Ma'salama, ya Masr, wi Shukran

Today is the day.

By the time this post publishes (it's been scheduled a little in advance), my family and I will have left Egypt.

What to say on a day like this? One chapter of my life is ending today. It's a chapter I'd like to keep open for a while longer. I expressed my nostalgia in my "Saying Good-bye" post not too long ago. Now I've said my good-byes to my friends, my favorite shops and their keepers, my favorite restaurants and their owners and employees.


What I haven't said yet is "Thank you." Thank you, embassy community, for preparing the way for me and for providing so many small and large luxuries to make my adjustment easier. Thank you, expat community as a whole, for welcoming me, embracing me, and providing a supportive social network during every phase of my life here. Thank you, Maadi Community Church, for showing me a glimpse of what heaven will look like. Thank you, Maadi Women's Guild, for giving me the opportunity to fellowship with other Christian women, to participate in group Bible studies, and to serve people who need it more than I ever imagined possible in my comfortable life back in the States. Thank you, Caritas Egypt, for running the baby wash program, which was my first foray into volunteering in Egypt. Thank you, Mother Teresa's, for running the orphanage and daycare where the children stole my heart from the moment I met them.

Thank you, people of Cairo, for welcoming me into your country. For being supportive and not impatient with me as I mangled your lovely language in my attempts to speak it, and for your attempts to help me learn it better and more quickly. For caring about my daughter and looking out for her welfare, even when I disagreed with your advice. For offering me a seat on the Metro even though I'm sure you were more exhausted and in need of it than I was. For using your own Metro ticket to get the turnstile to let me out that time when my ticket decided to stop working during transit. For banding together to protect my daughter, myself, and my property from your less upstanding neighbors during the Revolution.

Thank you, Egypt, for showing me that I'm stronger, more adaptable, and more capable than I realized. For showing me how good my life is. For showing me how good life can be even for people who have so much less than I have, as long as they have faith, family, and a sense of humor. For giving me a taste for adventure. For helping me understand that adventure does not always feel adventurous. For helping me realize that a laid-back attitude doesn't mean that things can't get done, just that they get done in a different way and with different timing. For showing me that things don't have to get done how and when I want them to, and I'll still be just fine. For allowing me to expand my horizons and those of my daughter.

Good-bye, O Egypt, and thank you.

Ma'salama, ya Masr, wi shukran.

An Invitation

I have enjoyed writing Reflections from Maadi over the last three years. However, I just don't see my way clear to continue writing Reflections from Maadi once we no longer live in Maadi.

Take heart, however (or be discouraged, if you rejoiced at the thought of this blog ending), for although this blog will end, a new one will begin. I decided to start a new blog, with a new name and a new address that aren't so country-specific, so that it can stay with me as we move from post to post over the years. The plan is to import the content of Reflections from Maadi and eventually delete this blog.

I do intend to publish one more post here, my good-bye to Egypt, so stay tuned for that.

My new blog will not have any new posts until this fall. I may feel compelled to write a little something before our arrival in Cambodia, but it's more likely that I won't post anything until September, after we arrive and set up internet access. This summer I will not be blogging, although I hope to keep up with the blogs I read.

My new blog is called Reflections from a Global Nomad, and it can be found at http://DeborahReflections.blogspot.com. Consider this post your invitation to join me there. I hope to see you there in September!

Quick Takes

It's been so long since I've written anything! There's so much to update you on, too, but very little time to do it. Alexa just went down for a nap, but she rarely naps for longer than 45 minutes, and sometimes not even that long. So rather than trying to do a series of posts, I'm just going to do a bunch of short "quick takes" in this one. So buckle up, it's going to be a quick ride!

• My little brother is now a married man! He married his long time sweetheart in early October. It was a true family affair for us--Jeff arrived a couple of days before the wedding, as he was a groomsman. I was a bridesmaid. Alexa was a flower girl, at least in name. She wore the same dress as the older flower girls and was carried down the aisle by the mother of the groom. It was a beautiful wedding, with a fall theme, which made for gorgeous decorations. My sister sang and even managed to get through it without tears. The bride was, of course, beautiful.

• After the wedding, our little family spent a few days visiting friends and family in other states. Everyone was completely taken with Alexa. We spent quite a bit of time in the DC area with friends, whom we convinced to go with us to the Maryland Renaissance Festival. We'd been a couple of times before we moved to Egypt and loved it, so we couldn't pass up the opportunity to go back. It was just like we remembered, with elaborate costumes, decadent food--can I just say croissant sundae?!--and all sorts of attractions, from jousting to shopping to watching the drunks to knife throwing (I think we avoided the drunks throwing knives, though). Our friend who went with us got her first henna tattoo. I've never had one, but it was interesting to watch. I documented the whole process in photos, but since this is a quick takes post, here's the one and only picture you get: the artist with his work.

