A Farewell to Cairo, Part II

            Following Brandon’s graduation, a job prospect came up that had the strong possibility of going overseas.  We talked about returning with excitement, and impatiently waited through the months that stretched into a year and half of process before we were abruptly told that Brandon was no longer being considered for the job.  And so we made other plans, and stopped thinking of Cairo.  But then, the week after Sophia was born, Brandon found out that he might have a chance at joining the Foreign Service.  And the dreams of Cairo began again.

            After his third day of work, Brandon showed me the bid list, the list of possibilities, each one a different two years.  Cairo was on the list not once, but twice, and with a perfect timeframe for us.  On Flag Day, Brandon walked back to me, Kathleen, and Sophia with the Egyptian flag triumphantly clutched in his hand. 

            A few months later, we got off the plane in hot, crowded, busy, but no longer so bewildering Cairo.  Almost three year-old Kathleen clutched Brandon’s hand while we waited for the vans that would take us to our new home.  I held fourteen month-old Sophia on top of the bulge that was 20 week-old Edwin. 

            And when we walked back into the villa on road 17, we knew we were home again.  The carpet was green, and the walls were yellow, but it was the same spirit of the Cairo branch, waiting for us.  And indeed, it was some of the same branch, with the entire branch presidency known to us from our time four years earlier. 

            This time in Cairo has been different that last time.  We have come with a job, and an organization to take care of us, provide our housing, arrange our travel, and even give us access to Breyer’s ice cream.  We’re no longer stepping over puddles of water cascading over the bathroom floor each time a load of laundry is washed.  I have an apartment that is my home with all of my things, and as much feeling of permanence as one can have in two years. 

            But our time in Cairo has also been a real beginning of our time as a family.  When we came, we had one child who could talk and one who was still a baby.  I felt like we were a married couple with some appendages that made life difficult most of the time and perhaps occasionally funny, but not usually pleasurable.  They both went to bed early, and parenting consisted of maintaining basic needs.

            Now we are a family of five, with an almost five year-old, a three year-old, an 18 month-old, and a baby on the way.  We have all grown up.  I now have children who are old enough to do chores and play elaborate games of make-believe.  My baby is old enough to go into nursery in a few weeks, and enjoys swimming at Maadi House as much as his sisters do.  I actually mostly enjoy my time as a mother and now truly find pleasure in my children.

            I feel that this time in Cairo, just as the last time, has been a time of transformation from one state to another, from harried mother of small children to not-so harried mother with a real family going.  I’ve grown very much over these two years and feel like I finally have things under control.  We’ve gone through two evacuations – one for Edwin’s birth, and the recent one for unrest – and I’ve reluctantly grown as a result of those also.  I’ve realized that I can indeed handle whatever has been thrown at me, four solo transatlantic flights included, and even handle it with a small bit of grace.  Brandon and I have grown closer and more appreciative of each other because of the separation, and I know we’ve grown even better suited for each other than when we came.  It’s been a good two years.

            And now we leave, and in a way, leave a phase of our life, one that last lasted since our marriage.  Always we have come back to Cairo, but now we’re done.  When I was talking with the girls about Baku, they asked if then after that we’d come back to Cairo.  I shook my head, and told them that no, Cairo wasn’t going to be our home anymore; we would have a new one then.  It is strange to know that we are leaving Cairo and leaving the beginnings in our life; the beginning of marriage, the beginning of family.  It’s now time to move on to the next part – the middle – with all of its excitement, difficulty, new challenges, and new pleasures.  But never again will we have Cairo, and it will stay with us always.

A Farewell to Cairo

Adapted from a recent church talk.

            Cairo has been the touchstone of Brandon’s and my life together since before we were married.  When we were discussing marriage, Brandon brought up his need to go to Cairo the next summer for a study program.  After not hearing any conclusion to his dilemma, I summed up the situation for him by announcing, “well you have two options.  You can take me with you, or you can leave me, and then I’ll kill you.”

            And that’s how, six days after our marriage, two weeks after my graduation from college, I found myself dropped in the middle of hot, crowded, busy, bewildering Cairo with a halfhearted semester’s worth of Arabic under my belt.  I had lived overseas before during a study abroad to Vienna, but I quickly learned that Cairo is not Vienna.

            When we walked into the villa on road 17 our first Friday Sabbath, I don’t know if I had ever been happier to see the inside of an LDS church.  We were greeted warmly by the members, invited to dinner, and quickly given plenty of advice on where to buy everything from sheets to poppyseeds. 

            Our summer study extended into the fall semester, and we were given callings as the nursery leaders, which confirmed semi-permanent status as Cairo branch members.  The Cairo branch was our extended family, taking care of us, watching over us, and giving me somewhere to go for sanity and friendship in our crazy new home.

            When we left Cairo after seven months, we left with not only ourselves, but with the beginning of our family, baby Kathleen hitching a ride.  I will always see Cairo as the start of our time together as husband as wife.  We came, newly married and completely inexperienced with only six months’ of dating and courtship before we came.  We left seven months later with a lot more experience together. 

When we were married only a few weeks and the inevitable bowel troubles came, Brandon told me he was hoping to have waited another thirty or forty years before we were regularly checking up on each other’s bowel health.  I remember nursing Brandon through a particularly nasty fever equipped with only semi-cool washcloths and The Joy of Cooking to distract him.  We gallivanted through Cairo with metro as our main form of transportation to see the opera, hike to the Khan, and somehow get to Manial Palace instead of the Citadel. 

While washing dishes, cooking food, shopping, and riding the Metro to visit Brandon’s friend in Helwan, we grew to know each other and start to understand what it was to be married.  That time was one of the harder periods of my life up to that point, but it was what began to form us together, as husband and wife.

            At the time, I was more than happy to leave the insanity and stress of Cairo and return to the US.  But before long, the reminiscing began.  Remember the mangoes?  The bread?  The branch?  As the time passed, the glow enshrining Cairo grew brighter.

What I will miss most (and least) about Cairo

In two days, we'll be leaving (and yes, on a jet plane), and our time in Cairo will be done.  Everything we've been doing lately has been imbued with the emotional significance of 'the last time we....'

Some of those things I've thought of with regret, and others with a sense of relief.  Just like any place we have lived and will live, there are things I love and things I can live without.  One of the things I love about the Foreign Service is being able to have so many opportunities to find new things to love that I didn't even know existed.  One of the things that drive me crazy is finding new and inventive ways to be tortured by living conditions in foreign countries.

