Swimming Lessons

After watching all of the three year-olds at Maadi House swim like fishes last summer, I signed the girls up for swim lessons. Kathleen has always been resistant to trying new things, and so spent the first 45-minute session crying. The entire lesson. Thankfully she has calmed down and now only spends a few minutes each lesson crying.

Sophia, on the other hand, has to be kept from throwing herself off the steps at any available moment to come squirming through the water over to me.

And so we purchased two sets of child-sized goggles. Sophia for whatever reason decided that the best accessory to goggles was... nothing. I'm not sure how well that will go over in a Muslim country.

Mamas, don't let your daughters grow up to marry Egyptians

For his birthday present from the Embassy last week, Brandon got to be duty officer. The week started out mildly enough, with our Thursday date night being interrupted by somebody who thought that being an AmCit would get him out of jail for illegal drug possession.

Friday Sabbath was concluded with flurry of phone calls between the US and our apartment. Somebody had come over here to marry a local a few weeks ago, and now her sister was calling from the States to have 'them' do something about the threat of physical violence her sister was hanging under. Evidently the woman's finger was in grave danger.

This morning, after getting to bed an hour late last night, we had the unexpected pleasure of a 3:45 AM phone call from someone else's mother concerned about her daughter. The daughter had married an Egyptian and he had disappeared. What should a poor mother do? She really didn't have the money to fly her daughter back to the States, and what would happen to the children? All were pertinent questions. For somebody else. And during normal daytime working hours.

And then 45 minutes later somebody else called about their daugher/sister/female relative who was in mortal danger from... you guessed it her Egyptian boyfriend.

As a final blessing upon a most unpleasant beginning to a long day, the water has been out since we woke up and shows no sign of returning any time soon.

So, to sum up: Don't let any female friends/neighbors/nieces/granddaughters/acquaintances/co-workers/daughters ever marry/date/be friends with/hang out with/talk to any Egyptian male (or other non-American). Relationships are difficult enough between two people of the same culture without throwing in all of the attendant baggage of a different culture.

And if you or someone you love goes ahead and makes that mistake, please remember that if you so feel the need to call the U.S. Embassy and get them to Do Something (which generally consists of loaning people money to return to the States; the Marines are only here to guard the Embassy, not you) please make note of time differences. Because that poor person that you're talking to at 3 AM might have a wife. And three kids. And all will suffer because of your or your loved one's stupidity.

Sorry, Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle

Recently while walking home with the girls, I came across some interesting road kill. I don't normally take pictures of dead animals (I would have made an exception, however, for the dog with the leg in its mouth), but I couldn't resist this picture. I've never yet seen any dead animals on the streets of Cairo, perhaps due to the large number of feral cats and dogs. Nobody, other than the flies however, was touching this one.

Sophia turns 2 and Brandon 32

Recently (if a month ago counts as recently, and it does), Sophia had a birthday. We celebrated the day by making a chocolate cake.

Then we went to the pool where we met Brandon and had dinner at "The Restaurant." Afterwards we came home and sang Happy Birthday, opened presents,

and Brandon and I ate cake. So far for children's cake, we're 0 for 4. But truthfully, the cake which was something French and involved half a pound of chocolate, a pound of butter, and no flour at all, was not for Sophia anyway. After the attempted cake, we all had a dinner party with Sophia's presents (well, only she fit the dress).

For Brandon's birthday, we didn't have cake, but we did have three days of celebratory food. He had rice and milk (his request) for breakfast on Wednesday morning, Eggs Benedict for dinner that evening (again his request). Thursday night we went out to dinner and had ice cream. And today we had a full Southern dinner, complete with fried chicken, coleslaw, mashed potatoes, hushpuppies, and watermelon. While enjoying our tribute to Southern cookery, we mused that it was very likely that of all of the 80 million inhabitants in the country, we were the only ones enjoying such a repast. Those poor other 79,999,995 people.

And just imagine the fare

This afternoon while walking home from church, Kathleen asked (for the hundredth time) why other people have a car and we don't. I patiently explained to her that we don't need a car - the only places we ever go are Maadi House, church, and the library and all are within a 4-block radius. Wouldn't it be silly, I asked her, to take a car to the pool?

I assured her, however, that when we lived in our next house, we too would have the long-coveted car. She wanted to know where it would be, and I explained to her that we don't know yet because Daddy hasn't gotten the list to choose from and 'the people' haven't told him where we're going.