• The flights went very well, overall, and Alexa was wonderful. She slept through all of our flights, with just brief awake periods for food and diaper changes. Luckily she didn't have any dirty diapers on the planes, saving those for layovers, so it wasn't too difficult to do lap changes. Also, may I just say that United was very baby-friendly? They had no issues with us taking on the car seat once we established that Alexa had her own ticket, they offered us an infant life vest before we ever took off, and there was room (in economy plus, to which we always upgrade because of Jeff's long legs) for the person in front of Alexa to recline his seat without interfering with the car seat. Lufthansa, on the other hand ... grrr. They didn't want us to use the car seat; we had to repeat two or three times that it was airline approved. Then they refused to give us an infant life vest when we requested one--they tried telling us that we wouldn't be flying over water because there were no large bodies of water around Frankfurt. Apparently the flight attendant didn't realize that we'd be flying over the Mediterranean Sea on the way to Egypt! She finally told us that it was their policy to give it to us only if/when it was needed. So apparently it's important for every passenger and crew member to have immediate access to a life vest--every passenger except infants, that is. I guess if there's no time for a busy flight attendant to go get the life vest before the plane hits the water, parents can miraculously grow suction cups on their arms to prevent the wiggling--and at that point wet--child from slipping out of their arms. My blood pressure still goes up when I think of that one. And then, in a final blow to Lufthansa's credibility in my eyes, the person in front of Alexa put his seat back, hitting the back of her car seat and causing it to pop up into an unsafe, unusable position. Luckily, Jeff was feeding her at the time, so she wasn't in it. Needless to say, I am no longer a fan of Lufthansa. At all.

•  Alexa has been sleeping through the night ever since we got here. She slept incredible hours on the planes, probably due to the vibrations, and has been doing it ever since. She usually goes down for the night between 10 and 11 and wakes up at 7 or 7:30. I would like her to fall asleep around 8 or 9 and stay asleep, but she currently naps for half an hour or so starting at 8 or 8:30, then wakes up for 60 to 90 minutes for one more feeding and diaper change before going down for the night. Until the last week or so, her longest naps during the day were around 45 minutes--she'd take several short naps ranging from 20 to 45 minutes, with 90 minutes of wake time in between. Lately she's been taking a long morning nap of 2 to 3 hours. I think that's because I've been laying down with her for that one, so when she starts to wake up, I soothe her back to sleep--I need a long nap, as I'm getting up between 5 and 5:30 every morning so I can pump, shower, try to get breakfast, and maybe get some laundry started before she gets up.

• Speaking of pumping, I haven't shared the whole saga here yet. I had intended to breast feed Alexa, but that hasn't worked out. She was unable to take anything by mouth for the first two days, and after that, she had a hard time latching. Combine that with the fact that I wasn't producing enough milk in a day to get her through one meal, and well, formula supplementation via bottle was necessary. She never took to the breast, despite my best efforts and assistance from a lactation consultant. So we invested in a good pump, which I use regularly. Lately I've been able to produce enough milk that we only give her one 8-ounce bottle of formula a day. The rest of what she eats is milk. I'm not sure how long we can keep it up, but we're going to keep going with that as long as possible. Breast milk provides the best nutrition for her, so I'm committed to pumping until I can't produce milk anymore or until her first birthday, if I make it that long.

• We're fully on cloth diapers now. I had purchased some used BumGenius 3.0's before Alexa was born. When I tried to switch from disposable to cloth diapers a month or so after her birth, I discovered that the BGs were too big in the legs. So we used prefolds and covers instead. We're still using those during the day. We were using disposables at night until shortly after we returned here, but we decided to bite the bullet and see how well cloth worked at night. We realized that the BGs didn't fit in the legs because the elastic was shot, but we found two that still had decent elastic, and we used one of them with a doubler overnight. It worked wonderfully! No leaks and, thanks to the stay-dry layer, Alexa felt dry the next morning. We've used them every night since then (other than a couple times when we needed to use diaper rash cream). We bought a couple of new BGs on sale and LOVE them. They're too expensive to justify buying for all-the-time use, though. So we'll keep going with prefolds and covers during the day and the BGs at night, at least unless/until we find someone who is able to replace the elastic on our used BGs. It almost makes me wish I knew how to sew ... but I do NOT have time right now to learn a new skill.

And now Alexa is awake, so if I forgot anything, it'll have to wait until next time.