So without further ado:

Ashley's Cairo top (and bottom) 10 

10. The greenery (I'm really not kidding).  Despite Cairo being surrounded by desert, or perhaps because of this, Egyptians love plants.  And plants love Egypt.  Flowers bloom all year round, with some sort of tree blooming at all times.  Trees line some of my favorite streets in Maadi with glimpses into beautiful tropical gardens.

Tipping.  The last time I flew and a flight attendant took my trash, I had the irresistible urge to hand them some change.  Almost everyone here wants a tip, but there is the problem - almost everybody.  If only somebody could compile a comprehensive list of everyone in Cairo, whether or not they should be tipped, and how much the tip should be.

9.  Getting around.  Cairo is a city, and a very dense city at that.  Although we live in a 'suburb' of Cairo, 95% of the people live in apartments.  And so everything in our neighborhood is walkable.  But if we don't feel like walking, there is always a taxi waiting to take us where we want to go.

However, part of the reason there's always that taxi waiting, and honking, and asking if I want a ride is because, with my blonde hair and scandalously naked calves, I stick out like a sore thumb wherever I go.  I love being in the US where nobody gives me a second look.  Who knew anonymity was so precious?

8.  Egyptian food.  I've never heard much praise of Egyptian food, but I think that it's a seriously under-appreciated cuisine.  Especially the aeesh - local pita bread.  I'll probably spend the rest of my life trying to replicate its chewy, soft texture and never get it right.

The maintenance.  Or rather, lack of it.  Everything here has chipped corners, water leaks, eighty-six degree right angles, sagging facades, and corroded bases.  I've watched, over my two years here, brand-new buildings decay into patched-over, dirty replicas of their neighbors.  The whole country gives one the impression of constantly sliding into one enormous midden heap.

7.  The produce.  Oh, the produce.  When I read in Exodus about the children of Israel complaining about the leeks and the cucumbers and melons, I truly feel for them now.  Rere and I were talking about jam the other day, and I realized that nobody here makes jam because there is always fresh fruit available any day of the year.  And it's cheap.  And it's local.  And it's absolutely delicious.

Summer weather.  Of course, some of that deliciousness is because of the weather, and I have to pay for my incredibly sweet cherries with incredibly hot weather.  Between the months of April and October, the children and I spend most of our time inside or at the pool.  And that's it.

6.  Winter weather.  The flip-side of summer weather is winter weather - the time of year when I look at all of that snow-fall in the US and feel smug while I drink my freshly squeezed orange juice while the children play in flip-flops at the park.  I just wish I hadn't missed six months of it.

The dust.  And the trash.  The dust is nobody's fault - Cairo is in the middle of the Sahara, and so winds constantly bring in fine, fine dust that coats everything in sight - the trees, the cars, the railings, my children whenever they go outside.  And since we're in a desert, no rain ever comes to wash it off.  The trash, however, is somebody's fault and nobody does anything about it.

5.  Maadi House.  It's our own little slice of heaven, with a pool, a restaurant, and a playground for the children.  I can almost always count on meeting someone I know there, and I don't stick out like any kind of thumb.  It's been our second home while we've been here.

Which is good, as we live in an apartment with no yard.  If it weren't for Maadi house, we'd have gone crazy, especially as there is no other green space to take the children to play in.  Luckily the apartment is large so the children can ride bikes inside instead of out, but in the end, an apartment is still an apartment.

4.  The branch.  It has been our family while we've been here, watching over us and helping us more than we've returned over the past two years.  We'll always remember the wonderful times at church.

Being dependent.  This is really something that comes with living in any foreign culture - you just can't go out and get something done yourself.  There is no phone book, no Home Depot, no library with do-it-yourself books.  Any time I want to get something done, I have to have somebody else do it for me.  Which, as nice as it may sound, gets wearing sometimes.

3.  Rere.  Need I say more?

My children's celebrity.  If I stick out like a sore thumb, my children are movie stars.  We tried a few times to take them out in public to the park or zoo, but quickly gave up when we were stopped every ten feet for pictures.  Everyone was nice, everyone was polite, but when everyone is fifty people, I get a little cranky by the end.

2.  Mangoes.  I think that mangoes are the supreme act of creation.  They could also be called ambrosia.

No car.  My favorite part of being back in the US was having my own car.  It was our choice not to bring a car, but I am never doing that again.  I am too American; I can't stand not being able to go somewhere without the aid of someone else.  I can't wait for home leave when I will have that beloved car back again.

1.  Friends.  Of course this had to be the number one thing I will miss about Cairo.  And it will be the number one thing I'll miss about every single place we live.

So that's our two years, in a nutshell.  We will miss Cairo, but we're also looking forward to the next adventure!

Seven Days to Go

In one week, we'll be in the Frankfurt airport, waiting for our nine-hour flight across the Atlantic.  The last of our odds-and-ends will have been packed up into four suitcases and our apartment left bare and waiting for the next family who will call it home.

And I can't wait for next week to come.

I'm not ready to leave for any dislike of Cairo; I wouldn't mind spending another few years here.  We've had a great time, and it's the height of mango season.  Rere is wonderful, and I'm incredibly sad to have to leave Maadi House.  Everyone in the branch I can count as good friends, especially as almost every sister present has helped us out this past week in some way or another.

But it's time to go, and I'm itching with impatience to get the leaving over with.  Our things are gone.  The apartment is empty (although, Edwin can still strew with vigor despite the decreased amount of material available to him), and we're going crazy with boredom.  Plane tickets are purchased, the suitcases have already been packed and weighed once, our ride to the airport is arranged.

And so now all I have to do is wait on my hands and try to shift with the six forks, knives, spoons, plates, glasses, and bowls to feed my family for the next few days.  Sophia asks every day when we're going to get on the airplane and every day we count the days together, she being almost as eager as I.

I know that when the actual day comes, I'll be sad for all of the people that I will miss, friendships that may be picked up somewhere else, but most likely not.  We will reminisce together and remember all of the great times we have.

First, however, we have to leave.  And it's time to go.

A Farewell to the Khan

Last Saturday we paid our last (hopefully) visit to the famed Khan-al-Khalili.  I find it silly that, after two years of lusting after various housewares and handicrafts, we've waited until the last few months to buy them - just in time to be packed up for six months.

