Pinball Pam

Cairo offers a variety of transportation modes within the city. Taxis, buses, "flying coffins," an occasional donkey cart and the Metro, a type of subway system. The traffic becomes more and more congested as the day progresses so most Cairenes choose the reliability of the subway. 

We've ridden many times now since arriving and have the stops, correct trains and directions figured out. We have also discovered the times of day that are most crowded. The trouble is that we can't do anything about that. We, along with everyone else, need to be at certain places at certain times just as they do. So we join the masses and catapult ourselves on and off at the right stops.

The problem I have is the starting and stopping procedure once I'm on the train. Usually we will bustle shoulder to shoulder with the other people and ride on the coed train. You have to be quick or the doors will shut and you'll be waiting for the next one. So we try to nicely but hockey playeresque get on the train and look for a railing or loop to hold onto.

Sometimes this is a problem because the overhead loops are all taken and the side rails are covered in men. This means that the fam has to form somewhat of a "human chain." John finds a loop. I grab his other arm. Emileigh takes hold of mine and Aria attaches to Emileigh. 

One day on the train it was especially crowded. Sardines could say that they had spacious accommodations compared to our situation. We looked around for something to hold onto, but couldn't because there were so many people. I looked around and noticed that there were only men around that day which makes it extra tricky.

The key is not to bump or touch anyone especially if your a female. So I was acutely aware of my need to be proper. I took a stance like that of a surfer and waited for the lurch of the train. The other 3 family members apparently have incredible inner ear health because they had no problems. I, on the other hand, fell onto John and Emileigh. They kept their balance and pushed me back into place.

The train finally caught it's rhythm and I was doing well. The problem came at the next stop. The doors opened and more men piled on. We only thought it was crowded before. Now there's exactly 5 mm of personal space left.

The doors closed and pulled out of the station. For a split second, I forgot my surfer-like stance and fell forward. This time John and Emileigh were not there. I bounced into one man and tried to correct myself. The train turned and made me veer left which caused me to ricocheted off two more men. My apologies couldn't be made because I overcompensated and fell back into two more unsuspecting victims.

Finally, I was able to right myself and look into the face of my family. They all had their jaws dropped and each grabbed ahold of me. I couldn't even look up. I was mortified. I was a human pinball machine.

The train finally stopped and we needed to disembark. I quickly, without making eye contact, stepped off the train. The other three looked at each other and began to laugh and laugh and laugh.

I laughed, too. It was pretty funny when you thought about it. Now when we get on the train, I don't even have to ask. Each family member grabs my arm and maintains contact the entire ride. They don't want to risk me making "extra points" and earning a "bonus game." I think all the other passengers would agree.

Rip PamWinkle

First published March 13, 2009

A few years ago I discovered a pattern of behavior albeit an embarrassing one. I was in the school parking lot waiting for my daughter's classes to dismiss for the day. I turned off the engine, rolled the window down and listened to music. I had 15 minutes just to savor the moment.

Suddenly my eyes flew open and I jumped at the loud noise. I looked around and saw my daughter getting into the car. "Did you get out early?" I asked.

She looked at me quizzically and said, "No. Just the normal time."

That can't be right. I just got here. I looked at the car clock and sure enough it was time for school to let out. I had fallen sound asleep for 15 minutes. 

Most wouldn't be alarmed by this. I mean everyone has moments where they doze off at odd times of the day. I didn't think much about this until I was sitting on the couch later that same day and fell asleep again.

For the next several days I could barely drag myself anywhere. Before any of you get any ideas, there weren't and won't be any more future Morton blessings so that wasn't the problem. 

I began to think about all the things I had to do in my day to day routine. Some were major projects demanding a lot of time and attention. I had a few business decisions to make. I was worried about a family member. Yes, it was all adding up to a very simple word "stress."

Stress was weighing on me in ways I didn't even realize consciously. However, my physical body knew it and was taking action. I think the conversation went something like this:

"Earth to Pam. Earth to Pam. We've got a problem here. You're making your stomach lining look like swiss cheese."

"Uh...Pam. I know you may not feel it, but some of your internal organs are beginning to riot."

