It's The Most Wonderful Time....

Tonight as I walked home, Christmas cheer seemed to fill the air. It appears that even Cairo is capable of that brisk, fall-y chill that heralds in the holiday season in some parts of the world. Though I would certainly not call it cold, the past few evenings definitely have had that nip in the air. And I love it.

As I walked home from watching The Family Stone (a surprisingly good, though somewhat bittersweet holiday movie), my head was filled with visions of sugarplum fairies, so to speak. Or rather all the delights of the past few days of holiday celebrations. I must say, a few weeks ago when I got over ten voicemails, emails, and Facebook messages about the arrival of the Starbucks Christmas cups - only one of the greatest days of the entire year - I felt a tinge of homesickness. A small part of me clung to the hope that perhaps here Christmas cups are in abundance. After all, Ann and Tock were certain Cairo did not even have Starbucks in the first place. I think some cracks were made about the 'King Tut Starbucks'. And it turns out Cairo boasts at least THREE King Tut Starbucks...So you see there was reason to hope. As soon as we could, Amy and I made the trek to the Starbucks here. I held my breath as I walked in...

To no avail. Surprise, surprise, this Muslim country is not serving their gingerbread lattes in Christmas cups. =)

So although I will have to go without in terms of that small but lovely luxury this holiday season, I have been blessed to ring in the Christmas spirit in many other ways. The Americans were definitely outnumbered by our Australian, Egyptian, and Scottish friends who joined us for our Thanksgiving. Although football in the background, the much anticipated Macy's Day Parade, and our wonderful families (which was the most missed part of all), were sorely missed, we had an amazing day filled with delicious food, enjoying the view of the Nile, and realizing we are all a little fuzzy on the whole Pilgrims and Indians thing (who were these people? Sasquatch? Pocohontas? The Puritans? I can't remember, and I am embarrassed!). Our foreign friends were duly unimpressed with our storytelling abilities, and I resolve to learn all the legitimate facts of the first Thanksgiving for next year.

Yesterday was spent as every day after Thanksgiving should be: decorating for Christmas, of course. Did I miss putting up the beautiful Christmas village and listening to Radio City Music Hall with Ann? Absolutely. (Although I think you were having fun in Honolulu around that time, Mom, so that's a comfort!) But instead we spent the day at dear H and B's apartment, drinking coffee and hot chocolate, eating H's stellar chicken dumplings, watching Christmas movies, listening to Christmas music, playing games, and covering every inch of their home, including a gorgeous tree, in anything red and green and lovely. Luckily for all of us, H and B had their first baby a mere FIVE days ago, so the day was pretty much made perfect by taking turns holding a mostly slumbering and always precious baby.

And now I must run, but as I continue to watch Christmas movies, and enjoy the construction paper snowflakes on the walls of my apartment, I will be thinking of all of you dear friends and family, ringing in the Christmas cheer in your respective corners of the world....

Here's to Hope

I know I have been extremely absent in the past few weeks, and I feel slightly guilty about that. The good news is, my absence attests to the fact that my life is getting fuller and fuller here. The most exciting thing I have neglected to share is that I am now working with an incredible refugee aide organization. Several weeks ago I decided to investigate this refugee situation I had been hearing so much about upon arriving in Cairo. (I am going to show my ignorance here, but I was somewhat unaware of the many refugees in Cairo, most escaping war or famine in West Africa and Iraq). A random and amazingly fruitful Google search ended with me finding an Anglican church that is a haven for refugees in Egypt. A few days later, I found myself joining the St. Andrew's team as a development intern and part-time English teacher.

This is just another addition to the list of surprising and new encounters in Cairo. For one thing, I never thought I would sit around in the 'teachers' lounge' with other teachers, drinking tea and hanging out. Because, let's face it, I am not a teacher, nor did I ever plan on being one. And yet somehow on Wednesday evening I found myself in the small, overcrowded but warm (both in temperature and in spirit), room filled with some of my fellow teachers - Nigerians, Somalians, the occasional Liberian, and one other American girl. Many of the refugees who have been here for several years work with various programs at St. Andrew's, from teaching English to working with the children to creating beautiful works of art to sell. My new friends were filled with tales of life in Cairo, much laughter, and shock and concern upon hearing that I really cannot cook. Apparently that makes me a bad potential wife in Africa (oops).

