Baby Wash

Today I participated in the Baby Wash program for the first time. Once a week, a group of English-speaking ladies meets at the Community Services Association (CSA) in Maadi, a suburb of Cairo, Egypt. From there, the group takes a trip over to Giza, just across the Nile and north a little, to volunteer at a community center type of ministry. This center houses a medical clinic, a program to educate street children in a trade so they can earn a living, and the baby wash. Although the English speakers only go once a week, the ministry is not neglected. Each day of the week has a different group at the baby wash—I know an Italian group goes one day, but I’m not sure who fills in the other three days.

The baby wash is the fundraiser for this ministry. The mothers who bring their children pay a very nominal fee, I think just LE1 or 2. The groups who go provide the bulk of the financial support. We pay roughly 2000USD per year. The money, at least for our group, is donated by a church back in the United States whose congregation wants to help these babies, their mothers, and the others who benefit from the center.

At the baby wash, mothers bring in their babies to be weighed, washed, and screened for obvious medical difficulties. It’s a four-week program with weekly visits, and the children receive a gift each time. During the first visit, they receive a pair of pants, a t-shirt, and a cloth diaper that the volunteers never actually put on the baby because we don't know how--we use disposable diapers on them. A photograph also is taken of the baby and mother during this first visit; it is given to the mothers during the second visit. For many of these women, this will be the only picture they ever have of themselves with their beloved child—some women participate in the program exclusively because they want this picture. During the second visit, participants also receive an adorable little gallabeya, another pair of pants, and a pair of socks. During the third visit, they receive a thick sweater, matching pants, and a hat. During the fourth and final visit, they receive a baby blanket. All of the items are purchased from local women who make the items out of soft Egyptian cotton. In this way, the ministry helps the working poor of the community, not just those who benefit directly from the center’s services.

While the babies are bathed, a couple of things happen simultaneously. New mothers who may not know how to bathe their babies learn by observation, and the babies are given a good once-over to make certain that any obvious medical problems are addressed. Babies can be sent over to the clinic if necessary, but it's more common for the women to be given supplies, such as diaper rash cream or a moisturizing lotion or oil, and to be told how to use them to care for their babies' routine needs.

This morning, six expat women met at CSA to take the trip over. Two of us were "in training" to bathe the babies. Neither of us had ever bathed a baby! Two were regular volunteers--one actually is in charge of coordinating the program for our group. One had been to the baby wash once before and is a mother herself. The final volunteer was a baby wash regular, but she was going this time to be trained in the administrative role of weighing the babies and keeping the records, which would be her responsibility while the usual coordinator was traveling over the next month.

At the clinic, we set up in a good-sized room that obviously was designed for the program. There were three sinks, each with a baby tub and ample counter space, and a couple of tables. Cushy pads rested on the counters, to lay the babies on while drying them. Baby wash, shampoo, lotion, and oil were stored in a locked cabinet and were distributed quickly to each station. A baby scale was on one table, and the second quickly became filled with the baby garments and diapers that were taken from the storage room next door.

Before any mothers or babies came in, my trainer showed me how to clean the tub in between each baby. Then we filled the tub with warm water--constantly adjusting the water flow, because the hot water kept cutting in and out--and set up the towels and washcloth that we'd need for our first "client." One of the other more experienced women did the same with our other newbie in training at the sink beside us. The remaining two women made sure all the supplies were ready, set up the scale, and got out the records that they keep on each child.

When the first baby came in, she was stripped off and weighed, then handed off to the pair beside us. The second one was ours. My mentor and I had agreed that I would watch her take care of the first one, then she would supervise me taking care of the second, and then I'd be ready to be on my own. So I watched as my trainer bathed the baby and washed her hair, explaining all the while what she was doing. Then she pulled the baby out of the tub and wrapped her up in a towel, dried her off, checked for diaper rash, and put her diaper and new clothes on. Easy enough. While she brushed the baby's hair and helped with the picture, I cleaned out and refilled the tub for the next one.

The next one also was a little girl. After she was weighed, she was placed in my arms. I have to admit, I took my time getting over to the tub. It was so nice just to hold such a tiny, precious baby! But then we were at the tub, and I had to put her down (of course while continuing to support her little head and keep it out of the water). It was easier than expected to bathe her. I've been in the room before when my sister or sister-in-law were bathing their little ones, but until today, I was never the one who actually bathed the child. I always assumed it would take a master of coordination to support the baby's head while also bathing the baby, washing her hair, and rinsing everything off. Nope. It was easy. I bet it would have been different had she decided to fight me, but all my babies today were easy. When I was finished, I pulled her out of the tub and laid her down on a clean towel spread out over the cushion. Her mother, who had been standing beside me the whole time, started drying her off before I even got my hands off her. So I had help from then on out. Apparently this is normal. Some mothers stand back and let you do your thing; others want to help.

When we were finished with that baby, I was pronounced ready to do it on my own. However, our other newbie also was ready to do it on her own, and there were only three sinks. So the two experienced ladies each had a sink to themselves, and we novices shared. My companion washed the first one, then I dried and clothed her. We swapped roles for the second baby, then swapped again for the third and final baby of the day. I noticed while my partner bathed Ramadan that he had severe diaper rash. When she pulled him out of the tub, I tried to be very gentle as I dried him off. Luckily, he was a happy baby, just lying there grinning up at me. One of the other ladies brought me some diaper rash cream, which I smeared on everywhere he seemed red and irritated. The poor baby--his rash was extensive. Everywhere his diaper covered, even halfway up his back and down his little legs where the diaper didn't even go, was red. I learned later that the rash was so bad because his mother didn't realize how often his diaper needed to be changed; she was a first-time mother, and even the more experienced mothers here often don't change the diapers enough because diapers are expensive, and there isn't enough money to buy more than absolutely required. Ramadan was in the same diaper for a whole day and night. We gave the mom some diaper rash cream, and the woman who works at the clinic full-time—the only one of us who speaks fluent Arabic—told her how and when to apply it.

I think we bathed eleven or so babies total this morning. There were the two while I was training, the two that the other training pair did during the same time, three that we novices bathed, and then I'm assuming another two each for the other volunteers. There may have been more, though; we novices probably were slower than the others.

I've been told that I'll be able to go to the Baby Wash around once a month. They can use only a limited number of volunteers, because there are only three sinks, so not everyone goes each time. But I'm looking forward to going again.

One of the other women also told me about the volunteering that she does a few times a week at Mother Teresa's in Mokkatum. The nuns run an orphanage and a daycare so that impoverished parents can work, and volunteers come in to help care for the babies. There also is a special needs room, where handicapped children are cared for. I'm going to see about going up there at least once or twice to see if that's a place where I can get involved in helping out.