"McFly? Your heart is taking a bit of a workout. Do you mind toning down the adrenaline-pumping activity schedule?"

Receiving no response from the Conscious Pam, a mutiny ensued. If I can't manage the stress consciously, they will do it for me. Thus, I self-diagnosed myself with the condition known as "Stress Narcolepsy."

It's true. Whenever I am feeling overwhelmed or stressed, an unbelievable sense of tiredness overtakes me. I'm not a tightly-wound person. On the contrary, I'm pretty laid back and take much in stride. Yet when my brain has decided I've had enough to cope with, it sends the trigger for me to go into a deep sleep.

At first I was distressed by this. Now I realize it's a total gift from God. I don't stay up late worrying about things. I don't fret. I don't even get ulcers. I just close my eyes and sleep and sleep and sleep.

I understand that I can't live my life like this all the time. I could never get anything done, but on days that I think it's necessary I will simply take my body's advice and lie down.

Since coming to Cairo, I've been in a fairly good state of mind. This was a major move, a job change, new relationships, new culture, new language... I have had good support from Jesus, my family and friends.

Then one day John announced that he and the girls were going to check out a new open air market. He told me that I should stay home and enjoy the quiet, read a book or do something creative. I was thrilled with the possibilities of 4 glorious hours alone (no offense family).

They waved their goodbyes and I began to plot. I poured a Diet Coke, pulled out an episode of "Frasier," got a blanket and took a deep breath. Yessiree, I'll watch this, then I'll read a mystery, make a card and....

That's right. I fell asleep. Next thing I know I hear the doorbell. Half-awake, half-comatose I staggered to the front door. John and the girls had returned. I thought they had forgotten something. It was not to be. They had been gone over four hours and I had slept through it all.

Goodbye new mystery novel. Goodbye creativity. Goodbye no-guilt afternoon. I was so mad at myself. John smiled and said, "Stress narcolepsy?" I nodded my head and tried to regain full consciousness.

I guess I had reached my limits. Finding all the places and items we needed to live, starting the study of a difficult language, building new relationships took its toll. I'm even sleepy now just thinking about it. I know that I'll even out here soon enough and I'll be able to be fully function again.

Until then, John is on alert to keep me propped up, nudge me when necessary and prevent me from drooling. He's simply thrilled. Good man that John Henry. Good man.

Bananas Over Our Girls

First published March 12, 2009

Pam needs to get milk, bananas and yogurt.

Pam walks with Aria to neighborhood store #1. No items in stock, but buys bread to keep the relationship good and to practice Arabic. Aria directs me to the next store.

We continue down the street to store #2. No items in stock. Didn't buy anything because the teen was on the phone and didn't care that we were there. Aria said she and Emileigh have a goal to make that boy greet them one time before we leave Cairo.

She turns right and walks a little ways down the street. Store #3 has all three items, but Aria informs me that we don't buy bananas from this one.

We make our purchases and begin the walk back. We cross the street to Store #4. This one has fresh bananas hanging off the stalk at the entrance. The man smiles broadly and greets Aria. Apparently she's been here before. She expertly tells him in Arabic that we need a kilo of bananas. He pulls out a machete and hacks off just the right amount. She pays him and waves goodbye.

As we complete our walk back to the flat, I tell Aria how proud I am of her for being able to navigate all those stores to find what we need. She says, "Hey, when you go on as many errands as we have, you learn some stuff."

Not exactly the answer I was expecting, but I had to chuckle. With every adjustment I've had to make in learning to live in Cairo, our two girls have had to do the same. They've been amazing in their attitudes and eagerness to experience the people and culture.

So I went for a few groceries and came back with a new depth of appreciation for our daughters who are willing to follow hard after Jesus rather than tag along on their parents' faith.

It's true. I'm bananas over these girls. 

Simpli Fi

The decision to purchase a vacuum cleaner while in Cairo came down to this— Would it fit in a container when we leave in 10 months? Before this only three months before, I asked the very same question for every item in my Springfield, Missouri house.

