Emileigh's Beauty Salon

First published January 29, 2009

A few months back when we began to prepare for our departure to Africa, I was reminded by my hair stylist that I would need to get a plan about follicle maintenance. I gasped. She's right. I am of the age when my hair no longer retains its original hue ("gray" is such an ugly word.)

So over the next few visits we began discussing possibilities.

"Are there salons where you are going?" she would ask.

"I don't know," I replied.

"Can you get hair dye there?"

"I don't know that either."

"What do you know?"

"Not much."

At my last visit before departure, she gave my two teenage girls a quick tutorial for applying dye to my hair. Then she gave me 2 months worth of chemicals with instructions. I gave her a hug (big hug) and thanked her for all her years of miracle-working.

Fast forward 6 weeks and we now find ourselves in Cairo with unsightly roots--a reproach in any culture. So I declared, "Tonight, is Beauty Salon Night!"

Emileigh said, "Is it for real? You've said that for the last four nights." "I mean it this time. My parfait hair cannot abide another day."

I went and got the bag o' chemicals and mixed like a mad scientist. I handed the bowl and brush to Emileigh. I donned the lovely albeit unconventional cape and waited for her to work her magic.

She methodically began painting my head like a decoupage project. About 20 minutes in I reminded her that the dye begins to do its work the second it's on my head so step it up. She waved her brush and me and told me that she was working as fast as she could.

She finished up and Aria snapped pictures knowing that this would be great blackmail material in years to come.

I waited around 30 minutes for all of the "cherry cola paste" to do its stuff. I rinsed and dried my hair.

"Woo hoo! My hair looks normal. Emileigh, you did it! You did it!" She smiled at my announcement and quickly updated her FB status with the results.

I exhaled and was truly grateful. Grateful for the little scientist who sat in a lab and created just the right color. Grateful to have friends that care about little things that feel big. Grateful for daughters who understand what sharing life means. Just grateful.

Bleckkkkkkkkkkkkkkh!

First published January 28, 2009

I guess I knew it was coming. Everyone warned me about it. I even have books that will help me navigate these new waters of emotions. Fancy books that have titles, sub-titles and italicized words that help define the feelings of the newly transplanted person. 

I've been keeping a mental checklist wondering, "Does this feel normal?" "Is this right?" "Am I plain nuts?" And so it goes. My friends have been checking in with me making sure that I'm transitioning okay. Truthfully, I am. I mean so far. It's only been 3 weeks, so I don't think that "I must be on vacation" feeling has left yet. 

I could tell a shift was coming when I needed to go to the store and pick up some bottles of water. I thought to myself, "Bleckkkkkkh! I don't want to have to go and get stupid water. I want the water in the faucet to be drinkable. I want the stupid faucet on the stupid sink not to leak. I want the stupid sink not to be in such a tiny, stupid kitchen." 

Whoooooaaaaa! Where did that come from? I paused and pondered. I think this is culture shock. Well, actually the part of culture shock that comes after the "shock" wears off. (Severe statements and unreasonable anger were under the "normal" category in one of those very fancy books.)

Okay. Now we're getting somewhere. I said a prayer and adjusted my very poor attitude. Yes, I still need to get water, but Egyptians here need water every day, too. They look to replenish their thirst and only come home with more bottles of clear liquid. We are here to give them what they need. So that means I need to get outside the apartment, learn the language, buy some water and build relationships. Maybe as we share bottles of water, very soon we will exchange truth about Living Water. Lord, let it be so.

Stationary Stationery

First published January 27, 2009

Today I thought, "This is it. This is where the interesting pieces of information end. We've settled into a routine and it's all pretty much predictable now. Wrong. John had mentioned that he had noticed on the map that there was a section of town that specialized in stationery. (For more information on that whole topic, read 'Gonna Rock Down to Electric Avenue.') I told him that I would like to buy some notecards that had Egyptian art on them. He perused the map some more and declared that he had a route planned out and we should make our way to Stationery Street.

Aria is always ready to go somewhere, anywhere for any reason. Emileigh is too if given enough preparation time. I just sighed to myself and thought, "Oh, boy. Another grand opportunity to get lost, mumble my two Arabic words and spend way more money than any other person should in Cairo." However, the girls' enthusiasm was contagious so I decided to put on my pantalones feliz (translated "happy pants") and go along.

We walked out of our flat to the corner and hailed a taxi. You never know whether you'll get the deluxe (less than 15 dents) sedan or the demolition-derby-why-hasn't-this-car-been-put-in-a-salvage-yard edition. This time we got the latter. We hopped in and John began telling the driver that we needed to go to the Metro. The Metro is the subway system in Cairo. Our flat is not near a station so we had to get a ride there. The problem is differentiating between Metro the Subway and Metro Mart, my grocery store. John had the streets we needed memorized so the confusion was quickly cleared up. I am SO happy to have married a guy who is detailed oriented--VERY handy at times like these.

The taxi guy drove to the station and deposited us at a collection of stairs that led below the street. We followed the masses below and looked for the ticket booth. It was in English and Arabic so that part was easy. John paid 1 EGP for each ticket. Total cost for 4 riders: 73 cents. No wonder so many people ride. John dispensed the tickets to each of us and we began looking for the right platform. Of course, the Human GPS walked straight to it. We caused a stir among the regulars--their staring very obvious. We are getting used to the looks and try to get over the awkwardness of the moment by telling each other funny stories.

The train arrived and we hopped on. This was the girls' first subway ride ever and our second. We grabbed an arm loop above our heads and zipped down the dark tunnel. Each stop would gather more riders and spurt out one or two simultaneously. My biggest fear was getting separated from the family. What if only 3 of us made it off? What if I were left behind? (A new book series would surely ensue...) I kept my eye on John while trying to ignore all the other passengers who were turned toward us staring. Some were a bit more subtle while others--not so much.

After 6 stops, John made his move and the 3 other Westerners bolted off at the same time. We found the steps up to the street and landed in a completely new area of Cairo in less than 10 minutes. John pulled out his "All About Cairo" map book and began orienting himself. The girls looked at each other and struck a pose that said, "We're not lost. We're not tourists. We're local. We know what we're doing." Too bad the parents blew it by pointing, looking around, referring back to the map and asking for help.

