Capernaum.

On our way out of Bethlehem however, we had to get through the checkpoint. First we went to the Wall to get a closer look at it so we could take some photos. Our tour guide and driver, by the way, are both Palestinian Isrealis (because they were both born and live in Jerusalem) but they have Jordanian passports and no citizenship in any country with no right to vote in Israel’s upcoming elections, at least for now. Being that we approached the wall from the Bethlehem side, it was full of graffiti—paintings, questions, slogans, etc. Some slogans we saw said, “Give them justice and they will reward you with peace!”, “Where is the green line?”, “Jesus wept for Jerusalem, we weep for Palestine,” and “Build bridges, not walls.” One of the most powerful murals depicted a living room window with a beautiful view of mountains, lakes, and forests. The window is surrounded by two colorless armchairs. It shows the “window to the outside world”—something many Palestinians will never see. Instead, they see a 20-foot-high gray concrete wall stretching for miles. As we finished taking pictures and loaded back into the minivan, we approached the checkpoint going into Jerusalem. Here, on the right hand-side of the entrance, on the wall, right next to a sign that said “Welcome to Jerusalem” was a painting of an angry lion eating “the bird of terror.” Another powerful moment, just as we were leaving Bethlehem for good. (I have incredible pictures of all of this. Let me know if you want to see them, I can send you a link to my photos.)

We made our way through the security checkpoint without much trouble (probably because we are American), and we were on our way to Galilee and all the “Jesus sites” in the West Bank. During our three hour trip north, we went past a number of checkpoints. I didn’t realize it at first, because we were able to fly right through. Why? We had a yellow (Israeli) license plate. All vehicles with white and green plates (Palestinian) were stopped and searched.
When we first arrived at Galilee the first thing I noticed about all these places was that my preconceived notions about the land were false. I always pictured Jesus living and serving in the dry, brown desert. In truth, the land surrounding the Sea of Galilee is very lush and green, full of olive trees, flowers, and grass (at least in December). I can see why God would want to put His Son in a place like this, and why Jesus would speak at a place like the Mt. of Beatitudes. The only disappointment was going to Tabgha and the Church of the Multiplications of Loaves and Fishes, because we were not able to approach the altar to see the famous mosaic due to a small noon service.

At the Church of the Primacy of St. Peter, we were able to actually touch the Sea of Galilee. Tradition holds that the events of John 21 (where the disciples were fishing and Jesus appeared to them with advice on where to fish…and where Jesus asks Peter if he loves him...) took place here. While we were there the sun was shining in beams through the clouds onto the Sea. As we were the only people there, it was a great chance for me too be alone with God and praise His creation.

Our next stop was Capernaum, known as “The Town of Jesus.” The place is full of excavations showing what a 1st century home would look like, and the area where Jesus would have attended a synagogue. Also, St. Peter’s home is there. In fact, there is a church built on top of the excavations of his home, and when walking into the church you can look through the glass floor and see Peter’s home. I thought this church was gorgeous in so many ways. From the outside it was pretty hideous, as it looked like a saucer spaceship floating above 2000 year old homes—very out of place. But, inside it was gorgeous. It was full of windows looking over the town and out toward the Sea, and there were wooden carvings of Jesus’ life in-between each window.

After stopping for some falafels and ice cream, we went back to Jerusalem to find our Citadel Hostel and crash. The hostel was in a prime location—in Old Jerusalem near the Jaffa Gate. Now, the hostel proved to be an interesting experience. It was built in the 1600s in a cave, then added on levels so that it’s now a few stories high. Within the first hours my throat, nose, and eyes were itching. I saw a lot of mold, and there was condensation on the walls and ceilings. Also, we found out that there’s basically no heat in our girls’ room (on the top floor) because using the heater overloads the circuit breakers and the entire hostel’s electricity goes out. At night we can see our breath as we slept, and we woke up to freezing cold showers. Once I finally got smart enough to heat up some water on the stove and bring the pot in the shower with me to wash down. Brrrr…

Christmas Eve Part Deux (Eastern Style)

2006-01-08T01:07:00.000+02:00

In Egypt, Christmas Day is on January 7th. Therefore, last night was Christmas Eve for all our Coptic Christian friends. Other than seeing a small choir of people at RCG wearing Santa Claus hats, practicing their lines for “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” you wouldn’t have guessed it was an important day here in Cairo. Of course, only 10% of the population in Christian anyhow, many of which live in Upper Egypt, so you don’t find many Christmas slogans, snowmen, or Santa Clauses around the stores. Beyond that, Christians spend Christmas Eve at church and with their families. In fact, most churches have a Christmas Eve service that lasts a number of hours, ending with communion. The Coptic Cathedral down the road, for instance, held a service that lasted until 4:00am. Then, Christians gather with their families at the parent’s home and break their fast with a meal of lamb. (They have been fasting from meat and milk products for 55? days.)

Last night I celebrated Christmas Eve by going out for a night on the town with one of my best friends, Katherine Olson. Katherine is studying in Egypt for 23 days on an interim with students from eight Midwest colleges. Much of their time is spent in Luxor, Aswan, or Alexandria, but for the 10 or so days they are in Cairo I’m trying to see as much of her as I possibly can! As it has been quite lonely for me here, it has been such a joy to spend a couple hours with Katherine—it’s so good for my soul and joy!

Katherine and other student, Melba, decided to join me for a night at After Eight—an upscale restaurant/bar/night club in downtown Cairo. It was the first time I had been to a club in Egypt, but after hearing about the place from an AUC friend, I thought it would be good to check out—at least once. I knew it would be expensive with my budget, but my favorite music performer (Jai from Australia) was opening for Wust el Balad band, the most popular underground band in Cairo right now.

When we first arrived at the club, we were asked for our reservation name and number. Oh, no; we had no reservations. He let us in anyhow. The next man we approached also asked for our reservation name. Oh, no. Well, he let us in too. We soon found out why we were let in—at 9:30pm there was only one other person in the room. Of course, it didn’t take too long for that to change, as the nightlife in Cairo usually doesn’t begin until 11 pm and often lasts until early morning. Besides, it was nice to have the place to ourselves to listen to Jai’s smooth music and chat.

After Jai’s performance and before the Wust el Balad band started to play, I went looking for the restroom. As I was waiting in line, Katherine and I ended up talking with a couple Egyptian guys, and we found out one of them (Ahmed) is the sound technician for the club, and the other (Hany) was the percussion musician for Wust el Balad. They knew little English, and we knew little Arabic, but I was able to figure out the percussion guy thought I was beautiful. He said “Inti” (meaning “you”) and then pointed to a lamp and tried to explain something about lighting up a room with my beauty. It was nice, and being that he was in the most popular band in Egypt, I thought it was extra fun (or funny). I told him he should sing me a song, and he said he would. Ha. Later on, we realized Hany was NOT in the band. He was the back-stage manager. However, the name of the percussion player is indeed Hany. Little punk, he lied to us. Bummer.

Wust el Balad was a big hit, that’s for sure. There’s no good way to describe their music. Some have described them as “Egyptian Gypsy Kings.” Basically, it’s world music, blues, rock, a mix in one. Through song they express a huge range of topics, from love to politics to social commentary. One song, called “Magnoun” (Crazy), describes the frustration many Egyptians feel when they want to travel abroad but are unable to obtain a visa. One hit song of the night was about a man who wanted to get married but doesn’t have faloose (money). [You need money to buy a flat, and you need a flat to get married. No joke.]

One of the greatest aspects of the night was the DANCING! We danced the night away. In between Wust el Balad sets the club blasted American club music, and we were going crazy with our dance moves. I even stripped down to my tank top, showing the most shoulder skin in public since I left the states. (Don’t worry, it was okay in there—most people were foreigners and others were wearing less fabric than that.) Even though the place was expensive, I’d be willing to go back one more time just for the sake of getting to dance in a comfortable place.

We finally left around 2:00am—now Christmas Day—and grabbed a taxi. There was a taxi waiting just outside the door, so it didn’t take long. However, there was one issue. Another taxi driver who had wanted to get some business became upset. When our driver got out of the car to come around and open the door for us, the other taxi driver drove up next to the left side of our cab so that our driver wouldn’t be able to get into the taxi. Within a minute this started a big yelling argument. Finally a police man got involved and demanded for the other driver to back off. (At this point I understood what was going on—our taxi driver is hired by After Eight to drive anyone anywhere they want to go while the other guy was just waiting for someone to walk out the door.) The driver backed up and our taxi driver walked to his door to get in. Just then the other driver slammed on the gas and came within a foot of hitting our driver. It was ridiculously dangerous and stupid, and it got me fired up. As the driver back up again I jumped out of our taxi and ran over to his car, stuck my face in the passenger side window, and gave him a piece of my mind. He screamed, “You are stupid!” back at me. What a silly mess.

A man on the street

2006-01-08T01:06:00.000+02:00

A man on the street

From the title of this, you probably think I’m going to write about another bad experience with a man on the street. Well, not exactly. I did meet a man on the street, but this time it was different.
As I was walking home after playing ultimate Frisbee and getting some mango juice with the guys, I passed by a man who was hunched over three bags on the edge of the sidewalk. I noticed that he was digging through the trash that had collected in a pile against the bridge, picking up chosen items, brushing the grime and dirt off of it, and putting it into one of his three bags. Being that I witness something like this almost daily, I continued on past him on my merry way.

Thing is, there are many beggars on the streets of Cairo, and although many of them legitimately need help, for some begging is a profession. As in India, some people send their children out in the streets, especially into the rich, foreign-infested neighborhoods, to beg. I’m not an expert, but I can often sense which kids have been dirtied up and taught how to make the most adorably sad-looking puppy-dog eyes with faces saying, “Can’t you help this poor little boy?” On occasion I’ll even stop and watch these children for a while, witnessing how they go from looking all sad and desperate to running around laughing until they notice another likely giver to follow.

However, there are many people who are so poor that they make their living by going through the trash to collect things to sell for money, such as metal scraps. Because Cairo is so incredibly dirty and polluted, this type of life can actually sustain someone for quite some time, because EVERYONE throws their trash on the ground all over the place. Honestly, I’m walking on, over, and around trash everywhere I go. There’s a joke here that there’s no need for recycling, because everything ends up being recycled thanks to people who go through the trash every day.

Something stopped me today, however. I’m not sure what it was, but after I passed the man, I took another five steps and turned around. I had a few pounds left in my bag, so I approached the man, held out my hand, and said, “Faloose?” (Money?) He looked up at me, smiled, and said, “Shokran!” (Thank you!) When he took the money he put both hands around mine without actually touching my hand and gestured a hand shake. It became clear to me that he was showing me his gratitude through a handshake, but out of respect for me he did not touch my hand since his was so dirty.

I smiled, said “You’re Welcome,” and continued home. But, I wasn’t satisfied. There was something about this man that really struck me. I find that I often can sense someone’s character from the small things—the gestures, facial expressions, and attitudes. This man, I believed, was a good man. He seemed humble, polite, kind-hearted, and caring—all from the look in his eyes and face. By the time I reached my room I had decided to grab more money, turn around, and find him again.

And I did. He was still working through the trash pile, and as he saw me approach he stopped working for a moment. I started to ask him questions in broken Arabic and broken English. He didn’t know English, but we were still able to communicate a bit. I discovered that he lived in another area of Cairo, but he was searching around for plastic so that he could bring it to a certain place and receive money so he could eat. I asked him if I could look into his three bags, and he kindly offered them to me. One bag was already full of trash, mostly consisting of crunched-up plastic water bottles. In other bag he was continuing his collection of plastic, including a destroyed plastic toy car that he had neatly cleaned. The third bag was his “food” bag—other people’s leftovers that became his meal. All I could see in it was pieces of dirty dried-out or moldy bread. I looked back at him and he smiled and gave me a nod saying, “See, I have a lot tonight!” I almost wanted to cry. I told him I wanted to help, and then gave him the le 50 I had brought with me. His eyes lit up and he kept thanking me. This time I held out my hand and nodded for him to feel comfortable shaking it. He took it into his hands and kissed the top of my hand, ever so slightly. After that I turned to leave again.

But, I came back. I just couldn’t walk away. He seemed a bit confused this time, but welcomed me back anyhow. I asked him about his family—does he have one? At this he beamed and said, “Yes, seven children! From 20 years old to 4 years old.” As he said this he used his hands to show a tall height for the 20-year old and a small height for a 4-year old child, just to make sure I understood. He asked me where I was from, but for some reason I couldn’t figure out what he was asking. Finally, he asked, “Amrica?” “Ah! Iowah, min Amrica.” (Ah, yes, I’m from America.) He then said something I didn’t understand, but believed it to mean something about good people come from America. Soon after that I parted from him again, for good this time. Still, I hope I see this man again. Past the pain and dirtiness of his face, I saw so much peace and determination in his eyes. Whoever he is, I know I will be praying for him for quite some time.

can you say biased media?

2006-01-05T21:36:00.000+02:00

From Stephen's December newletter, which can be found at http://www.pcusa.org/missionconnections/letters/yav/yav_ogdens_0601.htm

"Bethlehem also has been surrounded by a massive retaining wall. Nothing can quite prepare you for seeing this barrier, even though we had heard about it in the news. Most American media tend to be biased in Israel’s favor, as I found out firsthand in two interviews on Christmas Eve with the Associated Press and CBS. I was quoted very briefly in some stories, yet they omitted my comments about feeling safe and blessed to be there. Some of their questions were quite leading, including one that basically boiled down to, “What’s your opinion of Palestinian terrorism?” Well, I oppose it just as much as the next guy, and most people recognize that wrongs have been committed on both sides. However, Palestinians have been stripped of their homes and most means of sustaining economic growth. Terrorism occurs because people see no other way out. Is a wall the solution? It seems that it is not actually preventing conflict but simply dividing families."

Christmas Day

2006-01-05T20:33:00.000+02:00

Even though I went to bed feeling sick with a cold, all I wanted to do Christmas morning was go for a run through Bethlehem, and I was determined to not have anything stop me! Stephen and I got up at 7am while the city was completely silent and still. The weather was misty and then rainy, and it was one of the most gorgeous moments I’ve had since I left Montana last summer. We ran through the wet streets of Bethlehem, up and down the hills and enjoying the fresh winter air. After running for about 15 minutes, while I was looking down at the road, we suddenly approached The Wall. Seeing the wall shot me back into reality, and I was saddened to think that already we had reached a checkpoint. I realized that if I was a Palestinian living in Bethlehem, this would be the end for me, and I would have to turn around and go back. That’s it. 15 minutes of running in one direction and it’s time to go back. I had a sense of the entrapment people there must feel, and it made me both sad and angry. Stephen and I did notice, however, that no one seemed to be guarding the wall. In fact, there were a group of Japanese tourists near the area and one man just walked on through the check point, took some pictures, and came back.

After a filling breakfast, our group went back to Christmas Lutheran church for the Christmas morning service. Once again we found ourselves sitting with an international group and heard Arabic, German, English, and Swedish sung or spoken throughout the service. It’s fun to sing “Oh Come All Ye Faithful” and hear so many other tongues speaking foreign sounds with the same tune. Niveen was there doing her youth ministry duty with the children, who performed the first children’s Christmas story play the church has witnessed. Oh, what cute kids! This time I knew what was going on and even though I couldn’t follow along with words, I could follow along just by being a fellow Christian. We even had communion, which was served to us in Arabic. Sweet.

In the afternoon Niveen took us to a refugee camp in a village outside Bethlehem called Dheisheh (pronounced HAY-shah). A man who works with Niveen’s mom, Mohamed, was there to greet us and show us around. As it stands today, the camp looks much like the rest of the area surrounding it—old cement buildings. As we walked around, however, you could see the difference between the camp area and the rest of the town. First of all, there is graffiti everyone, mostly of faces. (I have a many pictures of graffiti from here and on the wall. Send me a message if you would like me to send you a link to the photos.) Mohamed explained most of the faces are “the martyrs”—those who have been killed in the camp by Israelis. There were slogans all over the cement walls as well, mostly in Arabic. On one road, however, we came to a huge sign that said “FREE PALESTINE” in bubble letters with martyr’s faces, skulls, flowers, and the words “no fear” and “keep cool” in the lettering. On another street was a huge graffiti sign stating “Justice is what we need!”

As it happens to be, Mohamed’s family members are refugees, and we had the honor of visiting their home in the refugee camp. Through a small doorway we were led inside to a large living room with a small bedroom and small kitchen attached to one side. As with most Middle Eastern homes, the building is made of all cement and it is cold. As we sat down in a circle Mohamed’s sister brought us a space heater and tea. One of Mohamed’s brothers waved to us from the bed—he stayed under the covers to keep warm. Another brother came out to greet us. Soon Mohamed’s father arrived in the living room wearing the red-checked kefiyya with black cords keeping it in place. He greeted each of us personally, then took a seat in our circle, asking that Niveen translates for him. In the next hour we heard his story. [The rest of this entry is from Teri’s blog: www.clevertitlehere.blogspot.com. I decided, why reinvent the wheel when Teri already made it perfectly round? Thanks darling.]

In 1948 he and his family were forced to flee their village of Zakariyya. Zakariyya is the traditional burial place of the prophet Zechariah and is also, traditionally, the hometown of some of the Virgin Mary’s family. It’s also a wonderful agriculture-based village, where his family has "always" lived and worked. It sounds as if his ancestors have been living and dying in the village for generations. One winter night, in the middle of the night, they all had to flee their homes. They took nothing. They stayed in fields for a little while, before hearing about the group of refugees gathering in Bethlehem. The family went to Bethlehem, on foot and with no belongings, wet and cold, and found thousands of other refugees living on a hillside. Eventually the UN brought tents, but water ran through the bottom and covered the floor. After a year or so of this, the refugees dug trenches through the camp to channel the water away from the tents, but it was only partially successful. After many years of living in tents, the UN gave permission and materials to build a one-room concrete house for each family. This way at least the rainwater wouldn’t run in.

The rooms were not big—in fact I suspect that the living room we were sitting in was the original one room. Soon the family was parents and 12 children—a typical size for a Palestinian family during this period. Sometime in the late 80’s, the refugees began to add on to their one room homes (without permits or permission, and without any help from the UN). Now they have several rooms, which is better at least, but still no heat and I would venture a guess that some of the homes lack indoor running water. Now new generations are growing up here. The population is booming—there are currently 11,000 residents of the camp, and 6,000 of those are children.

Meanwhile, the village of Zakariyya has been destroyed and rebuilt as an Israeli settlement. Mohammed’s father’s house is no longer there—he was allowed to travel there once over 5 years ago. Mohammed himself has never been to the village. As a young Palestinian man, he can’t even get permission to go to Jerusalem, let alone a village he claims as his homeland. Mohammed’s father wants to return to his village. He says that even if it was Israeli controlled, all he wants is to go back to his homeland. He tells us that he believes Jews, Christians, and Muslims, Palestinians and Israelis, are all the same. We’re all people, we’re all children of God, so it doesn’t matter who controls the land. All he wants is to live in it. It’s been 55 ½ years since he and his family fled. He was probably a teenager then. But it is alive for him, it is his homeland, the land of his ancestors, the land of his livelihood, the land of his identity. He will probably never go back there. His son will probably never get permission to visit. The Israeli settlers are firmly entrenched. And we in the West wonder why Palestinians refer to the founding of the State of Israel as "the tragedy."

After a group photo, we left the house and went into the dark damp night. We headed toward the entrance to the camp, and on the way we ran across a mural of a child. It turns out that during one of the Israeli-imposed and army-enforced "curfew" periods when people in the camp were not allowed to leave their houses, a 12 year old child had gone outside to play and was shot dead in the street by an Israeli soldier. He is now among the "martyrs" and this mural is on the outer wall of his family’s home.

We walked down the hill and came to the Ibdaa center, which is a refugee-run center for education and social activities. "Ibdaa" means "to create something out of nothing." It began with a need to stop overlooking the new generation, which was growing up in the refugee camp. Since for a while there had been a fence (complete with barbed wire and one revolving-"door" entrance/exit) around the camp, there was a serious need for the children to have somewhere to go, something to do, other than sit in their homes or be cooped up by barbed wire fences. Something to counter the psychological effect of growing up in the "zoo", children of people who looked mainly at the past and hoped for a future that seemed impossible.

Some people decided that a "cross cultural experience" co-ed dance troupe was just the thing. 15 girls and 15 boys trained for a year to share the Palestinian refugee story through music and dance. The founders encountered resistance in the camp for being co-ed, but went ahead. They taught the children French, dance, and music, and performed in Paris. Then they began to travel elsewhere in the world, dancing. Soon the children were growing up and the founders decided to expand to other children and other programs. Now they are on their fourth of fifth generation dance troupe, they have a women’s basketball team, they have a library, they have programs for women, they have after school activities and tutoring, they have co-ed nursery and kindergarten, they have workshops on health and leadership, they have a computer lab, they have art classes. It’s quite a community center! We talked with one of the founders, and he was an amazing man. I am incredibly impressed with what they have created out of nothing: a place for community, for growth, for hope in the midst of sorrow, oppression, and fear. "and God said, 'Let there be light' and there was light, and it was good."