If it doesn't fit in a tote, it doesn't go. Simple fact. With parameters that restricting, I find that it does help simplify my life. When we arrived in our new home, it took me exactly 4 hours to set up an entire household. I just didn't have that much stuff to unpack. I'd like to keep it that way which means I have to think through every single purchase I make between now and moving day.

The never-ending dust overruled the vacuum's cumbersome size so we bought it. Now I have to decide what will stay behind to make room for it. Having so few possessions is a freeing experience.

We don't have many clothes so laundry can't pile up. There are enough dishes for two meals so the kitchen can't remain dirty. The flat is about 1/3 the size of our former house. That's 2/3 less cleaning, dusting, maintenance and straightening. Now I can do "spring cleaning" every week and still have most of the day left. 

All this new found time isn't used to sit on the couch and eat bonbons. On the contrary, all my time is devoted to language studies and cooking EVERYTHING from scratch. Yes, the simple life also includes fresh fruits, just-harvested vegetables and not one single boxed meal with glorious preservatives in sight.

No "One Skillet Meals," no frozen lasagnas, no rotisserie chicken at the front of the department store...It's like a "Survivor" episode for busy moms. So each day I look in my refrigerator and wonder what delectable meal I can create in 3 hours or less. Did I mention we don't have a microwave either? Even thawing is traumatic and time-consuming.

Thank goodness we have resources with great recipes. I use my computer to discover new options. First, I go to Google and then in the search bar I type in all the ingredients that I have available to make a meal (chicken, parsley, peanut butter and garlic salt). Then it will display pages of recipes using those items. I didn't say they all taste good, but at least I can give the concoction a name.

Another resource is this great cookbook that was gifted to me prior to our departure. It's written especially for cooking overseas. It has fab recipes and many helpful entries. Some of my favorites are:

"One ostrich egg will serve 20-24 people for brunch or breakfast."*
"...adding a bay leaf to my flour and sugar tins makes those little pests flee for their lives."
and my personal favorite: "Gelatin: 1 ox foot, 4 egg whites, sugar, 1 lemon"

Okay. So maybe if I were to be honest (and I am) I'd admit that I haven't made an ostrich egg frittata or even treated my family to one helping of ox foot jell-o. I'm not that granola. Still the minutes in my day have taken on a totally different look from those in my "former" life.

As I become more familiar with the local dishes, I'm shortening my prep time for meals. Since I have mastered three dishes so far, I'm practically a short-order cook (give or take 2 hours).

I'm appreciating this segment of my life because so many other areas consume my thoughts and energies. I couldn't spend the hours needed to learn the language and develop friendships if I had so many other "domestic" duties taunting me.

And to those of you out there joining me in this newfound "less is more" lifestyle, I raise my right arm, make a fist and say, "Simpli Fi."

*"Cooking from Scratch Overseas" by Neva M. Pugh & Jan Cunningham

Grapevine Like an Egyptian

First published March 10, 2009

Sitting in a crouched position with one leg extended, I teetered on the other bent leg while inhaling deeply. "How did I get myself into this?" I thought. The question had two answers. One—very painfully and two—I'm attempting to build a bridge to a new friendship.

A friend from the language school told me about a fitness center that's on the same street where we live. She enthusiastically told me all about the equipment and the classes available. I responded with excitement and celebrated the fact that she could still train during her time here in Cairo. I breathed a sigh of relief, too. "Whew! Now I can train. I was so worried about keeping up with my triathalon preparation. What a relief!" Uh, no.

I know. I know. Exercise is good. Keeps depression at bay. Makes one's heart strong. Let's a girl choose voluntarily whether she wants to wear a flowly Muslim outfit or whether she has to... With that in mind, I actually toyed with the idea of checking out a possible membership. I could just skip this step, hold a wad of money in my hand and throw it off our balcony, but I like to go through the motions.

A week passed and my friend announced that she was now teaching an aerobics class at the gym AND she had arranged free guest passes for the girls and me. I knew I was at a crossroad. I could smile and wish her well or I could go to the class and support my new friend's efforts. I asked her when the class started. She said 9 pm. I asked her, "9 what?" She confirmed that she said 9 PM.