Saturday was the day of finishing up those odds and ends of major purchases.  We had a fabric kilim that we had ordered before the revolution (a week or two before) and not picked up yet.  My aunt requested some jewelry to be made up.  And Brandon and I set out to buy that elusive mashrabiya screen - for the last time.

Brandon requested to start in the morning, so after breakfast and showers we headed out into the already-burning heat.  Kathleen and Sophia frog-marched alongside Brandon and I as we headed for Road 9 (the local shopping street) while Edwin relaxed and sweated while being strapped to Brandon's back.

We got to Road 9, only to find the furniture shop we went visit closed, it being the early hour of 10:45.  Not wanting to leave, we kept on going to McDonald's to get something cold.  We were told that of course they didn't have ice cream at this hour as it was still breakfast time.  So instead we had orange juice.  Kathleen didn't want any, Sophia didn't like the taste, and Edwin spilled a full cup on the floor.  After Brandon mopped up the spill, the children played in the playground for a few minutes before we headed back to the furniture shop.

We surveyed the goods, took note of the prices, and then hopped in a taxi for the long, hot, crowded ride to the Khan.  Our stop was another furniture shop which had a promising screen and mirror.  The screen wasn't finished, but the keeper claimed he could have it finished in a week - the day before pack-out.  We told him we'd think about it and headed to the bead shop.

At the bead shop, we gave a solemn warning to the girls that if they touched a single thing we would cut off their fingers.  While I was picking out stones for earrings and a pendant, Kathleen told me that she would like to be an adult.  Distractedly, I asked her why.  "Because," she told me, "if I was an adult, I would get to touch whatever I wanted."  Thankfully, everyone obeyed, however, and everyone retained their fingers.

The helpful man at the shop then took us to his friend the jeweler who kept his workshop up three or four steep and bizarrely twisted staircases (you have never known the meaning of warren until you've been up into the backways of the Khan).  The friend was very happy to set the stones in whatever setting we liked and handed us a jewelry catalog to pick one out.  While the jeweler handed dates around to the children, I picked out a setting, agreed on a price, and set up a time to pick it up this week.

Back down the staircases we went, and down the street to the furniture shop with Sophia walking more and more slowly while Edwin melted to Brandon's back in the 100+ heat.  At the furniture shop we decided on the mirror, not wanting to chance having the screen not finished in time.  After the requisite talk we agreed on a price, and then had to head out again for an ATM for a deposit, having already handed the cash on hand to the jeweler for his deposit.

And then, to the relief of the girls, we finally went home.  On the way to finding a taxi, Sophia tiredly proclaimed, "Next time we go to the Khan, I'm riding on Daddy's back and Edwin can walk."  Don't worry Sophia, there won't be a next time.

The Pyramids (Finally)

The other day, the subject of Disneyland came up.  When Kathleen asked why we were never going to take her to Disneyland, I explained that Disneyland wasn't much more than somewhere that had a lot of pretend places from around the world.  And why would we want to see the pretend pyramids, when we've seen the real ones?

"But I haven't!!" she protested, "why haven't you taken me to see the real pyramids?"  I blame Bill and Pete Go Down the Nile for her knowing what the pyramids actually are.

So, this past Saturday, we bowed to popular dissent and finally took our children to see the pyramids.  We still have the use of our friends' car, and so I navigated through Cairo traffic with nary a mishap (and that's my story and I'm sticking to it).

We arrived early on purpose to avoid the crowds, which worked somewhat nicely.  Not one person asked to take our children's pictures, but we were followed by every carriage, camel, and horse-man that saw us from a half-mile off. 

After seeing the Great Pyramid and the other one, we made it up to the Menakaufre pyramid, where we had tickets to go inside.  They wouldn't let us take the backpack with our camera inside, and I wasn't about to leave the backpack with them, so I took Sophia and Brandon took Kathleen.

Sophia, although a little nervous with the steep descent, decided that the inside of a pyramid was pretty interesting and not a bit scary.  Kathleen took her turn with Brandon, determined to be just like Jack and Annie and see the inside.  She saw about three feet inside before breaking down into screaming fits and Brandon saw the inside all by himself.  Edwin will have to wait until he can come back on his own dime to see the inside of any pyramid.

By this point, we had walked quite a bit over sand and stone, and I didn't have much faith in the ability of Kathleen and Sophia to stick it out all of the way back down to the Sphinx, and was eyeing the camels waiting outside the pyramid.  Brandon flatly refused, not wanting to give in to the man, but after promising him that I would take all responsibility and do all of the bargaining, he consented.

The children all loved being so high above everyone, and Brandon declared at the end that it was a good idea.  I'm sure they'll remember the ride most of all. 

We finished with a very quick visit to the Sphinx and made our way back to the car, relieved to have finally done our duty by our children.

Wadi Digla

Some friends of ours recently left town for a month and (not having heard of my high school driving record) left us the keys of their car.  Unfortunately, since the evacuation, nobody is allowed to drive without another adult, and so we've only just used it for the first time this past Saturday. 

So, for our inaugural outing in Egyptian traffic, we went to Wadi Digla, a local 'nature' preserve.  After driving for awhile though the canyon, we parked the car, and Sophia and Kathleen immediately headed to the nearest rock pile and started climbing.

 

Sophia enjoyed climbing, but Kathleen decided that climbing, rocks, and skinned knees weren't her favorite and had to be coaxed down by Brandon after getting to the top.

 

Edwin and I stayed on the valley floor where he found trash to dig in the dirt with. 

We ended our trip into nature (we had to explain to the girls what 'nature' means) with a walk down the dry creek bed, and stopped by the commissary on the way home for Fudgsicles.

 

 

All Dressed Up and (Finally) Something to Buy

Yesterday I planned a series of surprises for Brandon's birthday.  The surprises culminated in me showing up at his office just as he was leaving for a long, very hot ride on the metro with all of his required 'buddies' from work.  Brandon was at first confused, and then happy to see me, and even happier to take an air-conditioned taxi down to Maadi with me, his preferred buddy.

I had left the children with Rere, so we had the rest of the evening to ourselves.  I knew that dinner would only take so long, so I suggested visiting the rug shop that was never open when we went out for my birthday in January.  It was open this time, and a hand-made silk rug caught our eye as we walked in the door.  We looked at quite a few other rugs, but the first was our favorite.  When it came time to ask the price, it was no surprise that our favorite was also the most expensive.