'Oh,' she reasoned, 'have they not finished building our next new house yet?' I tried to explain to her about housing assignments but petered out, ending lamely with the facts that 1. it would be new to us and 2. it would be in another country.

'But where will Daddy work?' she asked plaintively.

'At the embassy,' I replied reassuringly. 'Daddy will still have a job.'

Not reassured at all, she looked at me with a worried expression.

'But if Daddy still works at the Embassy here, how long will that taxi ride take?!?!'

Felucca

Some time ago, friends invited us to go on a felucca ride on the Nile. Some of the group had guests in town who had never had the experience, so we made a party of it with koshary, popcorn, sodas, cookies, and of course, salt water taffy.

Nobody fell in, although I'm sure a few more of Brandon's hairs turned white watching the girls try and hang out over the water. Everybody enjoyed themselves; the children racing around boat en masse and the adults spending time with other adults while the children were amusing themselves. Brandon, who finds socialization enjoyable only rarely even admitted to having quite a nice time. We'll have to do it again.

Brandon has now been in Egypt ten months, the girls and I seven, and Edwin four. So we're starting to settle in. Kathleen and Sophia are now Cairenes, according to their estimation of things. Kathleen has started asking me about various Arabic terms for things like 'go to bed,' 'stop it,' 'come here,' and colors. Whenever we see someone, she asks me if they speak English or Arabic. I've had to counsel her to refer to the locals as 'nice people' instead of 'dark people.'

The other day, I was musing on a local expat library and how some expats (most) have no access to U.S. mail delivery. 'How strange,' I thought to myself, 'to voluntarily live overseas. Who would do that?' Of course I then realized that I am an expat and I am doing that right now.

Today as I was leaving a friend's apartment following a visiting teaching appointment, I saw an American-make car. 'Ooh Egypt!' I thought as I glanced at the license plate. ' How exotic!' And then of course I remembered that all license plates around here say Egypt on them.

Living here has given the girls some peculiar life skills. Kathleen is always sure to point out the 'feral kitties' and instructs us not to pet them. Sophia eats tahina with a spoon. Both girls have an immense fondness for mashi, and Kathleen was shocked, shocked to learn the other day that some mommies have to clean their own toilets.

So, for the next while we're here, in that strange land called home.

The Many Faces of Edwin

By all accounts, Edwin is a very cheerful baby. He will smile and coo every time someone comes to pick him up, and loves being tickled. But every time I pull out my nice, fancy camera, all smiles disappear. I suppose he is his father's child, after all.

Where did we go?

Don't worry, the Aswan High Dam has not broken despite Brandon's co-worker's constant dreams about the event taken place, and your favorite Cairenes have not been swept out to the sea. We've just been busy.

A few days ago, Kathleen had brought up the subject of people who live in Cairo. They're called Cairenes, I told her. 'Oh,' she said, 'so we're Cairenes, too.' Brandon snorted at this point and said something about not quite being the same Cairenes.

However, when one thinks about it, Sophia and Edwin, by the end of our time here, will have lived in Cairo longer than they have lived anywhere else in their life. And if that doesn't qualify them as Cairenes, what does?

In primary today, a visitor was introduced. Eli, a very talkative boy, asked where she was from, and she said New York. Excited to have found a kindred soul, he shouted across the room 'Awesome! You're from America! I'm American, too!!'

Living overseas on a permanent basis while moving every few years leads to a strange situation of nationality versus residence versus culture versus ethnicity. My friend Mirza is Mexican but lives around the world attached to U.S. Embassies. Our friend's baby Miriam was born in Egypt but is not an Egyptian national, but American and required an entry visa on her passport - what does one put for 'port of entry?'

When new acquaintances ask where we, as a family, are from, I claim North Carolina, Brandon claims Missouri/Arizona, and the children... well nobody asks them yet.

For now, the girls are happy being American and Cairenes at the same time. I suppose we'll have to get to the details later.

Baking Day

I'll admit that sometimes I know that I'm not quite pulling my weight as a stay at home mother. Theoretically (and most days, in reality), the reason I stay home is because there's a lot of work to do around here. Children need cared for. Households need run. Children need cared for. Dinner needs cooked. Children need cared for.

When I'm out horseback riding in the desert and the children are being watched by Rere while she cleans the house and leaves pots full of delicious mashi to be eaten for dinner, the line from useful to well... replaceable has been crossed.

Last week, however, I pulled my weight around here. Six loaves of regular bread. Six loaves of banana bread. And 1 1/2 dozen English muffins. All before lunch.