So far, everything about my time at St. Andrew's has been rich indeed. My next class in on Monday, and I am practically counting down the hours until I can see my Iraqi students (so far three men and one woman, though supposedly there are 17 enrolled, so we will see). Last week I was overcome reading the homework assignment that one of them turned in. I asked each of them to write a paragraph about a friend in their lives. With slightly askew grammar and the stilted style of one who is learning a language, Q beautifully described his dear friend H, who he has not seen for four years, since he moved to Cairo. H is still in Iraq, and Q talked about how much he loved and missed his good, gentlemanly, kind friend. He ended saying that he 'wishes to meet H again someday'.

Though I do not pretend to know or understand much about Q's life here or in Iraq, I can certainly relate to that. Yet again, I am reminded by the simplest things how human we all are, despite glaring and seemingly enormous differences. I am honored and thrilled to continue to try to understand more about Q and my other students' lives. And in the meantime, I will share in the hope that Q does meet H again someday...

Drinking Tea in Dahab

We walk along the boardwalk, lazily, because we have nowhere to go. To my right are the Sinai Mountains. To my left, across the Red Sea, is Saudi Arabia, mountainous and covered in haze. In front of us is the beautiful, vast sea, today filled with windsurfers making the most of this incredibly windy day. And behind us is my now favorite place in Egypt, the town of Dahab.

We decide to sit on the beach awhile and enjoy the sun and the sea as we watch the windsurfers. Being in Dahab inspires easy conversation about life between me and Amy. For one thing, while here we are free of the cultural customs we have to adhere to in Cairo. We can wear sundresses – bathing suits even - and not be showing blatant disregard for what is culturally appropriate and wise. It is easy to feel freer in Dahab, not just because of our clothing but because of the slow pace of life here. Dahab is frequented by windsurfers, divers, and Europeans, so the general mood is definitely chill. But something about the sea brings about thoughts of freedom too. That, along with the quiet air, the smog-free breeze, and the space free of millions of people is a welcome and stark contrast from Cairo.

As we sit discussing these thoughts, we are interrupted by a little girl, asking us to buy one of her colorful, handmade bracelets. She is one of the Bedouin girls, the desert people, many of whom live in Dahab. Amy and I decline, but ask her what her name is in Arabic. Delighted that we (Amy), can speak Arabic, she promptly invites us to drink tea with her mother and grandmother, who are sitting just a bit away on the beach. I understand only bits of this conversation, so as we start to walk with her Amy explains to me what is going on. Later Amy and I talk about the fact that this is one of the many reasons we are friends. She knows I do not understand the question, “will you come have tea with us?” But she does not feel the need to translate, ask my opinion, and then answer. She knows that of course I would be delighted to drink tea with our new friends. And I am.

We walk to their little campsite, where her mother, her aunt, and her grandmother have a small fire built and are sitting around, looking after children of various ages. They accept us graciously and we start to discuss what we can in limited Arabic. Amy continues to amaze me (and herself), with her ability to converse. And I pick up what I can. =)

We spend the next hour speaking in broken Arabic and English and enjoying the sweet, sugary tea that Bedouins drink and share constantly. I find that drawing in the sand is a great tool for both playing and teaching English words to the children in exchange for Arabic words. The crazy grandmother gets up and dances for awhile, and she sings a song that the mothers join in on. Amy and I laugh and clap along with them. The little boy and I play peek-a-boo, a game that never fails.

After awhile, Ames and I decide it is time to move on in life. We are due at another Bedouin home in a few hours. Before we leave, the mother asks if we will come to their house that night to drink more tea. Of course, we would be delighted. We make a plan to meet one of the children at a market nearby and they will take us to their house. And we say goodbye, knowing that tea drinking and Arabic and English exchanges will resume that evening.