Neither of us have any reasonable experience bargaining, never having haggled for anything worth over eighty dollars, and this rug was a great deal more than eighty dollars.  We looked at each other, realized that we were in over our heads and thanked the kind man and went to dinner.

Over coconut juice, spring rolls, and pad thai, we discussed our options.  I was surprised to find out that Brandon, as his attachment to material goods is almost nonexistent, quite seriously wanted that rug, and only that rug, regardless of the cost.  So we discussed prices, the theory of bargaining, and our bargaining strategy, eventually deciding on a price that we could live with but wouldn't go above.

When we walked back into the shop, the owner pulled out the rugs we had previously narrowed down our choices to.  I became insistent that I wanted the rug, and Brandon stubbornly refused, reminding me repeatedly that it was much more than we could afford to spend.  He asked to see other, less expensive rugs, and I pointed out that my rug was obviously the most beautiful of all of them while Brandon claimed that they were all rugs to him.  By this time, the men had gathered around, and were telling Brandon that he had better listen to his wife because she knew what she was talking about and she was the one who would have it in her house.  The ante only went up when Brandon slipped that it was my birthday.

After enough acting, the shopkeeper agreed to lower the price, and left us to argue about getting another, cheaper rug while I insisted that I only wanted that rug.  When we stood up to leave, the man was back again, asking us why we were leaving.  When Brandon told him that we just didn't have the budget, he asked what our budget was and came down again.  After some more pleading, we counter-offered, and then he counter-offered the price Brandon and I had agreed on over dinner.  Not one to give up a game so easily, Brandon grumbled for another five minutes before finally giving in for 'my birthday.'


The owner happily wrapped up our rug, pleased to have sold the rug for such a good price, and I happily handed over the credit card, pleased to have gotten it for such a good price.  Brandon and I both left happily, pleased to have worked out our play-acting exactly how we had planned, the warm glow of our first successful bargain in our hearts.

When the girls saw it this morning, they oohed and ahhed over how beautiful it was, and Sophia announced that it was just like a magic carpet.  And we all got on and went for a ride.

No Good Options

Yesterday, Brandon called me.  He had been given the option to leave, and after much much consideration, he decided to go.  I knew that I should have felt happy, relieved, excited when I got the phone call, but I felt nothing.  And so I arranged for a corporate rental apartment, got in touch with a car-buying service, started going through the mental lists of what  had to buy to stock the apartment, and offered a very heartfelt prayer of thanks.

I called him this morning, and he was (and probably is) still sitting at the airport, waiting to leave.  I asked him how he was feeling, and he was was very distressed about having to leave; he feels that he is abandoning his co-workers, his job, and his responsibility for Rere. He gave her all of the cash he had on hand when he left, but it was barely enough to cover a month's salary.  The only reason he is leaving is for me and the children.

If we knew that we were coming back, I don't think Brandon would be distressed - but we don't.  We only have six months left on our tour, and how long the evacuation will last is anybody's guess.  If they do let Brandon go back, they might not let me and the children go back.  If Brandon doesn't go back, then we will be PCS'd to DC.

We had been planning on being TDY for Brandon's training, and the per diem would neatly cover all of our housing.  If we are PCS'd, however, we will be given an eight percent pay raise, everything we have in storage, and a hearty good luck for finding any kind of reasonable housing for three children less than three hours away from DC on a very low FS-5 salary.  We have been very careful with our money, and have saved quite a bit, but if we're in DC for eighteen months on our own power, there won't be a penny left by the time we leave.  And I'll be crammed into a tiny apartment with at least three children (we don't plan to be done any time soon) for a year and a half tearing my hair out.

If Brandon goes back to post, I'll be in an apartment that is paid for, but I will be without my husband for three or four months.  Either way, I'll be prematurely bald.

If I knew what would happen next, then I could plan.  But I don't.  I don't even know when Brandon will be coming back to the US.  I always prefer to have the disaster happen so I can get to cleaning it up rather than bracing for an undefined coming evil.

Nothing in life is ever neat.  We often move from one disaster to the next, and I suppose I'm owed one after the last year of peace and calm.  Philosophy, however, only gets one so far when reality stares you in the face.  But, what can be done?  Not much except to get out of bed every day, take care of those you are responsible for, and do it again the next day.

January 31

12:00

            We’re at the commissary, waiting.  Last night the evacuation was announced over the radio, and we were told to be ready to 8 am for the shuttles to come and pick us up.  I finished up the packing and Brandon put Edwin and the girls to bed for the last time in at least a month.  After the children were in bed, we watched a movie just to have something normal to do so we could pretend that I wasn’t leaving in the morning.  When the movie ended, however, the pretending was over and I couldn’t deny that we were going to leave.  We got a good night sleep, despite the gunfire.  Well, I did; Brandon said that the gunfire kept him up. 

            We woke up at 6 and got everything ready by eight.  When nobody had come by 8:30, I put Edwin down for a nap, knowing that it might be the only nap he would get that day.  Our neighbors came to get us at 9:30, saying that the buses were here, but when we got down, they drove off.  Mr. Dempsey chased the buses down to 55/17 only to discover that they were for HSBC evacuations.

            And so we waited outside until 10:30 when the Embassy shuttle came.  Edwin’s pink eye had flared up again this morning because we ran out of drops and the pharmacies were closed.  While we were waiting, Brandon called some pharmacies, but just as he was giving one our address, the shuttle pulled up. 

            The driver tossed our bags into the back, and Brandon got in with us.  He is supposed to help out at the airport, so thankfully he gets to ride up with us.  When we were in, the driver asked if we knew of anybody else nearby, so we directed him to the Goering’s building.  The Goerings were outside along with the Risleys, but the driver only had room for the Risleys. 

            I had not been outside since Friday afternoon, and was surprised to see the roads.  Concrete blocks, logs, guard shacks, and whatever was on hand had been pulled partway across the roads to prevent looters.  As we left Maadi and drove toward the commissary, crowds of young men manned  areas with the same pulled across them.  One used a telephone pole that had been pulled down.