Just in case the next time isn't for a while, let me just say to you all:

Merry Christmas!!

Dreams

I hate dreams.

Oh, not the inspirational "I have a dream" goal-and-aspiration kind of dreams--I'm a big fan of those. No, the ones I despise are the ones that come when you sleep, when you're most vulnerable and defenseless. I've hated those as long as I can remember.

I have good reason, too: They've never been kind to me. As a child, I would wake with night terrors--those middle of the night awakenings that are filled with unexplainable fear, the remnant of nightmares that you don't remember even as you wake up. Sometimes I would remember the gist of the nightmare (it had "something" to do with vampires, or with demons, or with evil people trying to hurt my little brother--who actually was littler than me at the time--and only I was there to protect him; but I had no specifics, just the general awareness of who the bad guys had been). On very rare occasions I would remember more details, at least for a few minutes, until I was fully awake. Most often I didn't remember anything at all about the dream. Once my father told me that it would help if I talked about my nightmares, but I was ashamed to admit that I was still so terrified and didn't even remember what I was afraid of, so I made up a nightmare to tell him. I developed my own little mantra-like prayer that I would repeat over and over every night until I fell asleep--and every time I awoke in the night. "Jesus, help me. Let me fall asleep quickly and sleep all night. Don't let me have any bad dreams. Don't let me be afraid. Please help me, Jesus." I said it well into my 20s.

The blessing for me is that I don't remember my dreams. As I've gotten older, there have been times when one of my friends would tell me about the wonderful dream she had. I assume that there is no way all of my dreams could be bad, and from time to time I became determined to remember a good one. So I'd be sure not to set an alarm clock, and as I slowly woke up, I would focus on remembering. Without exception, every time, the dream I remembered would be scary or sad. Eventually I just thanked God for removing the memories of my nighttime fears and sorrows, and I stopped trying to remember. For me, there is no such thing as a good dream.

When I became pregnant and started researching what to expect, it didn't take long for me to find the little tidbit about dreams becoming more vivid. "Ha!" I thought. "Not a problem, I don't remember them anyway, and that's the way I like it." Famous last words.

So far I've remembered three: the gist of one of them and some details of the other two.

The first two weren't really that bad. They were both early on in the pregnancy, either the same night or within a few nights of each other. For the first, in the dream, I was very close to my due date, still here in Egypt (although that won't be the case in real life), when Jeff told me that he was going on a sailing trip with a friend. (No, Jeff doesn't sail, but in the dream he did, and the friend desperately needed him to go for some reason that was not explained to me.) I cried and begged him not to go, sure that something would happen and he wouldn't come back. He went anyway. In my dream, it was like one of those movies, where you see the person sitting still and time passing all around her--I sat on the sofa and did absolutely nothing the whole time he was gone, which I think was several days, possibly weeks; I didn't even eat. I just sat there, numb and abandoned. Then he came back and asked me what I had done while he was gone. I couldn't tell him; for me, it was like he had just walked out the door. I had shut down and I couldn't explain where the time had gone. He was very concerned. Then I woke up. This dream was miserable while I was in it, but as soon as I woke up, I was fine. I decided that apparently I had a fear of being abandoned, but even my subconscious knew that Jeff would never abandon me, so I shrugged it off.

The second dream is the one I only remember the gist of. In this dream, I left. I didn't want to but I had to. I was completely alone and afraid, hiding in some abandoned area from something bad that was following me. But in the dream I prayed and somehow knew it would all turn out okay. Then I woke up. I chose to interpret this dream in a reassuring way as well--I know that no matter how I feel or what my situation, God is there and will take care of me. Not so bad for me. Downright pleasant, considering my usual nighttime horrors.

Then there was the dream I had last night. It was, without a doubt, the worst dream I have ever had. And I remember way too many details. Way too many. In the dream, I was with my husband and my mother when my mother told me that my sister had committed suicide. (In real life, there is no indication at all that she would ever do such a thing--she isn't even depressed.) I remember feeling the numbness that can be such a blessing in times of horrific news, the numbness that shields the mind from having to take it all in at once. And then I had to say something. My mind skittered across the questions that I knew I eventually would want--or need--to have answered. Why? How? As soon as I thought of a question, I recoiled from it, knowing that I couldn't handle the answer. Finally I settled on a question I could handle: When is the funeral? But as soon as I opened my mouth to ask, I lost control. I started sobbing and buried my face in my hands, trying to hold the emotion in until I could stuff it away somewhere. Then suddenly I was somewhere else, with someone else, who I don't know, other than that she was female. We were walking along a wide asphalt path with manicured lawns on either side. She was chattering on about some inane topic like people do when they don't know what to say about the thing that really matters, but I wasn't paying attention to what she was saying. I felt a burning need to know when my sister's funeral was, and I knew that this other person could tell me. But again, when I opened my mouth to ask, I lost control. That time, when I covered my face with my hands, I woke up.