It's really heartbreaking, when you think about all the needs. You don't really see a lot of it in Maadi, other than a few beggars and street children selling tissue paper for a pound a pack, but there is immense need in Egypt. In a previous post, I talked a little about Garbage City, or Mokkatum. And then there are the street children. It makes me want to get involved wherever I can. Updates as events warrant.


9 February 2009 Update:

Since I originally wrote this post, I have been back to the baby wash three or four times. I have seen many babies who are well cared for and a few others whose mothers do the best they can. In each case where more appropriate care is needed, the mothers have been very receptive to instruction, and the results are apparent on the baby’s next visit.

Unfortunately, little Ramadan’s case of diaper rash is not the worst I have seen. Just last week, I saw a little boy whose diaper rash was so severe that his skin looked raw and wrinkled, as if he had been burned. He also had sores on his face. His mother was very concerned about his condition and had been doing all she knew to alleviate his discomfort. This child went from the baby wash directly to the doctor’s office in the same building, where the mother was given instructions about his care and a medical ointment to use on his sores. I look forward to hearing that he is much better on future visits, although I can’t be sure that I’ll see him again. Each baby comes in only for four visits, and I do not always get to see them more than once.

I also had the opportunity to visit Mother Teresa’s recently. I intend to begin going there regularly. You can read about my first visit here.

Maadi Grand Mall

Yesterday afternoon, Jeff and I walked down to Maadi Grand Mall (MGM) to go tuxedo-shopping. We had been told by a friend that there was a good tailor there who could make Jeff's tux for the Marine Ball, and since we didn't know how long it would take, we decided that we needed to get moving on that. I also needed to get a rhinestone accent piece for my dress, and my tailor had told me that there was a store in MGM where I could find what I needed. I'd been there once, but only for a few minutes, and only on one floor, so I didn't fully understand what I was letting myself in for.

Jeff and I had a pleasant walk to MGM. The weather has started to cool off some. The temperature was probably in the low 80s, and there was a breeze, and it was shady most of the way. And it was comfortable inside, too; it must be air-conditioned.

We had no idea where in the mall we needed to go. The mall is pretty big, with maybe five floors. According to the internet, there are around 300 spaces for stores. Each floor is laid out around a central balcony. One or two rows of stores flank the balcony, and on each end there's a little maze with other stores. It can be a little overwhelming when you're searching for something specific but don't know the store's name and therefore can't really ask for help. I also noticed that the mall map didn't seem to have any store names, just numbered boxes to represent the stores.

We decided to start at the bottom and work our way up. We roamed the ground floor and saw two or three tailors and one thread shop. No sparklies in the thread shop, so no luck there. We also saw a food court, some scarf shops, some menswear shops (dressy and casual), some kids' shops, and of course, a lot of women's shops. Of these, many had western clothes, from casual to evening wear, and quite a few had gallabeyas, also ranging from casual to evening. On to the first floor . . . and the second . . . and on up. Somewhere in the middle--I forget which floor we were on--we spotted a larger-than-expected shop that had to have been where my dressmaker had sent me. One wall was covered with fancy threads and ribbons. Two walls were covered from floor to ceiling with boxes. Each box had a small, clear plastic bag on front that had samples of what was inside: decorative items that could be sewn onto clothing, drapes, or whatever. There were "useful" items like buttons, and there were purely decorative items. Most were gold- or silver-toned. Two or three were rhinestone. I had hoped for one piece, long and delicate-looking, like what was on the original bridesmaids' dresses. No luck there. But I found some small flower-shaped pieces and bought ten of them. If they're put in a wavy line, they should mimic the look I want. I don't think the dressmaker will use them all, but I'd rather have too many than too few. I was surprised at their cost--LE8.5 each. At current exchange rates, that's around $1.50 each. It was more than expected, but everything else on the dress was so inexpensive that I don't really mind. So my mission was accomplished; how about Jeff's?

All in all, we saw probably seven tailors. We had no idea which one had gotten the recommendation as a good, inexpensive tuxedo maker. We called our friend who had told us about him; our friend had never used him and didn't know where in the mall he was, just that someone had been pleased with his work. Jeff admitted that he really wasn't so keen on the idea of having one made without knowing that someone had had good luck with the specific tailor we were using, and I agreed. Jeff also admitted that he wasn't so keen on the idea of having one made in the first place; he'd rather buy one off the rack. It's easier.

So we went back to a men's shop that had had nice suits and one nice tuxedo in the window. A sales attendant came up to us immediately, and Jeff just said "Tuxedo?"

"Yes, yes. Here." He pulled out a nice, classic, conservative black tuxedo coat (no tails), with satin on the lapels. Jeff and I both liked the look of it. The salesman, however, took another look at Jeff, looked at the tag on the coat's sleeve, and frowned. He pulled out another coat and started trying to convince us that it was better. In reality, it was pin-striped. The lapel was the same material as the rest of the coat, except that it was bordered in satin. Jeff was a good sport; he tried it on and looked in the mirror. Neither one of us liked it so well. We told the salesman that we really preferred the other. He said that the only one they had in Jeff's size was the striped one. We prepared to leave the store. The salesman hurriedly told us to just wait a moment while he ran over and got on the phone. He came back with a downcast face, and we knew we'd be leaving.

We headed across the mall to another nice men's store; I think it was called Lorenzo's. This one didn't have a tux in the window, but the suits were really nice, so we were hopeful. We had seen tuxes in other windows, but they were . . . not so much Jeff's--or my--style. Very current and stylish . . . okay, to speak plainly, they were in line with some very UGLY fads. We wanted a classic look, in line with the suits we saw in this particular window. So we went in, and a salesman again immediately greeted us. Jeff used his one-word question again: "Tuxedo?"

"Oh, yes, yes. This way." The sales attendant led us to the back of the shop. Tucked away in a corner, there was a rack of tuxedos, all hanging nicely in their plastic bags to keep the inevitable dust off. There were boxes of vests, ties, and handkerchiefs stacked neatly on a table. Shirts of all colors were nestled in their plastic bags on shelves. The store looked similar to what I would expect of a nice store back in the States. The attendant showed us some vests. Some very modern vests. We finally found one that was more subdued, with a black-on-black pattern. It was available in medium or in 2X. I was doubtful, but Jeff pointed out that Egyptian men tend to be smaller than him, so the 2X may work. He was right.