            When I first saw them, and the pistol shoved into one boy’s belt, I was alarmed.  But as we drove further, I realized that these people were not out to cause trouble, but to prevent trouble.  I haven’t the best opinion of Egyptians, after living her for a year and a half.  They have their own was of doing things that often drives me insane.  An amazing lack of attention to detail in just about everything makes the whole country an almost rubble heap.  And their friendliness often drives me into the safety of my own, private apartment.  But when I saw those men taking the job of peacekeeping into my own hands, I found a new respect for them.  I don’t know if this would have happened in the States; most people would probably hunker down in their own homes, protecting what was theirs.  I was proud of Egypt and the Egyptians when I saw them taking their own safety and well-being into their own hands.  Seeing this has made me believe, for the first time, that they might be entrusted to take their own future into their own hands.

            After arriving at the Commissary, we were unloaded and the driver went out for another run.  Brandon checked me in while Eileen and I watched the luggage and children.  When he came back, he handed me an envelope; inside were five hundred-dollar bills.  “Travel advance,” he told me.  I looked around at all of the people milling around.  That’s a lot of hundred-dollar bills.

            So we sat for about ten minutes, and then were told that the buses were around the corner and ready to be loaded.  Brandon put our bags and ourselves onto the buses, and then he and Dave left the women and children on the bus and went out to help.  Kathleen has found some friends from Maadi House behind her, and is happily chatting away.  Edwin is happy to flip the seat tray repeatedly up and down and up and down, and everyone is making friends and saying hello to other friends. 

            Sometimes I’ve thought about the advantages private sector employees have – nicer homes, often houses, drivers, cars, better salary.  But today as I sit on a bus chartered by the US Government waiting to go to a plane chartered by the US government with my travel advance in my backpack, I am very glad to be in the protective fold of Uncle Sam.

January 30

January 30, 2011

            Last night was the most frightening night of my life.  When I crawled into bed around eight, Brandon was shaking from fever, so I made him take medicine to bring the fever down.  While trying to soothe him, we heard the gunfire start.  Around ten, a voice came over the radio telling the Marines that looters were on their street, and gunfire was heard only a road away.  Two minutes later, someone else reported gunfire around streets 17 and 18.  We live at 17 and Orabi.  The radio grew quiet for a time, and I drifted off to sleep.

            At 11:45, the phone rang.  If there were voluntary departure, would we like to leave?  Brandon told them yes, and we tried to go back to sleep.  Brandon slept, but I only slept fitfully, the sleep where I woke up thinking that I had never been asleep in the first place.

            This morning we woke up, and everything was quiet.  The day was a clear as I’d ever seen it and the birds were singing.  After breakfast, I sent Brandon to bed and folded yesterday’s laundry.  The girls and Edwin played quietly, and I could almost believe that it was a normal day.

            Then Brandon came in.  They were starting authorized departures.  And so now my room is full of suitcases, mostly packed.  Sophia and Kathleen have their shoes on and are busy packing their carry-ons.  They are excited and keep telling me, “Mom you have two options.  You can stay here and be killed, or leave and be safe.”  I don’t want to leave, more than anything in life I don’t want to leave.  I don’t want to be with my parents for an unknown length of time, at least 30 days.  I don’t want to be without Brandon.  I don’t want to leave Egypt this way and never come back.  I don’t want to have to be transferred to DC early and live in DC for a year on five suitcases.  I don’t want to have to worry about Brandon every single minute.  I don’t want to be in somebody else’s house as a guest for who knows how long.  I don’t want to leave.  If I could have a magic wand and wave it just once, now would be the time. 

January 29, continued

15:42

Brandon just told me that one of his callers, who lives across the street from the Maadi Grand Mall told him that the mall has been looted and is now burning.  I never thought that Maadi would see looting and violence.  Mark commented earlier that when looting begins, it is the end of the end.  I have two sets of go-bags packed – backpacks for a quick trip on foot, and carry-ons for something more organized by vehicle.  I never thought that I would have to pack a go-bag.  When I look around my apartment and think that I may never see these things of mine again, I do not believe it.  Five percent of my mind considers it as a possibility, but the rest knows that nothing like that can ever be. 

As the day has progressed, I have become increasingly alarmed.  If Brandon were not taking phone calls, I would be much more sanguine.  However, when somebody reports seeing the mall burned, I can’t help but be alarmed.  I am not a naturally nervous person, but I feel my limits beginning to be tested.  This was somewhat exciting fun at first, but I don’t like it now.

I have discovered how news travels when there is no official source – rumors.  Yolanda will talk to Brandon who tells me and I pass it on to Mark.  I talk to Rere and pass on what Samir has told me.  This is like passing on juicy gossip about horrific events that are happening around you.  I can understand how rumors grow larger with each passing.

The children are watching Mary Poppins, and I am grateful that they watch so few movies so that they can be entertained for a few hours.  Edwin has caught on to the mood and is disconsolate unless being held all of the time.  I grew tired of hauling his 22+ pounds around, and so pulled his high chair into the study and he’s watching the movie snuggled up to his blankie and thumb. 

I told Kathleen that I had to pack some things, and she asked if they could come to.  I told her that of course, and she asked me where we were going.  When I told her that we might have to leave and fly to the US, she brightened and clapped her hands with delight.  One of the primary children had the same response yesterday in church.

17:04

I just saw two tanks drive through Nahda Square.  They rumbled past and I assume went to the Maadi police station.  Rere called a few minutes ago and said that looters are coming through her neighborhood.  The men of her building are standing outside with knives and hammers to keep the looters away.  Apartment by apartment looting is occurring in Moquattam.  Mark thinks that we will be evacuated, and so I’ve gone through the house with our video camera to film all of our possessions. 

The girls are excited to leave; Sophia just brought me her shoes to put on and was disappointed to learn that we wouldn’t be leaving just right now.  I have that surreal sense of now that I suppose has been described as living in a dream.  Everything that is happening is real, too painfully so, and I am scared.  I know that faith is a rock, but right now it feels a flimsy support.  Brandon assured me that everything would be fine, and it will in the cosmic sense, but right now I wouldn’t describe as ‘fine.’  In the end, however, as long as I have my family, I have all that is important.

17:55

Something is burning.  A very large something, judging by the huge clouds of billowing black smoke coming from behind a building we can see from the front room.  The fire just started, and I don’t know where it is coming from.  The building is across Nahda street north of the metro.

In the street below, crowds of boabs are gathering with baseball bats, golf clubs, and assorted long, deadly weapons.  I am impressed.  They have almost no stake here in Maadi – no family, no property, and only a very little pay.  But they gather to protect that which is not theirs.  There’s not much I can do, but we’re baking cookies.  Whatever the situation, cookies are always appropriate.

