Secret Believers

Not too long ago, I read a very enlightening book. It's called Secret Believers: What Happens When Muslims Believe in Christ, and it was written by Brother Andrew and Al Janssen. I don't know Brother Andrew's last name; I first read of him in his book God's Smuggler, in which he talked about his first Christian ministry, smuggling Bibles into the Soviet Union. Once the Soviet Union collapsed and religious freedom meant that his smuggling services were no longer needed in the Soviet Union, Brother Andrew turned his attention to other locations where Christians were persecuted, including China and the Middle East.

Secret Believers is the true story of a small group of believers in an unnamed Middle Eastern country. I'm pretty certain that the unnamed country isn't Egypt--some of the factual details about the country's form of government don't match up with Egypt. But I don't know for certain what country it is. And all of the people's names have been changed, except for the occasions in which Brother Andrew himself shows up in the story.

The book begins with an event that I personally found disturbing, although as the book went on, I understood more and more why it happened the way it did. A teenage Muslim boy has become curious about Christianity, due to conversations with a friend who began questioning Islam while at college. Despite his abject fear of eternal punishment for even thinking disloyal thoughts about Islam, Ahmed--one of the main people the story follows--decides to visit a local Christian church. Here's the disturbing part: The pastor turns him away. The pastor fears two things: that the boy will claim Christianity until he marries a Christian girl, then go back to Islam and force her to convert as well; and that the Muslim community will accuse the church of proselytizing Muslims, which almost certainly would result in violence against the congregation. This is a vivid picture of the fear among Christians that persists throughout the book.

Another central person in the book is Butros. Butros is a Christian, from the same country as Ahmed. While studying in England, he met his wife, Nadira, who is a Christian from another Middle East country. After he finished his education, Butros and Nadira had to decide where they would live: England, Nadira's home country, or Butros's home country. Butros became convinced that God was calling him back to his native land, where he was to strengthen the church by ministering to the ministers in whatever ways they needed. Nadira agreed, so the two signed up for a life of poverty and persecution, foregoing the good-paying jobs that would have been theirs in England.

Eventually Ahmed and Butros meet up with each other, and with a few others who, like Ahmed, are Muslim-background believers (MBBs). The conversion experiences all are different, yet all have the same result. The former Muslim is beaten severely by his or her family. The beatings occur in order to convince the "apostate" that he or she is wrong, that he or she must revert to Islam or face even worse punishment after death. If the convert does not revert, the family may kill him or her in order to restore the family honor. The one woman whose story is detailed in the book--Salima--wasn't even sure she was a Christian when her interest in the Bible and the prophet Isa (Jesus) was discovered, but still, her father tore her Bible apart and burned it, beat her, and informed her that he had arranged a marriage for her to a very strict Muslim. She had to run away from home to avoid being forced into an intolerable marriage. Almost all of the MBBs detailed in this book either left their homes because of their conversion or hid their conversion from everyone around them, at least for a time.

Butros, Ahmed, and Salima are joined by Mustafa and Hassan. They do not openly proselytize, as that is a crime punishable by death. When Ahmed and some other new believers are baptized, they are baptized by Brother Andrew, not by any citizen of their country. This is because baptism of a converted Muslim also is a crime punishable by death, both for the baptizer and for the one who is baptized. A Muslim who converts to Christianity can revert back to Islam up until the time when he is baptized; then, he is an apostate who must be killed. So the local pastors can't baptize them without risking their own lives. Brother Andrew must baptize the first group; after that, leaders among the MBBs baptize other MBBs--since they already are under the death penalty, their risk is not increased the way it would be for the pastors. All the Muslim-background believers keep their baptism a secret, except from each other. But even that is not enough to protect them. Ahmed, Mustafa, and Hassan become targets because of their ministry, teaching Christians to read in order to help them earn better incomes. Two of these believers end up dead; the other flees the country because the police--knowing he is innocent--decide that he is the murderer simply because he was the last to meet with the two before their deaths.

The Muslim-background believers aren't the only ones who face persecution. The "official Christians"--those who were born into Christian families--also face persecution in this country, which has signed the United Nations Declaration on Human Rights, which expressly states that everyone has the right to freedom of religion, including the right to change his religion. In the country of this book, the only ones who have the right to change religion are Christians, who can become Muslim at any time. Christians are highly encouraged to convert and sometimes are given no choice. Layla, born into a Christian home, is only a teenager. She is abducted, forced under penalty of death to say the shahada (covert to Islam), and forced into physical and sexual slavery to a "man" whose imam illegally married them without her, or her father's, consent.

There is so much more in this book. At the end, there is a section in which Brother Andrew talks about the nature of the problem throughout the Middle East. He talks about believers in Afghanistan, in Pakistan, in Egypt. Across the board, Christians in the Middle East tell Brother Andrew what they need from believers in the West. They need believers in the West to come, with maturity and love. They need believers in the West to pressure the government--both theirs and ours--for true freedom of religion. They need believers in the West to impact their own cultures by living differently and by showing the watching masses that Christianity is not synonymous with modern Western culture. Above all, they need prayer. They cannot proselytize, but they can and do respond when seekers find them. And seekers are finding them--God is calling people through dreams and visions, causing people to seek out the believers who can answer their questions. It's a dangerous time and a dangerous path for Christians in the Middle East, and many flee. But some who could afford to leave choose to stay, for the sake of the seekers.

If you're interested in more information, I would encourage you to visit SecretBelievers.org. Among other things, you can sign up for free emails containing excerpts from the book.

Life in the Bubbles

More and more, I'm realizing that I live inside bubbles--no, that wasn't a typo; I really did say bubbles, as in more than one. I live in a bubble inside another bubble.

The larger bubble within which I live is affectionately known as the "Expat Bubble." It consists of all--okay many of--the expatriates who make Cairo their home. Included are Americans, Brits, South Africans, Indians . . . and many others.

I say that the expat bubble consists of many of the expats here, not all of them, because there are some expats who have a much more difficult life. These include the refugees. I've met one refugee through my church and have heard stories that would make a heart of stone soften. Some refugees are here illegally and could be deported, some back to countries where they would face immediate execution, at any time. Most refugees are poor, unable to get permanent employment, taking any job that comes their way. For a blog entry from Mark Jaffrey that will give you a much better idea of what life is like for the refugees, click here.