The attendant eyeballed Jeff and said a coat size (I forget what, but it was in the sizing system we're used to). Jeff was doubtful but went along with it. The coat fit perfectly. It was a nice classic look. There were some random strings and fuzz, but when the salesman saw me start picking them off--partly to make sure they weren't attached and partly out of an uncontrollable impulse that most women seem to share--he quickly got most of them off. As Jeff turned around to look in the mirror, I spotted someting on the back of his shoulder: a pick in the fabric. The salesman was horrified. "Don't worry, I have another one, same size. No problem. The fit is good?" We agreed that we liked the coat, just not the pick, and like magic, a new one appeared. This one was in good condition--no, it was in excellent condition; the first one had been in good condition. The attendant asked Jeff his pant size--actually he asked Jeff if he was this size or that size (I don't know if Jeff really wants his pant size on the internet, so I won't say what sizes he named). Jeff indicated the larger, and the attendant frowned. He asked Jeff to try on the pants. Jeff disappeared into the fitting room.

While he was gone, the attendant laid the coat out on a table and showed me some black satin material and some fancy button covers. He said that we had choices: we could take the coat as it was, with plain lapels and buttons; we could have the lapels and buttons covered with a matte black satin to make it a little more formal; or we could have the lapels and buttons covered with a shiny black satin to make it really formal. He pointed out that the satin all could be replaced at any time; just bring it in. Around that time, Jeff came out, wearing his own clothes. The pants were too tight. While he was out there, I showed him the satin, and we agreed that if it was going to be a tux, it should be formal. Shiny satin it is. Once that decision had been made, the salesman ushered Jeff back into the fitting room, where he was to put the pants back on, too small or not, so the on-site tailor could get a look at them. A few minutes later, Jeff came back out and we chatted while the pants were let out.

Jeff tried the pants on again. Perfect fit in the waist. The attendant folded up the pants leg and asked my opinion of the length. I have no idea where the pant leg should hit the shoe. I just know it's too short when I see it flapping in the breeze when he walks, and it's too long when he steps on it. I deferred to Jeff's opinion. He deferred to the attendant's.

Next the attendant pulled out a white shirt. Back into the fitting room. Eventually we settled on a complete outfit, except that Jeff didn't need any socks and we have to check the shiny black shoes he currently owns to see if they'll look nice or if we need to buy him some more shoes too. The work on the coat and the pant hem will take three days, so we can pick it all up anytime after Tuesday night. I'll try to get Jeff to model for the camera.

So we bought a tuxedo for Jeff. The really nice thing: it cost about the same as what we paid for one of Jeff's suits back in the States. Just for reference, for those who may not know us all that well . . . we don't pay a lot for suits. We get nice suits, but not huge names, and we get them from outlet stores or off clearance racks. We've never paid $200 for a suit, and I doubt we ever will.

Ater our main goals at the mall were accomplished, it was time to just look around. We visited an electronics store and a Timberland store. Even before the mission was accomplished, Jeff hadn't been able to resist a computer store and a Nike store. All in all, I was pleasantly surprised by the mall. There's a lot more in there than you would think. The stores all seemed to be nicely maintained, and the salespeople are friendly and helpful. They spoke English, but they smiled when I attempted to communicate in Arabic. That's pretty common here in Maadi. You can get by without any Arabic (other than with taxi drivers), but the already-friendly people get just a little bit friendlier when you try to speak Arabic, even if you do mangle it.

An Excursion to the Fabric Market

Today has been a full day. No less than three things I want to blog about! Originally, it was all about going to the fabric market, but as I walked to Sherry's place this morning, two other blogs just kind of happened. So I'll start at the beginning. Don't worry; the fabric market is still most of it.

I left home this morning a little before 10, as I was meeting Sherry and her landlady around 10:30. It was a nice, comfortable temperature, so I wanted to walk. As I headed down Bour Said, my first blog happened: I saw a man on a motorcycle, and he actually was wearing his helmet!! That sight alone is blog-worthy. Here you often see people on motorcycles holding a helmet in their laps, sometimes along with a child or two, but it's rare to see a helmet on a head. So there you go, first blog done.

As I continued down Bour Said, I heard a horn honking behind me. This, too, is nothing unusual. Cars often honk just to let you know they're there, and taxis honk to attract your attention if the driver thinks you may want a ride. I was on a nice, high, wide sidewalk (no chance of being hit by wandering out into traffic), and I didn't want a ride, so I didn't turn to look. As the car passed me, though, I saw that it wasn't a taxi. It was a newer model, shiny black personal vehicle. It got about ten feet ahead of me and pulled over. The driver's side window was up (therefore the vehicle had air conditioning), but the passenger side window rolled down as I watched. The driver was male, and he was alone in the car. Now this behavior is unusual and a little creepy, same as it would be in the States. I continued walking, although I patted the outside pocket on my purse where my mobile phone lives just to make certain it was accessible. As I walked by the car, the driver glared at me. He didn't say anything, didn't get out of the car, didn't even smile appreciatively the way some rather rude Egyptian men do. (They aren't supposed to notice women who aren't noticing them.) I broke with "proper" female behavior by glaring back at him and kept walking. After I had gone a few feet past the car, he pulled back out, tires squealing, and sped off. I haven't had anything like that happen before, and I don't know why it happened now. I was dressed modestly; I was wearing loose khaki pants and a loose blouse with three-quarter length sleeves--I even had my hair up in a clip, although not covered. Anyway, it was a strange occurrence.

So I continued on to Sherry's place. Her landlady, Iman, was late--by U. S. standards; she on time or maybe even early by Egyptian standards. She showed up around 10:45 for the 10:30 meeting. Sherry and I hopped in her car and we were off. We headed out of Maadi and up the Corniche. We went past the embassy a little ways, then turned off onto a small street that ran roughly parallel to the Corniche. I saw fabric shops lined up in rows on my right. On my left, there were cars double-parked on the side of the road. Car after car after car . . . not a hole in sight. After a few minutes, ,we saw on empty spot, but the car ahead of us took it, so we kept going. Finally, we reached the end of that road, and our driver spoke with one of the parking attendants. These are men who hang out in areas where lots of people want to park; they stop traffic so you can get into or out of a spot, and you tip them. The attendant confirmed "Mafiish makaan" ("there is not a place"). So we went back out to the Corniche.

We drove slowly up the Corniche, looking for a place to park. No luck. Finally, we had gone so far that we wouldn't be willing to walk back to the fabric market, so we found a turnabout and turned around. Next thing I knew, we were on a bridge heading across the Nile. Iman looked a little surprised and said "I am going the wrong way!" We had gotten up onto a bridge because the vast majority of the road went straight onto it, with no way to turn around, and the part that went around it to continue going south along the Nile was small and required a quick turn. So we headed across the Nile to one of the islands--I forget which one, but it wasn't Zamalek; it was north of Zamalek, I think--then headed down the Corniche on the other side until we got to a turnabout. Then it was back north to the end of the island, back across the Nile, and we were headed south again.