I woke up gasping for air. I looked around my room, realized it was only a dream, and burst into tears. That's never happened to me before. I've woken up crying and even yelling before, but as soon as I realize it's only a dream, I'm able to let it go. Always--that's a skill I've spent a lot of time learning, and I've gotten really good at it. But this time I couldn't. I was struggling so hard to hold it all in, to stay quiet and not wake up Jeff, that it physically hurt. I got up and went into the bathroom, where I just cried for a good ten minutes. When I thought I was okay again, I went back to bed, but before I even lay down, I started crying again. Back into the bathroom I went. Eventually I calmed down enough to go back to sleep, but when I woke up again this morning, it was still there--which is very unusual; even if I do remember when I wake up at night, I don't remember the next morning, not more than the gist of it. But this one, I still remembered so clearly. I started to tell Jeff about it but started crying again and decided that maybe if I just didn't think about it, it would go away. It hasn't. It's lingered all day, making me tired and teary-eyed. I took a nap this morning, because I know that the more tired I am, the more emotional I get. It didn't help.

So now I'm writing about it, hoping that if I express it in this way, I'll be able to release it. I don't understand why this one is hanging on so tightly. There is no truth in this dream that I can discover. There is no reason to fear that my sister is suicidal. There is no reason for me to remember this dream. This dream has been haunting me all day--and on Easter, for crying out loud! It needs to go away already.

Which leads me back to the beginning, with some modification.

I do not merely hate dreams. I utterly despise, abhor, and loathe them.

I'm Back ...

I really did mean to be gone only for a few days. Jeff and I took a long weekend to visit Sharm el Sheikh and meet up with some friends there, and I fully intended to start blogging again as soon as we got back. Obviously, that didn't happen. We had the nice relaxing weekend, and then I'm not sure what happened. I got into one of my reading kicks, during which I spend almost every waking moment voraciously reading my current obsession. Unfortunately, my obsession this time was not a single book but a 4-book series, so it took a few days. Other than that, I really think I've just been lazy.

I do intend to finish the series about the Nile cruise--I think there are only two more days to cover on that--and then I'll do a post about our time in Sharm. No guarantees on the timing, though; I'm beginning to learn better. I'll try to get another post up within a day or two. This one is just to let you all know I'm still alive :-)

Change in Plans

So remember how I said yesterday that I made no promises about telling you about the Nile cruise today? It turns out that that's a good thing.

Jeff and I have plans for later this week--I'll tell you about it later--and I realized today that I have so much to do in the meantime that I just don't have time to blog right now. I may be able to get in another post or two this week, but it's looking doubtful.

I'll plan on updating you next week ... I promise I'll try not to get lazy about blogging again.

In the meantime, I hope all of you have a great week!

Water

In my last post, I talked a little about contentment. I wondered what deprivations I would be able to experience while still being content. Today, I realized yet another thing that I take for granted and not all others have. Indoor plumbing.

Yes, that's right. Indoor plumbing. It's a great privilege to have it. Many people around the world get all of their water from canals, wells, rivers, or other such sources. They have to go fetch their water, and what they get is what they get--microbes, pollution, and all. Although my water ultimately is obtained from similar sources, I have the great convenience of having it delivered right into my home, in exactly the quantity, temperature, and location of my needs and desires. Furthermore, because of where I live, my water is filtered inside my housing compound. Egypt apparently has a good water filtration system for Cairo, but the clean water then goes through dirty pipes, so the water that actually comes out of the tap is not safe for expats to drink. Not so in my home--the tap water is clean enough to drink without worries.

How often do we think about the clean water that is delivered to us on demand? Speaking for myself, not too often. I've thought about it a bit more than usual lately because there have been a few times when this luxury has not been available to me. I'm not sure what's been going on. The water was out a couple of times last summer, but on those occasions, it was for some type of work that was being done, so we were given advance notice. The three or four most recent occasions--all within the last month--occurred without warning.

The most recent occasion happened just this morning. In fact, the water is out now, unless it's come back in the last 45 minutes or so. It went out at a particularly inconvenient time for me today. I delayed my shower this morning until mid-morning. As I was soaping up, I noticed a marked decrease in the water pressure. Because of the recent outages, I realized immediately what was happening and started rinsing. No sooner had I gotten all the soap off of me than the water went out entirely. My washcloth is hanging in my shower, still full of soap. There was no time to rinse it. I didn't get to wash my face in the shower like I usually do. I didn't get to condition my hair, although I had washed it.