Anyway, those of us in the expat bubble have a pretty nice life. We're rich by Egyptian standards, even those of us who are not rich by the standards of our home countries. We live in very nice flats ("flat" is a much more commonly used word than "apartment" here), and we shop. A lot. We buy custom-made furniture. We buy alabaster. We buy all sorts of things. Many of us have maids and drivers. We're not worried about where the next meal will come from or how we're going to pay next month's rent. Many of us work with Egyptians, usually as supervisors or others with authority, although some interact with the Egyptian government as well. Those of us who are wives often don't work; we entertain ourselves with shopping or CSA activities. Some do volunteer work. But mostly we associate with each other. When the unemployed expat wives come into contact with Egyptians, it's usually because the Egyptian is our employee or a shopkeeper, or maybe a beggar on the street. We don't often get to know the Egyptians with whom we come into contact, unless it's our bawwab (doorman), maid, or driver. We live a sheltered life, although I can't really give too many details about what life is like outside the expat bubble. I'm still working on coming out of my smaller bubble and becoming more involved in the expat bubble. In time, I hope to venture out of the expat bubble and get to know more Egyptians and what their lives outside the bubble are like.

Within the expat bubble, there's an even more pampered group of people. This is the "Embassy Bubble," in which I am snugly ensconced. The embassy bubble specifically consists of Americans who work for the U. S. Mission to Cairo (the embassy and USAID, or the U. S. Agency for International Development, as well as NAMRU, the Navy something Medical Research Unit) and the families of those employees. We are pampered beyond belief. Our incomes are not as high as many of the other expats' (think oil), although it is higher than some.

The embassy people tend to live almost exclusively within our own little bubble. Those who work, work with other embassy people. Those who do not work socialize with other unemployed embassy spouses. Many of us live in embassy-owned compounds, although some live in embassy-owned apartments on the economy. Our housing compounds don't have bawwabs, but we do have armed guards. No one who doesn't "belong" is allowed in. Deliveries are dropped off at the gate, unless it's a big delivery, in which case the deliveryman waits at the gate until we come to escort him. (We can have visitors who don't have to be escorted, but they do have to sign in.) And our other privileges make it unnecessary for us to step too far outside of the embassy bubble.

We can eat out at the Maadi House. The Maadi House is a walled villa. On its grounds are a pool, a playground, a grassy area, a restaurant, and a bar. I think I remember seeing tennis courts, too, and there may be more in there. We've used it only for the restaurant so far; they have an excellent buffet on Thursday nights--good marinated steak--and a very good brunch buffet on Friday mornings. The food comes from the commissary (see the next paragraph). The Maadi House exists as a social club for the embassy. There's a yearly fee (I forget how much), because you have to join it. Guests are allowed, with members, for a fee of LE3, or around 60 cents. So combine the Maadi House with Otlob (an online service that lets you order from a multitude of restaurants, who all deliver, including McDonald's), and you don't have to go outside the bubble even if you don't want to cook . . . even if you haven't hired your own personal chef, which is also a possibility here.

A more coveted privilege we have--possibly the most coveted--is our access to the commissary. Egyptians and most expats have to either go out to Carrefour (think Super Wal-Mart) to buy necessities, or they have to go to various small shops near their homes. To prepare for a dinner, they must visit the bread shop, the fruit and vegetable stand, the butcher, the spice shop . . . each shop tends to be specialized to one product, so you have to traipse all over Maadi, or Zamalek, or wherever you live. Even then, some things that you take for granted back home simply aren't available here. Your favorite brand of soap or shampoo may be available at the local pharmacy, but probably not. Want some real pork bacon, sausage, or hot dogs? Out of luck, not going to find it here. Not unless you have comissary privileges. It's like a small, but incredibly well-stocked, grocery store. We have produce, frozen meats, milk we can be confident has been pasteurized properly, pet food (available but very expensive on the local economy), cleaning supplies, a personal hygiene section . . . and if they don't have your favorite brand, you can request it. They may just be able to get it for you. Only embassy personnel are allowed to step foot in the commissary. Even the Department of Defense (DOD) contractors, who have access to the DOD-run PX and convenience stores, don't get in the commissary. On our first day at the embassy, they made up special commissary cards for us. No commissary card, no access, no exceptions. And someone with commissary privileges can lose those privileges by buying things at the commissary for someone without commissary privileges. It's okay to buy gifts there; we've given hot dogs as a gift to someone without commissary privileges, and we've had people over and served hot dogs from the commissary. But the recipient cannot pay you back without the risk that you'll lose your privileges. And there's no way I'm risking that.

Our other highly prized privilege--the other strong contender for the title of "most coveted"--are our APO privileges. Imagine being in a foreign country where the things to which you're accustomed are not available. What do you do? Well, if you have APO privileges, you get on Amazon.com or you call your mom and tell her what to ship to you (thanks, Mom!). The APO is the military mail system that provides a U. S. mailing address for those of us who are overseas. Many online vendors will ship to APOs, and if they won't, they'll ship to someone in the States who can forward the package for you. You don't even have to pay for the shipping from the APO collection point (I think it's New York for this region) to the final destination. Other expats have to pay international shipping fees, and even then packages may not arrive in a timely manner or at all, or they have to find someone who is traveling from the States (or Britain, or India, or whatever country they're from) and ask that person--sometimes a friend of a friend--to bring the item along. I received an email recently from a friend who wanted a book from the States. I was tempted to offer to let her order it off of Amazon or ChristianBook.com and ship it to me, but there's a catch: Just like with the commissary, if you extend the privilege to someone who isn't entitled to it, you can lose it. And with as much as Jeff and I depend on the APO, that isn't an option. So I offered instead to talk to a friend who's going home next month to pick up her two cats. (It wasn't necessary; someone else is coming back this week, so she won't have to wait as long for her book.)

Many "embassy people" don't stray outside of the embassy bubble. And some of those who do venture forth create resentment by lording their privileges over the other expats, or just by being arrogant in general. "Embassy people" don't necessarily have the best reputation within the expat community. You're more likely to hear someone say "Yeah, he's an embassy guy, but he's nice" rather than "Yeah, he's an embassy guy but he's a real arrogant jerk." And you don't have to say "He's an embassy guy and he's a jerk"; that's kind of redundant in many minds.