Not long after that, we started seeing cars parked on the right side of the road. Iman said that she didn't think you could park there, but we all agreed that apparently you can. There was a small break in the cars, which we didn't see until we were past it, so Iman backed up a good 20 feet along the busy Corniche. The woman is fearless. When we got back to the spot, she started to get into it, then realized that it was too small. She started to pull back out, when a man came running across six lanes of traffic from the other side of the Corniche. It was the parking attendant. Iman said out the window "Sughayyar!" (it's small) and started to keep going, but he indicated for her to wait a minute, he'd push the cars to make the spot bigger. Apparently when you parallel park on the side of a busy street, it's customary to leave the car in neutral so the attendant can push it to let another car in or out. So Iman parked, and we crossed the Corniche--it didn't even scare me this time!--and headed a little farther south to the fabric market.

Iman led us directly to a shop called Soiree. The owner, Fayez Labib, sells all sorts of beautiful material for dresses. There was lace and silk, as well as other nice fabric I didn't really recognize. And of course, there was the satin for which I was looking. I wanted either a royal blue or an emerald green. I wanted to see the material before I picked a color for certain. When we first went in, Iman gestured at a beautiful brown and gold lace with a matching taupe silk, and the shopkeeper pulled it out and spread it across a table. He pulled out pictures of models wearing different dresses made from the same type of material. I don't think Iman realized that I already had the style in mind and really just needed satin. The lace and silk she had picked out actually would have been nice with my coloring; they just didn't fit the dress I wanted. So with some help from Sherry, I conveyed what I needed, and the shopkeeper brought out some satin samples.

First he showed me a lot of reds, yellows, and oranges. Not exactly what I had in mind. I don't know any Arabic color words, but Sherry eventually made him understand that we wanted to see blue and green. So he pulled out his very limited selection. The Arab skin tone looks amazing with the warm colors; they don't get as much call for the cooler colors, so there were fewer options. They had bright greens, but only one dark green. It was almost black. They had several blues, including one almost purple one that Sherry and I both loved. But when I told Labib how much I needed, he faltered. He tried to tell me that that was too much; dresses don't require four meters of material! Where did I ever get such an idea that so much was needed? "From the dressmaker." Iman rightly guessed that Labib didn't have enough of that particular fabric. So he brought out large bolts of two other blues and practically begged me to come see myself in a full-length mirror with those fabrics held up in front of me. I have to admit it; he had picked out two beautiful blues that worked well with my skin tone. So I picked one of those and asked how much. "Twenty-five pounds a meter." So LE100, roughly 20 dollars. I was okay with that. Iman . . . not so much okay with that. A little arguing--I mean, bargaining--later, I walked out of the shop with four meters of material. My wallet was LE80--roughly 16 dollars--lighter.

Iman needed to buy some slippers, and Sherry and I wanted to see a little more of the fabric market, so we didn't head straight back to the car. We roamed down a narrow "road" between open stalls. Most had bolts of fabric stacked neatly along the walls. Some had scarves, dresses (Western-style and gallabeyas), or blankets displayed. One seemed to sell nothing but bras. We went into one other fabric shop, where Iman took stock of what they had available. Apparently, she's going to need some dresses for some events coming up, so she's getting ideas.

As we headed back out to the Corniche, I stopped to look at some scarves. There were some nice ones, and I asked "Bi kam?" (how much?) The shopkeeper told me that the one I was looking at was LE20, and he promptly took it off the display, unfolded it, and thrust it into my hands. He then led me deeper into the stall, pointing out scarves all along the way. I turned to make sure that Sherry and Iman hadn't left me--I had been in back--and saw Iman scowling. I asked her if it was a good price. "No." We left. As Sherry and I followed Iman through the crowd, she suddenly doubled back. "He is calling us back." Sherry and I looked at each other--had either of us heard anything that remotely sounded like it was directed at us? No, didn't think so. But we went back to the stall. Before I knew it, Sherry and I both were holding several scarves (Sherry wasn't even looking, they just got thrown at her), and Iman was talking with the shopkeeper. The shopkeeper was getting more and more upset. I couldn't understand what was being said, but he kept stalking off then turning back. Finally Iman told me that the scarf was LE15, a good price. I bought two as gifts and we left. The shopkeeper--still scowling--seemed glad to see us go.

We headed back to the car and down to Maadi. After a quick lunch, I took the dress material over to the seamstress. She saw the material, complimented its color, felt it, and scowled. She tried to make it seem okay, but I think the material is too thin, not thick enough to hold the shape of the dress. She seemed to think that she can make it work, especially after I told her that I wanted it lined but didn't know what material is best for that. She agreed to find and purchase the lining. I think it'll be a nice stiff fabric. I'll find out next week, when I go for my first fitting.

Dressmaking 101: Getting Started

So how many women out there have husbands who really really want to go to a formal ball?

I do! In fact, Jeff has been mentioning for a while that he and a coworker or two are trying to get a group together to go to the Marines' Ball next month. I resisted this idea. Why, you ask? For one simple reason . . . I have no dress. Really. No dress. At all. Not even just "not a ball gown." No dress, period. I don't wear dresses. On those rare occasions when I need to look like I'm wearing a dress, I wear a top and skirt. My body is not made for dresses. I'm two different sizes. So when dress shopping, I try on a gazillion dresses and none of them fit. And I'm outside of the normal size range anyway, making it even more difficult. So I'm thinking that in order to get a dress, I have to order one online and then have it altered. Two problems: That's expensive, and it takes time. The ball is in a month. Shipping alone often takes two or three weeks.

A solution was offered by Pam, a friend from church. She had a dress custom-made here in Maadi and said that it isn't too expensive and it doesn't take too long. At first I resisted even that . . . even if something fits me, I don't know until I try it on if I like the way it looks, so how am I supposed to pick out a dress I've never tried on because it doesn't exist yet?

Jeff was disappointed but was willing to skip the ball. I felt like a heel. So I decided that we were going to the ball if possible. I got online and started looking at dresses. I remembered that there is one dress that I unquestionably liked the style of . . . my wedding dress. And I had picked out my bridesmaids' dresses to match my wedding dress; they had the same ruched waist that I liked about my wedding dress. So . . . I have a style that I know I will like, at least well enough. Step one: accomplished.

Next goal: actually getting the dress. The store that did the bridesmaid dresses doesn't ship to APOs, and even if they did, it would take too long for alterations. Okay. Time to find Pam's dressmaker. My friend Sherry came in handy with that. She knew where the dressmaker is; she uses her for alterations, and she's seen Pam's picture on her bulletin board. So today we went to visit the dressmaker. I met Sherry at her place, after my language class, and we walked together to the dressmaker. Turns out the dressmaker is a block from my flat--how much better can you get?