The camp was our last organized activity in Bethlehem, and it was a great way to really get in and see what things are like. People are living lives here. It doesn’t look like a refugee camp “should” look. There are permanent-looking structures, schools, a small hospital, the Ibdaa center, shops, and some of the people even have jobs. But the fence didn’t come down all that long ago, and the Israeli army still has leave to come in and take people away, shoot on sight, or impose “curfew” (which isn’t just a time when you have to be in, but a 24-hour stay-in-your-house-or-get-shot extravaganza).

After our visit to the camp some of us headed to the olive wood shop owned by Adnan, the brother of Nidal, our tour guide from Christmas Eve. It’s a great shop, with hundreds of nativities and other scenes in olive wood, plus some really beautiful jewelry where I bought a Jerusalem cross and a few olive wood pieces. Teri and I also bought two candlesticks a piece, marked at $14 US each. However, Adnan told us everything in the store was 50% off for a Christmas special, probably because Bethlehem is so tourist starved. When Teri tried to pay for her two candlesticks, Adnan took them from her, wrapped them up, and said, “Merry Christmas,” refusing to let her pay. We were all blow away by his generosity, especially since he’s trying to run a tourist-oriented business in a town were tourism is down 85% from a couple years ago. Although he probably heard about Teri’s money getting stolen by our bus driver a couple days before, it was still so incredibly generous and wonderful, I almost started crying. If fact, I did cry that day. While we were at Mohamed’s house I took a break to walk outside for awhile and process. I ended up just bawling. I was so hurt at what’s happened to these people, and at the same time so touched by their generosity, their hope, their love for others. To witness such strength and integrity was such an inspiration to me.

Christmas Eve

2006-01-05T20:30:00.000+02:00

Christmas Eve morning began with tours around Bethlehem with our tour guide Nidal. Nidal proved to be an incredible guide and friend. As he is friend of a PC(USA) missionary in Jerusalem, Doug Dicks, he was been working with our missionary groups for a couple years now. After the tours we ended up spending a lot of time in his brother’s shop where we drank wine, bought many olive wood gifts, and asked questions about Israel-Palestine. It’s really horrible what has happened to Palestinians in the past couple years. Because they do not have freedom of movement (along with other lacking of freedom issues) many people are going broke because they cannot get to their jobs due to the wall. For instance, I have a picture showing two walls—one in the foreground and one in the background, with olive tree fields in-between. These fields have been used by Palestinian families for hundreds of years but now they cannot even get into their land. As another example, Niveen’s sister has been stopped so many times at the check point without being let through that she’s has to attend an extra year and a half of school to finish her degree—not to mention the cost of doing that! Many Palestinians are now dependant on tourism, but unfortunately tourism is down 85% from what it was 5 years ago. People, please visit Bethlehem!

Anyhow, back to the tour. We started in Manger Square and walked through the Church of the Nativity, the oldest standing and functioning church in the Middle East (and therefore, according to Teri, probably in the world). The Church of the Nativity is built on top of the place where Jesus was born, i.e. it’s built on a cave that was once used as a stable. As Teri explained in www.clevertitlehere.blogspot.com, during Roman times (and before) caves were often used as homes and as shelters for animals, with just a little thatched shed built out over the entrance, or sometimes just a cloth or animal skin covering the door. Troughs were carved out of the rock to hold food and water and keep it relatively fresh for animals, which works especially well for hot summers and cold winters as the stone keeps a relatively stable temperature. The grotto of the nativity, the part of the cave where tradition says Jesus was born (and the part that, archeologically speaking, is most likely because there is a carved trough/manger there) is under the altar of the Greek Orthodox section of the Church.

You enter the church through the “door of humility” (a post-Crusader addition that has to do both with not being big enough for horses and forcing people to bow while entering) and find yourself in the nave of a Basilica that hasn’t changed much since Justinian. There have been re-buildings, renovations, etc, but the original floor is visible through some trapdoors, the columns are there, and you can even see some original frescoes on the columns. There are large sections of 800 year old mosaic on the walls. The windows are near the ceiling and light shines in in geometric shapes. You can still see bullet holes in the windows and damage to the mosaics from “the siege” in 2003 when people barricaded themselves inside the church for weeks. [See http://www.ccmep.org/hotnews2/Iraeli0524html.htm for details.] This has been a holy site for at least 1900 years…between 100 and 135 the emperor made it a pagan temple in an attempt to discourage Christianity. Queen Helena visited and ordered a church built there in the 4th century. The church was saved from destruction during the Persian invasions because of a mosaic depicting the three wise men (in Persian dress). It was reconstructed and preserved by the Crusaders and used as the place for crowning the crusader kings of Jerusalem. It is still a functioning church used by multiple denominations, and is a pilgrimage site for thousands of people each year. There are three masses held every morning in the grotto—Armenian Orthodox, Greek Orthodox, and Roman Catholic.

The Roman Catholic Church—Saint Catherine—is connected to/a part of the Church of the Nativity but build in the past couple hundred years. Under this church is the rest of the cave, including the tombs of the Innocents, the place where the angel is said to have visited Joseph and told him to flee to Egypt, and some unidentified tombs. We came to the cave were Jerome translated the Bible from Hebrew and Greek into Latin, and also where he is buried. We were literally in the spot of the first bible translations! Awesome.

After our visit to the Church, we moved a block away where we watched the annual Christmas Eve parade of Scouts. This lasted at least an hour, and I was so impressed with the number of Boy and Girl Scouts in Palestine. They come from all over the country and march through the streets of Bethlehem from two opposite directions, meet up a block away from Manger Square, and march into the Square. They came complete with bands of drum and bugle corps, bagpipes, your average marching bands and flag bearers. Sweet. Once reaching the Square they wait for a couple hours for The Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem who comes to Bethlehem and parades through the streets, the square, and into the Church. During this waiting time we took a bus to Shepherd’s field, where the angel proclaimed the Good News to the shepherds. All that’s left are archeological excavations, a couple cave chapels and two churches.

After returning to Bethlehem for lunch it was time to watch the Patriarch come into town. After waiting a long time, two lines of priests and altar boys wearing white started marching from Manger Square into the Church of the Nativity, followed by the Patriarch. Even though we were at the front line of the police barrier, it was hard to see much because, as Teri said, “it felt like the entire Palestinian police force formed a human chain that went between us and the line of priests/altar boys, and the altar boys were between the police and the patriarch, who was surrounded by two other bishops. In other words, we didn’t see much besides the hot pink hat. :-)”

Through the day we, or I should say Stephen, was greeted by at least three newscasters from around the world, asking us about our time in Bethlehem, how it feels to be here on Christmas Eve, and whether or not we feel safe. I had one woman from Finland approach me, and I became quickly irritated. It was clear she was asking leading questions, trying to get me to say that we feel unsafe in Palestine and yada yada yada. When I said, “No, actually, I feel more unsafe in my home country of America than I do here right now,” she frowned at me and walked away. Ugh. Reporters, can’t live with them, can’t live without them.

We had some free time to explore, so we stopped by the Milk Grotto, where, according to tradition, the holy family came to this cave “on their way to Egypt.” The story goes that Mary nursed Jesus here and a drop of her milk felt to the floor causing the stone to be chalky white. Now, people having trouble getting pregnant come from around the world to break off a piece of the stone cave, grind it up, put it into milk or water, and drink it. In one section of the grotto you find letters and pictures of people who became pregnant after doing just that, and they give many thanks to the Milk Grotto for their good fortune.

That evening we attended the 5:00pm Christmas Eve Service at the Evangelical Lutheran Christmas Church. It was absolutely packed, and all but a few of us stood for the entire service in the back of the church with Niveen, who happens to be the youth director at the church. The service was conducted in German, Arabic, and English. We sang such songs as “O Come, All Ye Faithful” and “Silent Night” in the three languages simultaneously. The sermon, by Pastor Martin Reyer of Redeemer Lutheran Church in Jerusalem, was in German, but we had an English translation to follow. He spoke of peace and justice, love and hope, but also of the need to recognize the reality gap between the Christmas hopes and Christmas reality in the holy land today. He encouraged people to see that in Jesus’ short life He was sufficient to set fire into the world and changed the world. It was not fire of war, not the sword of the prophet but the fire of love. He said, “There is deep gravity in this joy of Christmas. There is no other future for the world except this: This unarmed love. Who does not wish to follow this kind of Peace, who is not prepared to go the same way as He, will have to continue to secure his security, he will have to defend himself, he will have to account for, set borders, rely on himself, security and always again security. For how long? He will have to continue on the path of violence—the only thing that remains, however, is love. That is what it says in the First letter for the Corinthians.” The service ended by singing Silent Night as we lit the sanctuary by igniting each other’s candles—all having started from one light source. It was a beautiful service, and so touching to be sharing it with so many believers from around the world who trust in the love that we can share and pass on in the name of Jesus.

After the service we attended social hour with the congregation where I introduced myself to Rev. Dr. Mitri Raheb and participated in the traditional drinking of wine and eating of chocolate. We ran into some friends there as well—Aubrey, Luke, and Mark, who live in Cairo. Then, it was back out into the rain (so refreshing!) before the next service—a midnight service at the Church of the Nativity.

Hours before the midnight service, the area outside our hotel was swarming with Palestinian policemen and snipers on the top of every building, including a man on the building across from my window. Jen and I waved to him, and after stalling for a second he waved back. Hmm… Anyhow, Manger Square was loaded with people and a huge line to get into the cathedral was forming. As most people couldn’t get into the church, there were thousands of people standing and worshiping in Manger Square all night. We were lucky, however, to be guests at the Casanova Hotel, because there was a special private back door that we were able to go through to get into the mass. It took awhile, however, for us to get through even the secret door, due to the extensive security. It didn’t take long to find out why—the new President of Palestine, Mahmoud Abbas, arrived at mass about 1/3 of the way through the program.

The mass lasted about 3 hours, however I ended up leaving after about an hour. I had literally been on my feet since 8am other than ½ hour for lunch and ½ hour for dinner and I was tired. Also, I was ill with a cold so I really wasn’t up for standing much longer. The place was PACKED and it was hard to see or know what was going on. Being that I’m not Catholic and I don’t know Latin, I didn’t realize at the time that the first hour we were making our way through a bunch of psalms. I found out the next morning that the Patriarch gave a sermon in Arabic and French, followed with a ringing of the bell to alert everyone that the bread was being broken and elevated and the wine was being poured and elevated. When they did serve communion, only the bread was given, not the wine.

What I did experience of the mass was a great. Because I didn’t understand what was going on, I concentrated on other things. For instance, I recognized that many languages were being spoken throughout the mass. The collaboration of so many people from so many backgrounds worshiping here as a witness to each other because of something greater than all of us was beautiful. There I was, a young adult Lutheran missionary living in Egypt but from America worshiping in a Roman Catholic Church in Palestine standing next to an Orthodox priest from France on my left and a group of Europeans to my right. Looking around it was obvious that a great number of nations from around the world were being represented by clergymen, lay men and women, and your average saint and sinner. The air was thick with incense and heat, but also with a common love for Christ and a desire to serve Him with joy, peace, hope, and love. I started thinking about the fact that millions upon millions of people have stood in this very spot throughout the centuries since Christ was born, all of us connected as the community of believers---the body of Christ. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t see or understand the mass; all that mattered was that the church being filled with people serving as lights in a dark world, and that perfect to me.

To Taba--then Bethlehem

2006-01-05T20:28:00.000+02:00

My Christmas vacation began in the late evening of December 22nd when the 8 of us YAGMs, along with Lynn and Dick, boarded a community bus at 11:15pm for a night of traveling to Taba—the only open entrance into Israel from Egypt. The bus was, well, FREEZING. First of all, we were driving through the desert in the middle of the night. Cold spell #1. Secondly, there was no heat on the bus. Cold spell #2. Thirdly, the door wouldn’t shut all the way so there was a constant cold draft coming through the crack. Cold Spell #3. Oh, and let me add that we had assigned seats on the crowded bus and I happened to be next to the window (COLD!) on the right side of the bus, three rows back; prime spot to receive the draft from the door. I was wearing four layers of shirts/sweatshirts along with my rain jacket, mittens, and a hat. I was still cold. Between the crazy desert driving, the cold, and sitting straight up, I couldn’t sleep a wink all night. (This is now my third all-nighter since living in Egypt…not so cool.) Around 3am the bus driver started blasting a movie called “Shark Zone.” I don’t know how in the world people were able to stay sleeping through the loud noise of sharks thrashing in the water eating people. As silly as the movie was, it was at least entertaining to make fun of it with Jay. Jay and I also entertained ourselves by watching the road ahead and counting the number of vegetation or road signs we saw…needless to say there weren’t many, but it was strangely fun anyhow.

In the early AM we arrived at Taba and spent the next four hour in the border crossing. We spent a lot of time on the Egyptian side of the passport control, mostly because no one was working. Then, on the Israeli side, we waited another couple hours because we had a suspicious member of our party—Teri. Why? Because she has been to Syria and Lebanon. After taking her passport away she was drilled with tons of questions such as to her address, the dates of her previous trip to Israel, whether she knew anyone in Israel or Palestine, what she is doing here this time, what she did in Syria and Lebanon, her dad’s name, her mom’s name, the place her dad was born, her dad’s phone number, etc. Yeah, intense. Ironically, Jay was at the desk at the same time asking that the passport control people not stamp his passport because he’s going to Lebanon in two weeks. Sure, okay, no questions asked. Odd. In the meantime we hung out with other young people who were also sitting at passport control. Two were suspicious because they are Egyptians and other group because one guy’s family is from East Jerusalem. (His name is Khalil, and by fate Jay and I had met him the week before at Frisbee and we continued to run into him and his friend Prescott for the rest of our vacation.)

Even though I was pretty exhausted by this point, I kept eating cheese bread and juice boxes for energy and went outside to view the Red Sea, the Gulf of Aqaba. I can’t tell you how refreshing this was. The air was clean and cool, and there were no nasty men and no pollution filling my nostrils with soot. I actually breathed in deeply and didn’t cough. It was wonderful! Eventually we were able to rent a minibus to take us to Bethlehem, where we had time to sleep and get ready before going out again.

That evening we went to Niveen’s home. Niveen is a Palestinian from Beit Jala (a village outside Bethlehem) who graduated with Carole from the Evangelical Seminary in Cairo. We’ve heard so much about her all fall and it was a delight to be greeted into her home. Her mother cooked us Palestinian food, which included a lot of chicken and red meat, so I was really excited. For dessert it was chocolate and wine—a Christmas tradition in Bethlehem. You can’t beat that! Niveen lives in a beautiful modest home, decorated with a Christmas tree and nativity set (using a doll as Jesus) and large photos of individual family members in every corner of the main room.

thannawiya amma

2006-01-05T12:54:00.000+02:00

If you check out my archive, you'll find blogs about the (terrible) education system in Egypt. Rather than repeating what I already said, I want to add something I just read yesterday in the Cairo Magazine from Juy 14-20, Issue 17.

"The thannawiya amma (secondary school examination) system has been heavily criticized for its rigidity as well as the pressure it puts on families. Difficult examinations and disappointing results have been known to cause waves of depression every year in July, as well as many suicides..." [FYI, this exam is the end-all be-all for kids. It literally determines what your future career and social status will be.]
..."major complaints this year were from algebra, physics and fine arts exams. One irate father submitted a complaint against the minister of education to the police, accusing him of including questions that were outside the curriculum and posed incorrectly, thereby harming his son's psychological state during the test..."
And here's the kicker:
"...The fine arts exam drew criticism when it was revealed that one of the questions asked students to draw a picture in praise of President Hosni Mubarak."

Ha! Can you IMAGINE? On the most important educational day of one's life, he is evaluated on his ability to draw a picture of praise for the President! Can you imagine what would happen in America if we were required to draw a picture of praise for President Bush in order to get into college? Goodness...

Sudanese Death Toll in Cairo

2006-01-01T22:45:00.000+02:00

If you've been keeping up on this blog, you'll know about the Sudanese sit-in that has been going on for the past three months. (If you don't know about it, search through past blog entries.) This past Friday, December 30th, over 20 Sudanese died when the Egyptian police came into the sit-in and demanded that all the Sudanese leave. Below is a link to an article about it (you can find MANY more--it's all over international news) and I encourage you to read it. As you do, please share your thoughts about this. Although the Egyptian government has been more than patient with the sit-in refugees, this brutality is uncalled for-completely disgusting and horrifying. At the same time, most articles I've read on the issue are your typical playing-at-the-heart strings and making the UNHCR and other organizations look bad. As we all know, there are many sides to every story. Just keep that in mind.

I'll update about Bethlehem and Jerusalem soon.

http://www.nytimes.com/aponline/international/AP-Egypt-Sudanese-Protesters.html

Writing a Letter of Recommendation--for grad student!

2005-12-22T19:30:00.000+02:00

I have been sitting in front of the computer for a good hour now writing a recommendation letter for one of my teachers. This past week when she approached me to write such a letter, I responded with, “Sure, no problem!” Then I realized this isn’t a simple recommendation letter, but part of an application for a master’s degree in the Teaching English as a Foreign Language graduate program at the American University of Cairo. As I am filling out an AUC form and typing the letter, it occurred to me that most people who write these letters are professors from creditable universities.

In fact, on the form in the section “for the evaluator” is states that my “evaluation of the student’s academic performance, research capabilities, and overall ability at the graduate level based on past performance is a critical element of our selection process…” and “Please be as candid as possible, since it is often impossible for AUC to interview its potential graduate students.” Yikes! So, here I am, a young adult writing a very important letter to a very prestigious school and holding myself somewhat accountable for another woman’s dreams. Needless to say, I am making every effort to write the best recommendation I can, because the teacher definitely has the knowledge, ability, and motivation to succeed in the graduate program. I’ve heard AUC’s graduate program is a tough one to get into as well as a tough one to get through, but I know this teacher would succeed. Now let’s pray the school sees it too!

It’s ironic, though, to be on this side of the coin; that is, having the same responsibilities as people with much more education and experience. In a year’s time, I’ll be back on the other side of the coin, one day praying that the man or woman who fills out such a recommendation spends as much effort writing a good recommendation for me. Just another day of life in Cairo, eh?

Christmas Celebration

2005-12-22T19:29:00.001+02:00

Last night we celebrated Christmas since it was our last night with Carole Landess, who will be returning to the states on Christmas morning after spending 12 years serving in Egypt. We came up with the best Christmas meal we could think of—Pizza Hut and cola. Oh, yeah! And for dessert we ate Carole’s pumpkin bars, Eric’s date balls, and Jennifer’s chocolate covered pretzels and strawberries. Yum yum yum!

Oh, the fun didn’t stop there! After seeing the gingerbread house at the Marriott a few weeks ago, Teri and I decided it would be fun to make one ourselves. So, we baked some gingerbread, only after going to three different stores to be the ingredients, as well as the pharmacy to pick up a suspicious bag of sodium bicarbonate (baking soda). After the baking was done and the gingerbread had cooled, Teri strategically cut out pieces to make our home. What we came up with was a slightly lopsided house that more or less resembled a church, especially after we added a cross on the front door. Due to the lack of fun candy materials in Egypt, we had to make do with a few sweet items to spice up the home. We made a dog with Twizzler bits, a snowman with gummy lizards, frosting, and M&Ms, and a bush and tree with chocolate covered strawberries. (Yes, you must use your imagination.) We even had a rose patch and an ice rink with two ice skaters skating in a figure 8! (Yeah, we know it is winter, but again, use your imagination.) Unfortunately, not everyone has good imagination, because Jen thought our ice skaters were fire hydrants and Carole thought our rose bushes were parking posts for the gingerbread church. Hmmm...looks like some people have grown up too fast!

As we decorated our lovely home/church, Jay and Stephen lent their musical talents on the piano and guitar so we could sing a number of Christmas Carols. Ah, nothing better than men playing music, singing along, and praising God. This led into our Secret Santa gift exchange. Eric and Jennifer wore Mrs. Claus hats with two white-haired pigtails to symbolize their function as the elves who brought the presents to each person. I absolutely love Secret Santa time—it’s such a fun surprise! I bought art supplies for Jason, and Jay bought me a beautiful scarf and a surgical mask to keep the pollution out of my nose and mouth (kinda). Perfect! We had two special presents. One was from the group to Eric; shampoo and conditioner to encourage him to shower. J The other present was a scrapbook for Carole, and she loved it! We were able to get in contact with a number of people from her past, and she was so shocked and excited! What fun it is to give people the “perfect gift.” Speaking of incredible gifts, Carole bought us cartouche necklaces with our hieroglyphic names engraved in silver and gold—Wow!
The night ended with the destruction of our gingerbread and chowing down on the frosting and gingerbread. It was a great night full of friend, fun, and sugar!