I was a bit annoyed.

Then I started thinking. Even though our tap water is potable, Jeff and I have chosen to drink bottled water, as most expats here do. So we have plenty of bottled water on hand. I was able to wash my face in the sink using bottled water. I was already mostly clean when the water went out, and one day of not soaping up my legs won't hurt anyone. I had washed my hair. So I ended up with a clean face, clean hair, and a half-clean body. It's enough for today. It's more than many people throughout the world, and throughout history, have had.

Most days, I am able to shower, brush my teeth, wash the dishes, and do any number of other tasks with minimal inconvenience. I don't have to haul water from the well, river, or canal in order to fill a bucket to wash my clothes. The easy availability of water on demand means that I don't even have to scrub my laundry myself--because we have indoor plumbing and electricity, I can have a machine for that, and another for cleaning my dishes. In the grand scheme of things, I'm spoiled rotten. Even now, with the water out, I can be confident that it will be back, probably within a couple of hours if not even sooner, and definitely by the end of the day. It may even be back already.

Why should I complain because my indoor plumbing stopped working for a short time, even if it was at a particularly inconvenient time today?

Contentment

Cleo--the cat who can't decide if she's a cat, a human, a dog, a monkey, or what--recently happened upon me as I was taking care of the laundry. My jeans were still warm. As I folded them, I stacked them on the sofa. As you can see, she jumped onto them and promptly went to sleep. I just kept stacking them. After I was done, I left them there until she decided on her own to move. She stayed snuggled up in her warm little bed for a good 15 minutes before she came looking for me ... at which point, I petted her for a couple of minutes, then gathered up the jeans and put them away.

Sometimes I'm in awe of my cats. They need so little to be content. A warm place to lie down. A small, enclosed area to feel safe--they love their airline crates. Fresh water to drink. Nutritious food twice a day (although they really would prefer that it be available all the time). Occasional petting and brushing. A small ball, bottle cap, or cable tie to chase. A clean litter box. Each other. That's all they need.

So what do I need to be content? It's hard to say ... I know the difference between a need and a want. I know the things I need in a physical sense. But the things I need psychologically ... that's where it becomes a little more complicated, more difficult to determine with certainty what is a need and what is a want. I know I need my relationship with God--that's fundamental. Could I be content without anything else, just me and God? The Sunday school answer is yes. But I also know that isn't how God created us; there's a reason why He said it wasn't good for Adam to be alone, even though God Himself was there. We're made to need human companionship. So I need interaction with other people--my husband in particular, but also my extended family and my friends. That's what I need relationally. How about physically? I'm pretty sure I could give up my creature comforts. I could be content with a lot less stuff than I have now. But then I think ... if I really gave up my creature comforts, to the extent that I lived like the zabbaleen (the Egyptian garbage collectors, who live surrounded by the garbage they collect, sort, and sell for recycling) or like many villagers (not surrounded by trash, but in extreme poverty, like in my last post)--if I really gave up my creature comforts, could I be content? Probably so, I think, but only after God had used the circumstance to stretch and grow my faith well beyond its current limits.

The sisters at Mother Teresa's chose to have their faith stretched and grown in just that way. They willingly gave up creature comforts to live in Muqattam and pour out their lives to help the children of the zabbaleen. And they aren't alone. There are people all over the world who sacrifice immensely for a cause greater than themselves. From what I've seen of the sisters, they are content--more than content--with the life they've chosen. They don't seem to see its deprivations, only its joys. They are content because they trust God absolutely, welcome all that they have as a gift from Him, and view the things they do not have as opportunities for their faith to grow--either by seeing how God will carry them through without it, or by seeing how God will provide it.

Now that's a worldview worthy of emulation.

Private Message

I joined Expat-Blog so that I could list my blog there and possibly attract a few readers. Even though I joined the site just to list my blog, they offer other services as well. One service is the ability to send private messages to other members. This service can be useful if you want to ask a question of someone who lives where you're about to move, but you don't want to ask the question publicly on their blog. Unfortunately, the service also can be used for other purposes.

I recently received a private message. Do you want to read it? Here you go:

hello and welcome to Egypt

I am Arabic Teacher for the foreigners, I have certification from AUC ( American Unvi in Cairo ) about how teach Arabic as a foreign language, if u need help I am ready and with pleasure

Sister. I am Muslim person and looking for a foreign wife, cos i tread with them a lot, and most of my family are American, Sister i am swearing i dont need green Card or live in her country JUST marry for my God, this is my Intention, I don't care about her nationailty, i want nice and polite girl Really. Can u help me? I am swearing by Allah I am very kindhearted, handsome and polite soooo much

So, ladies, whaddaya say? Are there any "foreign" ladies who are interested in marrying this fellow?