I'm trying to strike a balance between my two competing instincts: I certainly don't want to talk too much about privileges that I can't share, as much as I would like to share them, but I am very curious about what the other expats do in order to compensate for not having commissary and APO privileges. So when I'm with other expats at church or at cell group, I'm trying to listen more than I speak about those things.

So, uh, if you're a non-embassy expat and you're reading this particular blog entry . . . please don't hold it against me. :-)

Driving in Cairo . . . or Maadi, Anyway

Well, I did it. I've driven in Maadi. (Thanks to Mom for reminding me that I hadn't done a blog about it and that some of her friends were getting antsy.)

Last Friday morning, Jeff and I planned to go to church and then straight to the commissary for our weekly shopping, so we decided to just drive to church instead of walking like we usually do. We were running a little late, so Jeff drove. I'm the first to admit that I'm not a confident driver, so no way was I driving for the first time here when we were in a hurry.

Also because we were running late, we didn't have time for breakfast before church, so we decided after church to just walk over to the Maadi House for brunch. So we ate breakfast . . . after that it was time for the commissary run.

I drove. As we approached our Ford Explorer, Jeff tossed me the keys. After we got in and I started the vehicle, Jeff reminded me to put the side mirror back out. Before I came to Egypt, I hadn't even realized that the side mirrors folded in. Here it's crucial when parking on the street to put the mirrors in; even that doesn't always save you from having them scraped or knocked off, but it minimizes the likelihood. So I rolled down the window and popped out the mirror, then checked and adjusted all three mirrors. Jeff had parked on the side of a street pointing the way we needed to go, so I just pulled out and went. (Unlike many local drivers, I did look to make sure I wasn't pulling out in front of anyone.)

The first left was a semi-blind turn. The road was at an angle, and there were trees or signs (I forget what) partially obstructing my view. I looked as well as I could then just went for it. As we proceeded to the commissary, I got a little giddy. I hadn't driven in almost two months, and now I was driving again. It felt like I was really free to travel around Cairo for the first time. (I know, it's actually easier in most cases to take cabs, and I can get anywhere I need to go with them, but it's a psychological boost to be able to get yourself where you want to go without relying on anyone else.) Besides, I just enjoy driving, even though I'm not all that great at it.

Jeff had to remind me of a couple of the turns. On previous trips to the commissary, I've remembered all the turns, but I was paying attention to other things while behind the wheel. Things like whether or not someone was going to come flying out of a side street or how I'm going to navigate around all the cars that are parked on the street near that mosque. Traffic was very light for Maadi, as it usually is on Fridays, so there weren't any real heart-stoppers, but I was prepared for them anyway.

One thing I hadn't really realized before was how steep the speed bumps are. The speed bumps here are an adventure in themselves. They're not always yellow, or sometimes they're only yellow at the end because the paint has worn off in the middle, so they blend in with the road. They also don't stay in the same place-a speed bump may appear or disappear overnight, so you can never be certain where they are. Sometimes where there used to be a speed bump, there's a trough instead. Some, but not all, of the speed bumps have silver reflective things on the road before you get to them. But if they don't, you don't always see them in time to slow down appropriately. If you don't slow down enough, you can catch a little air off them. Trust me on this one. Jeff is very concerned about the Explorer's shocks.

It was kind of fun not worrying about lanes. If someone was in front of me and I wanted to go the speed they were going, I naturally lined up behind them, no matter where in the road they were. If I wanted to pass them, I did. On the left, on the right, it didn't matter. No blinkers necessary, just be prepared to honk the horn if they start to drift over into you. And be aware that if you start to drift over into someone else, they'll use their horns to let you know they're there. Drifting around all over the road isn't a problem at all. If there's a hole on each side, take the middle. If the speed bump only goes across three fourths of the road, it's quite all right to move from the far left to the far right to go around it. No blinkers, minimal looking (Jeff didn't like that part), no problem. My kind of driving, as long as traffic's light. I have yet to drive in heavy, or even medium, traffic to see how I like that.

I drove again today. It wasn't quite as fun, probably because I just drove last week so it isn't quite as novel. I'm still not looking out for the speed bumps quite enough. Today I forgot to pop the driver's side mirror back out. I didn't miss it. (Jeff groaned when he realized this fact.) When I come back to America, I'm either going to be a great driver or a lousy one. Great if I get to the point where I can drive in heavier traffic without scraping anyone, lousy if I just get used to the laissez-faire style of driving without practicing my limits.

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 :-)

(Jeff's Hijack) -- Dark Knight + Golden Stars = AWESOME

(We interrupt your normally wonderful blog posts for a guest spot by the husband. Deborah will be back in this space soon.)

Last weekend, we went to see The Dark Knight, the latest Batman movie that's been racking up jillions of dollars since its release. The movie was great (if you even thought about enjoying Batman Begins and by some chance haven't seen this yet, I highly recommend seeing it in the theater -- some of the visuals definitely belong on the big screen), but there was something competing for my wow-factor that night -- the theater itself.

We went to see TDK (I love acronyms) at the Golden Stars cinema. This is part of City Stars, which is a business/residential/retail development in Heliopolis, northeast of downtown Cairo. It'll get its own post later (6 stories, 600 shops, and that's just the retail portion). After about a 30-minute mostly-boring (by Egyptian standards) ride there, we found the theater and bought our tickets. Here's where things got interesting. First, the tickets were LE100 each (a little under $20, $18.87 with a good exchange rate), which is about 4x the going rate most places here (and even more expensive than most theaters in the States). Next, I got to pick our seats. There was a touchscreen with a diagram of the theater and I picked out seats D3 and D4 for us. We got our tickets, each of which had an individually printed label on the back identifying our particular seat. Did I mention there were only 36 seats in the whole theater? I knew this was going to be interesting.

Since we had about 45 minutes before the start of the movie, and the previous show wasn't out yet, we went into the lounge area. There we picked our dinner off of the menu (we both decided on a cheeseburger with chips, I got some chocolate ice cream too), gave our order to one of the staff, and bought some popcorn and water (about $4 for a popcorn and 2 bottles of water--that felt bizarrely cheap in a theater).