Field Trip with Mariam

2005-12-22T19:29:00.000+02:00

Yesterday I partook in a field trip! Being that Tuesday was the last day of fall semester for St. Andrews (even though it was suppose to be Thursday, but that was changed due to the fact both Dick and I are leaving the country tonight) Mariam decided to take her class to a governate about 45 minutes away from downtown Cairo for a day of games and bike riding. I invited myself along, and I’m sure glad I did because it was a blast!

We rented a microbus and traveled out of the city to a smaller town in the delta region. After hopping off the bus onto a bridge over a Nile tributary we made our way to a park where we found a mini Ferris wheel, bumper cars, and an Egyptian DJ playing American rap music. We weren’t there for the wheel or cars, however. Instead, we found a grassy spot to play some football (soccer), dodge ball, and Steal the Bacon (also known as Steal the Luncheon Meat—pigs are unclean in Egyptian standards). Mariam, Amany, and I (the staff) where quickly knocked out of the games—probably so the kids could be more aggressive without “hurting the misses!” Cute! As we were sitting on the sidelines watching, a few of the boy students bought flowers for each of us. Later I found Ashraf pulling the pedals off of one, I think to figure out if “she” (whoever she is) loves him or not ;-)

Then it was bike time! Whoo-hoo! We rented about a dozen bikes from outside the park and we were given one hour to tour around. These kids were ecstatic to go biking! It was like Christmas morning for them. We had a hard time taming their excited energy enough to keep them near us so we could keep an eye on them and make sure they were safe.

As I learned at FLBC, safety is the NUMBER ONE thing to consider on these excursions, and I certainly experienced some fear of safety regarding those bikes. Because a few of the girls had never biked in their life, Mariam and I rented bikes that had a flat wired platform on the back used to hold groceries and other supplies, or in our case, another person. I was nervous in the first place to be riding these rickety old bikes (Globalites—remember biking in Luxor? Yeah, like that.), and I spent the first few minutes testing the pedals, breaks, and tires. I’m not sure what it is about these cheap bikes, but they stink when it comes to turning around. Like a big truck, one must make a huge loop starting from the curb and pray you can make it around before hitting the curb on the other side. Now, add another person sitting side-saddled on the back. Then, throw in some other road distracters such as other bikers, boys on motorbikes (who should NOT be riding motorbikes!), vehicles, donkey carts, and horse-drawn carriages—all without traffic regulations as we know them. Mix in a dozen enthusiastic kids and you have yourself a recipe for “Fear On Egyptian Roads.”

We managed all right, however. I started off extra cautious and conservative. Over time I gained more confidence and gave the student a faster, more fun ride! There was one major unfortunate aspect to this fun, however—the Egyptians. Since I don’t speak Arabic, I had to ask the students to tell me what the men were saying as we rode by. Sometimes they would tell me the nasty things that were said, and other times they said it was so bad they wouldn’t repeat it. Of course this just boils my blood, but there’s something even worse—the way some (not all) Egyptians treat Sudanese. It went so far as having an Egyptian man drive past us, then stop to wait for us to catch up, only to shout out the window that we are different colors and shouldn’t be together. Other young boys would ask the girl sitting on my bike if she and I are friends, and when she said yes, they said they wouldn’t believe it. Why would this white woman want to be friends with an African? It’s sick, isn’t it? I tried to teach a couple students how to bike, but it’s a bit different when they are 12 instead of 6. They are much too heavy for me to do much good and eventually we went back to riding two on one.

After biking time, we played “hackysack” with a football, and each time a student got the ball the others would yell out his or her tribe and crack some jokes--all in good humor. Even though I don’t understand Arabic and had no clue what was going on most of the day, actions speak louder than words and it was obvious how much the students care for one another. They get along so well and look out for each other. Back in Sudan these tribes are/were killing one another, but our students in Cairo are learning to love and respect each other. Only an hour ago before on the street we experienced the differences that separated us (Egyptians, Americans, and Sudanese), but within our group the differences made for sharing and bonding. As we left the playground, Mariam said, “Let’s sing!” and they came up with none other than “I Lift My Eyes Up”—one of my favorite songs from FLBC, and so appropriate for all of us!

Staff Appreciation and Closing Ceremony

2005-12-22T19:27:00.000+02:00

In the past week St. Andrew’s has held two of the most important events of the year—Staff Appreciation and the Fall Closing ceremony. Both required a lot of preparation, and in typical Egyptian fashion there were a lot of loose ends until minutes before event time, but I’m happy to announce both ceremonies went really well and we had a great time!

Staff Appreciation was held last Thursday evening for both the Children’s Education Program and the Adult Education Program. Ahmed (Office Manager) and I worked together to prepare a night of food, awards, and entertainment. After rounding up some teachers to help decorate the hall with garland and balloons, we brought in loads of Pizza Hut and KFC. Even if you are Pizza Hut and KFC fans in America, it’s at least ten times a bigger deal here. McDonald’s, for instance, is quite high class for Egypt and people who eat there are either wealthy or celebrating a special occasion. Pizza Hut and KFC are similar. For some of the staff, the dinner was one of the best meals they’ve eaten all fall, especially since there was meat involved. (If that doesn’t but things into perspective for you, I don’t know what will!)

For gifts we gave women staff a large bar of Swiss chocolate while the men received three pairs of socks. Apparently we’ve given chocolate and socks in the past and it goes over well. Women love chocolate, of course, and most men could really use the practical gift of socks. Of course, since we are working with Muslims and Christians, these are not “Christmas presents,” rather “Year End presents.” Our volunteers received photo albums made from refugees in The Arc program.

A play entitled “A Recipe for Civil War” concluded the evening. It was written by the actors and actresses who performed in it—including two of my teachers, a few students in the Adult Education Program, our electrician, and one of the artists from The Arc. All actors come from war-torn countries; Sudan, Somalia, and Ethiopia were represented. The play was an adaptation of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar since it deals with issues of civil war; that is, the need for revolution, the mind of the revolutionaries, the mind of the rules, the mixture of good and evil in all of us, and the consequences of war. We certainly have some talented people at St. Andrews!
The Closing Ceremony for the Children’s Education Program was held on Tuesday, and it turned out to be a blast! For the past month each class has been working with the music teacher a couple times a week to get ready for the big day of performances. It was such a joy to watch these kids get excited for their show! On Monday as I walked around the school I could hear the students practicing their songs and talking about what they were going to wear. Tuesday morning the nerves and energy was high as the girls gathered in the one small bathroom to get all dolled up while the guys played it cool out on the courts playing soccer.

Parents were invited to the closing ceremony, and I was pleased to see a good 30-40 parents show up! (For many it’s nearly impossible to leave work—they depend on that money so much.) After short speeches from Dick and me, and a long speech from Henry (who also had to say goodbye since he’s moving back to Sudan), the Flower class (youngest kids aged 6-8) started the event by singing “Head and Shoulders,” “I am a Child of God” and dancing a Shulluk Traditional Dance. (The Shulluk tribe is located in South Sudan.) From there we heard such songs as “You Are My Sunshine,” “Rain, Rain, Go Away,” and “Oh, Dear my Father, I’m Going to Leave You Now.” By the time the teenagers were performing we were hearing such songs as “My Heart Will Go On,” “I’m Walking Away” (Craig David), “You Are Not Alone,” and “Everything I Do; I Do It For you.” Between each classes’ performance we handed out blankets to each student in the class as their “Year End” present. We even gave a blanket to little Sarah, the 4-year old granddaughter of Atia (our Egyptian guard) who decided to take part in the ceremony by standing on the stage with the Flower class and touching her head, shoulders, knees and toes with the rest of them. Cute! J

We also gave out a lot of certificates this fall. Rather than just giving awards for good attendance and overall achievement, I decided to add awards for good conduct and each subject area (sports, language, music, art, computer, science, math, and general studies). In fact, I really had a good time making the certificates with a funky art program on my work computer, putting a graphic of a man kicking a soccer ball for the sports award and a new-age computer on the computer award…too bad we can only print certificates in black and white!

I think handing out certificates managed to do what we hoped it would—reward the exceptional students while motivating others to work harder. In fact, one student came to my office crying because she didn’t get a certificate. On the other hand, some students received their certificates and immediately just folded them up and put them into their pockets. Others received their certs with joy and brought them to their parents who showed proud, smiling faces. It was especially important since under the current curriculum we don’t give the students a grade. (I’d like to change this for next semester.)

The fall semester ended with a bang. Dick and I interviewed three candidates for the Program Administrator position to take Henry’s place. I’m excited to see all three of them would be able to do the job, and now it’ll just take a few weeks of Dick/Sarah discussion to figure out the best fit. I can understand how difficult it must be for people working in a Human Resource Department—sometimes the selection process is quite complicated and sifting through many good candidates (or no good candidates) proves to be a bit tricky (but fun!).
I also received some wonderful Christmas presents. One student gave me a matching beaded necklace and bracelet as well as an “evil eye” bracelet (to ward off bad spirits/omens) from her mom. A couple people from The Arc embroidered my name around a couple pens, and another gave me a black handkerchief and candy.

The streets of Cairo

2005-12-18T20:43:00.000+02:00

The other day it occurred to me how much I’ve grown into this culture in the sense that what used to be a picture-perfect moment has now become my every day routine. One morning last week I decided to purposefully pay attention to as much as I could on my walk to work so I could share the experience with you. I hope you find it interesting.

I leave Dawson Hall around 8:30am for work most mornings. The first thing I encounter is students…students galore. I may remind you that I live on the third floor of a building that houses the administrative offices of the Synod of the Nile, a school for mentally handicapped children, and a secretarial school for young women who want to become secretaries. Beyond that, the building is in a school complex for not one but two schools: Ramses College for Girls and New Ramses College.

So, actually, let me back up. The morning begins around 5:00am when I hear the 20+ buses start roaring to life and adding to the extreme exhaust pollution of Cairo. Then, starting around 7am, students come rolling into the compound and spend time hanging out with their friends for the next hour. Many of these kids decide to play on the mini playground, which is located below my window. They certainly love this, as I hear many laughs and shrieking. Then, around 7:45am the megaphone roars. This megaphone is also located just below my bathroom window, and every morning I hear the teachers call out “wahead, itneen, teleta, arba… wahead, itneed, teleta, arba” (1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4) as the students of the mentally handicapped school yell the numbers back. It’s obvious the keyboard is also hooked up to this system, because within no time the keyboard blares and the students sing their song. It’s the same song every day. I enjoy this routine J Besides, you never need an alarm clock—you know you’ve slept in when you hear the song!

Okay, so I leave my haven called Dawson Hall and descend the stairs, hoping this time there won’t be too many students around. These girls just STARE at me. At first I figured it was out of curiosity, but I think there is some issues of jealousy mixed in. Sometimes they make fun of my clothes or giggle at me or act in some obnoxious way. I am thankful, however, in this one instance, that I am not male. You should see how these girls treat the guys! Jason has actually starting going through the Synod of the Nile offices and out a back door just to avoid some of the girls who come running to him yelling, “Jason! Jason!” They LOVE the guys. Hehehe…

Since I am the only person leaving the complex, I have to work hard at forging my way through the mob of students entering the side gate. At this point I am on Ramses Street, making my way towards the metro station. This is one of my least favorite moments of the morning, as I am walking towards traffic and instantly feel a desire to stop breathing to avoid any more pollution reaching my sinuses or lungs. This 5 minute walk to the metro offers a good determination of the weather for the day, and I don’t mean rain, sleet, snow, warm, cold, windy, cloudy, or sunny. When we talk about the “weather” in Egypt, we’re talking about the amount of pollution in the air. Some days are better than others, and you thank God for those days!

On an especially bad day for pollution, I put my sunglasses on (protect the eyes from the grime) and hold a scarf over my nose and mouth. Yes, awkward, but it’s worth it. At one point, just before the metro, I must cross two busy streets. It’s game time! Truly, I feel like I’m in a video game when crossing the streets. Street signs basically do not exist in Egypt—it’s everyone for his own. So, I start walking out into the street, halt for a car to whiz by, take a few leaping steps, move back a couple feet to avoid the next car… okay, now to the left, no, to the right…okay, now walk normal 5 paces, halt again, okay…okay…NOW!--rush the rest of the way. Actually, it’s quite an art to cross the street, and I really think I’ve gotten a good handle on it and usually walk with ease and confidence despite the fact my life is constantly in danger. (It’s okay Mom and Dad, I’m careful!) I’ve discovered one of the best ways to know if someone has been in Cairo long is to watch them cross the street—do they hesitate? Do they look uncomfortable? Do they stand on the edge of the street and wait for long? Are they paying more attention to others than themselves? Truly, it’s a sure-fire way to figure out if someone is a tourist.

After crossing the second street I come to an opening in the gate “daht da cobri” (“under the bridge”). It’s a secret shortcut to the metro that is really not a secret so much as the only people who use it are local people. So, one reason I love going through it is because it makes me look more commonplace…I think. Certainly a normal foreigner wouldn’t know of it, or even if he did, probably wouldn’t use it. In this spot under the bridge you can smell urine and pass by a couple beggars in the morning, and in the afternoon it’s full of vendors selling sweets and roasted corn on the cob (yes, they roast it right there, and it’s delicious!).

I am now ready to climb the stairs on my way to the metro train. I pull out my 3-month ticket and send it through the machine, walk through the turn-dial, and grab my ticket on the other end. Nearly every day I see many people cheat this system by grabbing hold of the turn-dial before it clicks shut from the previous person and sneaking through. Really, though, it’s not sneaky, because everyone seems to do it and no one seems to care. In fact, there is a guard at every station whose job is to watch for these people, but they never (or rarely) do a thing about it.

Walking on the train platform I make my way to the left and walk past rows and rows of men until I reach the far end where the first two cars are for women only. I wait patiently for the metro to come by and hope it’s not completely crowded. If I’ve timed my morning right, I am able to squeeze on the first metro that comes by, making sure I keep at least one hand and arm on my purse at all times. If the timing is not right, I might have to wait for a train or two before there is enough room to get on. Regardless, it’s a mad dash to get on the metro as people are pushing their way off the train at the same time you’re pushing your way on.

I keep my sunglasses on at all times during this excursion to work, even on the metro. First of all, it keeps you from accidentally looking into a man’s eyes, or at least they can’t tell you did. Second, and probably more importantly, it helps in keeping pollution out of your eyes. I even keep them on during the metro ride.

Three stops later I’ve arrived down town Cairo and get off at the Nasser station, where I find St. Andrew’s Church on the corner of Ramses Street and the 26th of July Street, where life is hustling and bustling. This intersection (which also includes two other major by-passes) is considered one of the most, if not the most, polluted section of Cairo. So, here I am in the 2nd most polluted city in the world working in the most polluted spot in that city. I actually take some pride in that!

Today I decided to take a walk down 26th of July Street towards Zamalak Island, where I needed to meet Sister Enrica to get another student ID. Walking along the street I first see rows of men sitting against a gate along the edge of the sidewalk. In front of each of them sits a 1 ½ foot wooden cylinder with rows of metal “pointers” wrapped around it, sticking up towards the sky—very Buffy the Vampire style. These men are waiting for work—they are masonry workers and their pointers let passer-byers know they are open for business.

Continuing down the street I see venders on every corner with carts full of fresh oranges, imported apples, and guava. Some men are cooking cous cous or laying out carts full of fresh ish baladi—the Egyptian bread. You find men carrying ish baladi on a huge wooden platforms above their heads as they bike along the crazy, congested roads. I truly do not understand how they can do it. (I mean, how do you get that above your head in the first place, and then balance and bike, especially when you have to constantly stop or swerve to avoid people and cars? It’s a skill few have I believe!)

Children are walking hand in hand with their mothers or fathers down the street. They are wearing bright backpacks on their backs and many of the girls have ponytails full of accessories in their hair. Some kids walk to school with their siblings and you can tell they love the freedom of being able to run around the streets without a scolding.

The stores are starting to open, although most are still locked up and deserted. Even though by most standards one would say the city is already alive, things don’t really start moving until 10am. Some men are sitting outside store doors, reading the paper or reciting prayers from the Koran. Others are sitting in dirty plastic chair smoking the sheesha water pipe and watching people as they wander the streets. Still others are sweeping the dust and dirt away from the door to the stores, or washing down the sidewalk. Wherever there is a bit of space you find overweight women wearing long dark gowns sitting cross-legged on the sidewalk surrounded by the bright colors of green peppers, red tomatoes, green beans, cauliflower, onions, potatoes, zucchini, and eggplant, waiting to sell their goods for good prices. They shoo away the hundreds of fifthly cats who roam the streets and garbage looking for leftovers from the night before.

As I near the Nile I get a great sniff of bread and croissants being baked at a local bakery, and I debate whether or not to take a big whiff, even if it means black boogers later. I don’t have to think for long, because the sweet smell suddenly turns into the stench of urine. Ooo…someone just went there, and he is certainly dehydrated!

I approach the Nile and walk up the ramp to cross over the bridge. In the evening you’ll find many young kids spending every night on this bridge, trying to sell a flower or two to the lovebirds who spend time gazing in each other’s eyes as they stand over the romantic Nile. I look out over the river and see that indeed it’s a bad ‘weather’ day in Cairo—everything is a big haze—guess I need to cover my nose and mouth better so I don’t get a headache or feel sick later! Below I see small fishing boats, each with three men. Two men hold the net while the other guides the boat with his long oar. They mostly keep to the river’s edge, and I pray they stay away the stacks of trash piled up. (Well, I guess it doesn’t matter where in the Nile fish come from, I wouldn’t want to eat it!).

On my return from the Island I find the sidewalk much more crowded than before, and the streets are full of buses, cars, and taxis swerving left and right to avoid another vehicle or person. I wonder again how those men can dare bike in those roads with one hand balancing stacks of bread above their heads. How do you ever learn how to do that—in the middle of the night on some back-road alleyway? (Since that’s about the only time you won’t find the street full of people and cars.) Hmm…

I dodge a few women carrying heavy bags of food on their heads and try to avoid unwanted stares or comments from the men who now have their stores open for business. I try to find a walking pace that is fast enough for me to avoid too many distracting comments but slow enough that it doesn’t look like I’m in a rush. Egyptians DO NOT rush. Rushing is another sure-fire way to know spot a foreigner.

During prayer time most store owners pull out large green mats and place them in front of their stores on the sidewalk. Often there is a smaller mat for shoes. Any Muslim man is allowed to take off his shoes, wipe off the dirt from his hands, feet, and face, and pray towards Mecca on these mats. In some areas you’ll find row after row of men kneeling, postulating, standing…kneeling, postulating, standing. It’s quite a sight.

I make it back to St. Andrew’s and walk into the complex. Suddenly I’m not surrounded by the dark skin, dark haired Arab men and woman, but surrounded by the dark skin, dark haired and TALL African men and women. As much as St. Andrews is a haven for them it’s also a welcome haven for me, and I finally relax enough to smile at a few of the student’s mothers as I make may way to assembly that morning…

"I'm looking to get married."

2005-12-18T15:15:00.000+02:00

On Friday Teri and I had a good day with Egyptian men. By noon, we had dealt with a young boy on the metro who wouldn't stop staring or trying to touch us, a couple "I love yous!" on the street, and a marriage proposal. See below (from Teri's blog).

"Actual conversation had with older (maybe mid-40's to mid-50's?) Egyptian male church-goer but non-partaker of communion, during coffee hour after church...after my attempted brush off because my last conversation with this guy was never ending. and he stares. incessantly.

The Guy: blah blah blah listen to this about my great job...which i told you about before but i'm recapping for you now.
me (Teri): I remember, that's great.
Guy: Well, I'm looking to get married.
me: I hope not to me!
Guy: why not? You don't want to stay in Egypt?
me: no, I can't stay in Egypt. I am not allowed to stay.
Guy: but if you were married you could stay.
me: no, I'm not allowed to get married.
Guy: You could work here.
me: My church, the church that sent me here, doesn't allow me to get married or to stay in Egypt. I have to go back to the US.
Guy: well, maybe you could go back and then come back here to be with me.
me: No, I don't think so.
Guy: Why not? Just go, then come back and we can be married and you can work here for a church.
me: I don't think my fiance would be very happy about that.
Guy: Oh, you already have a fiance.
me (showing my right hand which does have a ring on it): yeah.
Guy: Oh. Well, what about Sarah? Does she have a friend too?
me: I don't know, but she isn't allowed to get married here either.
Guy: Will you talk to her for me?
me: I can't promise you what she'll say. (even though I definitely could)
Guy: you won't talk to her?
me: Oh, I'll talk to her alright. (side note: I don't think he caught my tone on this)
Guy: Do you have any other friends who are beautiful like you and live in Cairo?
me: No.
Guy: What about the girl who was with you last week? (Jen)
me: She doesn't live here.
Guy: okay. Well, will you talk to Sarah?
me: We'll talk.
Guy: I'm going to get some coffee.
me: okay.
me: Sarah, we have to leave now. let's go. bye everyone!
me: Sarah, this guy asked me to marry him. I said no and he asked if you would marry him. (repeat conversation)
Sarah: Oh, I'll talk with him. I'll tell him that I will never settle for second best, so forget it!
both of us: ecstatic crazed laughter."