19:16

I put my head outside, and Maadi is eerily quiet.  No horns honk in the passing traffic; no traffic is passing.  The ubiquitous rrrrrrr-tu-tu-tut of delivery scooters is silent.  No music comes drifting out of a passing car window.  All I hear is the quiet talk of the men in the street and an occasional sound of gunfire.  Sometimes the single shot is close, sometimes it is far away.

Mark called earlier and reported that Road 9 is being looted.  As he says, ‘looting is the beginning of the end.’  Egypt has changed irrevocably.  Tomorrow morning or next week when the rioting has stopped, the stores will still be smashed, the buildings burnt.  The storeowners will be destitute and some nameless man will hoard all of their work after winning it in a night of larceny. 

Brandon thinks that if we are to be evacuated, it will be tomorrow.  The girls keep asking when we will go to the airport, and don’t believe that something bad could happen.  I think it is better that way – if they did believe they’d never sleep.  I hope, of course, that we won’t need to be evacuated.  I can believe the situation is slowing more readily because Brandon is off right now and is trying to get some sleep.  I imagine when the calls begin again, I will feel the fear again.

Brandon thinks he is coming down with strep throat, and has a rising fever and chills.  While he was getting ready for bed, I blocked our front door with the sideboard, the front entry table, and two chairs.  I tried to use the study sofa, but I couldn’t get it through the door.  Hopefully I’ll just laugh when I see them in the morning.

The Next Day

January 29, 2011  12:27

            Last night the gunfire continued for 30-45 minutes, and then went on sporadically for a while longer.  Brandon took phone calls until 2 AM, so I took a Lunesta and put earplugs in.  The phone calls never quite stopped, so Brandon didn’t get any sleep until 2.  Thanks to the Lunesta, however, I didn’t hear anything.

            When we woke up this morning, nothing was to be seen or heard.  I called around to see if anyone knew anything, but nobody knew more than protests throughout the city.  Brandon started taking calls again at 7, and most calls were about getting to the airport and whether they should leave. 

Around 10, he started getting phone calls about evacuation.  There was a rumor that the ambassador had been talking to CNN and had announced an evacuation.  Everyone wanted to know what they were supposed to do for the evacuation.  Brandon has had to tell them all that no, there is no announced evacuation and even if there were, they would not be included.  He has had some people grow quite belligerent and ask what the Embassy planned to do for them. He has pointed out several times that 30,000 American citizens live in Egypt and there is no way the government would be able to transport all of them out of the country.  Someone asked if the doors of the embassy would be opened for sanctuary.  I don’t know how many times I’ve heard him tell a caller that they need to stay home, sit tight, and do what they thought was a good idea, but the embassy couldn’t do anything for them. 

Around 10, we got broadcast on the radio announcing that the struggle is continuing around the city and that the police and army were deployed at strategic points, but that the streets were not considered safe.  All employees were advised to stay inside.

The cell phones came back on around the same time as the announcement, and Brandon got a call from Samir.  He had watched as the police station and NDP building were burned.  There was some attempted looting, but the surrounding citizens had stopped the looting.

I called mom and told her about the situation, and she reported that all of the news was full of the happenings in Egypt.  She had thought that we were safe in Maadi, but then I told her about the things that had gone one.  She didn’t sound very worried, and I am grateful for that.  After I got off the phone with mom, Y called.  A hotel in Giza had been burned and private residences were being broken into and looted.  There had also been an evacuation plan discussed, but no decision made. 

After my nap, Brandon told me that the curfew had been instituted for tonight – from 4 this afternoon until 8 tomorrow morning.  My phone was still on, so I called Rere and she told me that there are food shortages and that everyone is going to the souk to stock up.  She also had heard that a bank had been looted and that the army was surrounding the embassies and Egyptian Museum.

M called about an hour ago and passed on the information that Carrefour has been looted and that a burned out police trucks were by the Maadi Grand mall.

Hello from Athens

As I type, Kathleen, Sophia and Edwin are all asleep and I am enjoying the Sofitel's free wireless; I never knew how much I missed the internet until it was shut off.

Brandon is at the Cairo airport, shuttling a mix of private American citizens and Embassy personnel onto various flights to various points throughout Europe.  We're in Athens, some went to Istanbul, some went to Bahrain, and perhaps some other places.  The rumor was that twelve planes were chartered to shuttle people out.  We were number four and arrived in Athens at 9:00 pm.  We got to our hotel at midnight.

We were all very much surprised about the evacuation, as evident by my post about the situation a few days ago, nobody thought that things would downgrade so quickly.  I wanted to stay very much, but we had some friends in the branch whose advice I trust very much strongly advise us to go, so we went.  I hoped until the very last minute that it would be called off and we could stay, but now we're here and there's no returning for thirty days.  Sometimes I catch myself thinking that perhaps it will all clear up and we can stay... but of course we're already gone.

I have a more detailed account for later, but right now I'm going to get some sleep, as it's already two in the morning.  We'll be in Athens until Wednesday, as there were no good flights until then and I'd rather spend an extra day in a hotel than ten hours in Frankfurt.

I'm strongly tempted to splurge on a babysitter and a massage after carrying fifty pounds of Edwin and backpack for most of the day today.  After all, what better use for the envelope of cash I was handed on my way out?

Current Events

Last night, I got a phone call from my mother-in-law.  They had been watching the news, and were we okay?  Earlier my father emailed me along the same lines.

When we were posted to Cairo, I didn't quite anticipate Egypt being in the news as often as it has been recently; my feeling was that it was a safe, stable country.  I guess I didn't look up how old Mubarak has become.  Or think about Tunisia's stability.  But living anywhere in the world is always a risky proposition because it takes very little to excite people.  And I suppose that Egyptians are just as welcome as anyone to try and do something about their situation.

Yesterday I asked Rere about the riots, and she shrugged her shoulders.  I don't care that much about what happens, she told me, I just want to make sure my family is safe and my life stays normal.  She told me that she didn't care much about politics - she doesn't vote, she doesn't talk about them; she wants to take care of her own corner of the world.  I asked her what she thought of the protesters and their desire to change the government.  She shook her head.  "You have to change here," she said while holding her fist to her heart, "nothing will make a difference until this is changed.  That will make the difference."