Anyway, the dressmaker spoke very limited English, so I was thrilled to have Sherry with me. I showed the dressmaker a picture of the dress, plus one other with a similar style, and asked which would be easier to do. She could do the bridesmaid dress with no problem, but the embroidery on the other would be a problem. So the bridesmaid dress it is. She took a couple of measurements and then told me to buy four meters of fabric--satin, to be precise. That'll be enough for the dress and a matching bag. It'll take two weeks from when I bring her the fabric, and the cost for her labor is extremely reasonable. Step two: get things arranged with the dressmaker--accomplished.

Step three will be purchasing the fabric. There's a fabric suuq (open-air market) for this. Sherry was there once buying material for her drapes, and she says they have lots of satin. Of course, we have to get there, be able to communicate, and bargain. Enter Sherry's landlady. I haven't met her yet, but Sherry loves her. I'll meet her tomorrow morning at Sherry's flat, when the three of us will take a trip down to the fabric suuq.

Step four will be finding the rhinestone accent piece for the dress. The dressmaker said that there's a shop in Maadi Grand Mall for that. Step five will include finding the shoes. I'll probably just wear the necklace and earrings from my wedding ensemble.

Oh, and we haven't even started the process yet of having Jeff's tux made.

Updates as warranted.

Attack of the Cleo

The room was pitch black except for the light from the television. On the screen, a small figure in white robes ran to and fro, collecting flags and assassinating people in accordance with the needs of the Assassins Guild. Suddenly, out of the darkness, there arose a huge black figure, determined to catch and eat the assassin . . . the Cleo! (dun dun duun)

In the darkness, the Cleo swiped uselessly at the bright white figure, desperate for food. The figure dodged adroitly, all the while continuing his mission. Eventually the dejected Cleo gave up and turned her attention to . . . the Cat Dancer! (dun dun duun)

So you see the fun we have with kitties :-) For anyone who gets this blog by email and can't see the embedded video, you can see it by clicking here. If the video won't play (I seem to be having issues with that), click here and then click on "slideshow."

Oh, and Jeff wanted me to be sure to say: The Cleo's attempts to kill the assassin (from the XBox 360 game Assassin's Creed) did not result in any damage to the TV screen. No assassins or kittens were harmed during the events described in this blog.

Anafora

After we left Saint Macarius on Saturday, we went to Anafora, a Christian retreat center out in the desert. Unfortunately I don't have anywhere near enough pictures of Anafora. The camera's battery was running out, and the place was just so serene and relaxing that neither Jeff nor I could see disturbing the peace by snapping pictures every couple of minutes. So we took very few pictures, but if you'd like to see the 16 that we did get, you can click here.

As we drove along the highway, I saw a beautiful building enclosed in a wall. The white stone building had multiple domes. I commented to Jeff that it would be nice if we could go there. Jeff's reply: "Who knows, that may be where we're going." He was right, in a way.

We pulled up to the gates in the stone wall around the beautiful building. The driver honked the horn, waited a couple of minutes, and honked it again. No one came to open the gates. Ibrahim got out of the bus to read a sign, written in Arabic on a plain sheet of paper, that was attached to the gates. Then he pulled out his mobile phone and made a call. He got back onto the bus and announced that he had both bad news and good news. "The bad news is that Anafora is closed. The good news is that we can visit." With that, the bus began backing up and manuevering into a ponderous three-point turn. We drove up the road to the end of the wall, then turned down a narrow lane. We followed the wall until we arrived at the gate to another compound, behind the original one. We were admitted through this gate.

We continued down the lane past fields, with a few workers diligently going about their duties. Then we arrived at a clearing that had several small stone buildings. Most were connected to each other, but one stood alone. The stand-alone building faced away from us, and Ibrahim led us around the side to the entrance. Almost everyone paused to look around and take photographs of the pictures on the building's wall, so then we scurried to catch up to Ibrahim. I was so busy watching my footing that I didn't even glance at the building's front. We entered the building through some huge wooden doors. The building was almost entirely one room, with windows along each side, providing a cooling breeze when opened. The floor was covered in multi-colored rugs. There were benches and chairs along the edges. The center was covered with small stools and large pillows made out of the same material as the rugs. Near the front, there was a white cross laid out on the floor, and a tree-stump lecturn in the middle. Ibrahim later told us that the tree represents the Tree of Life. We all had a seat, and Ibrahim told us about how one becomes a Coptic monk and how the Coptic Pope is chosen. He also told us a bit more about the differences between Coptic and Catholic theology and church organization. He told us about recent events that have affected Anafora and mentioned a couple of interesting laws that exist not only in Egypt, but in other Muslim countries as well: No church can be built without the approval of the president himself, and even repairs to existing churches--as small as patching a hole or fixing a broken toilet--must be approved by the government. It used to be that Mubarak himself had to approve it; then he changed the law so that now, the regional government can approve repairs instead. Only Mubarak himself, however, can allow the construction of a new church. For that reason, Anafora doesn't have a church. Instead, it has only this meeting house. Government officials almost tore down the meeting house, saying that it was a church, but Anafora's leaders showed them that the meeting house is not a church, simply a large meeting room.

After the lecture, we exited the the meeting house and were given some time to look around and take pictures. That's when I first saw the front of the meeting house. It was breathtakingly beautiful. I can't describe it with words: look at the picture.



After everyone had walked around and taken pictures, we went back to the bus. We drove a short distance, by some more fields, to a large building where we were to each lunch. Ibrahim informed us that the lunch was free; it was a gift from the volunteers and workers of Anafora, and none of our ticket price had gone toward it. (There was a donation box that many of us used to show our appreciation for this hospitality, but there was no pressure to do so.) Lunch was a serve-yourself buffet of chicken, green beans, a potato dish, raw vegetables, flatbread, and a dip/spread that looked like hummus but wasn't. There were dates for dessert. Everything was delicious . . . except that I think dates must be an acquired taste. Everyone there was very friendly. Those who didn't speak English smiled shyly and nodded. Those who did speak English welcomed us warmly.

After lunch, we were free to roam the grounds at will. No one implied in any way that there was anywhere we weren't welcome to go. Jeff and I followed a path away from the building into the fields. We roamed along an irrigation ditch and back up to and around a swimming pool, where some men were relaxing in the water. One of them was a friend from church, who was spending the weekend there with some friends. We chatted for a few moments and then left him to his friends while we continued our wandering. Everywhere we went, there were seating areas set up. Some obviously were set up for those who wanted to sit alone, either in front of a beautiful view or in a grass-roofed cabana with a table available to hold tea or study material. Other areas were for groups of varying sizes: two or three chairs clustered around a small table on a veranda, eight or ten chairs on a breezy balcony, twenty or thirty chairs in a semi-circle under a grass roof. Everything was quiet and peaceful.