We both agree this approach to marriage will not work. ;-) According to Carole, he's been using this approach for a decade. I guess you have to be impressed with his perseverance.

Harassment

2005-12-18T15:07:00.000+02:00

Never a day goes by without some type of harassment on the street of Cairo. It might be a verbal “You are beautiful!” (or something much less tasteful than that which I cannot repeat), a physical slap of the butt or bump into the breast, or a visual masturbation as we pass by. Whatever it may be, it’s disgusting, obnoxious, and intolerable. Yet, living in Cairo, one must learn to make it tolerable or else you just go crazy or hate living here. Some days I can just let the harassment roll off my back, and other days I want to burst into tears.

Lately, however, Teri and I have found a way to vent our anger, and that’s by fighting back. At first I felt horrible about this, and at times I still think, “Would Jesus be happy about this?” but as Teri said, “If I only let them do what they want, I am neither loving myself nor the other women these men will victimize.” So what do we do now? We push, we shove, we hit men with our water bottles, and we nudge them in the stomach. Of course we only do this to the men who first approach us, and we are getting much better and knowing who that will be.

The problem is many men grow up thinking this kind of behavior is appropriate. Women are property, used for the enjoyment of men, so why not harass them a bit? And American woman—well, they just LOVE to get this attention I’m sure! (HA!) Teri and I like to think that by fighting back we are saying, “You are ridiculous and have no right to treat me this way.” Just last week as I was coming home a man started masturbating in front of Jennifer and me. We kept walking and talking as normal, acting like it was no big deal, and then seconds before approaching the man I took out my water bottle and slugged him HARD in the arm. He didn’t fight back. No one has ever fought back. In fact, they usually keep walking and trying to pretend they didn’t do anything.

Last week I was on the metro with Jay and as we were getting off a man touched my butt twice, even though my hand was there ready for it and I grabbed his arm and threw it off of me. As we stepped onto the platform I turned around and pushed the guy. Jay saw what was happening so he got involved and started yelling at the guy in Arabic. Soon other Egyptian men came around, and thankfully were on “our side”, but not in the way they should be. Basically, they kept saying, “Malish, malish,” which means “Ah, no problem, don’t worry, it’s over.” This angered Jay and me even more, because in essence they are saying the harassment is no big deal, move on, get over it. EXCUSE ME?! Man, this society needs a wake-up call.

Today’s harassment was almost hilarious. Teri and I took a tram to Heliopolis where we shopped at the Metro food market for some ingredients to make gingerbread houses. On our way home we had to wait a good 30 minutes at the tram station before the tram arrived. During that time we had 5 obnoxious young men/boys trying to talk with us. One of them was your classic punk—he called himself “Batman”, said “I am alcohol!” and continuously shined his oversized silver NY necklace (which, by the way, was put on backwards so Teri and I had a good laugh at that).

They poked fun at us, tried to get our number and email addresses, and took pictures of us with their cameras. The saddest part was that a younger guy (maybe 12) got involved in this harassment because the other men would laugh with him and egg him on when he called out nasty comments to us. Again, this society needs a wake up call, because it’s turning young men into jerks! They didn’t know English very well, though, so we had fun with it too. We’d ask, “Do you like to swim around in toilets?” and they would answer, “Yes!” “Do you think you are a jerk?” “Yes!” “Are you crazy?” “Yes!” Yeah, sometimes I wonder…

Mosquitoes

2005-12-15T13:25:00.000+02:00

Mosquitoes
I can’t stand them. I have always had bad luck with mosquitoes. For some reason mosquitoes are always attracted to my blood, and my body tends to react strongly to them. I am always the one with huge welts on my forehead, feet, and neck from mosquito bites. If fact, this summer I was bitten so bad on my forehead people thought I ran into something to produce such a big bump.

After last night I decided one of the worst things about Egypt lacking the snowy winter of the Midwest is the mosquitoes are still alive and thriving. On top of that, RGC dumped pile after pile of manure all around the complex about 3 weeks ago and we know buggers like that. Last weekend a few people were in my room and all of us were getting eaten alive by those mosqies so we took a “break” to kill those nasty inhibitors who needed to be evacuated (or killed, preferably) immediately. Within a few minutes, Stephen noticed a few were flying up to my high ceiling, so he hopped on a chair and grabbed my flyswatter (which I bought two months ago for the sole purpose of killing these blood-suckers). “Oh, no, Sarah,” he said as he was squinting up at the ceiling. “What?” I asked. “There are tons of little mosquitoes up here!” Gross, gross, gross.

Thing is, these are not regular mosquitoes, oh no. They are smart cookies, they are. They do not make a sound. It’s practically eerie how silent they are. Secondly, you don’t start itching until they are long gone from your flesh, so you never know you’re getting bit! You can’t feel them; they are quite tiny and light so you never notice them land on you. When you are lucky enough to notice them flying around, they are nearly impossible to kill (hence the flyswatter). They anticipate your swat so well they nearly always get away. Crap! They are the devil I tell you!

At least two nights a week I wake up in the middle of the night because I’m getting eaten by these buggers. Last night was one such night. It goes something like this. I wake up and realize I’ve been bit because I’m all itchy. I try to fall back asleep before I get bit again. If I manage to fall back asleep, I might be okay for the rest of the night. But usually I don’t make it. Instead, I start itching somewhere else. And a few minutes later in another place. By this time I’m annoyed and awake. I turn on the light and sit up, waiting patiently for the bugger to dare make his way near me again. He’s usually too smart and I end up sitting for a good ten minutes with no action. I turn off the light.

Within a minute or two I’m bit again. And again. And again. I turn on the light and try to talk some sense into the mosquito. “Come on now,” I say out loud. “You’ve already bit me six times, enough is enough.” But, no, it’s not enough for that one little twerp. I either have to wait until I can kill it (which can take 20 minutes or more) or I move to another room. Sometimes I use this opportunity to read my bible as I wait. It’s usually calms me down to read about patience and love and forgiveness during these moments. “Okay, Lord, I forgive the mosquito, but he’s still not going to survive the night!”

Needless to say, it’s sad when your Christmas wish-list starts with “Two sticks of After Bite, please.” (And that’s no joke!)

Clothes

2005-12-15T13:24:00.000+02:00

CHILDREN. This is the subject. NEED. This is the desire. CLOTHES. This is the object. The idea? CHILDREN NEED CLOTHES.

One of my projects for the past 3 weeks has been to gather and organize clothing for the students. After sending some fliers to a few communities and making an announcement in church (and a special thanks to the Oles who graciously left a lot of their clothes with us), we received a few suitcases and large garbage bags full of clothes.

My office has turned into a thrift store. I started out by dividing the clothing into piles based on size and gender. I then folded them nicely and tried to make some type of logical set-up between Dick’s and my office. At a teacher’s meeting a couple weeks ago I told the teachers to start sending their most needy students upstairs during the breaks to get clothes. That didn’t work so well at first. The teachers felt uncomfortable choosing certain student to come up—they worried about embarrassing the students or leaving some kids out. So, I tried a different approach. I told them to take note of which students are still coming to school in flip-flop, skirts, and t-shirts, and I will personally come find them and ask them to come up with me. I only had to do that a couple times before the concept caught on. The kids would go back to class, and then another student would want to come up for clothes. It’s now at a point where each teacher has assigned two or three kids a day to come up to the office and pick out clothing and there is a line-up outside my door. The children have been unleashed!

Unfortunately, now that the ball is rolling, we are out of clothes again, and many students still need clothing. Also, the teachers need clothes for their family members, so we are trying to help them as well. It’s hard to turn the kids away, but I keep telling them we should get more soon (insha-allah). On the positive side, I’ve defiantly noticed the clothes being used. Yesterday at assembly I saw one kid wearing a Minnesota Vikings t-shirt under his thin jacket and for a split second I thought, “So cool! What a small world?! Where did he get that…oh, yeah, duh.” Although it’s odd to see an eight year old wearing a shirt I saw a college student (Ole) wearing a month ago or a teenage girl wearing a “Lizzie McGuire” t-shirt, it’s good to know this place is making a difference in every way for these children; not just their mental and social health, but their physical health as well. That boy who was wearing a thin hot-pink Mickey and Minnie Mouse jacket with pants that looked more like capris two weeks ago now has full-length jeans and a warmer green poofy jacket.

FYI—If you are one who tends to donate to shelters, let this be known—most places always need more socks, shoes, undergarments, and feminine products. Better yet, the next time you are donating your old clothes, take a detour to Target to pick up some brand new black shoes, warm socks, and Superman underwear to add to the mix. It’s amazing what those three things can do for someone.

The first TINY bit of Christmas!

2005-12-10T23:18:00.001+02:00

Thursday evening I attended a Cairo Choral Society music concert held at All Saints Cathedral on Zamalak Island with Teri and Jen. It was the largest group of ex-pats I have seen since Chicago, but it was so great! The church was packed solid (we had to sit on the floor) and the sounds of Beethoven’s Mass in C and selections from Handel’s Messiah could be heard for almost two hours. I spent most of the time with my eyes closed soaking in the sound. I’ve come to appreciate music, especially classical music, so much these past couple months that I’ve been trying to attend at least one concert a week. This was a special concert, however, as it was the first sign of the Christmas season I have experienced yet. For those of you who have never been outside the country during the Christmas season, it is darn strange, especially when you are in a place where most people do not celebrate Christmas. Without experiencing advent (or seeing snow!) it’s not ‘beginning to look a lot like Christmas.’ As much as we (I included) complain about the commercialization of Christmas in America, it certainly adds to the Christmas spirit in ways you can’t imagine until you don’t have it!

After the concert we walked through the Marriott hotel and found more Christmas decorations—YIPPEE! We saw trees and fake snow and little figurines ice skating. The Marriott Bakery even had a huge gingerbread house! Ah…even though the Marriott screams “WEALTH, WEALTH, WEALTH!” I have to admit I felt more comfortable in there than I have anywhere in Cairo for at least the past two months.

As a random comment, today I saw Harry Potter IV with some friends from work and Jason. In Egypt, there is an intermission in the middle of the movie. I think this just stinks, as it completely cuts the mood and brings you back into reality when really you just want to live in the screen for a couple hours. Also, you buy your seats (much like going to the theatre in America). I ended up sitting next two a couple of rowdy kids throwing around popcorn instead of the rest of the group, but at least I was a bit closer to the screen! Also, as we were walking back to St. Andrews from the movie theatre it occurred to me we were representing 5 countries—Sudan, America, Burkina Faso, Egypt, and Eritrea. Gotta love that!

Saying Good-Bye

2005-12-10T23:17:00.000+02:00

As a missionary, it is inevitable that we will have to say good-bye to almost everyone we meet this year, and this month we are getting a taste of what it will be like. Carole Landess, our site coordinator, is returning to America after serving in Egypt for 12 years in order to attend seminary in Dubuque, Iowa. We are all extremely sad to see her leave. Carole is Mom here and we really can’t imagine living in Egypt without her. Of course we’ll be fine, since she’s trained us well J, but life will be very different without her. When Carole’s around we just feel so safe and secure.

We wanted to do something extra special for Carole, so we planned a surprise party for her that occurred last night. All eight volunteers came in for the evening and we took Carole on a felucca sail-boat ride on the Nile during sunset—one of her favorite things to do. When we returned in Dawson Hall a good 30-40 people were waiting in a beautifully decorated Hall ready to jump out with a big “SURPRISE!” She certainly was surprised. The night went so well—people came from hours away and we even managed to get Martha Roy (92 years old) out of her group home and over to Dawson Hall for the celebration/good-bye party. Other than a broken florescent light from the kids kicking an exercise ball to the ceiling (Ha!), the evening turned out beautifully.

On top of that, I’ve already had to say goodbye to three people at St. Andrews. This next month will be especially difficult, as my assistant and now good friend, Henry, is leaving. Henry is from south Sudan and after working for the UN there he fled to Egypt for his (and his family) safety. Now, he has been offered a good job with the International Rescue Committee in Sudan and he is determined to help rebuild his mother country. I am very impressed with his passion and desire to go back to this place of so many painful memories. His family will stay in Egypt for at least a year, however, because there is nothing for them in Sudan—no schools, hospitals, decent water facilities, etc.—at least not yet. I know it’s not an easy decision for him to leave his family and return to Sudan, but he’s determined and hopeful. Thanks to people like Henry and organizations like the IRC, Sudan will be rebuilt. Losing Henry is a huge loss for St. Andrews; he is one of the most competent, devoted, and trustworthy persons to walk through those doors. I have become very fond of him and trust him with my life.

I wanted to take Henry and his family out to celebrate, and after a lot of planning and re-planning what materialized was an evening at Al-Azhar Park for just Henry and me. I was really hoping to meet his children, but it was also a great blessing to have time to get to know him and ask him questions outside of the work environment. That night we had a nice meat dinner in the park and had time to talk about Henry’s history of living in Sudan and his past couple years in Egypt. I absolutely love the park—it’s the only area in Cairo where you can be standing on vegetation and still see greens 40 feet in front of you. (I’m biased, but I think the park is one of the best things Egypt has fashioned in the past 10 years!) Henry really enjoyed being there as well—he had never been anywhere on that side of the city and certainly had not seen the park.

As we strolled around the fountains and flowers he started comparing the trees we were seeing with the trees of Sudan. “Sarah, the trees in Sudan are so huge it takes more than 5 people holding hands to hug the tree all around,” and, “There are miles and miles of the tallest trees you’ll ever see…” I was happy to see him reminisce about his homeland and I could hear the peace and joy in his voice. We made it to the far side of the park that over-looks the city listened to the call to prayers being sung all around us at the various mosques during sunset. The outing also gave Henry a chance to give me some advice for my future—such as searching for a husband and some day starting an NGO in Sudan. Hmmm…we’ll see about that…

Oles in Cairo

2005-12-10T23:15:00.000+02:00

I love being an Ole. Every time I get to tell someone I graduated from St. Olaf College in Northfield, MN, I have a healthy dose of pride in my voice. Especially being away from Manitou Hill during the Christmas fest season, I feel a strong connection to my alma mater and rejoice for all the people there who are enjoying the blessings of living and serving on a hilltop in southern Minnesota.

One exceptional benefit about being an Ole is an extraordinary world-wide connection. Wherever you go, Oles are tied together with an inescapable and deep understanding of shared experiences and similar morals, ideals, and lifestyles. Like camp folk, I feel as though Oles always have each other’s back and tend to be so sympathetic and helpful with each other.

And then the time comes for Oles to reunite in Cairo, Egypt! For the second time this fall, I’ve met a group of Oles traveling through the area on a study abroad program. Back in Sept/October the Global Semester was studying in Cairo—the same program I participated in two years ago when I first discovered my love for Egypt. This time it’s the Global Term in the Middle East (T.I.M.E.) led by Jackie and Mack Gimse passing through for 5 weeks.

We’ve had the fortune of spending some quality time with these lovely Oles. We first met them when they came to St. Andrew’s United Church of Cairo (yes, where I work) for worship one weekend. We instantly clicked—partially because we’re all young adults in a foreign country, and for me, partially because they are my Ole peers! We had some of them over on two occasions for hanging out and watching movies, and one day Jason and I were graciously invited to attend the Sunday brunch at the Marriott.

In typical Ole fashion, a number of the students were interested in learning more about St. Andrew’s Children Education Program and they decided to come to school for a couple days to volunteer. It was such a blessing for them to come! I had them help out in two children classrooms during English class so the St. Andrews students could have more personal attention and hear a native English speaker. I know the students absolutely loved having them around, and I was pleased to hear the Oles enjoyed it as well. It also served as a time for me to see just how much some students are struggling in their English. One lesson was all about the weather and even talking about something as simple as the temperature and weather in Cairo versus Sudan or America was hard enough for these children to understand and communicate. (Please pray we have more tutors next term; we really need them!)

One morning Dick set up a time for the Oles and me to talk with the lay leaders (James, Ayed Samuel, and James) of the Dinca and Nuer tribes. The Dinca and Nuer are two tribes from south Sudan who have their own worship services (in their tribal languages and customs) as St. Andrews. For over two hours we sat in the conference room and shared stories and ideas. We spent a lot of time asking them questions and learning more about their needs and concerns (resettlement vs. repatriation vs. staying in Egypt, harassment and racism, being recognized by the UNHCR and the benefits (or lack therefore) of having a blue card, the vast and troubling medical problems dealing with sex, rape, prenatal care, AIDS, diseases, malnutrition, FGM, etc., the need for bibles written in their own language, the need for more money to pay for daily necessities and shelter, etc.). In the end, when we asked what we could do, they said, “Please pray for us, for the future of our people. Pray that God will help us. Also, pray for the education of our people.”

working when sick

2005-12-07T20:33:00.000+02:00

I didn't go to school for more than 3 1/2 hours today. I went to bed with a horrible headache last night and woke up feeling the same, only more pressure in the sinuses and feeling like I was going to vomit. So, for the SECOND TIME already this fall, I stayed in bed instead of going to work. All of us have noticed our health is just not as good here, and I for one blame it on the pollution. Truly, it’s amazing how much the pollution can affect your physical wellbeing—your appetite, your level of energy, your nose and head (we wake up congested every day and when blowing our nose the buggers come out black…sorry, that was gross), your respiratory system (cough, cough), etc.

I couldn’t stay in bed all day, however, as I had scheduled two staff meetings with my two groups of teachers today. We have a lot of work to do before the end of the term, especially with Staff Appreciation night next week and the Closing Ceremony the following week. I rolled out of bed, put my glasses on, and went into work. People kept commenting, "Oooo....ahhh...you look so professional in your glasses, Sarah!" I replied, "I just woke up." I arrived at school in time to deal with a fight and wrote a letter home to the parents saying the students are suspended (one for two days, another for 4 days); certainly not my favorite thing to do.

Ironically, just yesterday at morning assembly I spoke with the children about respect and cooperation. I told them they must listen to their teachers and respect each other, going on about the fact that they are in a wonderful place and they are VERY lucky to be students, as many kids their age (and their nationality) do not get an education. Even when other kids want to get an education, it can take years to get into a school because the waiting list is so long. I told them it is a gift to be here where they receive free education being taught by teachers who REALLY care about them.

So, I was totally out of it, because for the first half of the first meeting I kept referring to Francis as Dominic. Finally John Peter said, "Ah, Sarah, this is Francis. Dominic is not here." I looked like a complete idiot. Of course, we all had a good laugh and then I said, "My excuse is that I'm sick and just woke up" but still, that was BAD. And, of course I know the difference between the two. Goodness, Sarah!

After that I had about 30 people wanting to talk with me or ask me for things or whatnot. My office was full of people every moment today, and I felt so bad because I was just feeling like crap and really didn’t want to talk with anyone anymore. Instead of getting ahead today, I have another 5 things on my list to get done tomorrow. Let it be known---those principals at your elementary and high schools work darn hard for the teachers and students and they try darn hard to please people’s needs, even if it doesn't all work out that way! I have new found respect for Mr. Lyzsak.