A nice lady pointed us in the right direction and we began walking. We made our way down a couple blocks and noticed that we were not seeing any stationery stores. We walked a little further and paused. John pulled out the map again and checked his directions. We were on the right track, but just hadn't walked far enough.


John noticed a store that sold leather goods and decided to stop. He needed a new belt and thought he should check it out. The girls and I found a stationery store next door and decided to go in there while he looked around. I found a very nice man who spoke some English. He began showing me some notecards that were made out of papyrus (a specialty paper in this area of the world). They had a very Egyptian looking design. I know it screamed, "Cheesy Tourist Item," but they were exactly what I was looking for. Now the hard part...bartering. I can't tell you how much I hate the whole process, but I knew it was necessary. I haggled a tiny bit and called it good. (When my Arabic's better, my bartering will improve--I hope.)

John came around the corner with a new leather belt and a sheepskin wallet. His total purchase was $9. Mine was not.

We continued down the street when a young man approached John and struck up a conversation. He and John chatted for a while and before we knew it, we were bobbing and weaving through traffic heading down a completely new street. I asked John where we were going. John told me that his new friend knew of a cafe nearby. I kept thinking, "Where is my husband? Who is this guy? He's like Anthony Bourdain or Andrew Zimmern with all his new adventurous endeavors."

The entry to the cafe

The girls and I shrugged and kept pace. We turned down a narrow street and were directed to turn left. Down an even more narrow street were plastic tables filled with men and women sipping tea and puffing on hookahs.

Hookah

I raised my eyebrow and was getting ready to call it quits, but found myself alone. The rest of the family had already begun the walk through the maze of people until we were deposited into the middle of the crowd and given 3 plastic chairs to sit in.

John told us to sit and he would go search out food. Our new friend led John to a vendor who prepared an entire meal for us. Within 5 minutes John reappeared with a tray of delicious smelling foods and a 4th chair. We ordered something to drink and ate while soaking in the local flavor. We finished our meal and paid the $3 bill.

Our helpful friend (whose name we found out is Ibrahim) had waited patiently for us to finish. He led us to his place of employment which just happened to be a company that sold tour packages to tourists to the various historical sites in Egypt. How in the world did we get caught in a timeshare trap here? We met the owner while he flipped brochures showing us amazing cruises to Luxor. John accepted his business card and thanked him for his help. 

We parted ways with Ibrahim, walked a bit more, visited a local bakery and made our way back to the Metro. This time we made our way through like pros. We zoomed to the other side of town and caught a taxi back to our flat.

I had used up all my excitement cells for the day. I needed to go back to our little home and lie down. After a nap, I would start writing letters in my new notecards. That's when Aria reminded me, "Why didn't we get stamps when we were near the post office?" Ug. Looks like normal's a ways away.

Our lunch: fuhl, falafel, pita bread, lemons, tomato/onion salad

We're Gonna Rock Down to Electric Avenue...

First published January 25, 2009

Our darling little kitchen in our flat is equipped with an efficient amount of items to make a few meals. Floral and plaid dishes are arranged in a glass cabinet. Bent, mismatched silverware is in the drawer. A stove and refrigerator round out the inventory. When we first looked at the place, I was pleasantly surprised by the thought put into each item in this furnished option.

As I've been making feeble attempts to create dinners here, I have gone about my tasks in routine fashion until I turn and realize...I have no microwave. I have no toaster. I have no griddle. All those handy-dandy little gadgets that grace the counter of most American homes were conspicuously missing. So I have been frying frozen waffles and flipping leftovers in a skillet over the stove. I know. I know. Poor me. It's not necessarily a complaint, but rather another adjustment to my every day living experience.

We could buy a microwave, but Cairo is our temporary home and we don't want to have to ship the puppy in a few months. I could, however, manage to ship a griddle and a toaster. Our first perusings for a toaster oven came at Platinum Mall. This is a collection of stores that has a variety of items ranging from men's clothes to baby seats to small appliances. Lest you think this is a Wal-Mart, this mall is vertical. We walked in (not inconspicuously) to a variety of men all shopping for shirts and pants and all things manly. Some paused and looked at us to see why we were there. I was wondering the same thing myself.

I immediately saw stairs, a sign with Arabic writing and an arrow. I gave the girls and John the nod and we were up to the second floor. This floor had baby items located on it. We gave a brief viewing and continued up the next set of stairs. The third level sold women's hijabs (headscarves) and flowing gowns. I lingered just a moment, but decided that this was a store for stick women and boycotted the whole floor. Out of breath, we crested the fourth floor and found what we were looking for...appliances--small ones, but at least we had reached the electronic section.

We looked through the collection of toaster ovens. John (as usual) began giving me the calculations for each one. A hundred bucks? For a toaster? No way. I looked around a bit more so as to give the impression that I was still in the valley of indecision and slowly began receding down the stairs. Rats. No toaster today.

The next day, John began looking through some Cairo information. He found that different sections of the city specialize in different items to purchase. For instance, on Shehab St. (our street) is our good fortune and to John's chagrine--Fashion Lane. There are shoe stores, clothing stores and accessories on both sides. He found the street that was known for selling appliances to which I quickly dubbed, "Electric Avenue" and began singing the song every time we discussed going.

We told our taxi driver which street to drive toward and he rolled his eyes. Apparently, this was quite a distance and it was in the afternoon meaning lots of traffic. Of course, we didn't know that then. We hung on as he accelerated and slammed on his brakes making us bow like a Chinese dignitary for the next 35 minutes. Before we arrived at our destination, we drove through Auto Parts Avenue, Domestications Drive and Trinkets Trail. The driver dropped us off in the middle of Electric Avenue which happened to be loaded with many men with that same gleam in their eyes that their American counterparts get when entering Best Buy.

In the windows were flat screen TVs, washers, radios, and toaster ovens. Woo hoo! Our first store had exactly one model to choose from. John asked about it. We decided it was too large, said "shukran" (thank you) and moved on. We moved through the crowd of men to the next store which offered 2 choices. Again, both too big.

I was ready to call it a day, but the girls were having fun and encouraged me to keep looking. We rounded the corner and walked into a little store that had an older man and one young teenage boy in it. He didn't look like the other Egyptians so he had our curiosity piqued. John greeted him and slowly told him what we were looking for. He responded in extremely good English. John sped his communication delivery and told him we needed a small toaster oven. He immediately pulled out a variety for us to look at. He was especially happy with one and said, "This is a good one. This one comes from China." I thought that was pretty funny because I'm pretty sure that line would never be used as a marketing ploy in the U.S.