Apparently all the classes begin this late because Egyptians don't really get their evening started until then. I moaned inwardly and thought, "Oh, great. Exercise AND staying up late. If you added a bikini contest I would be over the moon."

All day I looked at the clock and counted down. 7 hours to exercise. 6 hours to exercise. 5 hours to...wait...maybe I'm getting a headache...nope. 4 hours to...wait...I don't think I brought any jogging...oh, here they are. 3 hours to exercise. 2 hours and I'm sinking on the couch after a very full day. 1 hour to exercise. The time has come. As Mr. Nike would say, "Just do it."

The girls were thrilled for this opportunity. They were dressed and ready to head out the door early. The three of us bopped up the street and made our way to the Platinum Mall. We walked in and looked for a sign to tell us which floor the fitness center was on. I didn't see one.

We asked a cleaning guy and he answered. Unfortunately, I didn't understand a word he said. He pointed up and since we were on ground floor took him at his word and headed up the stairs. Second floor? Nope. Third floor? Nope. On up until we reached the fifth floor. I was ready to call it good since I was already sweating when a woman in a hijab (headscarf) greeted me and asked if I was here to see my friend. I nodded. She said she would take me on a tour first and then on to the class.

We rounded the corner to the main fitness area where it is supposed to be co-ed. However, only men were present. You could have heard a pin drop when the three of us walked down the middle aisle. They all stopped what they were doing and looked at us. We did our best to keep the tour moving. Several pieces of modern equipment adorned the polished wood floors.

Through a door and down a hallway she showed us the women's only room. This small room had only four pieces of equipment and a TV, but provided a space for Muslim women who do not interact with non-familial men or women like me who'd like to avoid the stares that we had just received.

We looked at the women's locker room complete with jacuzzi, steamroom and sauna. With the tour now complete, I could prepare myself for the aerobics class. I found my friend and she had on her cute little exercise outfit. She was glad to see us and I was glad that we had come--at least I thought I was.

We proceeded to the aerobic room where we each grabbed a mat and a step in preparation for the class. One man and a scarved woman walked in. We began the class with basic step moves to the rhythm of Rascal Flatt's "Life Is a Highway" blaring. "So far, so good," I thought, "I can do this."

Two more men came and attempted to join in. They may be able to benchpress a lot of weight, but they couldn't step up and down to save their lives. Three women came in to complete the class. Now we are all stepping and leaping and jogging in place.

I was feeling pretty good about myself until my friend announced, "Okay. Now we're warmed up. Let's crank it up!" My face had gone from pink, to red, to deep purple. By all rights, I should be preparing myself for a yoga-like cool down by now. It was not to be. She leaped from side to side over the step, then front to back, then doubletime. Emileigh and Aria were keeping up like the background girls in a Billy Blanks DVD. I, on the other hand, had to admit that I may not be at their current fitness level and may need to get a drink of water, cool down a bit, check to see if they had defib paddles.

I walked out in the hallway hoping to catch a breath of air and decided that I would go talk terms with the lady who had given me the tour. I wondered what she would pay ME to return. We discussed options for a while and I thanked her. I returned to the class just in time for the cool down. Ah, yes. I can do this. 

I spoke too soon. She began to do Spiderman moves swaying back and forth. That's when I began to ask myself what brought me to this point. I finished the class (just barely). Afterward, I introduced myself to two of the women and waited while my friend deflected a male pursuer.

I congratulated my friend on a good class and she returned kudos to me for still breathing. Wait, that was what I said to myself. She was glad that we came to provide moral support. She also invited us back on Monday for another round.

The girls and I nodded in agreement. We reviewed our evening as we walked back to the flat. This could be a good thing. Exercise, new friendships and a chance to practice our Arabic. Now if I can only manage to get these newly discovered sore muscles off the couch, I'll be headed out to class again...Doubletime, Pam!

Flying Coffins

First published March 8, 2009

In a city of 24 million, a citizen may locate a wide variety of transportation. Down our street on any given day I will see small cars, big trucks, bicycles, wagons with donkeys, taxis and a minivan that acts as a type of public transportation.

Whenever we've seen these minivans we've found that they are jampacked with passengers so much so that the exit door isn't closed so that two or three more riders can find a handhold.