No? Well, I guess he'll just have to keep soliciting help from strangers on the internet.

Messages like this are all too common on sites like Expat-Blog. Most men try to be a little more circumspect--they do offer help in language study, finding an apartment, or other things that expats often could use help with, as this guy offered. But they usually don't say explicitly that they're looking for a foreign wife. They masquerade as nice guys who just want to help, or as lonely guys who just want a friend to meet for coffee every once in a while. But their goal is to meet an expat woman and marry her.

Why are they so set on marrying a foreign woman? It may be one of any number of reasons.

For one thing, many Egyptian men think that western women are beautiful, more beautiful than Egyptian women. It's the "exotic" factor. Most Egyptians have dark hair, dark eyes, and olive skin, although there are some that have lighter coloring, mostly along the coast where there's been more interaction with Europeans. So they see a woman with blonde hair and blue eyes, or other light coloring, and they think she's gorgeous. Personally, I think that the Egyptian preference for light-skinned people blinds them to the amazing beauty of many Egyptian women. I can't vouch for the beauty of most Egyptian women's hair, since it's usually covered, but some of them have stunningly beautiful faces. But in any case, there seems to be a preference for women who look western. (Of course, I was the kid who, for years, secretly wanted black hair, brown eyes, and olive skin, so maybe I'm just expressing my own biases!)

Another contributing factor is the financial status that is required for marriage to an Egyptian woman. A couple cannot get married until the man has an apartment and can support his wife and their children. However, the Egyptian economy is in trouble, and jobs are difficult to come by. Even university graduates often can't find work or end up working in jobs that don't pay enough for them to save for an apartment, much less the wedding itself. I also have been told--but have no written source to cite--that it's customary for Egyptian men to give money to their brides; in the case of future divorce, this money remains with the wife and is used to support her. An Egyptian woman would be insulted if a man asked to marry her without being able to give her a substantial amount of money; it would be like saying she isn't worth much. Western women, on the other hand, just assume that they will be working and will help to provide and support the family home; most western women would be flabbergasted if her groom gave her money that was to be set aside for her use in case of divorce. So it's less expensive to marry a foreign woman than to marry an Egyptian woman.

Finally, there is the reason that the author of my private message explicitly denies: the reality that marriage to a foreign woman is the quickest way to get a visa to move to another country. With jobs difficult to come by, and salaries low even if work is obtained, the solution to financial woes often is perceived to be a new life in a new country. Convincing that new country to let you in, though, can be a problem, particularly if you want to move permanently rather than just visit, and if you don't have a job or a relative already there to sponsor you. If, however, you marry a citizen of that country, you'll almost certainly be allowed in. Single western women are warned that men may marry them just for the visa; once the happy couple moves back to the woman's home country and the husband is granted permanent resident status, the divorce can follow quite quickly. That certainly isn't the case for all Egyptian-western marriages, or even for most of them, but it happens.

And let's not forget the Egyptians who want to marry foreigners, but not westerners. I met one Egyptian man who was very anxious to travel to ... where was it, Libya? I'm not sure anymore ... to find his wife. When asked why he was so anxious for a wife from that country rather than an Egyptian wife, he said that it was because the women there were more pious Muslims. So Egyptian women just can't win!

Of course I do need to add a disclaimer ... not all Egyptians prefer foreign spouses--most Egyptians marry another Egyptian, after all. Some who did marry foreign spouses did so for love of the individual, not merely because of physical appearance, finances, the possibility of a visa, or perceived religious piety. I have met western women who are very happy in their marriages to Egyptian men. These women know others in similar situations. They have struggles in their marriages at times, as we all do, but overall, they are content that they made the right choice.

But I am pretty sure that they did not meet their husbands by responding to a private message such as the one I copied above!

Big Like a Horse

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

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

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

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

A Tale of Two Tour Guides

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not All Roses

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Searching for Ruth O'Connell

Update: The ATM card has not been returned yet, but contact has been made with Ruth O'Connell. She knows I have the card; we just have to work out the details for returning it. Thanks to the expat network, and glory to God (especially since the person who knew her is in my life group!).

Original Post:
My husband just walked in the door and asked me to email everyone I know in Egypt and post a blog, so here goes . . .

While walking along Bour Said tonight, my husband came across an ATM card that looks like it was dropped recently. The name on the card is Miss Ruth A O Connell. If you're her, or you know her, please leave me a comment. If she hasn't already canceled the card, we'd like to get it back to her, and we'd like to put her mind to rest, assuming she's going to be anxious when she realizes it's missing.