Once the previous show was out and the theater was open, we went on inside. When we walked in, we were greeted by an usher who asked for our tickets and then showed us to our seats, which happened to be leather recliners, facing about a 15-foot movie screen. There were 6 rows, with an aisle dividing each row into one pair of seats and then the other 4 (Yes, I know the pictures show it differently. They're wrong, but the only photos of the theater I could find online. Deborah's very good at painting a picture with words. I just settle for lots of links to other websites and promo shots). They were spaced far enough that each seat could fully recline without kicking anyone in the head (no way someone could "accidentally" kick your seat in this place!). The recliners were all a bluish-gray and VERY comfortable -- they really did recline ALL THE WAY back. There was a small wooden table (roughly 24" in diameter) between our seats, so we had a place for our popcorn and water. The crowd was definitely upscale, several Westerners, probably a couple of Saudis, and several well-to-do Egyptians.

About 7:10 or so (the showtime was 7, Egyptian standard time), the lights went down and the screen came alive with . . . a blue "insert DVD" screen which quickly led to a "loading" message and then a fairly grainy image of a standard-definition DVD playing some commercials. I'm sure it would've looked fine on a regular-size screen, but at the size it was being projected to, it looked pretty rotten if you were expecting a typical movie picture. Luckily, after a couple of commercials and previews for upcoming Egyptian films, the picture went dark for a second, then came back with a much better picture (apparently there are two projectors, one for the commercials/previews, one for the movie). During the opening (naturally), a waiter arrived, bringing our previously-ordered cheeseburgers. He set the tray on the table and quickly departed. While the movie was very entertaining, the cheeseburger was only mediocre, but the novelty still made it worth having done once.

About 1/2 way through the movie, at a fairly critical point . . . the lights came on, and I remembered the "quaint" Egyptian habit of having an intermission during movies. Having drunk too much water and Pepsi, I decided that rather than be annoyed at the interruption I'd put it to good use, so I made a dash to the facilities. Deborah decided that since the theater was a little chilly for her liking, some hot chocolate was in order, and put in the order with the usher who came around with our bill, putting off the moment of reckoning.

Once everyone was back in their seats, the movie continued to its thrilling conclusion. Unfortunately, I missed a crucial moment because . . . the bill arrived. I would have thought it could have waited until the end, but no, once the hot chocolate was there, the waiter wanted to settle the bill immediately (I wonder how many people who'll pay 4x the going price to see a movie try to skip out on the food bill?). So, by the light of his cell phone, I read the bill (not much, if any, more than we would've paid at a restaurant), fished out the appropriate bills, and sent him on his way with a hushed "no change!" more to avoid another interruption than out of gratitude for the service (which was good, just poorly timed).

Once the movie was over, we headed back outside for the slightly-longer trip home, which was much more "exciting" and authentically Egyptian, due to the traffic jams, the lack of headlights (at 10:30 at night), and the parked cars and standing people which left barely enough room to squeeze by.

A couple of things (besides the seats and layout) that made the theater worth the extra price were the 1)lack of smoking in the theater and 2)lack of talking during the movie. Neither of these are a given when going to the movies in Egypt, so depending on other theaters in the area, Golden Stars may become the default for any movie that's showing there (there are only 4 "VIP" screens). We definitely know where we'll be for "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince" this fall (assuming it comes to Golden Stars). Maybe I'll try the pizza next time . . .

(We now return you to your regularly scheduled good blog posts by Deborah)

Felucca Ride

Last night, Jeff and I went on our first ever felucca ride with some of Jeff's coworkers. Jeff's boss organized the outing and provided hors d'ouevres and drinks for the ride. Many thanks!

Getting to the felucca was a little bit of an adventure for me. Everyone was leaving straight from the embassy, after work, so I had to get to the embassy on my own. I could have taken the family shuttle in, but the latest one they had would have had me waiting for over an hour, so I decided to take a cab in--my first cab ride alone. So I walked out of the apartment building and toward a street where I usually can find a cab. I saw one approaching and raised my hand to flag him down. In Egypt, it's a good idea to tell the driver where you're going before you get in, so I asked, through the window, for the American embassy. He said "no, no," either because he didn't know where it was or because he didn't want to go there. I next asked for the Semiramis, a very well-known hotel near the embassy, or for Midan Tahrir, an even better-known traffic circle a couple of blocks from the embassy. He wasn't having any of that, so I let him go and waved down another cab. This time, I just asked for the Semiramis, assuming that the problem before was the embassy. This driver agreed, so I hopped in the back--women who ride in the front next to the driver are likely to receive some unwanted touching--and off we went. The driver kept looking at me in the rearview mirror, but that's not all that unusual for any Western women, particularly those with hair colors other than brown, so I ignored it. He dropped me off at the Semiramis, and I promptly crossed the street--luckily not too busy--and walked about two blocks to the South Entrance to the embassy compound. I waited on a bench in the courtyard for about 20 minutes, studying my Egyptian colloquial Arabic vocabulary while I waited. Then Jeff and his coworkers showed up. A couple of people drove/rode to the dock with the coolers, but the rest of us walked. It wasn't far, just a few blocks, but we had to cross the Corniche!! Those of you who are familiar with Washington, DC, think about crossing Pennsylvania Avenue without crosswalks, traffic lights, or drivers who are inclined to brake for you. During heavy, fast-moving traffic, not the slow bumper-to-bumper times. God is good; if He wasn't, there is no way we would have made it across in one piece.

So we ended up on the correct side of the Corniche, where the van pulled up and offloaded passengers and coolers. Meanwhile, one of our number was negotiating prices for the felucca rental. There were two docks side-by-side; both were willing to rent us the felucca for LE50 (approximately $10) an hour, but one of them had feluccas that were in noticeably better shape. So of course we went with that one. We rented the felucca for two hours, long enough to catch the sunset but not quite long enough for it to get really dark.

Now for those of you who, like me until recently, don't know exactly what a felucca is: The felucca is a small boat with a retractable canvas roof. The roof was on when we pulled out of the dock, but the captain immediately withdrew it. It sacrificed some shade, but the shade wasn't really necessary that late in the day, and it opened up the view. Both sides and the back of the felucca are lined with padded benches, and there's a table provided. The passengers usually bring their own food and beverages--alcohol is allowed--and the captain just cruises the boat along the Nile while you enjoy conversation, dinner, music, whatever you bring with you. The picture on the right shows the felucca we rented. You can also see Jeff carrying one of the coolers on board.