I slept another 4 hours after work and just ate some Velveeta Shells and Cheese that Brice brought back from the states for me. Although it's now gone, it was good to have one of my favorite "comfort" meals on a sick day.

monasteries, Thanksgiving, and pyramid tourism

2005-11-30T20:14:00.000+02:00

A couple weekends ago a few of us took a long Sinai day trip to visit the St. Paul and St. Anthony’s monasteries. They were incredible! St. Anthony’s monastery is the oldest in Egypt—dating from the 300s. St. Anthony lived in a cave up the mountain from where the monastery stands today, and should you decide to trek up the mountain you can search the cave out yourself! (See the pictures when I email them to you. By the way, if you want to see my photos but are not already on my list, send a message and I’ll be sure to add you.) One of the coolest things I heard all day was this; for over 1500 years monks have received water coming from a well source only 10m into the bluffs. Funny thing is, it’s been the same quality and amount of water every day for over a thousand years, and yet it never rains out there in the Sinai. Pretty nifty!
For Thanksgiving we had a whopping 47 people at our Dawson Hall home. Most people were other foreigners living and working here within a church or educational system. Ah, it’s so good to spend time with people who can completely understand your language and humor without needing to put much effort into it. And one of the best parts of the night was eating American food—yippee! On the eve of Thanksgiving our hired cook searched the streets of Cairo for turkeys and finally produced four big one for us. We also had gravy, stuffing, mashed potatoes, green-bean casserole, sweet potato casserole, and pumpkin pie. YUM YUM YUM! After stuffing ourselves silly and getting all hyper (or maybe that was just me…) we sang hymns as Nelle played the piano. The climax of the night was talking with my family—including grandparents and aunts! The greatest blessing of the evening: having Teri back with us!
Thanksgiving weekend as also the perfect opportunity to visit the well-known Giza Pyramids! However, the day turned out to be one of the most polluted days I have EVER experienced and very hot. I literally walked around with a bandana covered with pink pigs shielding my nose and mouth. I still felt sick for a good two days afterward. (When the pollution is really bad, I get headaches, sinus problems, and feel drowsy.)
The day began in Memphis, the ancient capital of Egypt and one of the world’s earliest settlements. Today it’s not much more than a small community daily welcoming loads of tourists whether they like it or not. What’s left of Memphis is a little museum-type area full of unearthed tablets, sculptures, and sarcophaguses. Still, very cool to check out and there is one big statue of Ramses III lying on its back that is so smoothly carved you just want to stare at it forever and treat it like it’s the statue of David (see my pictures).
Next stop was visiting the step pyramids which is thought to be the first time stone masonry was practiced—that being the first time stones were cut to shape and purposefully placed rather than random rocks being piled up (thanks Teri!). Stealing from Teri: “It turns out that you can no longer go into that pyramid--not even archaeologists--because it's not safe anymore. That's right--after 5,000 + years, it's no longer safe. Why, you ask? Well, three words: Aswan High Dam. That's right, the big engineering wonder. The water table has risen like crazy, and continues to rise, meaning that formerly stable land is no longer stable, and formerly stable rock piles (like pyramids, like ancient churches, etc) are falling apart. Also, the weather has changed significantly in the past few years because of the rising water table. Apparently humidity is relatively new in Egypt, and the haze we've been experiencing this week has more to do with humidity than pollution, though the pollution is HUGE. The humidity just means that the nasty pollution looks more solid in the air. It was the worst I've ever seen it, actually, on Saturday. The humidity is ruining thousands-of-years-old paint on tomb walls, icons in churches, and buildings everywhere. In addition to all that, of course the Nile no longer floods so there are no more rich silt deposits in the farm land, which means that now farmers need fertilizer. Fertilizer is expensive, and it contains all kinds of chemicals that the land here never needed before and has not known. And where are the chemicals going? Into the rising water table and the already polluted Nile. Who thought this dam was a good idea? Many Egyptians are calling it "that damn dam." Amen to that.”
We moved on to the Giza Pyramids from there—the most famous of all. They are truly HUGE and amazing! It’s incredible to think of how perfect they are as well—the dimension are off no more than 10 cm in any direction, and everything is lined up perfectly with the four coordinates. These ancient Egyptians (or ancient slaves) were math geniuses, that is for sure! I spent most of the time working hard to avoid the annoying men trying to sell postcards and miniature pyramids or the other men calling for me to take a “very cheap” ride on a camel and take a picture. No thank you, no thank you. Every time I visit these amazing sites and want to be alone and sit in God’s glory and wonder of it all, I’m constantly hounded by people. Some of us visited the Solar Boat museum where archaeologist found a cedar boat designed to carry the (dead) pharaoh from the tomb into the sun/afterlife every day and then return.
As we were leaving the site, I took a camera shot/video of the contrast of contemporary society meeting antiquity; Pizza Hut and KFC are the closest eateries to the Sphinx and pyramids. One can munch on some supreme pizza and sip on some coke while looking through a window splashed with a semi-transparent “Pizza Hut” logo and see the magnificent creation of thousands of years ago through the letters “ZZA HU”. Odd.
Also, I’ve had some incredible musical experiences lately. In the past couple weeks I’ve listened to a World Music concert with Bill Evenhouse at AUC, a Cairo Symphony concert at the Cairo Opera House, and a Jai (guitarist from Australia) concert at Sawy Cultural Wheel. Almost every week the AUC holds a free concert on Wednesday evenings and I try to take advantage of it as much as possible. Can’t get that at home!

Stinky fish and Psalm 4

2005-11-29T19:22:00.000+02:00

So, last week while I was subbing for Teri’s Level 3 English class (I subbed for 4 weeks) we were talking about traditions and holidays and I found out Copts fast for more than 200 days of a year! YIKES! Each fast through the year is a different length of time and expects one to fast in differing ways. This past week Copts have started the “Advent fast”. They cannot eat meat or any milk products until Christmas. Then, for “lent fast” they must also refrain from eating fish. So, that means no milk, cheese, yogurt, ice cream, meat, fish, etc. for 50+ days in a row, after already fasting for 40 days!

As we were discussing these traditions, one student explained many people break the Easter fast by eating “Stinky fish”—fish that has been soaking in a salt solution for a number of years. “Like lutefisk?” I thought. Not exactly. Tonight before my class the student handed me a wrapped gift and said her class is really going to miss me as their teacher even though they are happy Teri is back. When I returned home and opened the gift it was non-other than stinky fish in a jar! Ha! Oh, it looks and smells so horrible. No wonder it’s called stinky fish. If I ever had to fast from milk products and meat for more than a month you can bet I’d be eating a thick juicy hamburger and some DQ at the end. (Ironically, I am fasting from juicy hamburgers and DQ for a year! Hmmm…if anyone wants to go out for some good grub next August, I’m your woman!)

Last week I started reading Psalm 4 with my level 4/5 class and using it as a bible study. In an hour and a half we only got through the first four verses. Of course, we go on tangents for a while, and I make all of them speak the psalm out loud and we talk about the vocabulary, but still, I wasn’t sure if they left feeling disappointed that we didn’t “get anywhere” last week. Boy was I wrong. Within the first few minutes of class today Equib said since last week he has been praying Psalm 4 (and some other psalms) in English and has found it to be much more meaningful than reading it in Arabic! He explained that using another language makes it “new” again and the words help him visualize the message, especially since we took so much time discussing it last week. His spiritual life has awakened! Thinking back, it really was a great bible study conversation full of great theology and idea of how we should live. Ah…I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again—I love this class!

a bit of this and that...

2005-11-24T17:26:00.000+02:00

A wonderful woman reminded me that when we are doing crucial work for the Lord the devil is also working very hard to keep it from happening. Ah, yes, I agree. However, good always prevails and when you look around it’s easy to see how beautiful life really is! Today, being Thanksgiving, I thank God for the gift of sharing this experience with you and the blessing to be here in the first place.

Yesterday started like any other day. I woke up, got ready for work, had my bowl of bran cinnamon stars (the closest thing I can find to Wheaties…yeah, not really close ;-) with a banana, and headed out the door for work. Since I walk against busy traffic in one of the dirties parts of one of the most polluted cities in the world, the walk to the metro station always leaves me feeling dirty and coughing. I now wear sunglasses to shield my eyes and wrap a scarf around my mouth as a filter. It looks funny, but it’s worth it J
Being in one of the most populated cities in the world, the metro is always PACKED. Sometimes I have to wait for a couple of trains to go by before I even attempt to push my way onto the tram. When one finally attempts to get on the Metro she is shoved and pushed all over the place. People are trying to get off the tram just as desperately as you are trying to get on. If you ever just sit and watch this scene it’s really quite hilarious; thousands of people crammed so tightly that there is rarely a need to hold on because everyone just falls into each other when the tram starts and stops.
Yesterday was such an experience, with one main difference. When I got off the Metro at Nasser station for work I immediately noticed that my purse felt lighter than normal. “Oh, crap,” I thought. Yes, crap. My wallet and phone was stolen. Boo! Of course, I was upset, mostly at myself. Then I was upset to realize that it was one of my fellow female human beings who stole it (I was in the woman’s car). Ah, punk woman, why can’t we just stick together in this world?! Anyhow, I spent the morning trying to stop the phone line, figure out if I had anything incredibly valuable missing, and really hoping that I had my address somewhere in that wallet so that at least my IDs would be returned (no luck). Carole immediately typed out an “emergency contact” list that includes our address for each volunteer to put in our wallet and purse in case this would happen again.
So, word quickly spreads around work that I had things stolen, and I had so many people approach me with such support and empathy—it was so sweet! But what I really thought about was what was missing and how it’s really nothing. Sure, I’m out a decent amount of money, a phone, and my International Student ID card (which costs quite a bit to replace), and a few other things, but that is nothing. Being approached by people who go hungry daily and listen to them feel so bad for me was so humbling. Within minutes I was in a great mood again and chalked it up to experience.

The day turned out to be wonderful. First of all, we are now FINALLY connected to the internet! World Wide Web here we come! (Another project I’d really like to do is get an appropriate website created for St. Andrews…any ideas would be appreciated!) Up until now, Dick was the only person in the entire compound who had internet, and it was dial-up at that. Now, every computer is networked and we all have the internet! First of all, it makes my job much easier. Now I can connect with volunteers, send documents around the compound, and research materials for teachers. Whoo-hoo!
Ah, getting these computers connected to the world was such an Egyptian experience. In America, when we say we want something done by 3:00pm on Friday we mean 2:45pm on Friday. In Egypt, everything happens “bokra, insha-‘allah” –literally “Tomorrow, God willing.” This is the most common phrase in Egypt, and there is no doubt why. EVERYTHING takes longer than you want or expect it to, which means you learn to not expect anything to get done when you expect it to. J On top of that, every week I’ve been at St. Andrews my computer has crashed or the printer hasn’t worked or my documents have been lost or my A drive doesn’t work (it never has) or SOMETHING has happened to my computer. When will it get fixed? “Bokra, insha-‘allah.” Okay, so it’ll get fixed next week then, eh?
On the one hand it can be frustrating, especially for an American, to wait so long for anything. But, on the other hand, I’ve been learning how to be much more laid-back and less stressed than I ever have in a job. As time goes on, I keep realizing how silly our American “need to succeed” is—as a pastor at Maadi Community Church said, “We are not made to succeed, but to be significant.” Even though days can get lonely in Egypt, in other ways life is so much more meaningful because people concentrate on being “significant” to each other—living for sharing and community and spending time getting to know each other intimately. I’m convinced that many of America’s problems are directly related to the lack of intimacy, community; being a part of something bigger than the self. Look in the bible—Jesus expects us to live for each other and amongst each other—when we really love our neighbor as ourselves we have formed bonds that will pull us through the good and the bad—together.
There are some other great things going on at work. For one, The Arc is hopping! The Arc is an amazing ministry in the basement of the church. Here refugees find peace and renewed energy by expressing themselves through artwork. We supply art materials for the refugees, and when a piece of artwork is sold the refugee keeps 90% of the money and gives 10% to St. Andrew’s in order to buy more supplies. As you walk into this little, quiet church basement room in the middle of one of the most polluted and crowded cities of the world you find yourself mesmerized by the calmness and the serenity. In the back of the room you find a sewing machine and fabrics where students learn to sew clothes or make blankets, hats, and bags. Mostly, though, this area is a place for women to seek refuge. Suicide is a big problem amongst the refugee women who are cooped up all day without jobs, money, food, or purpose. Men have places they can go to smoke and talk together, but women do not. The Arc serves as a place where women can come for tea and coffee to socialize and share stories. In the front section of The Arc you find two rickety chairs placed behind two easels, usually with a man or two occupying the seat. Here you find expressions of anger, pain, love, and hope through paintings, pottery, and crafts. Women especially enjoy making photo albums and mirror décor. Yesterday artists spent the day tie-dying scarves to sell at bazaars coming up this month. I visited them and took a bunch of pictures. Refugees are traumatized, and being able to put their energy into art has been such a useful way to cope and keep hope.
Also, I held two teacher meetings this week and after 4 hours I came out with a HUGE list of ideas of what can be changed and improved around here. I’m so excited about this for many reasons. For one, I love having projects, so I’m personally pumped for the challenge. More than that, though, is that the teachers are getting their voices heard. Thing is, Africans are NOT used to sharing their ideas to anyone “above” them (in a hierarchy). They do as they are told, and they do not question authority. Ever since I arrived I’ve been trying to help them see that I really appreciate their feedback and teach them the importance of expressing their ideas and feelings. At the beginning of this week I finished meeting with each teacher individually to discuss my observations of their teaching methods and classes as well as encouraging them to let me know what we can do to help THEM.
Suddenly it’s like a small box just burst open with a big bang. Teachers are asking for specific things in the areas of teacher training, computer development, school dress code, placement testing, volunteers, textbook resources, discipline issues, etc. Slowly but surely we’ll address as much as possible. I’ve already been able to get a few textbooks for the classes and I’ve connected with an educational psychologist who is willing to provide free teacher training for the teachers. Next week we’ll put up new “Volunteers Needed” posters around the AUC and hope we get some responses. Other issues, such as student placement, are much more complicated and require a lot of time and thought. (See below for more details on the complexity of student placement in classes.)
It’s been cold here (yes, Egypt gets cold!) and we’ve been noticing that some students are still coming to school in summer clothes. A few of the children are sick with fevers and shivering. It’s becoming more and more obvious they do not have appropriate winter clothing and it breaks our hearts to know they don’t have the resources to buy warm clothing. Thankfully I’m working for an organization whose heart goes out to these children, and we were able to find some monetary resources to help pay for winter clothes. I spoke with one of our teachers about the issue and she agreed to go on a shopping spree for coats, sweaters, shoes, and socks this weekend. I’m filled with joy to know we can help these children with tangible things that make such a difference in their lives. For instance, this past week two little girls came to school very cold and sick so we brought them to the conference room and let them sleep most of the day using table cloths as covers. Today Dick decided we need to buy some blankets (yes!). So, we did. St. Andrews now owns two thick blankets to use whenever kids come to school cold and sick.
The hard part is trying to figure out how to give them things they need. With the youngest kids this is no problem—if we offer them a sweater they will take it. But the older children are very embarrassed about their situation and it becomes a sensitive issue. In fact, here’s a specific story for you. One of Mariam’s students never eats his “breakfast.” (We buy a fuul, taamia, or potato sandwich every day for each student—for some this is their only ‘meal’ of the day.) However, he keeps the sandwich all day and takes it home. Mariam figured out that he keeps it to share with his brothers later in the day. This poor boy is sharing his one small sandwich! It’s incredible.
Of course, these stories make our hearts break, and they also directly relate to how I handle my job here. One thing I’m constantly considering and changing is my expectations for the staff and students. When I first arrived many things surprised me, such as the number of students who show up late every day, the lack of discipline in the classroom, the craziness and noise of the flower class (Kindergarten/1st graders) and the number of teachers who have never been trained, to name only a few. In American standards, this school is not up to par. As time goes on, however, I’m becoming more and more amazed by my staff and students and see how incredible this Learning Center really is. The staff and children have all been traumatized in ways you and I could never imagine. They are dealing with issues outside of school we might never personally deal with in our lives—malnutrition, abuse, harsh weather conditions, famine, war, etc. Some have never been to a school so the concept of sitting quietly and studying at night is so foreign to them. When a student comes without his homework done, the reasons can range from no one in the home knowing English well enough to help to having to spend the night in a one-room flat with 20 other refugees and no light to work. Thinking of this, I’d say two key parts of my job description is to listen and be flexible.
Due to these circumstances, I’m realizing this school is not just for your classical educational purposes or to get students prepared for resettlement to a Western country. It serves as a place to teach children morals and values, encourage and empower them to make something of themselves, and to be a place of refuge and peace. The most important rule at St. Andrews is the complete intolerance of violence. Other refugee schools allow the staff to beat children as a disciplinary tool, but not here. The children have seen abuse their entire lives and it’s obvious. When students get in trouble in class and are sent to Henry or me they are so scared they shake or recoil at any touch or quick movement. Their bodies are so conditioned to beating it immediately responds in any type of trouble, even when they know we will not hurt them.
As I said, some children have never been to school in their life. They were born and raised in the bush of Sudan. Others come from upper-class families (by the standard of their home country that is) and attended good private schools before they became refugees and fled for their own safety. Some students speak English very well; others never heard English before coming here. Some advanced students are 9 years old while some 15 year olds are beginners. It’s my job to figure out a way to place these students in an appropriate class level, and I’m discovering it’s a very daunting task! In the past, students have been placed based more on their age level rather than current knowledge or ability, which has led to wide ranges of levels in each classroom. This directly affects discipline issues as well, because those students who are far behind get discouraged and then become a distraction. I’m trying to figure out a way to combine knowledge/ability with age to more appropriately place students next year.
Still, there are blessings within this crazy system. For one, all of us are learning about the culture and customs of people from around the world. Every day I interact with Muslims, Christians, Ethiopians, Sudanese, Egyptians, Dinkas, Eritreans, Congolese, Americans, Burmanese, Burkina Faseans, Canadians, Italians, Somalians, etc. There are some strong cultural, social, political, religious, and economic differences between us but at St. Andrew’s it’s like one family here—I sense a lot of respect and trust. I am so blessed to be included in this great ministry.

BBC and Al-Ahram Weekly articles RE: Sudanese sit-in

2005-11-20T16:36:00.000+02:00

Please check out these websites for more information about the Sudanese in Egypt. (The BCC has a LOT of information about the history of Sudanese issues in general--very good info!~)

http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/em/fr/-/1/hi/world/africa/4440730.stm
and
http://weekly.ahram.org.eg/2005/769/feature.htm

Riots in Alexandria...and student response

2005-11-16T14:43:00.000+02:00

Many of you probably heard about the riots in Alexandria near the end of October. To give you a synopsis, a DVD recording of a performance of “I Was Blind But Now I See,” a play performed in a church in 2003, was circulating in Alex. The play is about a young Copt, Mina, who is persuaded to convert to Islam by the emir of an Islamic group. He is promised a flat, a wife, and better living conditions, so he converts and adopts the name Taha. He soon becomes disillusioned with the emir’s hypocrisy and decides to leave. Before he is gunned down, he reaches his family’s home, crawls to the doorstep, and is embraced and forgiven by his family.

As the film circulated the word spread quickly, and more than 5,000 demonstrators gathered at Mar Girgis church to protest the play and demand an apology from church leaders. On 19 October a nun was stabbed on the steps of Mar Girgis. When church leaders would not apologize (perhaps less inclined to after the attack against the nun), the demonstrators moved on to other churches and started attacking Coptic-owned businesses. By 22 October 16 shops in the area had been damaged, two more people had been killed, more than 100 injured, and at least 105 detained. It was the worse outbreak of sectarian violence and tension since 2000.

Questions are being asked about the timing of the DVD’s “discovery.” There is speculation that the unrest might provide the government with a justification for extending emergency law. Some have said the violence is an attempt by Islamic extremists to tarnish the image of Maher Khalla, one of two Copts who is running in the upcoming parliamentary elections. Khalla withdrew from the elections on 22 October, saying he wants to avoid the recurrence of violence.

Thankfully, many people are looking for a bright future and are angry at the media for heightening tensions between religious groups. One man said, “People threw rocks and garbage. Why? For what? Ignorance. Really, this is nothing but ignorance. The man who attacked the nun hadn’t even watched the DVD. This is barbaric.” Another man said, “This isn’t going to stop me from associating with my Muslim friends…in this neighborhood, we—Copts and Muslims—live together. We share the same hardships. It’s inconceivable that a problem like this should tear us apart.” (Cairo Magazine, Issue 29.)

In light of this, I decided to talk with my conversation class about what it’s like to be a Christian in Egypt. Keep in mind these are the opinions of my class of Coptic Christians (with their own bias) and do not reflect society as a whole!
When I asked the class about Christian/Muslim relations I heard the following:
**It already takes years to get permission to fix something in a church (because the government has to “okay” it), but it is better than it was before. In the past, when a church was built, a larger mosque would be build next to it.
**The media is Islamic. Every TV channel stops the program during prayer time, and all but one actually recites the prayers on the TV.
**Some employers give the Christians a harder time at work just because they are Christian (again, this could just be opinion!)
**Christians feel the pressure to fast along with the Muslims out of respect for them. Employers are not good about keeping filtered water available for their Christian staff during Ramadan.
**All the students say they have Muslim friends, but they avoid the topic of religion. If they must talk about religion, they talk about their own and do not condemn the others. If they tried to question each other they would lose the friendship.
**Christians often have to work on their Sabbath day—Sunday—so most Christian church now offer a (generally larger) Friday service. Some can go to church on Sunday but are then expected at work afterwards.
**YES!!! One man said, “It’s important to not protect our religion by hating the other or saying they are wrong. Instead, we must go back to the bible and share it and ourselves with each other.”
**Most Christians want private education because they think the public system is biased for Islam. In public schools one of the most important subjects is Arabic Studies in which students study Arabic poetry, grammar, and the Koran. Christians don’t like it because they are forced to memorize Koran prayers and recite them. They are tested on this.
**There has been more freedom of expression in Egypt in the past five years than ever before. Ten years ago they couldn’t speak out against the government. Now they can (although they joke that no one listens anyway). I asked them, “What changed?” Their answer was America. America has been pressuring President Mubarak to move to a democratic government and for many Egyptians this has been a great thing.
**I also heard a lot of people say that among the educated, there are no major problems between Muslims and Christians. Muslim woman are best friends with Christian women and religion is never an issue.