This is what I love about the way Amy and I live in Dahab. We are not there to windsurf, or to dive, or even to climb Mt. Sinai, although that certainly will happen later. We are simply there to be, and let the day unfold as it will. Amy discovered this summer her ability to form friendships with the Bedouin girls who walk the boardwalk selling bracelets. They have grown up selling bracelets to foreigners, and as a result many of the teenagers are fluent in English. There are about a million reasons why we should not be able to understand each other – we come from completely different worlds. With each interaction we had with a Bedouin girl, I came away amazed, intrigued, and confused by their culture. I came away even more amazed by the fact that despite our differences, we could find things to connect over. Easily.

So this is why we love Dahab. The sea and the air and the freedom are huge bonuses, but the friendships we are building with the girls there are the reason we go. The whole time we were there I kept thinking, “We are so privileged to be here right now.”

However, this is not the end of the Dahab story. A camel ride, an octopus freshly caught from the sea (who I am sad to say, does not become a pet in this tale), and many more experiences of connecting across cultures are still to come…

Collisions and Contradictions

Perhaps one of the most intriguing things I have seen thus far in Cairo is the total collision of the developing and developed world. The other day, Amy and I were walking down a tree lined street (somewhat less littered with trash than others) on our way to a friend's house. We were chatting about something or other, and in the middle of a sentence Amy added, "hey donkey" and then kept talking. And although I have only been here three weeks and generally call myself an observant person, I simply did not notice the donkey on our right in the midst of all the cars along the block. But there he was, just kind of chilling out on the side of the road. I have come to expect the random donkeys, not just in the midst of the trucks piled high with trash bags in Garbage City, but among the nicer sections of Cairo too.

But this is the interesting thing I am noticing about Egypt. Perhaps there is an element of this in many developing countries - collision of worlds in a way that becomes somewhat expected. A donkey on the right side of the road and a Mercedes on the other. An Egyptian woman completely covered in the full length, black hijab in the midst of a crowd and an incredibly stylish, uncovered Egyptian woman behind her. I spent all day yesterday in Garbage City with the orphans and Egyptian youth, and then came home, showered, and dressed up for Halloween. As I sat on a beautiful balcony overlooking the skyline of Cairo, enjoying the slight fall chill in the air and talking with other Americans and a few Egyptians, it was pretty easy to forget that mere hours before I had been playing with babies who might never leave Garbage City. At the party we ate cupcakes (a decidedly un-Egyptian treat), we carved orange bell peppers (due to a lack of pumpkins here? Not sure, but I found it very creative...),we laughed at each others' costumes, and we generally interacted like any other group of young 20-somethings I have been around. One could have easily missed the fact that we live in a developing country.

At the orphanage, one the babies' favorite things to do is look out one of the two large windows. The windows are high, so it requires one of us picking them up to actually see anything. Each window has long, vertical bars spaced just a few inches apart, so one little toddler leg can fit in between each bar. Last week I looked over and Amy and a high school girl who had come with us had put four babies up on the window ledge. Now I know all you mothers out there are struggling with this vision, but it is completely safe, trust me. =) And they love it. We just sit those little guys up there, they hold on to the bars and we hold on to them, and it works. From the window, the view is three-fold. We first see the vine-covered, clean courtyard of the orphanage, then the tall, rickety apartments of Garbage City - brick boxlike structures that often appear to be simply stacked one of top of the other - and beyond that the skyscrapers of downtown Cairo. When I stand there holding the babies up, watching them so obviously delight in the breeze and the open air, I often wonder how to pray for them. That they can go past the courtyard, past the trash filled G.C. streets, even past the polluted mayhem of Cairo itself? Is that even the bottom line here - to get them out? I am not entirely sure, but somehow I doubt it.

As I ponder the intricacies of that question, I can only be thankful for days filled with cupcake moments and orphanage hours. In terms of my personal growth here, I know both aspects are crucial. Other than that, I will simply turn up my observational skills and attempt to learn from the many worlds surrounding me....