He was right because it was exactly what we were looking for. John asked him the price and to my happiness, the prices were fixed. Ahhhhhh, no bartering. The bonus was that the price was good. He smiled and said that he keeps this shop as a hobby. He normally travels around the world selling stamps. For some reason, I believed him. He looked at the girls and asked them if they had hobbies. They nodded. He said, "I think I have around 20 hobbies. I am from Syria, but I come to Egypt because I do good here. This store? Eh! You never know who comes in, but my other hobbies...they are good."

I wanted to know what the other 18 hobbies were, but I was a little reticent to ask. What if I found out something I didn't want to know or shouldn't know? I didn't want to become an episode of "24." As we began to leave, he pulled out an electric griddle. Before we knew it, we became the proud owners of one of those, too. He even threw in a set of salad tongs--free!

Owf (pronounced "Oaf") the shopkeeper wrote down his name and address and told us to come back again. I'm sure we will. Each person we meet is a new point of connection, a new life intersected, a new opportunity to live Jesus in front of them.

We carried our purchases down the street to catch a taxi, but still the giant flat screen TVs were calling my name. I wonder if one could be written off as a "language study tool"? Nice try, Pam. Nice try.

Revolution

First published February 2, 2011

Living in the prairie grass, metaphorically speaking...

"Prairie Fire" is the term I've been hearing on different news networks to describe the unrest throughout the Middle East and North Africa.  The "spark" of Tunisia's uprising has now spread throughout Algeria, Egypt, Libya, Jordan, Yemen and yes...our own S*dan (though currently quite small comparably).

To my amazement I discovered that Google and Twitter actually created a new form of communication (sophisticated voicemail system) so that those demonstrating in Egypt and beyond can continue to get news out without the help of the internet. 

What was the trigger in Tunisia that set these events in motion?  What was the "tipping point" for all of this to align?  Frankly, I don't know. I can't answer, but still it makes me wonder.

Any time I look at a task, job, event or culture and think to myself, "Wow.  That is insurmountable.  There is no way.  One person can't..."  I will remember this time when governments looked impenetrable and cultures immovable.  One spark can clear acres, even miles of prairie grass. 

True, I am only one person in a country where I am clearly the minority everything.  What possible difference could I make?  I could live here all my remaining days and not visibly see the "fruit of my labor."  But still I continue in hope.  Hope that my feeble attempts, social missteps, sincere love and most importantly the proclamation of Jesus might some day become the burning ember that ignites a revolution in people's hearts.

Delightful Domestications

First published January 24, 2009

Housework will never be one of my first loves. There may be a few of you gifted individuals out there that find great satisfaction in glistening white tube socks, but alas I have yet to find such joy.

Coming to Cairo, however, I did find myself longing to do some of the normal things that I’ve always “had” to do. I wanted to wash clothes, cook meals and miracle of all miracles--dust. I think I must have contracted a rare virus to cause such symptoms.

I was knee-deep in laundry when we received a knock at the door. A young man smiled broadly and handed John a flyer telling all about laundry services. “Whoopee!” I yelled, “I am likin’ this city.” John closed the door and handed me the flyer with a smirk on his face. I began perusing the flyer flipping it over and groaning. It was all in Arabic. The only thing I can read for sure are numbers. Slumping on the couch I realized that I would have to figure out this laundry thing by myself.

I went into our bathroom and began to look at the mini-washer that our flat came equipped with. It had a pictoral guide, but it made no sense to me. I did thankfully notice that the drain hose needs to be in the bathtub prior to use. (Chalk one up for keen awareness.)

The built-in "flip guide" on the washer.

The little guide said that the letter “A” would 40/90/flower/rain/swirl/drain--in that order. Letter “D” would 40/flower/swirl/drain. I chose letter “D.” You had to push in the knob to get to the letter of choice. Then I waited. Nothing happened. I tried to push the 3 other light up buttons on the contraption, but nothing worked. I turned the dial a little bit and then a lot just in case it was temperamental. Still nothing. Checking to see if the mini-washer would fit through the mini-window, I called John as a last resort. 

He walked over to the washer and rather than push the knob in, he pulled it. Immediately the water began to fill the tub. He began whistling and walked back into the living room. I pushed the button back in because I hadn’t put any clothes into this front loading washer and I had to see if it really was that simple. It was.

I chose some items and began putting them in. Around 4 shirts and the machine was full. I looked at the pile of laundry to be washed and then looked at the pitiful amount in the washer. By John's calculations I should be done in July.

I started the load, gave myself a mental pat on the back and began humming. Humming?! I think the virus is worsening. I was...enjoying my laundry moment. Quick! Someone call a doctor. Thinking the symptoms would subside I began sorting things in the house and dare I say it? Dusting! I should be in quarantine.

Checking on the washer every so often, I realized that those 4 shirts were getting the cleaning of their lives. The short cycle is by my calculations 1 hour and 30 minutes. Once they were finished I needed to hang them up. I put them on hangers and hung them on the shower rod. (Dryers are not used in this climate.)

Dryer #1

Needing to feel a bit more productive with the laundry, I did a load of whites. This allowed me to place at least 20...uh...items in the washer. Woo hoo! An hour and a half later, wah-lah! clean whites. Now I had to figure out where to hang them.

Our flat has a 1 foot wide balcony with a clothesline attached to the left side of it. It is approximately 5 feet long and has 5 strands of line for hanging. My problem is vertigo. Every time I even think about hanging something out there my stomach drops. Plus I’m wondering how strong the clothespins have to be to survive a gale force wind 12 stories up. Plus I’m mortified to think of the flying unders sailing through the city should these little mechanisms fail. I vote “no” on the clothesline and begin stringing delicates through the house like garland at Christmas.

John will definitely have to adjust since he’s the only male in this household. He should be prepared for shocking welcomes in every room he visits. Once I found a place for all of those I did one more load. Not because I was out of time, but because I was out of places to hang our items.

I called the girls together and said that if they had something in particular they needed to wear they would need a 2 day start on the process. During these winter months in Egypt, it takes 36-48 hours for the heavier items to dry.