Maybe Next Year

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

It's Raining!

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

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

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

Debt Free

Owe no one anything, except to love each other, for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law. -- Romans 13:8 (emphasis added)

In the New International Version, that verse reads "Let no debt remain outstanding, except the continuing debt to love one another, for he who loves his fellowman has fulfilled the law" (emphasis added).

Owe no one anything. Let no debt remain outstanding. That's not such an easy concept in today's credit-driven world. Life without a car payment, a student loan, or even a single credit card? Is that even possible? Jeff and I are here to tell you--yes, it absolutely is possible.

For the last two years, Jeff and I have been working diligently to follow a plan put forth by a certain Dave Ramsey. His plan helps people get their financial lives on track so that they can become and remain debt free. Dave's plan isn't rocket science, although it isn't easy, either. It relies on sacrifice and planning to get you through the seven baby steps. Jeff and I just finished baby step 2: the elimination of all debt except the house . . . and since we don't own a home, that means WE ARE TOTALLY DEBT-FREE!!! We paid off the last debt--my student loan--on Thursday.

Here's how we did it: We made a conscious choice to live on significantly less money than we earned, and we made a budget each month to ensure that we were spending our money deliberately in order to keep our expenses low. We stopped using credit cards for anything. In fact, we cut up all our credit cards when we first started the plan, and we closed each credit card as we paid it off. When we first started baby step 2, we listed all of our debts in order from smallest to largest. The smallest ones were the credit cards, then Jeff's student loan, then mine. We made our budget so that we accomplished these things, in order of priority: (1) we gave 10% to God's body on earth, the local church, in order to be obedient and to support God's work on earth; (2) we met our basic needs, including housing, food, utilities, transportation, and basic clothing--just what we needed, not what we wanted; (3) we stayed current on all of our debts, making minimum payments on time; and (4) we put every extra penny we had toward paying more than the minimum on our smallest debt. When we paid off a debt, we weren't finished and we didn't take a break; we started on the next-smallest debt. Then the next, and the next, and the next, until finally, on Thursday, there was no next-smallest debt because we had paid them all off.

Now it's time to move on to baby step 3: increasing our baby emergency fund (that was step 1) to a fully-funded emergency fund, so that even when we have a medical emergency, or the truck needs a new transmission, or the truck dies altogether and has to be replaced, we can pay for what we need with money we have rather than being tempted to go back into debt.

But for now, I just want to enjoy this feeling . . . I don't owe anyone anything, except for the continuing debt of Christian love. Do you know what this means? I'm free. The Bible says that the borrower is slave to the lender (Proverbs 22:7). Think about it. When you owe money, you're not working for yourself--your earnings, at least a portion of them, belong to your creditor by right, just like a slave's earnings belong to his or her master. When you are debt-free, your earnings belong to you (except for taxes, which I don't want to get into right now, because America's current tax structure just makes me mad and I'd rather celebrate at the moment.) For the first time in eight years, Jeff and I are not slaves to any bank, credit union, or financial entity. We are free. I just want to savor the moment.

This and That

Okay, so it's been this weird combination of not much happening and lots of stuff happening, so this is a random miscellaneous kind of post, to let you know about all the small stuff that's been going on in our lives lately.

Our UAB is here!! The UAB (unaccompanied air baggage) is a small portion of our stuff from the States that gets shipped here by air; we were limited to . . . I think 450 lb. But it's here! It got here last week. So now I have almost half of our dishes (I wanted all of them, but there was that weight restriction thing), two of our bath towels, one of our hand towels, one of our washcloths, all of our kitchen knives, our pots and pans, one piece of bakeware, our very own sheets (oh so soft and luxurious compared to the adequate-but-nothing-special ones in our welcome kit!) . . . oh, yeah, and a Roomba! I'm so excited about the Roomba. For those who may not know, it's a robotic vacuum. I hate to vacuum, but Roomba does it for me while I do whatever else I want. I've missed my Roomba. (The kittens are terrified of Roomba when he's vacuuming, but they make themselves feel better by pouncing him and walking on him when he's on his base/charger.) Oh, and Jeff's XBox 360 is here. I'll have to let him be all excited about that one. We also were able to fit in some DVDs and decorative items . . . although I forgot to add in a bath mat, silverware, or any trash cans. So we've done a little shopping to replace some of the welcome kit items that we gave back. Overall, though, it's been a great trade.