One of the interesting things about the ride was the captain. He didn't say anything at all unless he was asked a direct question. There were some tasks that he had to perform at the front of the boat (releasing the sail and such), but he spent most of his time at the back of the boat, steering. The interesting part was that he did not walk through the boat itself to move from the front to the back. He instead walked along the outside of the boat, where he could pass without interfering with us at all. He was very surefooted!

Felucca rides are popular for many reasons. For one thing, the breeze on the Nile makes the temperature much more comfortable. It wasn't oppressively hot yesterday, but it definitely felt better to be on the water, with the breeze, than on land. Another reason for the popularity of felucca rides is the view. Parts of Cairo are pretty; other parts are not so pretty, but as with any city, seeing it from the water is something special. There's an album on Picasa if you want to see pictures of the shore.

One thing to keep in mind when riding a felucca, though, is that the Nile, although beautiful, is not safe. There are crocodiles along its banks; I'm not sure how common they are in the busy areas of Cairo, but they certainly live in the rural areas. Also, the Nile is heavily polluted. People, particularly Westerners, are advised not to swim in it, drink any of it, or really even to touch the water, just to be on the safe side. Kind of makes you wonder what this guy was thinking! (Hmm, he's a little small in that picture, but he's windsurfing.)

There really isn't a lot to say about the ride. It was very nice, cool and comfortable. The food was good--a couple of meats, some cheeses, crackers, chips and dip, pastries for dessert. The drinks were nice -- various beers, a couple of wines, a couple of mixed drinks, soft drinks, and the essential bottled water. The conversation was entertaining. The setting was perfect. All in all, a good time.

Khan el Khalili

Yesterday, Julia (another "dip wife") and I went to the Khan el Khalili. It was my second trip there, but I never got around to writing a post about the first one. Other things kept popping up, and then my memories weren't as vivid, and I wasn't sure what to write. But now I've gone again, so I'll write about this trip instead of the first one.

The Khan is basically a bazaar. It's a rats' nest of narrow streets and alleys, with shops everywhere. I haven't seen anywhere near all of it, not even most of it, just one little corner. And I can't find my way around even that corner, so it's a good thing Julia was with me. The first time I was there, I bought a loose, lightweight cotton shirt in an Egyptian style from one of the shops where embassy people go regularly--after we've been escorted to the shop once by someone the shopkeeper knows, he recognizes us, and he offers us his best price without bargaining. It isn't exactly the "Egyptian price," the lowest price which is offered to Egyptians only, but it's about half of what most Westerners end up paying. I love the shirt in this heat, so I wanted more. Julia also wanted some, so the purpose of our trip to the Khan was to visit that shop and buy some shirts.

We took the embassy's family shuttle from Maadi to the embassy, then walked around until we were able to flag down a cab. The cab was typical of Cairo cabs: no air conditioner, no leg room, and insane driving. I counted at least 3 pedestrians that we almost creamed. Then there was the bus that almost creamed us. And then there was the other cabdriver, who apparently needed change, because after a discussion in Arabic through open windows, our driver rummaged in his dashboard compartment, pulled out a wad of bills, and handed it out through the window to the other driver, who handed a single bill back. All of this happened while we were still moving. But we finally arrived at the Khan.

We had the driver let us out on the side of the street opposite to the area of the Khan where we were going. We knew that there was a pedestrian tunnel there, which is a rarity in Cairo. We paid the driver LE20 (which made his day; he would have been happy with LE10, but we didn't have change, and we knew that cabbies always claim not to have change, and the difference is roughly $2, so we weren't worried about it).

We walked past a booth on the way to the tunnel entrance, or at least we would have walked past it, except that Julia noticed some rugs that she wanted to see. It turned out that the rugs weren't for sale; they were covering the real wares until someone showed interest in order to protect them from the dust. But the shopkeeper told us how to get to a different area where there were rugs for sale, lots of them, so we started heading that way. Then the shopkeeper decided to lead the way so we wouldn't get lost. We tried to dissuade him, but he wouldn't be dissuaded, and he said that he didn't need baksheesh (tip money). He claimed to want to practice his English. So he led us down the street and into the maze that is the Khan.

After one turn, we entered the spice area. It smelled wonderful! I wish I had taken my camera, so I could at least show you pictures. The shops had buckets sitting out piled high with various spices, all of them perfuming the air. I don't cook enough to know what any of them were, but they smelled delicious. After another turn, Julia lost confidence in her ability to find her way back out, and we didn't want to be at the mercy of our "guide," so she told him that we could see where the rug area began (we could), and that we thanked him for his services, but we were going to look at the spice shops before we went into the rug area. He eventually was persuaded that we were serious, and he left. Julia bought some cumin and some coriander, and we started heading back out to cross the main street and go back into the area of the Khan we know a little. We had taken about two steps when another man came up and started pressuring us to go to the rug section. We politely declined. My guess is that the first guy was taking us to a friend's shop, and when he couldn't get us all the way there, he sent the friend looking for us. I wouldn't have minded looking at the rugs, but like Julia, I didn't want to get lost back there and not know how to get back without help. And since we had a specific goal and limited time until the family shuttle we wanted to take back to Maadi, we went on our way.

We made our way back to the main street and found a pedestrian bridge. (Pedestrian tunnels and bridges are unheard of throughout most of Cairo, but with the Khan on both sides of a major 4- or 6-lane thoroughfare, there are more of them in that area.) Then we walked back up to the al-Husayn Mosque, which marks the entry that we have to use to the Khan if we want to be on the more familiar path to the gallabiya shop. (Gallabiyas are long, loose garments; the shop where we buy the shirts is actually a gallabiya shop.)

The Khan borders al-Husayn. When we reached the mosque, we turned left to walk along the border of the Khan. We found the narrow street where we wanted to enter--actually Julia found it; I was too busy watching my footing on the uneven cobblestones. We turned down the street and immediately were accosted with calls of "I have what you're looking for!", "I have good prices here," and variations on those themes. I believe it was the second alley on the right that we had to turn down to get to the gallabiya shop. I recognized it because of the jewelry shop at the corner; last time I there, they were offering very pretty strand necklaces for LE2.

The gallabiya shop isn't very far in that alley. It's right beside a glass shop that's owned by the same man--he owns factories that make glassware and clothing. We didn't look at the glass shop this time, but we did last time. There are beautiful figurines, wine glasses, vases . . . the whole second floor is devoted to Christmas ornaments. The workmanship is stunning, but I've never been a big fan of crystal or glassware, so it's a waste of the shopkeeper's time for me to even go in there. I think it'll be a different story when my mother or my mother-in-law come to visit me, though; they like those things a bit more.