We went up to the roof of the main building and took a couple of pictures. We saw Ibrahim and a few members of our group chatting on the third-floor balcony. We discovered that the second floor was a library, and we stopped to look at the books. Before long, Jeff and I both were lounging on cushions reading. We overheard bits of conversation from outside, maybe from the second- or third-floor balcony, maybe from the veranda on the first floor. Our interest was piqued when we heard enough snippets to know that American politics was the topic of conversation, but it was so peaceful there that I didn't want to ruin it by getting involved in a discussion in which I was sure to disagree passionately with someone, and Jeff seemed to feel the same.

After a while, some conversation drifted in through the open balcony door that did pique my interest enough for me to forsake my book and head downstairs. People were talking about the delicious tea that they were drinking and about items that were available for purchase downstairs. So I went down to check it out. I drank some hot chocolate and purchased some hibiscus jam. I ended up out on the veranda sitting around a table with a constantly shifting group of people engaged in pleasant conversation. At first, it was Ibrahim and Lauren's family. Then Ibrahim and the male members of Lauren's family disappeared and were replaced by two women. At some point Lauren went in search of Zack. Then Jeff showed up; in response to my question, he said that he had come downstairs so no one would have to wait for him. I looked at my watch and realized that it really was almost 5 o'clock, the designated time for us to rendezvous at the bus. We had been at Anafora since 1 and had been left to our own devices since lunch ended around 2:30. The time had passed very quickly.

So we got on the bus and returned to Maadi. The whole way back, the sense of absolute peace never left me--even though I listened to Rush Limbaugh's podcast, which never fails to absorb all my interest and energy. Even today, thinking about and remembering Anafora, I can feel the tension leave my shoulders and my whole body relax. I guess that's what makes it such a great retreat center.

The Monastery of Saint Macarius

On Saturday, Jeff and I participated in a CSA tour to the Monastery of Saint Macarius and to Anafora, a Christian retreat center in the desert. The tour was led by Ibrahim, who amazed us all with his knowledge of Egyptian history, the history of Christians within Egypt, and current events. The tour was phenomenal. I originally was going to tell you about both places in this one post, but I think the monastery is enough for this one. I'll tell you about Anafora in another post. For the 49 best pictures of Saint Macarius, click here.

Saint Macarius is located 92 km (around 57 miles) north of Cairo, on the Alexandria Road. The drive took around an hour and a half, maybe a little longer, so in order to have any time at all at our destinations, we had to leave early. The tour was scheduled to leave from CSA at 7am. We planned on walking to CSA, so we left our apartment at 6:30 to make certain we were there on time. We were running late, as usual, but we had arranged to meet Lauren and her family outside, since they weren't certain exactly how to get to CSA, so I left Jeff eating breakfast and went down to meet them, confident that he would catch up. When I got downstairs, Lauren realized that she had forgotten her receipt, so she went back to get it. The rest of us went on, after I called Jeff to let him know not to leave without Lauren. The walk was pleasant, as it wasn't too hot yet.

Shortly after 7, Ibrahim started going down the list of people who had registered for the tour. As he called our names, we showed him our receipt and boarded the nicely air-conditioned bus. Of course, Ibrahim had told us that there would be no restrooms for at least two hours, but CSA wasn't open yet, so most of us ended up getting back off the bus once it became known that CSA was opening and we could use their restrooms. But eventually, maybe around 7:30, we all were on the bus and ready to go. Ibrahim told us that although lunch was included in the tour, it wouldn't be until 2pm, so he offered to stop at Metro market so we could buy snacks. Everyone declined, as most of us had brought snacks with us. (Jeff and I had three large bottles of water and two boxes of Fiber One bars; we had learned our lesson the day before.)

As we drove, Ibrahim pointed out the sites that we were passing. We drove up the Corniche to the Ring Road, which we used to cross the Nile and head into Giza. When we got off the Ring Road, we turned north. We went through Giza, passing very close to the Great Pyramids, and turned onto the Alexandria Road, reminiscent of a four-lane interstate highway back home, although there were turn-offs and turn-arounds rather than exit ramps.

Once we got out into the desert, where there was little to see outside, Ibrahim began a lecture about the history of Christianity in Egypt. Egyptians first were introduced to Christianity by the apostle Mark sometime before 50A.D. The first convert was Anianus, a shoemaker to whom Mark presented the gospel while Anianus repaired his shoe. Anianus later became the Bishop of Alexandria. There have been Christians in Egypt ever since. At first, there was just one worldwide church. The church leaders met as necessary to discuss doctrine and formally label as heresy teachings that were inconsistent with the founding beliefs of Christianity. I think Ibrahim said that it was around 500 A.D. (if I'm wrong on that date, it's my memory, not Ibrahim's lecture) that the Catholic church and the Coptic church split over differences regarding Mary's sinlessness, Jesus's dual nature, whether priests should marry, and other topics. But in many ways Coptic Christianity is similar to Catholicism, at least when viewed through the eyes of a Protestant like myself. Anyway, Copts have a pope, bishops, priests, monks, and nuns. There was much more to the lecture, lots of interesting information, but I unfortunately didn't take notes and therefore don't remember most of it. But he talked us all the way through ancient Egypt to the coming of the Romans, to Christianity, to the coming of the Arabs and Islam, and even touched on recent history. One interesting point (to me, at least) was that the Coptic language is--or at least is derived directly from--the language spoken by the ancient Egyptians. It was transliterated under Greek rule, so that it now is written mostly in Greek characters (with a few letters added to represent sounds that aren't present in Greek). Anyway, I digress from my own story . . .

We had to make a U-turn to get onto the west side of the Alexandria Road, then turned off to the right. Shortly thereafter, we reached the outer gates of Saint Macarius. After Ibrahim spoke with the guards, we were allowed in. The bus drove down a long road with farmland and decorative trees and flowers on each side. Ibrahim told us that until the 1970s, the monastery was all desert. At that time, it entered a period of reclamation and restoration. Wells were dug, and the monastery's land was turned into a functioning agricultural center. At the same time, the remains of the ancient monastery--there's been one there since 360A.D.--were uncovered and restored, under the supervision of the Egyptian Department of Antiquities. So what we saw was a wonderful combination of ancient and newer structures.

After we passed through the farmland, we came to a second gate, where we again were allowed to pass only after Ibrahim had talked with the guards. We drove up an asphalt driveway to a large parking lot just outside the walls of the main complex. We entered the complex through a low gate. It's deliberately low, because you're supposed to bow your head in reverence as you enter. Once through, I stopped in awe.