Terry Waite

2005-11-12T23:57:00.000+02:00

This evening I attended The Church of St. John in Maadi for a lecture by Terry Waite, a hostage negotiator, humanitarian, and author. He is a world-renowned peacemaker, devoting his life to humanitarian causes, inter-cultural relations, and conflict resolution. Tonight’s lecture was “Survival in Solitude”; a talk of his own experiences in solitary confinement for four years in Beirut, Lebanon. It was one of the best speeches I’ve heard in my life, and I would like to share some of it with you.

For over 4 years Waite was chained to a wall, often left in darkness, beaten, and subjected to a mock execution. One example of torture; a guard would place a pillow over Waite’s face, sit on it, and other man would whack Waite’s feet with cables. Other times Waite was forced into a locked refrigerator. All his possessions were taken from him and was left with shorts and a singlet in the summer and pajamas in the winter. He slept on the floor. He was allowed only one bathroom break per day. Every time a guard came into the room Waite had to put on a blindfold; I got the impression that he didn’t see a human face for 4 years.

Waite began his speech by explaining some of his rather humorous experiences in confinement. Fortunately, one of the guards was relatively nice to him, and agreed to help find English books for Waite. However, the guard couldn’t read English, and even if he could, it was unsafe for him to be caught in a bookstore with English books. In some way, there was a friend of a friend of a friend who was able to pick up books for Waite. The first book; The Great Escape by Paul Brickhill about American and British POW’s efforts to escape camps from their German captors in WWII. Ironic, isn’t it? The second book was a manual about breast feeding. J The next book was about infants. Waite was clever, though. He asked for paper and a pencil (one of two times he was allowed paper) and drew a picture of a penguin, telling the guard to get books with this animal on it. It goes to show the value of symbols and trademarks—they travel across nations and cultures more than just about anything. Powerful. Also, I was amazed at Waite’s ability to laugh at these situations and see the humor in them.

When Waite first realized he had been tricked into becoming a hostage himself, he told himself to follow these three thing; do not regret, do not pity yourself, and know your sentimentality (i.e., do not say “Oh, if only I would have done this…”). Instead, he decided to approach each day as a gift and live within the moment. You are where you are now and you must deal with that. Being regretful or pitying yourself will only demoralize you and make you ineffective and lose hope.

As Waite saw his physical body disintegrate he knew he had to learn to live from within. In his mind he ‘wrote’ poetry and thought of books he knew well. He used the language of his mind to create harmony in his soul. Your whole life is in your head, really; you cannot see, hear, think, talk, etc. without your mind. Therefore, you must use creative imagination to keep your soul going, but you must also discipline the mind so that it doesn’t run away form you and think of the worst possible scenario. Also, he said it is important for everyone, at some point in life, to be self-centered; not to be selfish, but to know the self. When you do this, you realize the dark side of your self along with the light side, and you must face it. You cannot focus on obliterating the darkness, but rather embrace your humanness and heighten your lightness for the world.
No matter what happened to him, Waite knew his soul could never be taken from him. This belief kept him maintaining hope, and hope keeps you alive. He also would never let his anger turn to bitterness. He continued to stress we must never let anger turn into bitterness. Bitterness is the cancer of the soul and will lead you to hate and violence, spreading more bitterness and hate.

Once, when Waite was very sick, he was able to plead with a guard to let him use the bathroom one extra time that day. In the restroom Waite found the guard’s gun, and within an instant decided he would not use it for any purpose. Why? Integrity. Waite had always told the hostage takers that violence is never a solution; violence only leads to more violence. So, after using the restroom he told the guard, “You left something in there” and went back to his cell. You can be robbed of most things, but if you really lose everything if you sacrifice your integrity.
Waite was able to look beyond his own suffering and see the greater picture. He realized that his captures had also experienced oppression, and they were suffering in many ways of their own, such in that they lost the ability to view their hostages as human beings. You can only imagine the defeat of the soul when you have enough fear, anger, and hate in your heart that you lose the sense of sympathy for a fellow human being. Waite said no matter what suffering exists in your life and in the world, you cannot let suffering destroy. You must use it for creative good. At heart most people believe in compassion, love, and justice. At the heart of Christianity and at the heart of Islam is a desire for peace and justice. There are no shortcuts to peace and stability, but we each have the responsibility to do our part in this world.

The speech was full of wisdom, expressed through this man’s own integrity in these experiences. His speech was light-humored, hopeful, and honest. He stood as a symbol of the peace, grace, and open-heartedness. Especially in light of what I’ve experienced lately, Waite spoke to me when he said this; in dire situations, you discover the resources inside you that you never really knew you had—they come out in you when you need them to. Humans really are amazing creatures.

Star Tribune Article RE: Sudanese in Egypt

2005-11-12T01:17:00.000+02:00

Please check out the article from this week's Minneapolis Star Tribune. (Thanks Sarah!) I have met Isaac a number of times at St. Andrew's. Remember one important thing as you read it--this is American media. Therefore, take what is said with a grain of salt. The way Egyptians are portrayed is very negative, but it is not the attitude of Egyptians as a whole. In fact, most people I associate with are very interested in helping the Sudanese. It's mostly the uneducated who make problems for the Sudanese (and Westerners for that matter!).

One thing I didn't notice until someone pointed it out is the photo gallery of 8 photographs. Be sure to click on that link!

Free of Sudan but trapped in Egypt, by Sharon Schmickle

http://www.startribune.com/stories/722/5717675.html

Mosques and Ultimate Frisbee

2005-11-12T01:14:00.000+02:00

I had a GREAT day today! It started with a tour of Islamic Cairo with the Dialogue Forum and ended with playing Ultimate Frisbee in the Gezira Club. We toured the Sultan Hassan Mosque, Al Rifai Mosque, and Qasr al Amir taz. The Sultan Hassan mosque was built in 5 years in 1352. On the left side of the entrance is a slab of black marble for people with “blind eyes” and on the right side is a slab of white marble for people with physical handicaps; the Sultan will hand out money to these people each week. We saw the four elements of the mosque—pulpit (where the man preaches), the niche (where a man speaks against a wall in the direction of Mecca and the voice is echoed), the stand where a man projects the prayers so all can hear, and the Chair of Islam where the Imam sits cross-legged and reads the large hand-written Quran. The four schools of Islam have been taught at this mosque (100 students per school) in the four corners of the courtyard. Also, there used to be a thriving hospital there—used as quarantine during the black plague. When we toured the Al Rifai Mosque we saw the tombs of Muhamed Ali’s grandson’s four wives; a French, Egyptian, Greek, and Turkish woman. Also, the mosque is depicted on the 10 pound Egyptian note.

This afternoon I met with Tamboura and Rania (both work at St. Andrews) to play Ultimate Frisbee at the Gezira Club. I believe the Lord answered some prayers with this experience. The Gezira Club is on Zamalak Island on the Nile and one of the only places in Cairo where fields of green exist. In general it’s very expensive to get into the club, but going into a side gate we pay Le 3 to use a small portion of one field to play Frisbee. The team is composed of young adults from Europe, Egypt, Sudan, Burkina Faso, Burma, Canada, America, etc. who gather each week to let out some energy in an intense 2 hours of Ultimate Frisbee. A great melting pot! And guess what? There is a TRACK there as well! It’s a dirt track, about a mile long and loops around a number of fields. After playing one game of ultimate I decided to spend time running. When I reached the far side of the track I found a 400m turf track to run on as well. I saw men playing soccer, a man timing his son doing 50m dashes, and a birthday party using a field for entertainment and dancing. There was a mosque as well, and at sundown a number of people (including Rania) took a break to pray.

After the game five of us went to a coffee/tea shop to relax and drink some fresh mango juice. Our group included a computer science man from Burkina Faso who speaks 4 languages, a man from Burma who speaks 8 languages, an Egyptian man working his way through school at AUC and Cairo University for a double master’s degree, another man, and me. We had good conversation, and I felt very comfortable with each of these men.

And guess what? As I walked around town today I counted the number of men who DIDN’T look at me at all. I counted over 25. I thank the Lord for these 25+ men today who don’t get a rat’s bottom about me in any shape or form! That’s quite funny, actually—thanking God for men who are not interested in me at all! J

Bait El Salam and Synod of the Nile 150th Anniversary

2005-11-10T23:29:00.000+02:00

Last weekend our group met up for the first time since we split up for our volunteer over a month ago---and it's about time! :-) We were invited to a 50th anniversary celebration for the Beit El Salam (House of Peace) center near Alexandria. A number of original volunteers (mostly American) who helped build the center back in 1955 were there. We are the 2005 'generation' of these volunteers, so we were there to bring the new with the old. We really didn't have a part in the celebration, other than to sing HAPPY BIRTHDAY BAIT EL SALAM about 10 times, eat some good meals and a piece of the most gigantic cake I have ever seen (it took 10 men to walk this cake to the front of the room), and listen to how the center has helped so many people over the years. Our sleeping arrangements were awesome--18 women in one 'dorm room' of 9 bunks. I could barely get around my bunk to get into bed. The woman sleeping below me was about 65 years old and had a bad cough. Across the room was a woman with an infant, crying. Some people snored. We went to bed with the lights on and people coming in at all hours of the night talking in normal voices. Still, I slept really well and it was quite an experience, esp. with communication barriers!

We had an extra day to tour around Alexandria, but with the combination of our bus coming 3 hours late and the fact that all tourist sites were closed for Eid, we ended up going out to eat at a fish restaurant and shopping at Carrefour. The best part of the weekend was being together again and enjoying the fresh air on the beach.

November 8th was the big day for the Synod of the Nile 150th anniversary at Kasr Al Doubara Evangelical Church. Here's some history for you: (Thanks to Jason Clay--he gets credit for this!) In the 1850’s, the Presbyterian Church of the United States of America sent missionaries to Egypt and evangelized up and down the Nile on a houseboat. An Indian prince had come to Egypt to select a bride, and when he married an Egyptian woman, they had their honeymoon on a houseboat. After the honeymoon, the prince donated the boat to the Presbyterian Church. It was christened “The Ibis,” and the church used it for years, up and down the Nile. Eventually they set up permanent missions in cities such as Alexandria, Assuit, and Minya, and built a seminary in Cairo. Their main focus was on education, so they built schools for children all over Egypt. That tradition is still alive today. In fact, we live at one of the schools: The Ramses College for Girls. Currently there are around 30 schools in Egypt run by The Synod of the Nile. In 1891 the first batch of Egyptian ministers graduated from the seminary. Evangelical Theological Seminary (Evangelical means Presbyterian in Egypt) still exists today, and is only a 20-minute walk from where we live. Last year they graduated 35 students and the enrollment is on the rise.

In the 1920’s Egyptians gained independence from the Americans and have been running the Egyptian Evangelical Presbyterian Church since then. The actual name of the church varies depending on who you are talking to or what time period you are reading about, but for all intents and purposes, it is the same as the PC(USA), it’s just in Egypt, run by Egyptians.For those of you not in the Presbyterian Church, a synod is simply a governmental body. In the U.S., the structure of the Presbyterian government goes like this: Local Church Session à Presbytery à Synod à General Assembly. Each level encompasses a larger geographical area than the last, with the General Assembly covering the entire country. The church in Egypt has the same structure but the Synod is the largest level. There are eight presbyteries and 312 churches in the Synod of the Nile.So when we talk about the History of the Synod of the Nile, we are really talking about the history of the Presbyterian Church in Egypt, beginning with the first missionaries from the U.S.

Now back to the 150th Anniversary celebration. The large church was packed with Egyptians from all over the country, forty some odd foreigners including Americans, Scots, Dutch, Germans, and Canadians, and representatives from each major religion/denomination in Egypt, including Islam. In fact the most prominent Muslim from Al Azhar Mosque, the center of Islamic thinking, attended and gave a very inclusive speech. His name in the program is Grand Imam Dr. Mohamed Said Tantawy. In his speech he said, "We can love each other...we should live together united. We need to suport each other. Only God can wage religion...We can be different and argue, but in the end the argument should fade away by opening our hearts to each other. We are privileged with peace and forgiveness... We salute and congratulate the evangelical church. May God continue our peace and unity and scatter love ot each other, not war." WOW.

Marian McClure, Director of the Worldwide Ministries Division of the Presbyterian Church gave the keynote address. There were representatives of the Roman Catholic Church and The Coptic Catholic Church, and the Mayor of Cairo delivered a speech. This whole celebration was a BIG DEAL, attracting all kinds of “powerful people.” Martha Roy, the 92 year-old musicologist who plays the organ at St. Andrews was given special recognition. Victor Makari (a native Egyptian who now lives in the U.S. and works for the PC(USA)) spoke about Martha said she had known five generations of his family starting with his grandfather, down to his grandson. (Thanks Jason!)

By the way, the only major religion/denomination not present was the Coptic Orthodox Christians. The Coptic Catholics are a separate church from the Roman Catholic church, but they recognize the Roman Catholic pope. The Coptic Orthodox, on the other hand, have their own pope, Pope Shenouda II.

Violated--worst experience(s) in Egypt

2005-11-09T00:10:00.000+02:00

I prayed I would never have to write a blog like this, but it’s time. Well, I guess I don’t HAVE to write about this, but I’ve decided that I created this blog to give an honest account of life in Egypt and I have a responsibility to do just that, even the bad things.
So, here goes.

Yesterday I had one of the worst experiences of my life. I was horribly groped as I was coming home from work. I noticed the shadow of this man before he actually approached me, but I didn’t expect him to do what he did. Right as I was nearing RCG I came to the point where I’m blocked on both sides—RCG’s wall to my left and the start to a bridge to my right. Just then I felt a hand from behind swipe me starting from the crotch on backwards. It was disgustingly deliberate and carefully timed. I was FURIOUS. I quickly turned around and shrieked at this man. He did not expect me to stand my ground. He backed up and said, “Oh, I’m sorry.” Yeah right. I then started approaching him with more shrieks and yelling (not such nice things) at him. He became frightened and ran off.

It might not have turned out so well. Ha. “So well.” As if feeling like a piece of meat, degraded, demoralized, violated, slimed, and being totally taken advantage of is an okay thing. But, really, it could have been worse. Unfortunately, you usually cannot yell back at these nasty men. Why? Because they turn it right back on you and there is nothing you can do about it. Once you accuse them of being a pig, they (in Arabic) yell that it was YOU (the WOMAN) who tempted him and therefore it’s YOUR fault. And this works, because what else can they expect from a Western woman? This is NOT America, meaning that I have no rights here to speak up against it. If you are American, stop right now and thank God for the laws and rights you have as an American. In America this is sexual harassment, here there isn’t a darn thing I can do about it.

I am appalled at the way men behave in this culture. The experience I had yesterday has happened many times, actually. It happens walking down the street, on the metro, walking up stairs, anywhere. And the men are skilled at making it look like they are doing nothing wrong. They are like pick-pocketers, only woman-violators. I can think of a number of times I’ve grabbed a man’s hand and thrown it as he’s been slightly touching my butt or breast or something to that effect. I am becoming more and more tense as I walk down the street. Although you can sometimes figure out who is going to give you trouble, some of them are so good at it that they don’t reach out for your crouch until the last literal split second. And, being in a city of 22 million people, it’s not easy to avoid the crowds on the street enough to be left alone.

My response to this is getting worse with time. When I first arrived it was easier to just think, “Oh, those crappy men” and try to laugh it off, praying for them, and keeping my cool. But yesterday I came in bawling and trying to find Carole for comfort. I came here as an adventurous, equality-minded woman and I’m slowly but surely having to change my identity to fit this culture. I certainly won’t sacrifice too much of myself, but some parts of me have changed.

In my entire life I’ve always approached people with sincere trusting. I assume “innocent until proven guilty” with people. Now, it’s “guilty until proven innocent.” I’ve hardened. I’ve tensed up. Thing is, I have reason to not trust. I have not made one genuine friendship with a man here. Frankly, it just doesn’t happen for women. This is so hard to accept, because my experience is vastly different than the experience of the male volunteers and I have to work on not resenting that fact. Even the one Egyptian male who we have become friends with and learned to trust over the past couple months has started to cross the line with me.

One of the worst parts of this is that these experiences are affecting my view of the Egyptian culture and I feel so bad about feeling that way. So, it’s a cycle. I get angry, and then I’m angry for being angry. I tell myself I need to think of it from their perspective, I need to be more patient, I need to be x,y,z. But, I’m getting to the point where I don’t want to make excuses anymore. I don’t want to feel like I need to “be” a certain something or accept being treated with such disrespect.

Why do the men behave this way? First of all, it’s men of ALL ages—from 13 years old to over 60—no joke. It makes me ill (literally at times) to have men older than my father treat me like a sexual object. It seems to be “taught” in this culture that it’s okay to be this way. There are probably many reasons for it. For one, the mixture of the religious and social culture has a lot to do with it. Most women are veiled in Egypt, and more and more are taking on the veil all the time. There are at least twice as many women wearing the veil as there was two years ago when I was here. There is an aspect of this that psychologically makes you desire more that which you cannot see or have. Then comes the release, and it happens not just to Westerners (but probably to us more because they think we are all about sex) but also to Egyptian women. Also, men and women grow up so separately. The idea of Western dating does not exist—you cannot “date”, hold hands, meet alone, etc. The only woman you’ll really ever ‘know’ or ‘see’ is your wife, generally an arranged marriage. Sexual tension builds up. Also, men ‘rule’ within the Islamic/Egyptian culture, and therefore woman can be seen as objects to be conquered. There is an aspect of this that is certainly a power struggle deal. There’s more to it too, I’m sure. For instance, the unemployment rate. So many educated (and non-educated) people are without jobs and it robs them of their sense of identity and empowerment. It seems that many people are frustrated with their living situations and this comes out in a variety of ways.

Despite trying to understand the root of these issues, something changes when it suddenly happens to you. Three months ago I could have been sitting at home having a discussion with a good friend and expressing open-mindedness as to why men behave this way. The moment you become a victim it changes everything. Everything. I can’t even imagine the emotional, physical, psychological, and spiritual turmoil a rape victim must feel.

So what do I do? I know we are suppose to go out and get to know people. But I'm wondering if it would best for me to just keep the few I do trust close to me and avoid the rest. My experience thus far in "going out and experiencing" has been much more negative than positive for my self-being and my attitude towards this culture. Thank the Lord for having a chance to teach conversation class (with good men) and helping out with Dialogue Forum (with good men). These are the few things that keep me pushing through the rough spots.

I am also so afraid that this will affect me when I return home. Will I feel liberated when I return home, or will I have learned to not trust men? (It’s scary how fast these experiences can add up to really hit you at the core—your soul—and change your perception of people.) I am truly concerned about this and I ask for your prayers about this; not just for me, but all of us dealing with similar issues. We need your support and your love.