Dryer #2

So this morning I went to check on all the clothes strung all over the house. Most were dry and so stiff they could be leaned up against the wall without help. The jeans will need a few more hours to dry and probably rewashed. It seems we wanted to be prepared wherever we went during the “Intestinal Issues Episode” and left emergency toiletpaper folded in each pocket of our pants. (Rewashing is a SMALL price to pay. Trust me.)

The weird thing is, I don’t mind. Any piece of normal is welcome to me right now. I feel accomplished and competent. Oh, well. I’m sure this virus is short-lived and I’ll be burning the midnight oil trying to translate the laundry flyer laying on my dining room table very soon.

Our First Egyptian Concert

First published January 23, 2009

Our friend, Hisham (I think that this is the actual spelling), was transacting some last-minute business regarding our flat when he asked if we would be interested in attending a concert that evening. John told him we would welcome such an opportunity. Hisham said that he would call later in the day and let us know when the exact start time was and give us directions.

At first I kind of groaned to myself because it requires so much fortitude just to get across town. This involved getting across town, finding a new building, sitting through a new social setting and worst of all...John did NOT ask what the dress code was...a woman's worst nightmare. I pouted for exactly 37 seconds when I shook myself and said, "Hey, this is what we're here for. We've been in town exactly a week and this guy is inviting us into his world. We shouldn't and can't pass up this opportunity." Smiling, I knew that somehow I had just made our mentors very happy.

True to his word, Hisham called and gave us the time and location for the Saiwy (Sow-ee) Center. John had him repeat several times the street names so that we could relay them to the taxi driver. They do not have short street names here. Apparently if you are going to honor someone with a street name you have to include their first, middle and last names and throw in a couple nicknames to boot. He was wrapping up the call as I was yelling in the background, "Ask him what to wear!" John put his finger in his ear so he could hear Hisham better and drown out the "noise" in the background. He hung up and began giving me details.

"Uh! Didn't you hear me?" I asked.

"No. What did you want?" he replied innocently.

"Grrrrrrr," I muttered and walked to my closet.

"Whatever you have on will be fine," he said.

He had NO idea all the things a woman has to consider when planning an outfit for an event. Adding to this situation was the fact that I was IN A NEW COUNTRY MEETING NEW PEOPLE AND HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IS APPROPRIATE, but I'm sure what I have on will be fine.

We all dressed in quasi-casual clothes and jumped in a taxi leaving plenty of time for an extra stop. The concert was on the opposite side of town so we wanted to make maximum use of our cab fare and visit the bookstore at the American University at the same time.

John told our taxi driver where the bookstore was and as usual he nodded that he could get us there. (Note: They always say that they know how to get there--sometimes they actually do.) He took off in a great fervor and we were whizzing past stores, people, donkeys and cars with lightning speed. Once we reached the other side of town, he began craning his neck from side to side looking for street names. "Uh oh," I thought to myself, "here we go." Sure enough he asked a fellow taxi driver where the American University was. Several gestures were made and he went a few more blocks. He asked a man standing on the street and that got him a couple more blocks.

Finally, he stopped in front of a store and asked one more man. He waved his arms and talked for a good long while as our taxi driver nodded repeatedly. Another man joined the conversation and told our driver that there was a better way and began flailing his arms to prove his point. We watched as 3 more men came to see what all the hubbub was about and soon all 5 men were talking at once, pointing in opposite directions and thoroughly confusing the guy. He threw the car into reverse and drove down a new street when miracle of all miracles we arrived at the American University. He smiled broadly and waited for his payment. John paid him and we trotted up the steps to the American University Bookstore.

We were going to go to the door when the guard stopped us. "Store closed," he said.

"Closed?!" we all chanted in unison.

"Yes. Martin Luther King Day. Closed today. Open tomorrow. You come back," the guard told us. How ironic. Americans... at the American University... in Cairo... on Martin Luther King Day. Closed. Too funny.

We groaned and turned around hoping to catch our taxi driver. He was long gone. Now we had to find a new taxi and make it to the Saiwy Center on time. We found a driver and he (of course) told us he knew where the center was. This driver (we discovered) knew absolutely no English so I was flipping through my Arabic guide trying to have certain phrases ready on demand. It proved useless as he couldn't understand any of our pronunciations or arm-flapping. I was already coming up with a contingency plan in the back of my mind.

"There's a great Korean restaurant right around the corner. We could go there. Our trip won't be a total waste." However, John doesn't give up so easily.

He allowed the driver to wander aimlessly through the streets until we remembered that we had Hisham's cell number with us. John called Hisham and then handed the phone to our taxi driver. Hisham gave the driver directions and soon we were actually going places.

We arrived at the Saiwy Center with time to spare. Our directions said that it was located under a bridge. We should take our information more literally next time. It was actually under the bridge--attached to the bridge. We went to the window and purchased tickets to a concert featuring the music of "Basheer."

To say we stood out is the understatement of the century. Not only were we the only non-Arabs, but John and I were the only old people in sight. Emileigh and Aria were lamenting their lack of friends for this event. I was lamenting 20 too many years and my last-minute swap from jeans to dress pants. Pressing on we headed toward the door to a little, wrinkled ticket taker. He shooed us away and told us, "Sound check."

We stood near the entrance and looked around. More and more hip, young Egyptians began pouring into the wait area. Hisham told us he'd be late so we were really on our own.

Finally, the soundcheck was over and we were allowed into the concert area. The venue would probably seat 350 people. We were in Row E. People began filling in the seating. We were all alone in our row for a while until a young Egyptian man came and plopped himself right beside Emileigh. She turned her back to him and spent the remaining pre-concert time completely intrigued with every word her family had to say.

(Note: Emileigh was responding to our experience in the market. If she even made eye contact or said "hello" to any young Egyptian guy, marriage proposals and camel offers began flying so she was trying to avoid another incident.) The poor guy tried so hard to get Emileigh or Aria to look at him. Obviously, he had never run into two such determined young women. They thoroughly ignored him before, during and after the concert. Their father smiled in approval.