We went into the gallabiya shop and were recognized immediately. Julia had been there at least two times previously, and I had been there once. Julia had special ordered some sand-colored gallabiyas for her nephews or some other children in her life; they wanted Jedi costumes for Halloween. This trip, she wanted shirts and to order a long brown vest-type garment that the kids could wear over the gallabiyas to enhance the costumes. (Jeanne, it may be too late for this year, but if your boys would be interested, let me know.) After she had ordered the vests and arranged for delivery, the real shopping began. I ended up with five shirts. I think Julia got three. It didn't take us long. The shopkeeper showed us which section had the shirts in our size, neatly folded in plastic in a stack. We could see the colors of the shirts but not the designs. We pointed at the colors we liked, he pulled them out and let us see the designs, and we bought the ones we liked.

After we finished there, Julia asked if I minded if we went to the Crazy Brothers' shop. We left the gallabiya shop and headed back out to the original alley. We continued down it until we got to an intersection that we recognized because that's where Guzman's is. Guzman's is a very nice jewelry store that also offers lower pricing to our embassy community, with no haggling. We didn't go in this time, but we did last time. They have some beautiful gold necklaces, pendants, rings, and bracelets. Some are all gold, whereas others have malachite, lapis, onyx, and many other beautiful gemstones. They also do custom work, including silver and gold cartouches. Their prices are reasonable when you consider the price of gold and the stones; most of the jewelry is more than I'm willing to pay, but considerably cheaper than similar work would be in the States.

We continued past Guzman's, looking for the first right. We went a distance that we knew was too far, so we turned and headed back to Guzman's to try again. On the way, we recognized the stairway we needed to go up to get to the Crazy Brothers, so up we went.

The official name of their shop is The Three Brothers, but someone at the embassy started calling them The Crazy Brothers, and the name stuck among embassy personnel. I noticed this time that there's a sign out front of their shop, labelling it The Three Crazy Brothers. I don't remember if that sign was there last time. The Crazy Brothers are metalworkers. They make decorative copper, bronze, and iron plates, lanterns, tables, pots . . . you name it. They have a lot of merchandise available in their shop, or they can custom make whatever you want. They also get a lot of business from the embassy. Some of their specialties are nameplates in English and Arabic for the diplomats' desks. They also give us special pricing, although they'll bargain a little if you hesitate over buying something.

Julia was looking for a pot to use as a "trash can with personality." She looked at bronze ones, copper ones, and iron ones. She finally found one that she liked with a price that she liked. I don't remember was metal it was, but it was a good size for a trash can, and it had a slightly distressed, hammered look. It should look nice sitting in the living room waiting for her to throw her junk mail in it. One of the brothers also noticed me looking at some of the decorative plates, because I'd like to get one to display in our china cabinet. He tried really hard to sell me one, but I remembered that last time we were there, Jeff was very interested in those. I decided to wait until he can go back with me; since that's one of the few home decor things where I think he'd have a preference, I want his input when purchasing one.

After we finished at the Crazy Brothers, we walked around the little courtyard where their shop is located. Some of my favorite pieces that I saw there were chess sets. There were some made from marble that were really nice. My favorite had the "black" pieces made out of malachite, so they were actually green, and the white pieces out of marble. I considered buying a set as a gift, but I didn't know if the intended recipient even plays chess. I also saw some beautiful wood-inlay boxes. I'm not sure how to describe them, so instead I'll take a picture of a pencil holder that I bought the other day so you can get the idea. The boxes are similar in style, with various patterns of inlay. They also have them with mother-of-pearl inlay, but I prefer the wood, or maybe wood with just a little mother-of-pearl.

So we made the lap around the courtyard, then headed back out to the main road to catch a cab. We got really lucky--there was a yellow cab dropping off a couple of Western tourists, so we were able to catch that cab back to the embassy. The yellow cabs are great because they have fixed prices with a clearly visible meter (most cabs have broken or no meters, so pricing is a matter of bargaining) and air conditioning. This ride was less scary than the ride to the Khan. The traffic was lighter, and this driver seemed to be making an effort to drive in a way that is more calming to Western passengers. When we arrived, the fare was around LE9. We gave him LE20 as well. Again, no change, but there was also the consideration that this ride was comfortable, unlike the first ride for which we had paid LE20, so why not make this cabbie's day too?

We were about 20 minutes early for the shuttle, so we stood in the shade and waited, then came on home. It was a productive day. We found our shirts, Julia found her trash can, and I'm pretty sure I could find my way back to the gallabiya shop, Guzman's, and the Crazy Brothers. Maybe next time I'll find a rug shop.

Traffic

I almost got hit by a car last night.

It was going slowly, so it wouldn't have done damage, but still . . . it scared me, and therefore, it infuriated me at the time. I think I'm over it now. It's all part of the process of learning not to expect Egyptians to drive like Americans.

I was crossing a street, on my way home from a cell group meeting. There's this one traffic circle near the compound; it's really busy, and it's often difficult to take the shortest way across (which is directly across it, through the grassy median in its center, and then across its other side) so Jeff and I usually just go around it. We cross maybe four smaller streets that come off the circle rather than cross the high-traffic circle twice. In this case, we were crossing one of the smaller streets when the cars that were going down that street ended up in a bit of a traffic jam--they all stopped. So of course that's the perfect opportunity to go across the street. As I was crossing behind the last car in the line, following Jeff, I looked up to make sure that the oncoming car was stopping. Something in that driver's face told me that I was in danger but not from him. So I turned to see the problem and found that the cab I was crossing behind was backing up--it was about half an inch from me. I instinctively hit the trunk of the car with my fist as I bounded away from it. The driver looked up as if to say "What's the problem?"

What's the problem, indeed. To the Egyptian mind, the problem was that this Western woman had just smacked his trunk. To the American mind, the problem was that this Egyptian man had just started backing up without checking to make sure he wasn't about to hit anyone. But we're in Egypt, not the States, and these things happen.