We are all doing fine here in Maadi.  While going out for a felucca ride Tuesday afternoon, we saw a fire truck (who knew?) and police vans with security forces in riot gear outside the local police station.  Other than that afternoon, I haven't gone out anyway and Maadi is a quiet part of town.

We just got a security message from the RSO about staying away from crowds, places where security forces are gathering, and mosques tomorrow.  Evidently there are some more protests planned.  Brandon is at work today, quite close to Tahrir Square where the largest demonstration took place.  He walks right through the area to get to the metro, which has also been disrupted because of the protesting.

I'm not overly worried about the coming days; we have plenty of food (even if it means we'll be eating a lot of dried beans), a large supply of water, and I doubt that protesters will be seeking out my apartment.

However, tensions have certainly been mounting over the last few months, and so I think that nobody quite knows where this will lead.  We'll keep you updated.

Living in Cairo: Dust

Once when I was at a friend's house, I saw a plaque on her wall.  'You are in the world's biggest sandbox,' it read, 'to dust or not to dust is up to you.'  When I look out my window, I see green everywhere and I often forget that the Nile Valley is a thin ribbon of life sandwiched by endless desert.  Across that desert often blows wind, and that wind always brings dust.

When I went to my parents' house this summer and my mother told me that, having no children home to sew chaos and destruction, she only cleaned some rooms once a month, I was shocked.  What about the dust?  Surely after a month, the floors would be coated, not to mention the mouldings, picture frames, lamps, tables, and furniture.  Then I remembered that North Carolina is not in the Sahara.

Rere comes twice a week, and twice a week she sweeps and mops and vacuums all of our 2500-plus square feet of flooring.  By the time she comes again, however, our feet are brown from the dust coating the floor.  On the days at the end of summer when a cool breeze finally comes and I open the windows, the dust can be seen spraying out from around the window to any surface nearby.  I once left French Cooking by an open window for half an hour and had to wipe off the open pages before putting it away.

In the outer courtyard of the Alabaster Mosque stands a very ornate clock, completely out of place.  The clock was a gift from the French in the mid-nineteenth century.  A few weeks after the clock's installation, the works froze.  When the clock case was opened, fine dust was found throughout.  The dust was cleaned and the clock put back in order.  A few weeks later, the same happened again.  This was repeated a few more times until the clock was given up, and now stands as a pretty ornament.

This dust coats every surface in Cairo, building up day after day until apartment buildings that were once white turn dusty brown and green foliage becomes muted.  Cairo is a desert, and so the dust has nothing to wash it away.

Until it rains.  Last week those rains came.  But the funny thing about rain here is that it never lasts long.  Most rain is a passing, chancy thing lasting thirty seconds.  Last week we had several very long spurts that lasted into five minutes.  We even got hail.  The girls were very puzzled.

After the rain, I looked out my windows to a fresh, green world.  I smelled clean(er) air, and the trees glowed.  Then I looked at my window.  The rain hadn't lasted quite long enough.  Dirty before, they were now caked with all of the dust the rain had washed off the walls.  Maybe I'll get them cleaned before we leave.  Maybe not.

A Cautionary Tale Part II: Apple

Having tried the quick and easy route and failed miserably, I returned to Apple.  I repeated the story to another kind gentleman.  Was the store lying, or were warranty cases really frozen for the whole Middle East?  He had no record of such a thing happening, and while we were at it, he had no record of my earlier phone call with the gentleman who started the whole dog-and-pony show in the first place.

If there is one thing my mother has taught me, however, it is to keep track of documentation, and so I read him the date and case number of my previous phone call.  Oh yes, there it is.  Well, he was going to have to send me to the department that handles problems with power adapters for those 'older' (I suppose that 18 months should count as ancient in the computer world) laptops.  

But then he was going to have me talk with somebody else more... something.  And evidently younger, as J- sounded like he had skipped college in favor of working for Apple.  J- got the story again, and then was deeply sorry that he couldn't do anything for me - Apple can't do a thing without the original equipment being returned.  The best thing he could suggest was that I simply buy a new adapter.

There are many things I have learned while living here.  I can stare down oncoming cars to a standstill.  I can avoid looking anyone in the eye while in a crowded Metro car.  I have perfected the expat personal space bubble.  I know how to get delivery boys to my house within twenty minutes.  And I have gained The Voice.

When I very first came to Egypt and watched my compatriots interact with the locals, I was ashamed.  Whenever they talked, a demanding, irritated, high-pitched sound came from their mouth.  I could see the Egyptian cringing.  'Why was that necessary,' I wondered, 'if you treat people with kindness and respect, they'll be happy to do whatever you ask them to.'  Now, of course, I know why The Voice is necessary, although I try and be decent whenever possible.  However, there are times when decency gets you nowhere, and the only thing that will make any (especially when I am dealing with a man) difference is The Voice.

And so I used The Voice.  I opened with my usual phrase.  

"Excuse me?!?!  You want me to get the original power adapter back?!  What would you like me to do - have my husband take a gun down to iSpot and demand they return the power adapter?!?  It was YOUR customer service representative that TOLD ME to go down to this store!!  He GAVE me the number and address!!  Without his advice, I would have NEVER NEVER gone down to that store - I would have dealt with Apple directly.  I LIVE here, it is a third world country, NOTHING WORKS HERE!!!!!'

I stopped, wrung dry of invective and shaking.  Being nasty feels good for a few seconds, but really I don't like it.  

A stunned silence on the line was finally broken by J-, in a small voice telling me to hold while he talked to someone, anyone other than the crazy lady shouting at him from Egypt.  He returned after a few minutes, composed and relieved.  Apple would be happy to send me a new power adapter and they would be willing to waive the usual requirement of returning the defective equipment.  

After I hung up the phone and danced a victory dance, a small voice in the back of my head whispered that he was just telling me lies to get me off the phone.  Since the phone call, however, I've received several follow-up emails telling me that yes, the adapter really is coming in the mail.

And I believe them, mostly.  But part of me won't believe it until my laptop is fully charged and happily running budget numbers.  Living in Egypt has scarred me.

A Cautionary Tale

A long, long time ago in October, the power cord for my laptop broke.  The laptop plug resides in the computer room, next to a very overloaded power transformer.  Near the power adapter are two rolling office chairs.  Occasionally the office chairs, while being pushed around by Kathleen or Sophia, rolled over the thin part of the cord.  Over time, the cord began failing and eventually it gave up the ghost entirely.