The concert itself was scheduled to start at 8 pm, but around 8:25 pm things began to roll. 10 musicians came on stage complete with smoke machine, laser lights and top-notch sound equipment. Basheer, the lead singer, sang his heart out (in Arabic, of course) with a background of violin, bass guitar, drums and saxophone. Also in the mix was a sitar (stubby little guitar), 3 kinds of bongos and a guitar that had 3 strings. We were tapping our feet and clapping our hands hoping and praying that no mosh pit would ensue or that I'd somehow be caught in a wave of body surfing. To our relief and I'm sure to the relief of the small-bicepted Egyptians nothing like that happened. Instead, the audience was subdued, entertained and having fun.

About halfway through, Hisham arrived and found us in the crowd. (I don't need to tell you how.) We listened and watched absorbing everything around us. A group of young men began to dance on the left side of the stage, but they weren't able to interest the rest of the crowd. We exhaled in relief and enjoyed the remainder of the concert. We thanked Hisham for the invitation and told him we'd see him later in the week.

We wrapped up the evening by eating at a nearby cafe before grabbing a taxi and making our way back. Around midnight we opened the door to our flat thoroughly exhausted and began to get ready for bed.

Each venture out requires a mental peptalk, a prayer and a new pair of "brave pants." The means of getting there drains the very life out of me. The event itself expends more energy and emotional capital than I ever dreamed. But at the end of each attempt, I'm glad we went. I'm glad we ventured out. I'm glad we made that relationship bridge just a bit stronger. And frankly, I consider it a small miracle every time we arrive anywhere from a taxi ride alive and well to continue serving--for that I am most grateful.

The Crack of Dawn

First published January 22, 2009

I’ve mentioned in earlier notes that one of the biggest adjustments that I’ve had to make is moving from a relatively quiet location to a bustling city street. Each night long after we’ve turned in, the cacophony of horns, whistles and calls begins. Usually around 2 am the city begins to settle down and gives those taxis a much-needed rest.

We ease into mornings with a heart-stopping jolt at 5 am. The call to prayer begins. Some mullahs are extremely punctual and begin right at 5. Others want to get a jumpstart and begin at 10 minutes til. Still others are slow risers (what I like to call the “snooze alarm”) and begin 15 minutes late. Whenever it starts, I am usually in quite a deep sleep and as much as I try to mentally prepare myself for it when I go to bed I am never quite ready.

Immediately my eyes pop open and my heart races as I look around the room trying to figure out why an ambulance is driving through our bedroom. Once I come to my senses I realize what’s going on and I grab my iPod, put in my earbuds and begin singing songs to Jesus.

If it’s not Friday, the call usually lasts no more than 20-30 minutes. Fridays tend to inspire the mullahs and they may read their entire sermon over the loud speaker for those who may think of sleeping in and not going to mosque.

I will doze off again since 5 am hasn’t ever been a start time for me and wait for the second “call.” One morning as I was lying in bed I heard a rooster crow. I paused and waited a moment. He crowed again. I woke John up and asked him if he heard it. He listened and said that if it is a rooster he’s about 3 hours late.

Somewhere in this metropolis of 20 million, a rooster crows. He’s out of place, out of sync--but he’s making his presence known. Now we listen for him each morning anticipating his call.

I guess our family is like that little rooster. We’re out of place, out of sync, but little by little we’re making His presence known. Maybe only a few hear it, but we pray that more and more will come to anticipate His call.

7 Days in Cairo

First published January 19, 2009

It’s been a full week now and I must confess it feels MUCH longer. Time seems to pass slowly right now. I’m assuming it’s because our “job” is to acquaint ourselves with the culture, people, neighborhood, toilets, etc. making this unstructured time schedule very different from our previous lives. However, language studies are coming so we're savoring these few quiet moments.

A quick review of our progress:

1. Moved into flat and set up housekeeping.
2. Discovered a reasonable amount to pay a taxi driver.
3. Moved stuff back into containers so the water-damaged floors could be repaired.
4. Visited the souk (open air market).
5. Signed rent contract.
6. Adjusted to being blasted out of bed during the “call to prayer” at 5 am every day.
7. Located a bank.
8. Paid an unreasonable amount to taxi drivers before learning #2.
9. Bought a cellphone.
10. Learned how to make local and long distance calls.
11. Found a grocery store. Bought a few somewhat recognizable groceries.
12. Figured out how to light our gas stove and keep my eyebrows.
13. Cooked our first at-home dinner: Hamburger Helper (packed in luggage) except with chicken.
14. Found an internet cafe. E-mailed friends and family--soothed homesickness.
15. Had dinner with new Egyptian friends.
16. Understood my need to learn the metric system and soon.
17. Located a post office.
18. Ordered internet for our flat.
19. Secured trash service.
20. Went to a mall to hang out while floors were being repaired.
21. Did 4 loads of laundry in a mini-washer.
22. Hung in the balance by hanging wet towels on a clothesline 12 stories up. The rest of the laundry is strung all over the house. Waited 2 days for them to dry.
23. Unpacked household items after floors were completed.
24. Locked ourselves out of our apartment.
25. Located locksmith and received help.
26. Learned how to get cash in larger sums to pay rent.
27. Navigated the neighborhood by walking blocks and blocks every day.
28. Added Sahme, Mahmud, Amanda, Ali, Aylia, Dina and Hisham to our list of names called before Jesus.
29. Kept our sense of humor.
30. Realized Jesus is with us wherever we go.

Cry My Hand Full

First published February 24, 2009

I couldn't put it off any longer. I was beginning to look like a sheepdog. I needed a haircut. Last month, our family met a friend at the Nile Hilton. While we were there, I noticed that they had a salon. I inquired as to their services and their rates and decided that this would be a good spot to start a new haircare regimen.

Thursday, I called and made an appointment for Aria and me. I began to get a bit excited because this was so normal. A haircut...how gloriously boring. After 6 weeks of nothing routine, this was highly anticipated.

I woke up Saturday thinking we could make a day of it. We'll go a little early, get some lunch, get a haircut and look around the shops. Yes, a happy day.


John walked over to me and said, "If you don't mind, I'm going to beg off today. I'd like to brush up on my Arabic. I'd just be sitting in the lobby waiting for you anyway.

Under different circumstances, this would have been perfectly fine. Afterall, I had never in 21 years of marriage asked him to accompany me to a haircut before. But this was different. I told him that would be fine and unbelievably he believed it and walked back to his desk.