You see, in Egypt, there seem to be two major rules for traffic: If you want to go there, and you fit or can force yourself to fit, go ahead; and you're responsible for what's in front of you, not what's behind you. The first rule results in 4 or more cars driving side-by-side down a 3-lane road and in cars often driving on the wrong side of the road. I'm convinced it also has resulted in the extremely high sidewalks--usually a good six inches--so that cars can't drive on the sidewalks, not that they'd want to, with the trees and signs growing out of them at random intervals, but hey, they'd use it as a passing lane, trust me.

The second rule results in drivers routinely backing up without looking; after all, if there's a car behind them, it's the other driver's responsibility to honk the horn in order to let the reversing driver know that there's a problem. It also results in drivers honking their horns when approaching a car from the rear and attempting to pass, in order to notify the driver that it may be a bad idea to swerve in that direction right now, because you're also not responsible for what's beside you unless its nose is sticking out farther than yours, in which case it counts as being in front of you.

As you may have guessed, the horns are used as general communication tools here. It isn't the case where a horn indicates anger, frustration, or threats of bodily harm, as it usually does in the States. Horns here can mean "please let me go there," "okay," "thank you," "you're welcome" . . . I think sometimes they just mean "hello." As a pedestrian, oncoming vehicles often honk the horn just to say "hey, I'm coming, don't step out in front of me because I won't stop." (That can be a bit more necessary here than most Americans would think; after all, it's common here to ignore the sidewalk and walk down the middle or side of the street instead, because of the 6-inch curbs at every intersection, the potholes in the sidewalks, and the random trees and signs in the middle of the sidewalks, not to mention the air conditioners that drip water on you from above.)

It gets interesting when the two major traffic rules are applied to turns and attempts to merge into traffic circles. When turning, it is important to go quickly--the guy behind you is not interested in waiting while you carefully pick your opening in the oncoming traffic. The horn-honking in that situation sounds almost as belligerent as horns in the States always sound. There are no red lights to speak of, and stop signs are ignored, so getting onto a busy street is a matter of confidence. The huge SUV usually obtains right of way over the tiny little car, but I've seen cases where the tiny little car driven with confidence trumps the huge SUV. It's just a matter of deciding that you're going now and forcing oncoming traffic to slow down, stop, or swerve in order to avoid hitting you. After all, if you pull out in front of them, you're in front of them, and rule #2 applies.

I haven't tried driving in Cairo yet; our vehicle hasn't arrived from the States. I assume I will eventually drive. I'm too stubborn not to rebel against the fear. My goal is to accept that in Cairo (and in Maadi), people drive like Cairenes. They do not drive like Americans. Although I would like them to drive like Americans, it isn't going to happen, and it would be neither right nor practical for me to expect them to. Americans who are successful in driving in Egypt--without giving themselves or their passengers heart attacks--are Americans who are able to accept that they are in Egypt. In other words, they drive like Cairenes.

The adventurous part of me is looking forward to ignoring the lanes. The logical part of me is too busy reassuring the scared part of me that the heavy traffic prevents anyone from going at the high speeds that can cause real damage, so even though there will be scrapes, there won't be injuries.

The 4th of July

Okay, so this post is really late. There's been so much other stuff going on that I haven't gotten around to writing this post in a timely manner, so I was tempted to not write it at all, but I can't really do that. I was reading blogs from RedState when I came across this amazing entry, which reminded me of how great the United States is and how many freedoms Americans enjoy (as well as how many freedoms are being attacked by some of our politicians). It brought to mind something that I felt at the embassy-sponsored 4th of July celebration here in Cairo, so I have to tell you about the celebration.

It was held on the campus of the British International School here in Maadi, out near the commissary. It was open, free of charge, to all American and Canadian passport holders, as well as to their guests who had registered ahead of time. There was a band, there was free food (hamburgers and hotdogs, I think prepared by the Marriott), there were door prizes and games, there was a full-service bar (not free of charge) operated by the Marines . . . a good time was had by all.

Some of the door prizes were really spectacular -- free round-trip tickets for one anywhere in the world, for two anywhere in the States (a particularly good prize for many expat Americans who can afford to go home only once every two, three, or more years). Others were more in line with what you'd expect: free bowling, gift certificates to local restaurants, free temporary gym memberships.

When we first arrived at the celebration, we had to park a good little distance away and walk back to the entrance, just because there were so many people there. We passed many police officers who obviously were there for our security. You can imagine how tempting it would be for certain groups to interfere with such a large gathering of Americans in a relatively unsecured location. The Egyptian police were there to make sure nothing happened to us, which I appreciate. But it reminded me that I see these police officers a lot around here, and they aren't the same as American police officers. Egyptian officers, at least the ones who are not traffic cops, look much more like military personnel to me, and they remind me that Egypt is not a free country. Apparently some of the restrictions are being loosened--newspapers now criticize the government routinely--but there are definite limits that would be unheard-of in the States. For example, there is no discussion of President Mubarak's health in public forums (at least from what I've been told, not being able to understand the Arabic newspapers myself). As expats here, especially as expats affiliated with the embassy, we tend to live in a bubble. We see the police officers, but we know that they're there primarily to protect us; we don't experience any real limitation on our freedoms. It's very easy to forget that Egypt is a police state.

While we were at the celebration, I noticed throughout the evening that, despite the security we had passed on the way in, there were areas where Egyptian citizens were congregating to see into the field where we were. The school borders a sporting club, so people in the stands there were congregating at the edge where they could see in. There also was a building, maybe an apartment building?, where people were congregating in the open stairwell and at the windows overlooking the field. I noticed this but didn't really think too much about it until the end of the evening.

The celebration closed with a rendition of "God Bless the USA." I'm sure most of you know the words, but just in case there's a reader or two who isn't from the U.S. or who doesn't know the words, the chorus goes like this:

I'm proud to be an American
Where at least I know I'm free
And I won't forget the men who died
To give that right to me.
And I'll gladly stand up
Next to you
And defend her still today,
'Cause there ain't no doubt
I love this land--
God bless the U. S. A.

As we sang that song, I looked around at the people in the stairwell. It hit me that they couldn't say "at least I know I'm free." In the United States, we know that no matter what else happens, at least we are free. We are free to worship as we see fit (and to share our faith freely, and even to change our faith if we want). We are free to keep and bear arms. We are free to criticize and protest the government to an almost unlimited degree, even to the point of removing leaders from power--think gubernatorial recalls, impeachment efforts, even simple elections where the incumbent is voted out. Egyptians don't have the same freedoms that we so often take for granted.