Female Teen Workshop Day 2

2005-11-04T12:37:00.000+02:00

On November 1st we held the second workshop day for the teenage girls at St. Andrews. Last week we talked about menstruation, female anatomy, and health, while this session dealt with male/female anatomy, sex, drugs, and HIV/AIDS. These sessions are SO HELPFUL for these girls! Most of them have never heard this information before--the ignorance is just saddening! I discovered in the African culture, you are a virgin so long as you still have your hymen. So, you can 'get pregnant' and still have your 'virginity' and be suitable for marriage, but if your hymen is broken, oh man, that's grounds for divorce right away! In Upper Egypt, actually, on the wedding night the man will break the hymen and expect the woman to bleed on a white sheet. The couple then hangs the sheet out of their bedroom window or door so that the family members (who are all there waiting) can see she is a virgin. Apparently you can now have surgery to 'fix' your hymen after it has already been broken so that you are a virgin once more; and this is done all the time! Another thing--most girls have undergone circumcision because they should not have the right to desire sex so much---because it would attract the men too much. It’s so sick it makes me ill.
When we discussed HIV/AIDS one girl asked, “Is AIDS like other diseases or does it mean that God is very unhappy with us?” Oh, no. This poor girl fears God so much that she believes the Lord is out to punish her. To talk about HIV/AIDS prevention we pulled out a condom and showed it to the girls. This was a bit of shock to them; it was even the first time my translator teacher had ever seen a condom. When she opened the package she gave a little shriek as she felt how ‘slimy’ it was. When Mary Anne pulled out a female condom the girls were beyond bewildered. The Sudanese women, by culture, cannot use contraceptives, and the idea of a woman taking that much control of her sexuality was too much for them. We quickly got rid of the female condom, but continued to express the need to protect from AIDS as much as possible. One girl said a brother and sister took a bath together and then the girl was pregnant—how did that happen? Oh, man.
One student, a girl from Ethiopia who attended a private school in her home country, told me after the session that it was so helpful for her! She did have these types of talks in her old school, but this time she was “less shy” and more comfortable listening and asking questions. That was so good to hear, especially from a girl who HAS heard a lot of this information—I can only imagine how it can help the majority of our students who didn’t have a clue. In fact, our office manager pulled me aside later on and asked what was going on in the conference room, because he overheard a group of girls say they were so thankful for the workshop and something “moved” them. Yeah God!
November 25: I sent a questionnaire around the classrooms to get some feedback about the workshops. When I asked what more they would like to know one person said, "I just like to know more about other things; about the trouble of life and health, diseases and how to protect ourself and how to be good people" and another said, "First of all thank you to teach us what we dont' know we get a good idea about it. If we take another class like this depnding on drugs also we get a good concept."

El Minya

2005-11-03T12:34:00.000+02:00

Last weekend I went to El Minya, a town in Upper Egypt along the Nile where Stephen and Eric are serving this year. It was the most incredible weekend thus far, and I’ve decided Minya is my favorite Egyptian town. The ‘vacation’ started with me running out of Dawson Hall late—about 7:12am for a 7:40am train, so I was trying to jog with my huge backpack My arms and legs were scratched, and my knee was bleeding. And, of course, we are in Cairo, meaning I was DIRTY. Alas, I had to continue and deal with being covered in dirt and scratches. Being that it was Friday morning (Sabbath day for Muslims) the Metro wasn’t moving to fast and I waited a good 12 minutes for the metro. By the time I made it to the train station I was dirty, bleeding, sweaty, and LATE. I went to the wrong platform and then a bunch of men ushered me in the right direction and they all yelled down the station to have the train wait for me. I just might have been the last one on the train. But, whew, I made it! I was even able to use the nasty bathroom sink water of the train to wash off. I didn’t trust the water too well though, so I put some Purell on my cuts and just let that sting. Well, it was the best thing I had at that point!
The train ride was mostly relaxing. I brought a book—Blood Brothers—and also enjoyed looking out the window at the Nile villages as we passed on by. It’s so interesting to watch these men and woman living just as they would 2000 years ago; women carrying food and water on their head walking around the village, men fishing on small wooden boats, riding donkeys, or doing back-breaking work in the fields. I kept having the feeling that I was in India, not Egypt. Of course, I couldn’t get by with a completely uneventful train ride. The man next to me, an older Egyptian man from Aswan who knew basically no English, kept trying to get me to look at him, holding his hand palm out on our arm rest for me to touch it (I think), and he also slyly kept touching my leg. By the end of the train ride he was asking if I was married and wondering if he could be my “babibi” (his dear) and marry him. Yuck. This wasn’t the first time I’ve been in that situation and it isn’t the last either.
Once I arrived in Minya, Yvette, Eric’s boss, picked me up and walked me to the Corniche (the waterfront of the Nile) where we found my home for the next couple days—a houseboat on the Nile. That’s right—I stayed on a boat on the Nile. One more time—I slept on a boat that was on the Nile. How great is that?! So, I literally looked out my window and there was the Nile...looked out my window and watched patches of grass float by, or men on fishing boats float feet from my bed. Even as I took a shower the window was a foot away, and oh, there's the Nile again!
Only one little problem; the key and the doorknob. The doorknob was broken (it fell off) and within the first 5 minutes I had locked myself into my room. (By the way, I also couldn’t lock the door from the outside or even shut the door without it getting suck and not being able to get in. One man had to crawl through the bathroom window next to my room to get into my bedroom window and open the door from the inside. Long story…). Fortunately there were three kids outside my room just about then and I yelled for them to open the door for me, crossing my fingers that they would understand what I said. They did! I soon met their amazing family and realized I had taken EFL classes with their parents in September. The Smith family (Jennifer and Brad, Nicolas (14), Rebecca (13?), and Emily (10)) is from Georgia and serving for three years through the MCC in Beni Suef. They’ve been here for 2 years already. For the next three hours I sat with the family on the boat to relax and look enjoy the Nile breeze. I had a good laugh at one point—across the river on a far-off bluff was the sign “El Minya” in big white letters—the Egyptian Hollywood! Ha!
That afternoon I enjoyed a large meal with Stephen, Eric, and a bunch of Stephen’s co-workers from the Evangelical Association for Sustainable Development. We ate on the roof of Yvette’s family’s flat building and from there I could see the village from a bird’s eye and watch people buying and selling produce in the streets. Like always, we had a wonderful Egyptian meal and I ate until I was stuffed—it’s no wonder I’m gaining weight here! We played Dominos, pool, Arousti, and played with a remote control car. I so enjoyed this group of people; they were so welcoming and many of them spoke enough English for me to get a good sense of their great sarcastic humor. Egyptians are well-known for their humor; and it’s great when I can get in a group and banter right along with them.
I woke up before sunrise both mornings to sit out on the boat and watch the sunrise over the Nile behind the bluffs and then go for a run. Ah, running; one of the great joys in life J I couldn’t begin the run, however, without having a ‘conversation’ with a man who knew nearly no English but still wanted me to be his bride. (What’s with that?) Thankfully Stephen came to rescue me and then running was great, especially running along the Corniche before the rest of the town was awake...without being hassled and harassed. Such a blessing! And get this--the Sunday morning on my run there was no one outside--its was 6:30am so of course the village is asleep, and Muslims had already prayed and gone back to bed. So, here I am running down the Corniche watching the sun rise above the bluffs and enjoying the changing colors of the sky and the reflection on the Nile when up ahead I see a shepherd with a flock of sheep! He was on the other side of the street, and was carefully herding his lovelies in a group to walk across together. He was wearing the typical turban on his head with plain drapes of clothing and sandals...it was like I was back in time with Jesus! So cool!
In Minya I also toured the Beni Hassan tombs. It’s one of the only Middle Kingdom sites (2040-1782 BC) that survived the reconstruction of the New Kingdom. The main group of tombs is decorated with painting of prayers written to Osiris and Anubis and they are among the first decorated with only with brush and paint. They also have full front face illustration, differing from older paintings. I just love to see how these Egyptians lived so similarly to Egyptians now, or even people in general! There are depictions of feasts, making wine, herding cattle, sports/wrestling, harvest time, bird trapping, fishing, and enjoying music and dancing. The few depictions of the Syrian guests were so cool--women wearing striped and polka dotted dresses--it's so 'natural' that it's almost like these paintings were done just decades ago. I also noticed that there is an incredible representation of athletics and recreation, from wrestling and acrobatics to dancing and juggling. Really, in over 4000 years we certainly have differences in technology and the like, but really, life hasn't changed much. It was beautiful!
One of the great things about Minya was that people left me alone for the most part. Okay, yes, I had a few proposals, but that was much better than getting grabbed and mocked and yelled at all weekend. I mostly felt free to just be me. Sweet! The most frustrating experience was dealing with the tourist police. They followed the Smith family everywhere which meant they started following me. They came to Beni Hassen, insisted on going to The Crucible with us, and one even strolled 20 feet behind me all the way to Eric and Stephen’s house. When I left on the train for Cairo I was interrogated with questions about where I was from, why I was in Minya, and where I stayed. All of this information was written down and passed along. Not sure what they do with it, though. A couple other activities for the weekend included going to an Egyptian folklore song/dance/performance at the Jesuit school with the guys and Rania (a woman who works with Eric), watching the movie The Crucible at the Jesuit school (watch it!), drinking tea with Pastor Medhat (who has a congregation in a small village) at an upscale café along the Nile, attending worship at Saamia’s church (Saamia is our coordinator in Minya and works with Stephen), and shelling peanuts after the service with a bunch of congregational women.

Nuer Tribe Women's Bible Study

2005-10-27T22:45:00.000+02:00

In the past few days I’ve learned much more about Sudanese issues and I need to share the knowledge I’ve gained. With each day that I work with the Sudanese, I am finding their situation more and more complex. All I can say is the reality of the situation reminds me of Palestine/Israel—there are so many questions and so many frustrations and not a lot of great answers.

Yesterday I spent 2 hours in a Nuer woman’s bible study. The Nuer population is the second largest tribe (second to the Dinka tribe) in South Sudan, and there are many living in Cairo. Each Wednesday at St. Andrew’s they meet for bible study and reflection. I tried to attend the bible study a couple weeks ago but for the first time in well over a year only two women showed up—the rest were at the sit-in demonstration at Moustafa Mahmoud Mosque (see alternative blog entry). Yesterday we begin the bible study by talking a bit about the demonstration.

Lynn led the group in study, but none of the women speak English so an interpreter was there to help us communicate. We learned that people are losing their flats and their jobs in order to participate in the demonstration. Some of the woman didn’t seem that bothered by this—they said they aren’t even guaranteed money at work (cleaning Egyptian houses). Still, this is frightening, because it means they will continue to demonstrate until they get some type of action, now that they’ve lost so much.

The women wanted to read Psalm 100 (read it now), and they explained that they believe God has turned His back on them as the psalm reads. Still, they believe in Him. “If we die, we are still alive,” said one woman, who clearly believes in a world beyond this life. Lynn asked, “How do you know God is with you?” One woman said, “If I didn’t know God was with me, I would kill myself.” Soon this woman was one of the first to stand up and begin singing Nuer praise and worship songs to the Lord as the rest of us followed by singing (if we knew the language) and clapping.

At this point Mary Anne and I were introduced to the group, and as hospitality has it, we were instructed to go to the front pew as honored guests. The women smiled at us, nodded to us, and shook our hands. As broken as they are, they were all still full of energy and life, excited to talk about God and share “woman to woman” time together. They were more than welcoming and it humbled me.

Lynn then started talking about wholistic health. She explained to the Nuer woman that there are three parts to our health: our body, our minds, and our spirit. You can have a good body and mind but still not feel whole if the spirit is missing. Whenever we have problems in any of these three areas it pulls us away from the center (overlapping area) and we do not have great wholistic health.

This discussion was supposed to lead us into a discussion on forgiveness and the Prodigal Son. We first discussed the deep wounds in life—when we experience acts of disloyalty or acts of betrayal. Lynn then gave the group scenarios that Western people would describe as painful disloyalty or betrayal. One of the first examples was about a husband who had an affair with his friend’s wife. The question was, “Is this a deep wound for you?” The woman began talking amongst themselves and I soon realized they were trying to figure out if it was betrayal or not! Finally one of them asked, “Is the other woman’s husband dead?” Apparently if the other woman’s husband is alive, then yes, it is a problem because that man may come kill your husband and then you are left without support. But if he is dead there is no problem.

Wow. Of course, this led us into a tangent to talk about relationships and marriage. I discovered that Sudanese men can take many wives, more than 7 or 8 even! It is the responsibility of the first wife to make sure all material resources are split evenly between the wives. The last wife is the only one to live with the husband. Getting married is a general mixture of choosing for love and arranged marriage. If you love a man and he loves you, both of you must ask your parents for a blessing. If you do not receive your parent’s blessing, there is no wedding. It’s a very deep wound to have a daughter choose her own husband without going through this process. It is also a deep wound if a man leaves you because he loves another woman but it’s not a deep wound if he takes another wife but still loves you.

We told the woman that in America it is legal to take only one wife, but if you divorce her you can take another. They asked, “Where do the children go?” We said usually with the mother. The woman became all excited and our interpreter explained, “They have an agreement with that.” In Sudan, if you get a divorce (which doesn’t happen often) the father gets the children. The woman then asked, “Do you beat your children?” We explained issues of domestic violence (with both children and partners) and they quickly asked, “Will this lead to a divorce?” In Sudan, if a wife is beaten, it’s no matter. There is nothing she can do. We asked the group of 13 women if they have been beaten by their husbands at some point in their live and they all shouted out, “Yes, of course!” One woman said, “We think a man isn’t a man if he doesn’t beat his wife.”

I was fuming, of course. A man isn’t a man if he doesn’t beat his wife?! Thankfully Lynn then asked, “Once Jesus came into your life, how has your relationship with your husband changed?” (By the way, in this particular group of women, some husbands have run off with another woman, some are dead, and some have not been found.) The women said there is still a bride price, men still take multiple wives, and children still go with the father, but as women they are no longer “treated like a donkey,” literally carrying the burdens of the world as slaves. With Jesus, the beatings either stopped or decreased. To them, Jesus has made a big difference. By the way, Sudan is one of the only countries in the world where it’s still “legal” to have slaves; women and children are often stolen and sold.

Please pray for these women. They need to hear and see Christ in their lives. It is obvious that their faith is the only thing sustaining them right now, but even then it only brings so much comfort to their broken worlds and destroyed hopes.
**Please read the Massive Sudanese Demonstration/Protest blog entry!!

Massive Sudanese Demonstration/Protest!

2005-10-27T22:30:00.000+02:00

**Let me preface this by stating that I’m speaking from what I know or have heard and do not claim that all of this is perfectly factual. There, I’ve covered my butt, I hope. J

On 29 September a group of about 20 Sudanese gathered at the UNHCR reception area (a small grassy field area) holding placards reading such things as “No to voluntary repatriation in Sudan,” “We want resettlement,” and “No to local integration in Egypt.” Since then, the demonstration has been growing (around 1,500 people on 9 October) and growing. Thankfully no violence has occurred, and to my knowledge no one has been arrested (yet).

The American University in Cairo’s (AUC) Forced Migration and Refugee Studies Program conducts weekly seminars to discuss refugee issues around the world. Last night’s series was “Sudanese Refugee Sit-In at Moustafa Mahmoud Mosque”. A panel of four refugee speakers explained and discussed the protest and then opened the floor for questions.

Each Sudanese tribe has a community leader (or several) who speak on behalf of the tribe. Community leaders are recognized and respected by the UNHCR. Unfortunately, this demonstration is not led by these community leaders. No one is sure who is leading the demonstration, and that has and will inevitably cause even more problems. Based on Sudanese culture, the fact that someone(s) decided to start this protest without going through the community leaders shows great disrespect and disloyalty to the tribe and its leaders. The community leaders want the demonstration to stop (and are meeting tomorrow morning to discuss what can be done), but those at the sit-in refuse to listen and some have even said, “I’d rather die here than leave.”

So who are the people following? They are following someone(s) with bad intentions, or bad logic, or both. Even though we all want human rights for the Sudanese, the UNHCR does not have the power to do what the organizers are demanding. The UNHCR can only guarantee political protection. They cannot guarantee criminal protection or economic protection, etc. Therefore, the organizers are not so well-informed about what they are going against and it will most likely come back to bite them in the butt.

The more I learn about the situation, the more I see that this is not a UNHCR-is-to-blame deal. Globally, fewer and fewer dollars are being used for refugee issues, especially in light of other disasters such as the tsunami and hurricanes. In addition, immigration laws have nothing to do with the UNHCR. If the USA says no to Sudanese immigration, there is little to nothing the UNHCR can do about it. Contrary to rumors, the UNHCR is NOT forcing anyone to do anything, whether it’s to stay in Egypt or resettle back home in Sudan. And, of course, with the peace agreement in Sudan there is an even greater reduction in resettlement funding. If anything, donors want money to help with repatriation (which, at this point, is completely voluntary).

I’m hoping there will be a good outcome from this protest, but thus far it doesn’t look good. Why? First of all, the Sudanese population already has a negative reputation in Egypt; not because they ‘behave incorrectly’ per se, but because they are ‘different’ and come here looking for jobs in a country already dealing with a huge employment rate. (Think of American’s skewed view of Mexicans in America; this is similar but more extreme.) Even though the sit-in has been peaceful to this point, it will inevitably only make the Sudanese look like troublemakers. The protestors are gathered in a small square outside a famous mosque, and beginning next Wednesday evening thousands of Egyptian Muslims will demand the ground for prayer time (rightfully so). Next Wednesday marks the Eid El Fitr, the end of Ramadan. It’s a four-day celebration including huge feasts and a lot of community and prayer time. People from all over Cairo use the Moustafa Mahmoud Mosque for this occasion and unless the Sudanese find a solution before then and leave, there will likely be big problems.

One thing getting me fired up is that the demonstrators are starting to get the most vulnerable people involved—the children. An “Urgent and Important Statement” has been circulating through the Sudanese population. Dick had the message translated into English and it’s basically asking the parents of the students in the “irregular” school (including St. Andrews) “to join the spirit of solidarity and persistence in joining the sit-in at the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) office”. It states, “We do not reject education but education should be institutionalized to ensure a future for our children and not a temporary irregular education so that your rights and the rights of your children in education and in an honorable bright future is not lost. We call on you to withdraw your children from the irregular schools and we call on the students to join their peers in the Garden of the Miserable, the citadel of persistence. Do you lose your rights and the rights of your children with your own hands.” Signed, “The Voice of the Sudanese Refugees in Cairo.” Thankfully, we have not noticed a decrease in our attendance at St. Andrew’s and pray we won’t. As frustrated as they are, taking the children away from these “irregular” schools will not solve the problem, since we exist to help them!

This is serious. Based on what I heard at the forum last night and through conversations with Sudanese, it almost seems like children are being put in the front line on purpose. That way, if the situation turns violent, the international media will finally get involved. One thought is that if a few adults die, oh well, but if children die it will cause an international out roar and finally something will be done to help the Sudanese. I pray this is not the true intentions.
In some cases it almost seems as though some Sudanese don’t want real help. There were a great number of powerful and generous Westerners at the meeting last night, and when many of them asked what they could do to help, no answer was given. Thing is, if the lives of the refugees gets better here, they are concerned they will be forced to stay in Egypt because life here would then be ‘just fine’. Sadly, some do not want to cooperate (even though they seem like they do) because they want the world to see their miserable situation and help.

The four refugee speakers (and others?) met with the UNHCR yesterday morning. According to these speakers, the UNHCR would not meet any of their requests and did not take the meeting seriously, as though it was a meeting between a father and a child. They believe the UNHCR came up with unrealistic ideas, such as establishing a group to go to southern Sudan to see what the situation is really like there. The refugee’s response was, “We don’t need to go to south Sudan; just go to Sakakini and you’ll know!” (Sakakini is another church school where many new refugees go to enroll their children in school.) But, as I’ll soon mention, people may very well be lying about their situation.

I know this all sounds incredibly harsh, but I’m presenting the situation as I know it. Of course, working with the Sudanese leaves me with great compassion for their situation and a great desire to help them. What’s so sad about this current sit-in situation is the Sudanese who are participating are so uniformed and desperate that they have lost their jobs and their flats in order to protest. They have been told demonstrating will help them. Misleading rumors are being spread; rumors saying those who participate will receive UNHCR money, or better yet, a ticket out of Egypt. Thing is, so many Sudanese fled to Egypt believing this is only a temporary place of residence until they get a ticket to a first world country. In the past there was much truth to that, but since the peace treaty was signed, there has been little to no resettlement and the Sudanese are left feeling helpless and hopeless.

Unfortunately, there are some Sudanese who are coming to Egypt for economic or medical reasons and truly aren’t feeling as refugees. Of course, in order to get refugee status (and thus some protection) they lie about their reasons for being here. The UNHCR and other organizations have caught on to this and thus are much stricter about who is accepted by the UNHCR. It’s very sad, because there are many legitimate refugees who REALLY need help!