Beautiful Girl

I closed the door to our bedroom and stood there. Soon tears were welling up in my eyes as I wondered what in the world was wrong with me. I sat on the bed and cried some more. My grandma used to look at me when I was crying, hold out her hand and say, "Cry my hand full." I would lay my cheek against her hand and have a good cry. I needed someone to say that to me now. What was my problem? I began to create a list:

1. I do not know where the Nile Hilton is.
2. I can't tell my taxi driver how to get there.
3. What if my taxi driver gets lost?
4. What if he's a cranky taxi driver who just stares darts at you in the rearview mirror the whole way?
5. What if I get a bad haircut?
6. What if I can't find my way back from the Hilton?
7. What if I get into an argument with the taxi driver about the amount to be paid?
8. Why would my husband choose Arabic over the mental well-being of his wife?
9. Why is he letting me bawl my eyes out and not coming in to check on me?
10. Why did God think that I could even do this?

With each thought and question, I cried some more. Finally I got a hold of myself and asked John to talk with me. I used to wait until he "felt" or "sensed" that something was actually wrong, but I didn't have hours (or days) to wait or the energy to give obvious, but secret signals.

I explained to him all the varied emotions I was having. (The pieces of shredded Kleenex on my face were a MAJOR clue...) Immediately, he wrapped his arms around me and assured me that he would be more than happy to go with me. Then I felt ashamed at being so weak. He smiled and told me that it wasn't weakness to feel this way and that if I were a bit fragile then he'd do whatever was necessary to help me.

The Shampoo

Yes, he's an amazing man. He promptly went downstairs and got small bills for the taxi ride. He packed his laptop and his earbuds so he could study while he waited for us. He hailed a taxi and we arrived at the front door of the Nile Hilton just as planned.

We ate lunch together and then he went on to the lobby while the girls and I headed to the salon.

A woman greeted us and gestured for us to go upstairs. A man in his fifties was waiting for us. (This is a major bummer since I was hoping for a woman.) He washed, cut and styled Aria's hair first. She just got a trim so she had minimal potential for disaster. He meticulously blowdryed her hair into bouncy fullness.

I came next since Emileigh decided that she didn't want a cut. He gave me the same shampoo treatment and then proceeded to work on the cut. He pulled up fairly large amount of hair and lopped it off with something slightly smaller than hedge trimmers. I thought, "Well, this is just the first trim. He'll come back with a smaller more precise pair of scissors for texturing and such."

The Cut

Lop. Lop. Lop. Hair was flying and he kept looking at me for reassurance. What could I say? "I love the way you're cutting large amounts of my hair in no particular pattern." I smiled and waited.

The large scissors were put away and he reached for the blowdryer. Blowdryer? We're done? No little snips here and there?

He did a quick all over dry and then pulled out some little hair clips. He deftly clipped sections of my hair up on my head so he could easily access the lower layers of my new cut. He dried and dried and dried. He'd remove a clip and dry some more.

Finally he had everything just the way he wanted it. He pulled the blowdryer out one more time and did an all over shot and made my hair look like it went through a wind tunnel.

He pushed and pulled and flicked my hair until it was just as he wanted it. He sprayed it with hairspray and asked me how I liked it.

I looked in the mirror and smiled. "Kwy-ees," I said meekly. It was "good." Good in the fact that I wasn't bald and good in the fact that I still had bangs.

I thanked him and made my way downstairs to pay. I shot the girls a look and they were doing everything they could to keep from laughing.

I paid the lady and promptly asked the girls to lead me to the nearest restroom. We went inside and I asked them what they thought. Emileigh answered, "You remember Julie Andrews when she was in 'The Sound of Music'?" 

Aria said, "It's like a pixie cut."

Just when I thought I would burst into tears, they both piped up..."It makes you look younger. I don't know why, but it does."

Call me "shallow," but it worked. I looked at my reflection and decided I could work with what was left of my hair.

We met John out in the lobby. He was still working on his Arabic so we left him to seek out a consolation pastry. We shared a dessert and decided it was time to go home.

We piled into the taxi and made our way home uneventfully. Something so easy became something so large and unmanageable to me. It shook me up. But as I sit and type this at the end of the day I realize that I shouldn't seek "normal" or "easy." When something is "normal" and "easy" I immediately default to self-reliance and self-sufficiency. Only when something is obviously beyond my ability, control or foresight do I genuinely depend on the Lord. 

So for now...I'm good again. My hair is cut. My husband is awesome and Jesus offers His hand to me and allows me to rest my face in His palm and cry. 

Do I look like Julie Andrews?

A Day Is as a Thousand Years

First published January 17, 2009

We spent our second Friday in Cairo waiting on the workmen who were going to come and continue working on our living room floor. We all got ourselves ready so that when they arrived we would be able to scoot out the door right away. Around 10 am we were getting a bit hungry so we thought we would eat half a peanut butter sandwich to tide us over until we could go to our regular haunt of McDonald's while we checked our email. At 11 we began pacing the room and trying to think of things to do. At noon, we began to practice our Arabic numbers and look out the window. By 12:30 pm we started watching, "Prince Caspian" in hopes that it would make the time pass quicker. We could hear parts of it, but the local mullah (M*slim pastor) was reading his sermon over the loudspeaker and the competition was fierce. 

2:30 the phone rang and our landlady, Amanda (pronounced Amahn-duh), called and said that she would pick us up at 3 for lunch. Lunch? We haven't even eaten breakfast yet and still no workmen. Amanda came right on time and we met her outside since parking is absolutely impossible anywhere in Cairo. We hopped in her car and were taken to a stylish restaurant in an area close to our flat. It was called, "Spectra." Inside it looked just like a Ruby Tuesday. Her husband, Ali, had a table ready for us and we were all seated as all the locals stared at us to determine if we were anyone they had read about in the tabloids.

Ali and Amanda's daughter, Aylia, arrived and we began to look through the menu. Each selection looked delicious so we asked for a recommendation. Amanda ordered for us and insisted that we eat our own dinner and not share. (We had read earlier in our "Home Remedy" book things to do when one has...well...intestinal issues. It said to eat lightly and let your internal organs rest.) That was the plan but it was not to be. Amanda felt so badly that our flat wasn't ready that she was going to nourish our damaged psyches with food and lots of it.