Without a power cord a laptop becomes a very expensive paperweight, and so I called Apple to make use of AppleCare.  The kind gentleman on the line, speaking a very pleasant Southern-accented English, said that he would be happy to mail me a new power adapter.

Then he asked me if I would be able to return the adapter through the APO system.  Yes, I told him, but the return trip usually takes about a month.  Well, that would be a problem, as Apple requires that the broken hardware be returned within 10 days to avoid being charged for the replacement.

What if I mailed the adapter to an address in the US, and had them complete the exchange?  I knew that that wouldn't work, as I would be without my laptop for six weeks at least.  Brandon and I had been a single-computer family for four years before we upgraded, but I've become spoiled and six weeks is a long time to be without my computer - and it has my Quicken files on it.

So he suggested I take the cord to an Apple authorized service provider in Egypt.  In fact, there was one in my neighborhood - New Maadi.  All I had to do was take the cord in, they would look up my records, and give me a new adapter.

I have lived in Egypt long enough to find out that locals have a very strange adherence to rules.  Most reasonable rules - driving within lines, driving on a specific side of the road, paying to get on the Metro trains, standing in lines - are completely ignored.  But strange, finicky book-rules are adhered to very strictly, to the exclusion of any common sense.  At the mall this week I found out that some doors are only for entering, not exiting.  Why?  Nobody can explain, but there's no way you're going to get out that door.

The computer and AppleCare plan are registered under Brandon's name, and so Brandon got to take the power cord to iSpot, the local Apple provider.  To his surprise, they looked up his information, confirmed that yes, he had AppleCare, and told him that they would call him when a replacement came in.  And not a piaster changed hands.

Meanwhile, some visitors came, and we were busy.  No phone calls came from iSpot, but that wasn't much of a surprise.  After our visitors left, Brandon called iSpot, figuring that a month would certainly be enough time to get something done.

Oh, they told him, iSpot only ships items to Apple twice a month, and the gentleman on the phone was unsure if our power adapter was in the lot shipped to Apple.  He would check on it and give us a call.  A few weeks went by.  Brandon called.  The computer wasn't working; call back in two days.  Another week.  They weren't sure where our records were; give them a day.

Finally he resorted to the only thing that gets anything in this country done: constant nagging.  One day they couldn't find the report, the next day they had to talk to Apple, and on the third day Apple had frozen all warranty cases in the Middle East.  And when would we know about our power adapter?  Who knows, insha'alla?

Living in Cairo: Saturdays

When Brandon was a child, he always looked forward to Saturdays.  Until Saturday came, and then he would wonder amid the (reported) endless hours of labor in the hot sun without even a five-minute break why he was so excited.  My Saturdays weren't quite so bad, but I do remember a lot of cleaning house and parents involved with yard work and home improvement.

While Brandon worked at Stouffer's, he had a rotating four-day workweek, so we never had dedicated Saturdays, but the days he had off always involved me running errands with our one car while he watched the children at home.

In Arlington, we rented a house with a lovely yard that required a lot of upkeep so Saturdays were always busy.

In Cairo we have no yard, maintenance is done by the embassy, I have a housekeeper, and so Saturdays are chore-free.  Kathleen is too young to be in any organized activities, and I run errands during the week, and so Saturdays are endlessly empty, with nary a commitment in sight.

During the summer, Saturdays always without fail every single Saturday involved going to the pool.  We always swam in the morning, came home for a long, late nap, ate an early dinner and watched a movie together.  Everyone was happy, everyone had something to do, and crankiness was kept to a reasonable level.

It's (Cairo) winter now, and although the pool is heated, swimming in low seventies weather doesn't sound like much fun to me.  Maadi house has a playground, but somehow the pool provides so many more hours of a amusement.  We don't have a car, and so going anywhere is an immense amount of trouble.  We have three small children, and so going anywhere is an immense amount of trouble.  We have no yard to play in, and an apartment, no matter how big, still is an apartment with a limited amount of space to play in.

We don't even have the luxury of a TV to sit them down in front of.

I never thought I would find myself complaining about a lack of household responsibilities, but I wouldn't mind at least a garden to weed and let Edwin eat the bugs from.  Maybe I'll start making up chores for the girls to do, just to keep them from fighting.

So tell me, what do you do on a Saturday?

Living in Cairo: Plumbing

Cairo is in a third-world country.  There are some aspects that might fool the casual observer - the Ritz Carlton is coming to downtown.  The airport is new.  Western-style malls have started to appear.  Apartments have electricity, air conditioning, and running water.  But the facade starts to break down when the details are examined, and it is those details that bely the underlying systems and attitudes that make Egypt a third-world country.

Plumbing, I am coming to believe, is a litmus test for any country's overall attitude and ability to keep things together over any length of time.

Our apartment is a 'wealthy' apartment.  It is paved entirely in stone, has four and a half bathrooms, central air conditioning, an enormous kitchen, and an old servant-bell pull system that no longer works.  However, I dream of the days when I can live in some tidy, snug little house that never has leaks.


There are five toilets in our house.  It is a physical law that at least one of the toilets must be running at all times.  It is also a law that when facilities comes to fix that leaking toilet, it has stopped leaking, and I can't find the new guilty party until after they leave.

Our air conditioning unit in the dining room leaked water into the floor, and bloomed out the wall beside it.  When facilities came to fix the wall, they asked if we had the matching paint.  Of course nobody had thought to give us the extra paint after they were done, and so I suppose the wall will be fixed for the next tenant.

There is an outlet in my hall that I never use because the wall is bulged and flaking around  it from another leaking air conditioning pipe.  And I noticed a suspicious bulge in another wall in the dining room just the other day.

So it was no surprise to me the other day when I noticed the girls' bathroom had a rather large, light brown pool of water that kept reappearing after it was mopped up.  It seemed to be coming from the bathtub pipes, and so I had Brandon put in a work order.

My friendly facilities workers came for their weekly visit, and started nosing around to uncover the problem.  I had visions of breaking up tiles to put in new pipes.  Either that or more layers of silicone.

And so I was surprised when they came in to the kitchen to talk to me.  It turns out that they leak isn't from our pipes, it's from our upstairs neighbor's pipes.  They were going to tell their boss who would tell our landlord who would tell the upstairs neighbors to tell their landlord that the leak needs fixed, insha'allah.

Thankfully we have another bathroom (four, remember?) that the children will be using until everybody plays telephone and everything gets fixed - for about a week.