Just as soon as I stepped through the gate into the main complex at Saint Macarius, I felt at peace. It was as if a burden that I didn't even realize I was carrying had suddenly disappeared. The scene was utterly tranquil. There was a slight breeze, and it felt cool and comfortable. The sun was shining in a bright blue sky, the kind that we don't get to see in Cairo because of the pollution-induced haze. There was a monk, wearing a long black gallabeya, awaiting us. He introduced himself (I wish I remembered his name!) and welcomed us warmly. He was soft-spoken, but I had no difficulty hearing and understanding his every word. This feeling of tranquility and peace remained with me the whole time that I was at Saint Macarius.

The courtyard was beautiful, with grayish paving stones bordered by grass. There was a seating area with benches in front of planters, complete with something down at the bottom to keep the flies away. The seating area was shaded from the sun by a trellis. After you passed through the seating area, you descended some stone steps to pass underneath a beautiful archway. Our monk guide told us that the stone arch had been uncovered during the restoration work, and then a new concrete arch had been created underneath to support it.

We walked under the arch and into a beautiful courtyard that was shaded by the buildings around it. On one side was the arch, and there were churches on the other three sides, with room to walk between to go further into the complex. We first entered the church on the left (I forget the name), which is the largest church at Saint Macarius. We took our shoes off before entering, although the monk told the mother of a young child that there was no need to remove the child's shoes. We entered the church and proceeded to the front near the altar. There were long platforms on each side of the front with books similar to hymnals. Our guide told us that the monks meet in that church every morning at 4am to chant praises for two hours. He demonstrated some of the chanting for us; it was hauntingly beautiful, more singing than chanting. He allowed us to take pictures and even encouraged us to take pictures of the inner sanctum's ceiling, which was the original brick, although we could stand only in the door of the inner sanctum, not actually go in. He showed us a grave that was uncovered in the front corner of the church during the restoration. The entrance was covered with glass or a heavy plastic. They found graves of John the Baptist and of Elisha the Prophet; I don't remember which this was. Also inside the church was a niche in which there were three hard cylinders, each containing the bones (or relics) of one of the three Saint Macarius-es.

After we left that church, we crossed the courtyard to the Church of the Forty-Nine Monk Martyrs. This church was named after 49 monks who were killed during an attack of the Berbers. The monks are buried there in that church. Inside, we saw original stonework and woodwork. Our guide also told us about two of the symbols that appeared on many of the surfaces. Both are crosses. One has three points on each arm. The 12 points represent the apostles. Each arm represents the Trinity, as the three points converge into one arm. The other cross had two points on each arm. This cross represents the dual nature of Jesus: fully God and fully Man, yet one being.

Then we went back out into the courtyard and around to the side of the third church, to another courtyard. There we saw the entries into some of the ancient cells, which we also were allowed to enter. Each cell contained two small rooms. One was for sleeping and praying; the other was for living and studying. We didn't get pictures of them. The cells that are in use now (which we didn't see) have a sleeping room, a study, a bathroom, and a kitchen. Back in the courtyard, our monk pointed out the keep. The monastery didn't always have a wall, so when the Berbers attacked, the monks ran up some stairs and across a bridge into the keep. They pulled the bridge up behind them. There was a well and food inside the keep. They could stay in there for 2 or 3 weeks, until the Berbers went away. We were not able to go inside the keep.

Then we went into the third and final church (whose name I don't recall). In this church, we saw more original stonework and also some ancient paintings of the Madonna, the Black Madonna, the archangel Gabriel, Matthew, Mark, and Luke. If I recall correctly, the relics of either Saint John or Elisha were located here, again in hard cylinders.

After we finished in the church, we went back up to the entrance. We were led into a building on the left side, which seemed to be a cafeteria. We were served hot tea, which was very good. After a little while, our monk came back to get us and led us to the bookstore. Jeff bought a few books, and I bought a couple of papyrus paintings for our apartment. One depicts the Lord's Supper, and the other depicts the Holy Family in Egypt (a part of history of which the Copts are proud, that the Holy Family sought refuge in their homeland). Then it was time to get back on the bus for the drive to Anafora.

Dahshur, Memphis, and Saqqara

We had a very busy weekend. On Friday, we joined our friend Lauren, along with her husband and parents, for a tour to Dahshur, Memphis, and Saqqara. On Saturday, we took a CSA tour to the Saint Makarious monastery and to Anaphora Retreat Center. Friday was physically exhausting; Saturday was long (it was a 12-hour tour) but incredibly relaxing. In this post, I’ll tell you about Friday; in the next one, I’ll write about Saturday. For now, be assured that this post is pretty long; if you're in a hurry, save it for another time. If you'd like to see 27 of the pictures from this trip, click here. A few are embedded in the post, but most are only available on Picasa.
 

Friday’s trip began at 9am, when Jeff and I went downstairs to meet Lauren; her husband, Zack; her parents, Mark and Leslie; and our guide, Radwa. The tour was supposed to last until 4pm, with lunch included. One of the first things Radwa told us was that some of the sites were closing early because of Ramadan, so lunch would need to wait until the end, and it’s available but not included. (I think there was a miscommunication due to language; to Americans, “included” means included in the price; apparently to the owner of this tour company, “included” means that it’s in the schedule.) Anyway, I quickly regretted the decision not to carry snacks and bottles of water, and Jeff and I both quickly appreciated that Lauren had brought extras of both.

As the trip progressed, I learned that our guide has definite opinions about the structures we were seeing. Her opinions do not necessarily match the opinions of most experts, so please forgive me if I get confused about the historical facts. Just take the historical information with a grain of salt.

We drove out of Maadi and up the Nile Corniche to the Ring Road (similar to the Beltway around Washington, DC). After crossing the Nile, we took an exit for the Saqqara Road. On the way, we passed through some of what I believe is Giza, a suburb of Cairo on the west bank of the Nile. We passed by some farmland and through some small villages. Then we turned off of the Saqqara Road and found ourselves in the desert. We could look one direction and see lush vegetation, with the Nile and Cairo in the distance, or we could look in the other three directions and see sand. The contrast was amazing.

Our first stop was Dahshur, where we saw the Bent Pyramid and the Red Pyramid. Both pyramids were built under the reign of Snefru. According to Radwa, the Bent Pyramid is the oldest structure that was built with the intention of it being a true pyramid, but there was a mistake made in its construction. The lower part of the pyramid angles in at 55 degrees. However, after construction began, it was realized that this angle was going to cause problems; either parts of the rooms and tunnels inside began to fall, or it was realized that it would be too difficult to complete the top of it. So the angle was changed mid-construction to a more manageable 43 degrees. This change gives the Bent Pyramid the unusual shape that resulted in its name. Radwa insisted that Snefru was buried in the Bent Pyramid (although online information indicated that most experts believe Snefru was buried in the Red Pyramid) because of certain characteristics of the pyramid: it has two entrances (to confuse grave robbers), the remains of both a mortuary temple and a valley temple, and a subsidiary pyramid, all of which she said is characteristic of pharoahs’ burial places. The online information I saw didn’t indicate what arguments favored the idea that Snefru was buried inside the Red Pyramid instead. We couldn’t go inside the Bent Pyramid, which was closed for restoration, but we took lots of pictures from outside.