Our plates were brimming with veal, pasta and fresh veggies. My Diet Pepsi had ice (hurray!) and John tried a mint lemonade at their prodding. We ate and visited and ate and visited. The whole time I'm thinking, "Don't say anything stupid." "Be gracious." "Say thank you." "Ask questions, but not too invasive." I think we navigated through the international waters safely. John didn't give me any, "Luuuuuuuuccccyyyyy!" looks so that's good.

It has been around an hour and a half since the meal began and my current medical condition began to signal that perhaps it was time to slow down and give my organs the rest that they so badly deserved. I pushed my plate forward and bit and began sipping my Diet Pepsi slowly.

The waiter came and took our plates and put the food in boxes for later dining. I was fine with that. We were just about to thank our hosts when a dessert menu was thrust in our hands. I smiled and as kindly as I could told her that I was very full and satisfied.

She smiled and asked if I wanted the Oreo Madness or strawberry cheesecake. I said that all 3 of us girls would share one dessert. She said it was big and sharing was okay. I breathed a sigh of relief. Then she asked if I would like ice cream or cheesecake. "Oh, no. We will all share the Oreo dessert."

She tsked and said that I would like the cheesecake. So she ordered that, too. She looked and John and he held his ground. He very kindly told her that his lemonade drink would be dessert enough. She smiled again and ordered him another one.

Our desserts arrived but to the chagrine of our hosts the ice cream in the Oreo madness was the wrong flavor. The owner was embarrassed so he insisted that we take those as well with his compliments. Now instead of two desserts we have 4.

We are approaching the 2 hour mark and my digestive track has planned a full revolt. I keep talking to Jesus and asking Him to please not let this turn into an "incident" from which I would have to try and correct for the rest of the year.

Coffee and tea were offered, but we politely refused and they seemed satisfied with that. They asked if we would like to go and we all nodded a big, "yes." Ali and Aylia said goodbye and Amanda led us to her car. She began the drive back to her flat when she offered to go a different route to show us some of the features of our neighborhood. I had small tears forming in the corners of my eyes, but I kept quoting Phil. 4:13.

Finally our tour ended and we finished our time together by paying her the 6 months rent in advance. Most of the time you pay a year in advance, but she said 6 months was good enough. We hugged and waved and then I practically ran to the elevator to get to our flat.

We arrived at our door and attempted to unlock it. Slowly the realization dawned on us that the key that controls the deadbolt from the inside of the apartment must still be in the lock thus preventing us from entering from the outside.

I took one look at John and said, "One of the girls will go with me. One will stay with you. I'm heading to McDonald's." Emileigh and I bolted for the restaurant. Upon arrival, Em ran for the restroom while I ordered some form of food in order to stay at their establishment. Food was the LAST thing I wanted but it was necessary.

By the time I ordered, she was out and I ran in. We hung around for about 30 minutes and then decided to go back to the flat to check on the door situation. We found John, Aria, our security guard and a locksmith all gathered around the doorknob. The locksmith had a sledge hammer and was banging very loudly trying to break the lock. We wanted to meet our neighbors, but there had to be a better way.

After several hammers, looks of disapproval and flying parts, we were in. The security guard smiled at us and allowed the women folk to go on in while the men finished up. Before you know it, we had a new lock and 4 keys. The grand figure for this home visit, on a weekend, in the evening? 10 bucks.

When we walked into the apartment we noticed that the workmen never did show up. They actually meant Saturday. It was assumed that they wouldn't come on Friday. Assumed by everyone except us who sat and waited pitifully. Patience is a good trait to learn in Africa. We are getting good at it as long as our digestive tracts agree.

All I Want to Do Is Go to the Grocery Store

First Published January 14, 2009

John's eyes popped open this morning fully convinced he heard our apartment intercom ring. He ran to the button and said, "Hello?" Our security guard responded in broken English, "Hello?" Then John said, "Yes. Hello." Then he said, "Hello." The conversation was going no where when John began to ask him if he had called us for a reason. The security guard asked if John spoke Arabic. John said no. The man spoke no English. They said "hello" about 5 more times and John decided a face to face would be better. 

He went downstairs and began gesturing to our guard in hopes of making some progress. Thankfully a small girl was dressed for school complete with backpack and earmuffs (It's 60 degrees here) and she saw the situation. She promptly listened to John and then translated to the guard. After she conveyed John's initial question, "Did you call me and what did you need?" The guard responded that "No, he did not call John." John came back up to a wife who looked at him and began laughing really hard. However, I was not to get the last laugh.

John needed to wait for our landlady to come to the apartment today to take some floor measurements for new flooring. It seems only 2 days before our arrival, her perfectly prepared apartment was invaded by a neighbor's exploding water pump and now her wood floor was buckling into fragments all throughout our livingroom. So while he waited for her and a friend to show up, he suggested the girls and I take a taxi and go to the internet cafe.

Again, I put on my "Brave Pants" said a prayer and took the girls with me for our first trip out into the big city of Cairo. I got in a taxi and asked the driver to take us to Metro Market. This market is like a small grocery store with all the amenities. In fact more amenities than I need. Afterall, does a store really need to carry 75 types of olives? I hate them all now times 75. Anyway, I digress. 

The Metro Market is right next to the internet cafe. I thought since the Metro Market was better known I would have a better shot at getting there than trying to act out an internet cafe. (M Training did NOT have any charade classes and I think they would be VERY helpful...note to HQ.) So he took us to the Metro Market and dropped us off. I paid him 5 pounds and was very proud to have made the transaction. Once we were out we realized he took us to the wrong one. Apparently there's more than one in our neighborhood.

Since we were there I went in and bought bottled water and more milk. I looked around and decided that it would be futile to keep looking without a proper address. We hailed a taxi with a young driver and began the ride home. I am trying desperately to pay attention to landmarks and such so I can familiarize myself with my neighborhood. (TomTom does not have a chip for this area of the world.) So we drive...and drive...and drive... Looking around I noticed that NOTHING looked familiar. Thinking of every 20/20 special I've ever watched I began a very serious dialog with Jesus. However, he wasn't sinister just miserably lost. He must have asked 10 people how to get us to our street.

He muttered, honked, wrote things down, flipped his cassette tape of Arab pop music over and drove some more. Finally we recognized our street and motioned for him to stop. I handed him a 5 pound note and he told me that he needed 2 of them. I said, "No" with a very serious look on my face. He made motions that he had to drive so far he needed 10 pounds. I told him that it wasn't my fault he was lost. So it was a stare off for neither of us could speak the other's language. I then handed him 20 pounds and waited for 15 back. He gave me 10. I motioned I wanted one more 5 back. He shook his head and said, "No." Now I'm really mad because he has my money and he has the audacity to borrow my pen all at the same time.

