A Village in Mourning

The women gathering around the home
of the grieving family.

I heard the sound of wailing and knew that something was happening in the village.  I walked through the dusty main street toward our home when I noticed a gathering of women in black abiyas.  They were sitting alongside the road on the rocks of granite jutting out of the ground.  I smiled to greet them but their faces were turned toward the ground.  

To my right were more of them until they formed a line on both sides of the road leading to the house where I had first heard the wails.  Someone had died.

I haven't lived in this village very long.  I'm not familiar with what's culturally appropriate yet for all of the life events that take place on a daily basis.  I continued walking with John and my friends breathing a prayer for each of these dear people.

We arrived at our apartment and began talking about what we had seen.  A friend told me that the whole village will go visit the mourning family and say a phrase to them which puts some of the sorrow on each person.  Then when the person leaves they are taking some of the sorrow with them.  

Immediately my mind went to the scripture where it said that Jesus was "a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief."

Oh, how I longed to tell them. To take the hand of each woman and look into her eyes and say, "There is hope!"  

The women running through the street.

A few minutes passed and the street filled with ladies who were in the house of the grieving family.  They had the body placed on a stretcher made of sticks.  The form was wrapped in plastic.  Suddenly, the ladies holding the body began running as fast as they could through the street toward the paved road leading to the cemetery.  All of the women standing on the sides rose and followed. 

I didn't know what to make of it.  My friend didn't either.  We understood that a Muslim must be buried within 24 hours of her death or before the next sunset.  The mourning or wails that we heard will continue for three days.  This public display of emotion demonstrates how loved the deceased woman was.  I have to admit it has an ominous sound when it continues through the night.

Our friend, Mustafa*, is coming over tomorrow for language study.  When he arrives, I'm going to ask him how I should respond over the next several days.  Until then, I will continue to pray for this family verses from Psalm 27 which says:

May the Lord be their light and their salvation;
    whom shall they fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of their lives;
    of whom shall they be afraid?

For he will hide them in his shelter
    in the day of trouble;
he will conceal them under the cover of his tent;
    he will lift them high upon a rock.

Hear, O Lord, when they cry aloud;
    be gracious to them and answer them!

I believe that they shall look upon the goodness of the Lord
    in the land of the living!
_____________________

*Not his real name

A Haiku for Day 7 of The Cavewoman Diet

Flowers in bloom on the trees here

Seven…Still first week?
Dreamed of peanut butter bliss
Alas, awakened.   

Days 5 and 6: Friends, Caravans, Police, Abu Simbel and Carrot Sticks

 "You can only have two nationalities in your van to Abu Simbel."

John looked at the Tourist Policeman and said, "What?"

"That is right.  You have 3 nationalities for your van and you can only have two."

John asking the most obvious of questions, "Why?"

"Because if your van is bom-bed (you have to say it that way), then Egypt will only have to deal with two countries instead of three."

"You're serious?" John asked.

"Yes.  You cannot go together."

John took a deep breath and smiled at the man.  45 minutes later after much negotiations we were cleared to take our friends to Abu Simbel.  Success!

The Great Temple of Ramses II

This was Sunday night.  The day had gone pretty well up until then.  We attended the small international church with our visiting friends and then were invited to go with them to McDonald's (yes, there is one here…).  For a split moment visions of McFlurrys danced in my head, I grabbed hold of a nearby rail and with resolve said, "No, I'm sorry.  We have to go to the Fruit and Vegetable Guy now."  I was telling the truth.  I was very sorry not to be joining them, but my thighs reminded me that they still had a few McFlurrys that they could live off of for a while.

We arrived home fixing a very nutritious lunch of tuna, raw veggies and an orange.  And water.  So much water.  My kingdom for something other than water.  Tea? you say.  Let me rephrase.  My kingdom for something other than water and tea (without sugar) that tastes like anything besides ground up twigs.  Seriously, if it says "strawberry tea" shouldn't it somehow have a hint of strawberry in it?  (I am now climbing off my soapbox.)

The evening arrived and we had made all the necessary snackage for the trip so that we would not be tempted by Cracker Barrel or Krispy Kremes along the way.  (Insert GIANT laughter here as there is nothing…NADA…Nunca….between our place and Abu Simbel.  Sand.  Only sand.)

The entrance...

That's when John got the call about the "nationality problem."  It all worked out however and we gathered at 11 am on Monday for the caravan that would commence to the location 3 hours south.  That day there were 3 other vans and a large tour bus.  It seems they also had nationality issues.  The tourism police had to once again hold discussions about this and also check all the vehicles for anything suspicious…like say a bomb.  

Around 11:20 we were cleared to go.  It is required that all foreigners traveling to this location be escorted by police to and from the location for safety.  We were the first van which meant 1) the van driver could pretend he's an Indy driver and 2) we had an actual police officer in the van with us complete with his machine gun.  