After we walked around the Bent Pyramid, snapping pictures all the while, we drove back up the road about a kilometer to the Red Pyramid, which Radwa said was the first true pyramid. (Online sources say that the first pyramid was the Step Pyramid, which we saw later, but it didn’t have the smooth triangular shape; hence, not a “true” pyramid to Radwa.) Radwa discouraged us from going inside the Red Pyramid, since it was physically demanding and it was empty inside, but there was no deterring us. We were going in with or without her. We had no problem with her waiting outside, since it was physically demanding and her Muslim religion dictated that she have no food or water all day since it’s still Ramadan. However, she finally decided to come with us.

So we climbed the not-as-easy-as-they-looked stairs up to the entrance, waved at Leslie (who had decided to wait in the van), and began our descent. You had to duck to get into the entrance, and you couldn’t stand up all the way down. I don’t have pictures, because photography wasn’t allowed inside, but I found a website here that has pictures. We climbed down a passageway that was around 206 feet long, angled at 27 degrees. The original floor was smooth, but beams had been installed every few feet to act like stairs, although they reminded me more of ladder rungs. Jeff went down sideways, bent over and side-stepping down. Zack went backward, like he was descending a sloped ladder. I went down sideways until my muscles protested too much, then turned forward, grasped both handrails, and walked down for a while, before turning to the other side. I don’t know how Lauren, Mark, or Radwa went down. None of us could stand upright; we were bent over the whole time. Once we were down, the rooms were tall and we could stand, but the short passageways between rooms required us to bend over again. Most of what we saw are visible on the pictures. What you can’t tell from the pictures is that there was a strong odor—it smelled like a hair salon when everyone is getting perms. Someone later said it was ammonia. Anyway, we looked around inside, then started the long climb back up. The ascent was easier than the descent; we all just faced forward and climbed the sloped ladder, although we had to stop and rest a few times. Once we were back out, all of us felt like our legs were made of jell-o. I couldn’t walk down the external stairs without stopping at each landing to rest; my legs wanted to collapse. While Lauren took a breather, Radwa expressed concern over how she was doing, and Mark said that she was doing really well for someone who was 7 months pregnant. The look on Radwa’s face was priceless—she hadn’t realized Lauren was pregnant, and pregnant women are not allowed into the pyramids. Lauren was watched very closely by a chagrined Radwa after that.

We all gratefully retreated to the air-conditioned van after the expedition into the Red Pyramid. It was time to move on to Memphis, and boy, were were ready to sit down! On the way, Radwa told us a little about the history of Memphis. Apparently Egypt used to be divided into two kingdoms: the Upper Kingdom (southern, nearer the source of the Nile) and the Lower Kingdom (northern, nearer the delta and the Mediterranean). When the two kingdoms finally were united, Memphis was their first capital. There used to be a temple to Hatur (also known as Hathor) and another to Ptah. There really isn’t a whole lot left there now. There were several small statues, three large ones, and one colossal statue of Ramses II. Unfortunately, we forgot our camera in the van for this one, and we haven’t yet gotten the pictures from Lauren’s camera, so you can go to this website to see some pictures.

After Memphis, we went to Saqqara. At Saqqara, we first visited the Step Pyramid and the structures immediately around it. According to the internet, the Step Pyramid is the oldest pyramid. According to Radwa, the Step Pyramid really shouldn’t be called a pyramid at all, although it was an early step toward the construction of true pyramids. Although its general shape is pyramidal, it actually is a series of mastabas (rectangular burial chambers), built for the Pharoah Djoser (also known as Horus). We arrived outside the Step Pyramid and took a few pictures, then entered the site through a limestone structure. This site is believed to be the first place that limestone was used to create buildings. After passing through this entry, we found ourselves in a huge open court. On one side was the pyramid itself. Two sides were walled, and the fourth side had the remains of an ancient temple. We walked around to the other side of the temple to the Hepset Court, from which the king used to walk up to the temple roof to present an offering and request the god’s blessing to reign for another thirty years. Then we went back out to the open court and up some stairs to the wall, where we could clearly see the Bent and Red Pyramids in the distance. There also were some structures just outside the wall, but we didn’t really have time to walk among them.

When we left the Step Pyramid site, we drove just a little ways within the same complex to the tomb of . . . I don’t remember the name; by that time I was too tired to keep taking notes. And I don’t have pictures, as they weren’t allowed in the tomb or in the pyramid near it. Cameras were to be left in the vehicle, so I don’t even have pictures of the outside, and since I don’t remember the name of this area, I haven’t been able to find pictures online. Anyway, we went into this tomb. There were at least four rooms that we saw. All of the surfaces were covered with pictures. Radwa explained some of the scenes to us. One showed a worker who had done his best but who had collapsed from the effort; he was being nursed. Another showed a worker being beaten because he had not done his best. We also saw a statue of the man who was buried there.

Then we went next door to the pyramid. I don’t remember whose pyramid it was. It was much smaller than the other pyramids we had seen, so the climb in wasn’t as long or as steep as it was at the Red Pyramid. The smell also was better. The inside of this pyramid was amazing. After we came out of the entry tunnel, we were in a small room with hieroglyphs all over the walls. Off of this room were two other rooms, one on each side. We went into the room to the right, ducking through a low door. The walls of this room also were covered with hieroglyphs. The ceiling was covered with carvings of stars, representing the night sky. There was a big stone sarcophagus in the room as well. I really wish I had been able to get pictures; this place was truly amazing. We didn’t go into the other room because the site was about to close. We were rushed back up the ladder/stairs pretty quickly. We were all huffing and puffing when we made it to the top, but it wasn’t anything like what we experienced climbing out of the Red Pyramid.

Then we went back to the van and headed home. It was around 3pm when we got home, and we hadn’t eaten lunch. Thanks to Lauren, we had been able to drink water, but there had been no time for lunch. Of course, it also was hot enough that even after I got home, I didn’t want any food for the first 15 or 20 minutes, until I had cooled off. My legs were wobbly for the rest of the night, due to the climb in and out of the Red Pyramid. Truth be told, they were sore all day yesterday, especially later in the day after the naproxen sodium wore off, and they’re still pretty sore. So for all of you who may visit Egypt, heed this advice: If you intend to go inside any of the large pyramids, also plan very restful activities for the two days following that particular expedition!

Oh, and just to show you the awesome contrast that is Egypt near the Nile: Here's a picture of the view toward Cairo from Saqqara.

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.