I've been curious about the way these "bus lines" actually operate. It seems that the minivan will pull up to a corner and slow down. It won't actually stop mind you, but it will put on the brakes a little bit. Then a guy hanging out the door will yell where the bus is going. If you hear what he says and need to go there then you run toward the van and try to jump on before he regains full speed.

Some riders are quick, agile and do this with ease. Others have packages, children and long skirts to contend with and then it gets more tricky. The guy making the route announcements also helps give that last needed shove to get the new passenger completely on the van.

There are no schedules, no printed routes...just vans and guys with declarative voices. One unwritten understanding is that if you are the driver of one of these then you have to drive faster than the taxis. I don't know if this rivalry stems from salary differences or if it's a friendly competition. All I know is that if I'm in a taxi and a van is anywhere near us, the taxi driver will immediately give it the gas and do everything in his power to ensure that the van doesn't pass us.

The van of course isn't happy with this arrangement and will speed up as well. The problem is that the taxi driver has only one stop to make while the van has to keep his momentum and pick up and drop off passengers along the way. This is the reason that these public transports have been dubbed, "Flying Coffins." 

Most travel books advise that anyone visiting should avoid these at all costs. I'm thinking that we will abide by this advice. It's cheap transportation only if you can negotiate the run, the jump, the landing, the handhold and the final shove.

I can still barely cross the street without creating some intensely angry drivers that have been slowed down by my inept Frogger abilities. I'm thinking the Flying Coffin drivers wouldn't tolerate me for a second. I might ruin the Coffin to Taxi win-loss race ratio. I don't want to have that on my conscience.

Midnight in Cairo

First published March 6, 2009

View from our 12th floor balcony

It's midnight in our neighborhood in Cairo. 
The current sounds I hear simultaneously are:

A police siren
A chainsaw
A backfiring taxi
Firecrackers
A live drum corp
A male solo
An ambulance
A calliope
The James Bond theme played on electric piano
Whistles
A solo trumpet playing "Taps"/Spanish Mariachi medley
Taxi honks
Men singing and clapping in rhythm
Crowds cheering
A revving motorcycle
A woman screaming from her balcony, "Why don't you people go to bed for Pete's sake?!"

Oh, wait. I just thought that last one.

Loving Words

First published March 5, 2009

John and I had an evening to ourselves since the girls were meeting with their youth group from church. I was going to order pizza and watch an NBC news podcast, but he thought we should go on a date, dine out and practice more Arabic. (It sounded romantic for a split-second.)

We walked to a local cafe and were greeted by Meena. He has been our waiter on two prior occasions and a friendship is forming. He asked us why we hadn't called him to take a tour of the Coptic churches throughout Cairo. We told him that we had been working hard learning Arabic and that we would definitely take him up on his offer.

The cafe was bustling with a variety of Egyptians looking to relax after working all day. Behind us a couple sat with a laptop between them and each had a cigarette lit. The table next to us was filled with young, well-dressed men who ordered their food and then two of them got up and left.

The rest of the tables had varieties of chatting men and women with laptops, cellphones and cups of steaming coffee.

We looked through the menu and made our food choices. We were determined to order in Arabic, unfortunately (or fortunately) I wanted Italian which means there is no difference when I say it. The ordering process went on in Arabic as much as possible with the exception of verbs, definite articles and most modifiers.

Halfway through our meal the two men who had disappeared returned just in time for their food to arrive. They had a bag and began to display their purchases. Each had bought a different type of cologne and they were all checking them out. They laughed and ate and ate some more.

Our meal was served and tasted delicious. John prepared his closing remarks to the waiter. He told Meena (once again in Arabic) that he loved the cafe and that the food was very good. Meena looked at him and said, "I love you. I love you, too." Then he laughed. Then I laughed. John just looked dazed.

Meena walked away shaking his head and I could not stop laughing. John was certain he was using the correct phrasing for his comment. Apparently, Meena thought differently. 

We will go back in a week or two and have a few more words under our belt. Maybe then John will be able to say exactly what's on his mind without declaring his unwavering love for service people. Until then, "I love you, too, John."