Our Ford Explorer arrived yesterday! This is a mixed blessing. Theoretically, I now have more freedom and the opportunity to do something that I kind of enjoyed back in the States--driving. On the other hand, I now have no excuse not to brave the Cairo--or at least the Maadi--traffic. But I'm going to do it. I'm driving to the commissary tomorrow. Depending on how stressful the drive is for both me and Jeff, he may be driving back. We'll see. It shouldn't be too bad tomorrow; the streets are usually deserted on Fridays, but if we pick the wrong time, we'll be dealing with all the mosque-goers' cars blocking the road. I'm going to be optimistic. I'll do fine.

We've started taking classes in Egyptian Colloquial Arabic. This basically is a dialect of formal, or Modern Standard, Arabic, just like the particular version of English that we speak in the South is a dialect of the Queen's English. So I've been up to my eyeballs in the difference between "minfadlik" and "minfadlak," the fact that "enta" means "you" and "emta" means . . . "when," I think. Not to mention the decision as to whether or not I'll follow the Egyptian custom of adding "al ham du lee la" whenever I say that I'm fine. It means "Praise/thanks be to God/Allah." The decision part comes in because if it's a general "thanks be to God," I'm okay with that; I am not, however, okay with thanking the specific Muslim god Allah for anything. I don't think Muslims see any difference between God and Allah, though, so even getting an answer to the question of precisely what the phrase means may be difficult. One of my friends from church says "Al ham du Jesus." That certainly avoids any confusion.

The kittens have started their vaccinations. They did NOT enjoy their first visit to the vet, nor are they likely to enjoy their second. Poor little Isis meowed pitifully the whole way (thankfully it was a short drive), so apparently her reaction on the drive home from the shelter wasn't totally due to the water bowl on her head--I made sure there was no water in the bowl this time, although I had bottled water I could use if they needed it. Even the vet looked a little chagrined while he was examining her because he and his assistant couldn't calm her down either. Just for the record, Isis does not like being examined, she does not like having her claws trimmed, and she *absolutely* does not like getting a shot. Cleo was more stoic. During her examination and claw-trimming, she stood quietly in the grip of the assistant, looking daggers at Jeff and me for putting her through this indignity. But she totally rebelled when the needle came out. You would have thought the vet was sticking that needle through her heart instead of through a fold of her skin. Isis, whom I was holding and comforting at the time, couldn't decide between trying to bolt for the window (it was closed), trying to get to Cleo (I had her turned so she couldn't see what was happening), or just huddling in a little shaking ball of terror (my preferred reaction, as it made her easier to hold). Cleo refused to be held and comforted by us (I think she was mad), so we put them both back in their travel case, where they cuddled up with each other and eventually calmed each other down. The meowing started up again as soon as we picked up the case; there's something about a moving "room" that the kittens don't seem to like. The vet prescribed some deworming medicine for them (they don't have worms; it's a precaution), but we haven't been able to get them to take it. We traumatize them when we try. I think we're going to let the vet give it to them when we take them back for their second round of shots next weekend. We also need to talk to the vet about having them microchipped and spayed. They may never forgive us for those.

If you want to see some pictures of the kittens with Jeff, click here.

So that's about it for us . . . I'll let you know as stuff happens :-)

A Random Post

The coolest thing happened last night. We had gone to church, then to dinner at Maadi House (just a couple of blocks from church), and we were walking home. As we neared the church, a vehicle stalled at an intersection, and we stopped because Jeff was going to see if there was anything he could do to help. The driver of the vehicle was Mark, the worship leader at church. He had left his lights on and already had a marginal battery, so he was having some issues, but he got it started again with no help from us, and we thought it was on for good, so he was going on his way and we were going on ours. (We found out after we got home, when he and Jeff became friends on Facebook, that it wasn't quite as simple as that, but he made it home okay.) Just before he pulled away, he said something that I didn't quite catch. He repeated it, but I still didn't quite catch it.

I have good hearing, but I often have problems focusing on one sound to the exclusion of others, which makes it difficult for me to understand people sometimes if there's any background noise at all (which there always is in Cairo). I get a little embarrassed if people have to repeat themselves for me more than once, so I usually just let it go and get Jeff to tell me later what they said. That's what happened in this case, too.

So I smiled and nodded, Mark drove off, and I turned to Jeff. "What did he say?"

"He said that he liked your blog."

"My what?"

"Your blog."

"My blog?! He's read my blog? Cool!"

The really cool thing is that I don't think I've told anyone at church about my blog. I may have mentioned that I have one, but I know I haven't told anyone what it's called or how to find it. I deliberately set up the blog so that anyone could read it, but I really didn't expect anyone to other than people who know me from back home. So it's just really cool that someone else actually has found it, read it, and liked it. Thanks, Mark, you made my day :-)