I've been told that as the U. S. presidential race heats up moving toward November, I should expect Egyptians to display an incredible amount of interest in this particular race and in our political system in general. They have no experience with elections that aren't rubber stamps. It's beyond conceivable that two candidates are engaged in a struggle for the office of President and that the people will choose the winner. Can you imagine that concept being anything other than normal for you? I can't.

So as Jeff and I prepare to request our absentee ballots, I'm reminded to think about what those ballots actually mean, what they represent. I'm thankful that I was born a citizen of a free country. I thank God for my freedoms, and I thank the men and women of the U. S. Armed Forces who preserve those freedoms.

And These Little Kitties Came Home

Introducing the two newest members of our family: Isis and Cleo (short for Cleopatra)! Cleo is the one who's all gray; Isis has the white paws and belly.



They're named after two figures in ancient Egyptian history: Isis the the mother of all pharoahs, and Cleopatra the last pharoah. The best estimate we have for Cleo's and Isis's age is around 6 weeks. They're littermates, two little sisters.

Isis and Cleo were adopted from the shelter run by S.P.A.R.E. (the Society of Protecting Animal Rights in Egypt). They, along with their sister, brother, and mother, were dropped off at the shelter by a man who paid for one night's boarding, left a false name, address, and phone number, and disappeared. This is a common way in which pets are abandoned at the shelter when their owners no longer want them. They were fortunate to have been taken to a shelter; there are countless feral cats all over Cairo, and many more cats are simply put on the street than are taken to shelters. The cats at the shelter are fed, sterilized, vaccinated, and adopted out whenever possible, often to families in the United States or Europe. They have much longer and healthier lives than do the feral cats.

Cleo and Isis did not have a good day yesterday. We picked them up from the shelter with their brand new carrying case, complete with two toys and a travel water bowl. We put a little water in the bowl, enough that they could drink it but not enough that it would slosh out, even on Cairo's bumpy streets. But although the water would have survived the bumps just fine, it did not survive getting in the cab.

The driver "helped" Jeff put the carrier in the backseat a little too exuberantly. The travel bowl of water landed on Isis's head. Isis was a wet and miserable kitty for the 20-minute ride back to Maadi. She mewled pitifully, sticking her paws and nose out of the carrier, begging to be let out and dried off.

I thought Cleo was handling the ride better. She was sitting calmly in the carrier, braced against the swerves, jostles, and bumps. She looked a little tense, scared even, but that was to be expected, so she was doing well enough, I thought. Then I realized why she was sitting so quietly -- she was motion sick. The new little mouse toy ended up in the trash when we got home, along with the soft bathmat we had put in the bottom of the carrier.

Things improved once we got them home. We put them in the storage room off the hall; we had prepared it for them beforehand with a litter box, food and water bowls, a scratching post, a few toys, and a cardboard box with a door cut into it. The kittens came out of the carrier quickly at first, then went back inside just as quickly, even though it was wet in there. This strange new place was not their cage back at the shelter, and they weren't certain that they liked it.

Eventually they both came back out. They found the cardboard box and decided it was a good place for a nap; at least Cleo did. While Cleo slept, Isis sat there awake and staring.

After naptime, they showed their personalities quickly. Cleo is adventurous; she started exploring and playing with the toys quickly. Isis was much more timid. She eventually explored and played some, but even today, she prefers playing with Cleo over playing with the toys. But for a while, they were both actively exploring and playing.

They were doing so well that we let them out of the storage room for a while. Cleo was great with this; she wanted to explore the whole apartment. Isis saw her reflection in the entryway mirror, then hid under the chest in the entry. We eventually pulled her out and put both of them back in the storage room. Even though Cleo is ready to come out, Isis isn't, and Isis also isn't ready to be in the storage room alone unless she's asleep, so Cleo will have to wait.

A little neighbor girl has been excited about the kittens, so she came over to see them last night. She was fine; she was soft-spoken and gentle, understanding that the kittens were scared. Unfortunately, the friend who came with her was not quite so fine. Think squeals and attempts to pet a cat who's frantically clawing her way up my shoulder to get away. Our neighbors reined her in before she went too far, but the kittens definitely were afraid of her. Luckily, Isis missed most of this. She had disappeared sleepily into the box just before the girls got here, so I opened the top of the box to let them see her but didn't take her out. Cleo got to go explore the living room a little bit, with the girls in tow. It was during this time that Cleo started to decide that Jeff and I aren't so bad, and we're pretty good places to go for protection.

After the girls and their chaperons left, Cleo joined Isis in sleep. They slept until around 3:30 this morning, when Jeff and I awoke to mewling. I told him to go back to sleep since he had to go to work today, and I went in there with them. At first, they just wanted me in there periodically. I'd go in, say hi, then go out to the couch and lie down. They'd let me sleep for 15 or 20 minutes while they played before mewling again, when I'd go back.

Then Isis got sleepy again. Apparently Isis has decided that I'm okay; in fact, I'm her substitute mommy (which is what we had hoped for). Apparently Isis also is a lap kitty. This means that when she gets sleepy, she wants to be in my lap. (Cleo also will get on my lap, but only if she's trying to use me as a ladder to get over the table we turned sideways to block the door.) I want to encourage her in this, but I don't want to sit on the floor in the storage room holding her all day while she sleeps. So I tried to bring her with me back out to the couch. Nope. As soon as I got one step from the storage room door, she was mewling loudly, claws out and gripping my arm through my sleeve, straining back toward her "safe room." So I took her back into the storage room and held her for a while. Eventually I couldn't take it anymore; I laid down on the floor and used their blanket as a pillow. At that point, Isis couldn't sit in my lap, and beside me wasn't working for her, so she went back into the box to sleep. So I went back to the couch.

Then Cleo decided that it was time for my training to begin. She'd mewl; I'd come back; she'd stop mewling and look at me until I told her that it was okay, I was here. She didn't want to be held, petted, or touched; her food and water were fine, and her litter box was clean. She proceeded to ignore me. I'd go away. Five to 10 minutes later, the process would repeat. Eventually Cleo went to sleep too, so I was able to check email and get a shower. Then they woke up, and the whole process, including my training, repeated again for a couple of hours. Now they're asleep again.

So I'd say the kittens are adjusting. We're establishing the rules. They call me; I come running. They pounce on my toes; they get sprayed with the water bottle. I think these are rules we can live with.