The trip itself was fairly uneventful since it was as I had mentioned nothing but sand.  We stopped after about an hour and a half for a bathroom break.  I say "bathroom" in the most abstract of terms.  My friend and I needed to make a trip so the police officer escorted us from the van to the bathroom stall keeping his gun by his side at all times.

We went inside and it was everything I thought it would be.  You don't like roadside bathrooms where you live?  Take that times a 100 and you've probably got an idea of what this one looked like.  The busload of people behind us were Asians who were all very fashionably dressed and walking our way.  The women in their stiletto heels took one look at the bathroom and gasped in chorus.  They began speaking to each other in sharp, accented tones and wondered what to do next.

These people depict the Southern Kingdom.

These people depict the Northern Kingdom.

Frankly, there are no options.  No bushes.  Nothing.  So it's this or wait…for what I don't know.

We returned to the van and soon the caravan was off and running again.  We arrived 30 minutes behind schedule, but it still allowed us enough time to show our friends around and make it back at the agreed upon time.  The other tourists had a harder time saying no to the very persuasive vendors so the tourism police began yelling, "Yallah! Yallah!  Yallah!" (Let's go!)

All of our friends were happy to have seen such an amazing site.  We broke out our lunch of turkey slices, raw veggies, nuts and dates.  We discussed all we had seen and experienced about this land so full of wonders from the past and so full of challenges in the future.  The Egyptians and the Nubians (in our village) are such amazing, wonderful people.  We're privileged to live here in this season of our lives.

So that's how Day 5 and 6 went.  It sounds eventful, but it's actually very typical of the conversations, procedures and rules that we deal with every day here.  That's my life:  watching my weight, keeping my head down and loving the people.

A small Nefertari, not to be confused
with Nefertiti.

The Queen's Temple dedicated to his favorite wife,
Nefertari.

Not sure of the translation, but I think it says,
"Welcome to the Temple.  Please tip your
guide on the way out."

Day 4 and Hospitality

Day 4 and I can't believe I still don't feel like Wonder Woman!  Seriously, what gives?  I know.  Rome wasn't built in a day.  I realize that this is just as much a mental thing as it is a physical one which brings me to today's dilemma.

We received a call from some Egyptian friends of ours that they would like to come visit us while they were on vacation.  We were thrilled that they were coming…that is until I realized that my Southern hospitality roots were now in serious dissonance with the "Give me broccoli or give me death" lifestyle that we had committed to.

My mother's side of the family is from Arkansas.  There if you fried a brick in butter, they could make it taste good.  If a "dollop of Daisy" will do ya, then in the South a carton of it must be better.  In other words, you are never allowed to say that something is "too rich", "too sweet" or "too much."  It simply isn't done.  

Cooking "just enough" may appear clever in the North, but it is short of cataclysmic in the South.  No one ever cooks "just enough."  You must have bowls and bowls of things in excess so that anyone could get seconds or thirds at anytime.  

With these formative ideas floating around in my mind, I began to ponder how I could still make our friends feel special and present meals that they would enjoy.

I like flowers.  I bet they do too.  I walked outside and found a couple interesting bushes near us that had purplish blooms on them and smelled really nice.  I clipped them along with some yellow blossomed somethings nearby.  I put them in a small soda bottle (from those horrible, wicked poor eating days) and placed them on the table in their guest room.

Next I found some books with pictures from our area and placed them next to their bed so they could look through the local activities.

Finally, I placed a welcome sign next to a scented candle.  Ah, yes.  This might work.

They arrived (Husband, wife, two small children) and the fun began.  We laughed and talked into the afternoon.  I excused myself to prepare dinner.  Well, here goes…

Our wonderful friends and one photobomb guy...

I prepared baked chicken with Italian herbs, sweet potatoes, a relish tray of raw vegetables and a bowl of strawberries with bananas.  (My grandmother just might be rolling over in her grave.  Nary a mention of gravy, biscuits or creamed anything.)

I served the dinner family style.  I explained to our guests what had transpired in the last few days and how that affected their lives.  They laughed when I pointed to my water glass and said, "Do you see how serious this is?  There is NO Diet Coke in my cup OR in the house!"  Only stupid orange soda which can stay in the fridge through the next millennia because it has no hold on me.

Now they really laughed.  They were very gracious and proceeded to eat while complimenting now and again (very proper Egyptian thing to do).  I was trying to gauge if they were really enjoying it or being polite.  When they asked for more, I dared hope that maybe…just maybe this was going to be successful.

We finished our dinner and made our way to the couch to visit while sipping tea.  (An absolute MUST here…)  Our friends had been very understanding about everything right up until we said, "Now we drink tea with no sugar."

Our friend said, "What?!  You mean a little sugar."

"No.  No sugar."

"Oh…" he shook his head in disbelief not knowing what else to say.  Everyone here has at least 3 teaspoons of sugar in their cup and sometimes more, but never less.

The subject changed and we spent time together the rest of the evening.  Another day done.  A friendship strengthened, more vegetables eaten and another (batter-free) brick laid to build Rome. 