Below is the Statement presented by the Sudanese
1. We, the Sudanese refugees in Cairo, fear that UNHCR or the Egyptian government will impose compulsory involuntary repatriation to the South because we read in UNHCR’s newsletters about repatriation how things have improved there. We have contrary information and are afraid to return.
2. Because of racial discrimination and no protection from it, lack of the right to work, to health and education, we can see no possibilities of our integrating into the Egyptian society, even temporarily.
3. We believe that UNHCR is making unfair distinctions between Sudanese refugees according to their ethnic/geographical origins in Sudan.
4. We ask UNHCR to intervene on behalf of those refugees who have been arbitrarily detained by police and to seek their release immediately.
5. We believe that UNHCR is obliged to consider each refugee’s prospects for the future on an individual basis.
6. We fear the application of the Four Freedoms Act, signed between the Egyptian and Sudanese government, because we do not know how it will affect the refugees who do not have passports, but hold refugee status IDs. There is no guarantee that it will provide us access to work and education and may put us out of reach of UNHCR protection.
7. We fear the presence of Sudanese National Conference personnel in Egypt and ask UNHCR to ensure our protection from them.
8. We request UNHCR register Sudanese asylum seekers immediately on arrival because delays threaten their protection.
9. We call upon UNHCR to help us locate missing the Sudanese refugees that we have identified.
10. We implore UNHCR to reconsider their criteria for assisting vulnerable refugees, in particular elders, unaccompanied minors and women who are currently being denied financial support.
11. Because most files that are now closed were closed when procedures for RSD at UNHCR were faulty, in the interests of fairness, we request UNHCR to reconsider the files of those Sudanese refugees which have been closed.
12. Realizing that Sudanese refugees are faced daily with discrimination and violence and a denial of their human rights, we urge UNHCR to pursue resettlement for as many of the most vulnerable cases as possible.

workshop for female teen students (menstruation esp.)

2005-10-25T16:21:00.000+02:00

At St. Andrew’s today, during the teen program, I held a workshop event for all teenage females. Mary Anne, a retired nurse from Canada serving through the MCC, served as the main presenter while Mariam, one of my fabulous teachers, served as the translator. The goal of the workshop was to talk about health, hygiene, HIV/AIDS, menstruation, sexual reproduction, and the male and female anatomy. As a testament to how much this workshop is needed, we only got through health, hygiene, and menstruation today. (We are planning another session next week to finish.)
Of course, when you gather a bunch of teenage girls together to talk about “their period” it’s assumed you’ll be dealing with a lot of giggles and smart remarks. This was no exclusion, however, I soon realized that these young girls really did want to listen and learn. In the Mid East there is no sex education—it doesn’t jive with the culture or the Islamic religious standpoint. The only time St. Andrew’s has ever had an event like this was in 1999 when approx. 6 different church schools got together one Saturday morning to talk about these issues. Unfortunately, not many people showed up. Therefore, when I met Mary Anne and we started discussing the possibility of this workshop, we decided it must be held during school hours so the students will be able to attend. For most, it was the first time they’ve ever discussed these issues.
We started out by discussing the importance of washing our hands, having a balanced diet, and exercising. As important as these things are for our health, I know it is not so easy for my students. Many of them do not have enough money to have a balanced diet consisting of many fruits and vegetable and meat. In general, they don’t get much exercise, and other than walking around I don’t know what we’d expect them to do. We put up a bunch of posters, one of which described what you need to do to keep healthy. It showed cartoons of young kids eating well, getting adequate rest, and going to the dentist and doctor. When we asked the students how many of them had ever been to a doctor, I only saw three hands out of 35 girls shoot up.
Then we moved on to menstruation and spent a good hour and a half discussing the female anatomy and menstruation. Almost all of the girls in the room have experienced their menarche, but few knew much about what to do with it. After explaining the odds and ends of menstruation, I stood up to talk about my menarche and also to talk about PMS. I was hoping they would feel more comfortable sharing if we would share our stories. Mariam and Mary Anne also shared their stories.
One by one the girls started asking questions, such as, “Sometimes I have my period for two days and that’s it. Is that bad?” or “Sometimes I have a period twice in one month! What’s wrong with me?!” We talked about what’s normal and abnormal, mostly helping them understand that we will each have a different experience with menstruation and that’s okay. We constantly explained that it is not shameful or bad to have your period; it’s normal and a blessing. Most of these girls have never talked about menstruation with their family members, even their mom. They have been confused and frightened by it. One person explained that she wore a pad in the wrong direction (with the sticky side up) for a few months because she was too embarrassed to ask her mother about what was going on.
The most shocking question was, “Is it okay to sit next to a male when we have our period?” My immediate response would be to say, “Of course!” but Mariam quickly explained to me that in their culture (Sudanese) they cannot sit next to a man during menstruation. These cultural-based questions are very difficult to work around. We spent time letting the girls know that they can go on with their normal activities when they are menstruating—there is no need to miss school (as some of them thought, I think). I also found out that for Muslims, at the end of their menstruation when they shower they are to wash the right side of their body completely and then wash their left side. I’m not sure why—Mariam said it was part of the Sharia.
***Wednesday 26 Oct*** When I came to work this morning Mariam came into my office all excited. Apparently one of her students got her period for the first time yesterday--only hours after our workshop! The girl said she felt more comfortable talking with her mom about menstruation and even was quite joyful about her menarche when she approached Mariam this morning for a pad. (We told the girls yesterday that I would keep pads in my office if they need them--looks like they'll use the resource!) Ah, this is so good...SO GOOD!

Fraternity Day--Dialogue Forum

2005-10-23T17:04:00.000+02:00

On Friday I spent the day volunteering my photography skills at an event coined “Fraternity Day” led by a group of men and women, Muslims and Christians, and Egyptians and
non-Egyptians who believe diversity is richness. Their ‘organization’ (though not an official organization yet, but they are looking for sponsors) is called “Dialogue Forum.” As their mission statement explains, they are united by the wish to establish a dialogue that aims at spreading the message of fraternity, love and unity through acts of charity and social initiatives. Fraternity day was designed as a day of fun for children during the month of Ramadan. It included games, theatre, film, Sudanese folklore and an Iftar.
The moment I arrived for the event I noticed Fraternity Day was a very well thought-out and organized event. Everyone had color-coordinated name tags! (Name tags, in general, don’t exist in Egypt—it would take way too much planning time to get name tags set up!) Each child was put into a group, and each group was led by a volunteer. Every group had to have these demographics represented: Muslim, Christian, Egyptian, Sudanese, rich, and poor. (Some of the children came from one of the richest schools, while others were orphans or from the Garbage Village.) For most of these kids, it was their first time hanging out with someone of a different economic status or nationality, or even religious background. The whole experience made me feel like I was at camp. The volunteers were so passionate about spreading the idea of love and diversity, and they were great with the kids. The spirit of compassion and understanding filled the air and I felt safe with this group of people. The children felt it too—I’ve never seen a group of 100 + kids cooperate with each other so well. It was such a blessing!
Everything about the event was in Arabic, so I had to get an interpreter whenever I wanted to know what was going on. Throughout the day I kept hearing a particular chanting going on during every down moment or when a certain group would start screaming it out. What was the chant? The kids were yelling “All of us together can do something BIG!” My heart almost stopped when I found out. Amazing. These kids were really learning and experiencing a great community. By the end of the day I could see how they were realizing that we are all people, and in that way we are united. We all play the same games and experience the same goals and dreams and emotions. It’s powerful.
Father Henri Boulad (of the Holy Family School in Faggala I believe) gave a short speech ½ way through the day and the kids just ate it up. He asked the children, “What is the best color? Is it black? Brown? White? Yellow? Red?” The kids weren’t sure what to say. Then he asked them if it would be good if we were all one color. Some of them yelled out, “Yes!” Father Boulad then explained that no, we are made differently for a reason, and that is wonderful. We all have the same God who made us differently for a reason. He used the analogy of a family, explaining how we are different from our grandparents, how our mom is different than our dad, and we are different from our siblings. But, we are still a family and it’s good to be different! The kids really understood this and started yelling “Yes, and all of us together can do something BIG!”
There was also a theme song for the day that the kids learned and sang at the day’s closing. I asked for a translation and even though my interpreter apologized on and on for not really being able to translate well due to metaphors, here’s what I got: One hand alone cannot clap, A bird with a broken wing cannot fly. Take heart, speak without fear. You can rule the whole world. (verse 1) We were children wearing Kastor (a cheap material) Hardly holding onto our dreams by the thread in the light, Our dream grows and grows with every leap over the hurdle, if you search for your dreams you fill find it. (verse 2) If you are determined and persevere you will be whatever you want to be. Inside you there is power that can build the whole universe. Your dream is your country wherever you are. Put your dream in your heart and hold onto it tightly.

Teaching Conversation class at Coptic Cathedral

2005-10-20T23:02:00.000+02:00

Besides the Iftar, tonight was my first night of teaching at the Coptic Cathedral! In addition to my job at St. Andrew’s I’m teaching an Advanced Conversation course in English at the Coptic Cathedral once a week for 1 ½ hours. The class was wonderful! I have 10 students, all eager to learn more English in order to get a better job, speak to tourists, help their children’s English studies, or just to “improve their own lives.” I started the class with introductions; sharing info about family, jobs, favorite food, and last weekend’s activity. I also asked them to tell us where they would like to travel if they could go anywhere in the world. Answers included Yemen, Italy, France, and Australia. Only one man said the US—“because it’s a country of freedom and human rights”—but the most interesting answer was from a man named Hisham who said he wants to visit all of the monasteries in Egypt and spend time in reflection and prayer. By the way, all of my students are Christian, probably all Coptic Orthodox Christians.
From there we discussed their ideas of the pros and cons of Ramadan. Pros included time with God, people aren’t smoking, and the special food such as sweet fruit and nuts. The cons included more traffic jams, people are really only thinking about food and not Allah, and the lack of productivity. I asked them if they noticed people being “crabbier” than normal. No one knew the word crabby so I explained that it meant irritated, easily frustrated, acting mean, etc. This encouraged me to try out an American expression with the group, that being, “Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?” Expressions are a funny thing, especially trying to explain them to a group who doesn’t see any logical reason for them! I almost laughed out loud as I saw their confused and questioning faces. Other expressions I taught them today were “Okey-Dokey” and “You betcha!” I need to remember to let them know these are NOT good phrases to use in business situations with Americans. I just realized I need to be careful with that!
I wanted the class to get to know each other by getting into pairs and discussing their answers to a variety of questions or instructions I asked of them (switching partners each time). One of the first instructions was to pick an item in the room and describe it to your partner until s/he could guess what it was. The class was really excited about this ‘game’ and quickly started yelling out “Arousti!” One thing I love about teaching is it teaches you to be flexible, because we ended up spending 20 minutes or so playing this game Arousti! One person leaves the room while the class choose a person or object in the room to describe. The man returns to the classroom and either asks questions about the “thing” or we tell him details about it. If he doesn’t know, he says “Arousti!” and we give him more information or he asks another question until he knows enough to guess. They class absolutely loved this game and we had a blast doing it. One of their ‘objects’ was Pope Shenouda III, described as a “very wise and friendly man”. Cute!

Iftar

2005-10-20T22:59:00.000+02:00

I had a GREAT day today experiencing an Iftar and my first day of teaching! First, the Iftar. Essam invited Marion, Anne-Katherine (the two French teachers), Andrea, Jay, Jason, and me to the Iftar held on a side street near RCG. Side note: During Ramadan many wealthy families will block off a part of a street with a mega canopy of blankets and set up tables full of food for anyone who is around and wants to eat. You just show up, sit down, and feast together. Anyhow, we arrived literally 3 minutes before Iftar to 7 long tables full of men waiting to eat the scrumptious meal sitting before them. There must have been around 100 men.
The first thing I noticed was that we were the only women there. Immediately I thought, “Essam, why did you bring us here! We are not wanted here and we are totally disrespecting the culture!” The man who hosted the Iftar came out to greet us and suddenly I noticed a whole row of men standing up from the table to make room for us. “Oh, no!” I thought. “We kicked these men out of their spots! And we are foreigners! And we are Christian! And we are WOMEN! Oh crap!” But, the Head Honcho kept encouraging us to “please sit” so finally we took our spots. I took a slight glance to my left and as far as I could see down the table eyes were on us. Glanced to the right—same thing. I was so embarrassed and decided to just look down. The place was silent. Everyone was eagerly waiting for the call to prayer and the time to eat. Thankfully we were only sitting for about 30 seconds when the call began and it was time to start. I noticed all the other tables of men dug right into the food, but the men sitting across from us waited. They were waiting for us, their guests, to begin. So we did.
The meal was INCREDIBLE. You start by eating a couple figs followed by gulps of water. Then you take your ish balidi (Egyptian bread) and fill it up with the salad mixture (cucumbers, tomatoes and onions) or dipping it into a lentil soup filled with fava beans and beef. You mix rice into the fava bean/lentil soup and take more sips of water. For desert we ate Egyptian-style rice pudding—rice with milk and sugar. It was a feeding frenzy—these men can eat FAST.
By this time I felt at ease. Once people were occupied with their food I felt comfortable enough to look around, and I noticed people did not appear to be upset that we were there. In fact, the boy sitting across from me insisted that I have his bread. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. Egyptians are so incredibly hospitable—time and time again I’m being blessed by their generosity and care. I was trying to eat as fast as I could but in the end our group and three other men were the only people still eating. People literally ate and left—mostly because they needed to open their shops.
The Main Dude came out again and brought us tea. I’m not sure if we were offered tea because we were the only people still there or because we seemed to be the honored people this night. We ended up staying another 20 minutes talking with this man and some of the other male cooks. They let me look into the kitchen area and told us they start cooking every day at 2:00pm to prepare for the meal. This is when I learned women sit inside while the men sit outside. We were invited to come back again—“every day please come!”
The best discovery of the night was finding out that not all the people were Muslim. (Well, duh, we were there.) In fact, most of the men around our table were Christian. As I mentioned earlier, anyone can come, and that really means anyone. This really struck me. How beautiful it is to realize I just experienced a great religious feast with both Muslims and Christians sitting side by side getting along. I’ve decided that I will go back. When I go, I will come with an empty stomach and fast for the day. Until tonight, I didn’t feel the spiritual desire to fast all day every day, but after seeing this community, I want to share the entire experience with them.
Another Ramadan experience: When I was visiting Alexandria a few weeks ago to check out Jen and Jennifer’s new place and get some fresh air by the sea, I had an “encounter” with Ramadan. Jennifer, Jay, and I were on the tram around 5:30—Iftar time. As the tram was cruising by I was suddenly whacked in the head. I had seen it coming just seconds before—a boy outside was throwing bags of food into the tram for us to eat the moment the Iftar began. Within a couple minutes the tram stopped three station stops away from our destination and everyone scrambled off. “Oh, this must be the end of the course for this tram,” I thought. Not exactly. The city literally shut down for Iftar. As we walked off the tram there were groups of people (who had just been riding) sitting in circles eating. Okay, we’ll walk! It was the quietest walk I’ve experienced in Egypt thus far. No one was around and only a few cars/taxis passed us. It was almost eerie how fast it changed!

UNHCR, time, and discrimination

2005-10-20T07:36:00.000+02:00

19 October 2005
For the past two days I have been handing out over Le 24,000 to the parents of our students who are recognized by the UN. The UNHCR gives each recognized student Le 250 per year to be used in whatever way the parents see fit to keep their children successful in school—whether that be metro passes, more clothes, a book bag, and food. It was such a blessing to be a part of this aspect of the ministry. This money may be little in American standards, but it goes a long way for these families. Almost none of the parents knew English, so Henry worked with me to interpret. Last week I sent a letter home with the students (written in English and Arabic, although the students probably had to read it to their parents anyhow) asking parents to come to St. Andrew’s with their blue cards and sign a paper to document their acceptance of money.
I’d say at least ¼ to 1/3 of the parents are completely illiterate; when we asked them to sign their name they wanted an ink pad to make a fingerprint mark—they didn’t know how to write their own name in any language! We didn’t have an ink pad, so they would scribble or make a zigzag mark or something of the like. It was clear some of them were embarrassed and all I wanted to do is say, “It’s okay! Really, it’s okay!” Although not completely shocking, I had never seen this before and it reminded me of the pure reality of the situation literally unfolding across the table from where I sat. Beyond that, many parents don’t know how old their children are. If they did, it usually took a while for them to think about it, and even then they would state the birth year instead of the age. Some just said, “He was born in the village. There was no hospital. I do not know the birthday or year.” Oh, side note—cool cultural tidbit. Many Africans make a clicking noise to signify, “Yes.” Pretty neat.
Some students came into the office without their parents because they have no parents. This was the hardest thing to witness. Some of these young boys and girls do not even know if their family is alive. Thankfully family is extremely important to the Sudanese and it would “be a curse” (as Henry put it) for an extended family member not to help a person in need.
Time. The concept of time is so different here. There is Western time and there is Egyptian time. If we are going by Western time and a meeting starts at 2:00 pm you are late if you arrive at 2:00 pm. By Egyptian standards you are still “on time” if you arrive around 2:15 or 2:30. Furthermore, if you are on Sudanese time you are “on time” if you arrive around 2:45 or even later. Time has become a joke around St. Andrew’s. When I hold meetings we say, “We’ll meet at 1:00 pm Western time” and you can bet the staff will be there well before 1:00 pm to make sure they are not late. It’s funny. J Understanding the concept of time helps me understand when children and teens are late to class. Coming from Africa, they are not used to the rigidity of our system, even as we try drilling it into their heads daily. I constantly tell myself, “Think like an Egyptian” or “Think like an African” and I know how to better handle situations.
Discrimination. As a white, middle class American from the Midwest, it’s an odd feeling to experience discrimination, but it certainly happens to me here. First and foremost, I’m a woman in a Muslim country. Secondly, I’m a tourist and therefore get treated either poorly or “greatly” because I have money. Thirdly, I’m an American, which adds another level of power and force resulting in bitterness, resentfulness, and anger. Every day I have a not-so-pleasant experience on the street, anything from getting slightly grabbed by a man and being followed to being harassed by people yelling at me in their small vocabulary of broken English. What’s really interesting is walking around the city with my refugee staff members. The Sudanese are discriminated for different reasons. Without going into all the details I can best compare it to the way Americans discriminate Mexicans living in America. So, here I am walking the street as a young, American woman with an older, Sudanese man. I can see that people aren’t quite sure how to treat this situation. Do we charge extra to this American and be friendly, or do we ignore them because we don’t want to associate with the Sudanese? Very odd. (Don’t get me wrong, not all Egyptians react this way!)

Helipolis Community Church and Carrefour

2005-10-19T08:15:00.000+02:00

Sunday night Teri and I decided to check out a new church—Heliopolis Community Church (HCC) in Helipolis. We took the tram during the Iftar when the streets were dead and only a few other passengers were heading home. It was obvious the conductor also wanted to get home and eat because we were cruising so fast that we nearly fell off the seats or out the window! Teri actually had to move to her own seat because we were going Boing! Boing! Boing! so much we were tipping over and falling into each other. We looked like the buoys in lakes after a speed boat passes by and they are thrashed all around while desperately holding onto their foundation. We ended up getting totally lost in Heliopolis but thanks to the traveling cell phone we called up a church member and friend, Nancy Collins, and she graciously picked us up and brought us to church.
Being at HCC was wonderful! People actually sang to the Lord! I even knew some of the hymns, such as The Church’s One Foundation. The congregation was a mixture of Egyptians and Westerns who totally welcomed us into their community. During the service they even had us stand up and introduce ourselves and then they prayed for us. Actually, prayed three times during the service, only after the congregation discussed issues to pray about such as specific marriages, health-related issues, Sudanese issues, and individuals members. The current topic is The Purpose Driven Life book and the sermon was based on “Part 3” of the series—including sermon outline notes and fill in the blank sections! Being there made me think of St. Luke’s and realizing how much I miss my home church community. It’s a beautiful and powerful thing to belong to a group of people who worship the same Lord and love one another. That’s a no-brainer of course, but Sunday night I recognized the void in my life without that community and really missed it.You know you are a Westerner when you look forward to a trip to Carrefour! For the past three weeks we have been looking forward to this day when we’d go to the huge supermarket/Walmart-type store called Carrefour. The day finally arrived yesterday and it was not a disappointment! Nancy Collins picked us up at RCG and drove us to the desert edge in order to dip our feet into this truly western/Egyptian experience. Of course, we traveled during Iftar so the streets were nearly empty—when a bustling/hustling/noisy city of 22 million nearly shuts down for ½ hour it’s surreal to say the least. Carrefour is HUGE, esp. in Egyptian standards—like a Super Target size. Immediately the long, big aisles, bright overhead lighting, and incredible cleanliness and organization stopped us in our tracks. I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore! It was a heyday in there! I found zip lock baggies (whoo-hoo!) and frozen peas (funny what you find extraordinarily appealing when you are out of the country) and a box of 12 bars of Galaxy chocolate. The special item was a container of fresh apricot juice—so good! We also found a blow drier to work in Egyptian sockets. Although Carrefour did not have chocolate chips, Doritos, or Wheaties, I almost felt like I could have been home. Then again, it only takes a moment of walking down an aisle stacked with grape leaves in a jar or seeing cow carcasses being stripped in the deli section for you to remember you’re in Egypt. Also, the sweets/bakery section is very different than America. I can’t really describe Egyptian desserts other than to say they are really dry and make you wish for homemade chocolate chip cookies or a moist yellow cake with chocolate frosting! Or DQ…or…okay, I’m going to drive myself crazy.