I asked for my pen back and waited for my money. No more came. The girls had already bailed out and were watching from the sidewalk to see how this would play out. Score one for Ahmed; zero for Pam. He did hand me a piece of paper with our apartment address written in Arabic. He pointed and said, "Good address!" I guess the extra 5 pounds was for a piece of paper that I could now give all taxi drivers so that they wouldn't suffer as he did. I was still fuming.

Once upstairs, John commented on the brevity of our trip. I relayed the events to him and he gave a sympathetic smile and then began laughing. Touche'.

Just wait until I learn some Arabic, Ahmed. Just you wait...

What Day Is This and Where Am I?

First published January 13, 2009

It is 11:45 am and the family is sitting at an internet cafe in downtown Cairo. We have lived a LOT since my last note so I will try to briefly fill you in. My apologies for not corresponding sooner, but I didn't realize we would be out of internet range for 10 days. Learning....

When I last left you our last task was to find an apartment in Cairo. I'll give you a brief synopsis of our Sunday, January 4.

8:30-9:30 Eat breakfast at hotel cafe
9:30-10:30 Pam, Em, Aria pack up entire room and get ready for departure to Kenya for team meetings
10-10:30 John goes to get additional cash from an ATM.
10:30-11 All of us take a taxi to our language school. The taxi driver doesn't know where it is and he has to stop and ask 4 people. We find it and arrive right at 11 am.
11-11:15 We meet with the ILI assistant and she tells us that the man who will be showing us a selection of apartments (flats) will be running a little behind and it could be 1 to 2 hours. So we sit.
11:15-2:15 Heeshim arrives and whisks us off for our first tour of flats. Flat #1 is beautiful, quiet and spacious. Flat #2 is smaller and nice but has a German landlord that stares a hole through us the entire time we are there. Flat #3 is on hold because Heeshim says we should go to lunch and wait until the traffic clears before we go out again.
2:50-4:20 We go back to our hotel that has a Korean restaurant and we eat and hang there until it's time to go back out. John thought that he should exchange some USD into Egypt pounds so he took a taxi to find an exchange. He told me he would be back by 4:20 to meet Heeshim.
4:20 Heeshim arrives. No John. 4:40 John arrives and apologizes to Heeshim telling him that the taxi driver had to look for a while to get to an exchange. That is when Heeshim explains that there is an exchange at the end of our block. We didn't see it and the guys at the hotel front desk didn't volunteer. Live and learn.
4:45 We pile into Heeshim's car and he takes us to see Flat #3. This one is in the area of shopping and downtown. I think. To tell you the truth the way the drivers drive and the way the roads are designed I have no idea where anything is... Flat #3 is lovely. It's decorated in Arabic antiques and he tells us the landlady is a nice person. We sit as a family and decide to take Flat #3. We were laughing because it felt like an episode of International House Hunters with Suzanne Wang. We chose the "not so pricey, but charming" flat.
6:30-8:00 Heeshim tries to call the landlady, but runs out of minutes on his phone and we have to dodge and weave through the traffic until he can buy a phone card and replenish his minutes. He then calls her and she invites him over for the transaction.

Upon arrival, we all piled out of the car. Heeshim told me that the girls and I should probably head over to a local coffee shop while he and John take care of business because the landlady wouldn't be prepared to entertain. So we did. We walked over to a modern coffee shop with Arab MTV (divert eyes) and waited until they were through.

Around 8:30 they gave us the nod and we headed out to the car. By this time, we were feeling the crunch as our plane to Kenya was to leave at 11:45 pm and we were an hour away from the airport. We talked with Heeshim and he said that he would see to it that all our 24 totes made it to the new apartment and that the key would be waiting for us when we returned from Kenya. This sounds extremely optimistic but we had made friends with Mahmud (Nile cruise guy) and he was available to take 2 vans over to the hotel and meet Heeshim for the exchange. Now mind you, we just met these guys and they are going way above and beyond the call of duty to take care of us. I can only say God's favor was around us and before us.

Heeshim went on his way and we hailed a taxi to take us to the airport. We threw our Kenya luggage on top of his taxi and began the long trek. Around 9:40 we arrived and tried to check in. We were directed to 2 different desks until a man in a jacket who looked like he knew what was going on grabbed us and told us that we were at the wrong airport and he would take care of us.

Following him as I mutter prayers through the wrong airport, he calls a van and has him come take us to the right airport. We waited for a nail-biting 30 minutes until the ride came and he drove us over to the correct airport about 3 miles away. By now it is 10:15 pm. The man in the jacket grabs our passports and walks us through all of it. We were on the other side when I fully expected him to disappear. However, he requested a tip at the end of it and I'm not sure that angels would ask for such a thing.

Once on the other side, we grabbed a bite to eat and waited for boarding. Our flight took us from Cairo to Khartoum. In Khartoum we picked up a team member from Aslan and continued onto Nairobi. Once in Nairobi we were only 1 hour away from our final destination of Mombasa. Sadly, the visa line took way too long and we missed Flight #1. Then a family of 5 REALLY needed our seats on Flight #2 and I smiled, paused and told the attendant they could have them. Flight #3 came at 12:45 pm in the afternoon and they put us in business class for the 45 minute flight. We arrived with people waiting for us on the other side.

Our drive from the Mombasa airport was 2.5 hours because we had to cross a ferry and the ferry was at a very crowded time. So we sat in a safari truck for a while and waited our turn. We finally checked into our hotel room at 4:15 pm which gave us time to shower and get ready for the first meeting at 5 pm. We visited, ate dinner and finally hit the sack only 40 hours after our first initial breakfast in Cairo. Amazingly, we felt great and knew that everything that went right was due to the faithful prayers of family and friends.

Of course this doesn't even begin to cover what happened over the next 10 days, but this gives you a glimpse of what we've been up to. I'll include pictures of our apartment as soon as we have wifi at our house. Love to you!

Rhinos-Kenya

Zebras-Kenya

Zebra and Water Buffalo-Kenya

Scary baboons-Kenya

Gibbon monkey-Kenya