I guess it was a miracle that I was hospitable on Day 4 according to the chart!

The Cavewoman Diet: Day 3

I woke up this morning with a bit of a brain fog.  I'm told this is totally normal.  In fact, any symptom, reason or excuse to think that this thing won't work has been addressed on their handy dandy website.  Why they even have a lady to talk you through your psychological issues if you need to blame your mother!

I walked to the kitchen and wondered if somewhere in the recesses of my memory a recipe of some sort might appear.  One that would taste just like Country Peach French Toast but only have the appearance of yet another morning of scrambled eggs with vegetables.  Oh, my kingdom for a bagel!

Of course, even if I were eating bagels I couldn't find one here in this part of the world for obvious reasons.  Still I could imagine…

I added fresh strawberries and bananas on the side so as to give a more "continental/luxurious" feel to our meal.  I resisted adding chocolate chips to it all.  That's progress.

We have guests that will arrive in about an hour.  They'll be with us for a week and I'm already embarrassed to greet them with the not-so-typical plate of bell pepper slices.  John saw me cutting up potatoes and thought that they were muffins.  I heard "food mirages" are normal too.  Although I keep an emergency Snickers nearby just in case either one of us go into shock.  You can never be too careful.

The Cavewoman Diet: Day 2

Day 2:

Wow, I didn't sleep much last night or at least I don't feel like I did.  John got up (as usual) before I did and had already started breakfast when I managed to pull myself out of bed.  "What are you doing?" I asked.

"I've been hungry since 6 am and I'm making breakfast."

I looked at him through my one open eyelid and said, "Whatever floats your boat…" and shuffled to the bathroom.  

I propped myself up to join him in his culinary endeavors.  I was shocked at the heap o' eggs that I found on my plate.  "All this is for me?" I asked.

"Yes, we can have a lot of vegetables so I put them in the eggs.  Eat up!"

Well, at least the cavemen get to eat hearty.  I ate and then made my way back to the bathroom.  It seems I have no trouble retaining my Diet Coke, but water…well, all that purity and such just doesn't stay.  I think all those trips count as walking, too.

By the afternoon, I'm holding my head and wanting a nap.  So this is what healthy feels like?  Someone blend me a Twinkie, quick!

The Cavewoman Diet: Day 1

Day 1:

Life is great!

Wait, I can't have my morning Diet Coke!

Life is terrible.

I'll go read my Bible and drink some delicious water.

Life is a blessing.

My head is pounding from no caffeine.

I hate my life.

Self-talk:  There are many hard things in life.  This isn't one of them.

My life is good.

Ooooooh, I get to eat 5 cashews!

Life is a treat.

Is this still only Day 1?


Life is long.

The Cavewoman Diet

If you'll recall, I wrote an entry a few weeks ago about an all new healthy lifestyle that John and I would begin.  I've been true to my word following my neat little chart that's on the refrigerator and limiting my intake of anything NOT found on the chart.  I've gotten up at dark thirty to walk and have lost a total of (drumroll please)…2 pounds.  

Yes, you read that right.  2 lousy, awful horrible pounds.  If this happened on Biggest Loser, Jillian would put a hidden camera in my room, make me do 50 extra sets of reps and scream at me the whole way.  2 pounds?!  

I know.  My health is improving.  My heart is growing stronger.  Blah.  Blah.  Blah.  No one ever has said, "Wow, your tryglycerides are looking' good, girl!"  I need results.  The MOB (Mother of the Bride) dress taunts me every day as it hangs in my view.

"Pictures are forever, Pam."
"Do you really want the trauma of having to look for another dress?!"
"Photoshop can't do everything!"

One of my friends (I'll leave that designation currently as it is…however, I may feel differently in a few days) recommended that I try a program called, "Whole30."  In a nutshell, it's the third ring of food hell.  For 30 days you eat only real food (There's a whole book defining what real food is but suffice it to say that Ding Dongs are NOT on the list…) as well as give up anything that ever brought a smile to your face.

No sugar.
No grains.
No dairy.
No legumes.
No alcohol.  (That's an easy one with the exception of Nyquil.)
No cheating.

It's not designed as a lifelong style, it's one of those infamous detox programs that helps your body recalibrate in a span of 30 days.  I gingerly mentioned it to John one evening.  He eagerly listened and was on board way too easily.

"You understand that this means no sweet iced tea?"

Silence.  Oh…

"AND…this means no Diet Coke for me?"  (Did I just feel the earth spin?!)

"Well," he said, "if it will help us improve our energy level and set us on a good path, then let's do it!"

Rats.  I mean, "Oh, great!"

Some also call this program the "Paleo Diet" because it is compared to what cavemen would have eaten…all the food that they could hunt or gather.  I'm not so much into the caveman theory but I do understand why they would have said, "UG" at this type of program and why pounding something with a club sounds like a good idea.  

I also liked this approach because in our part of the world resources are very limited.  You can't find low fat ANYTHING.  Low sodium?  No way.  Light?  Unheard of…  Full fat and full cream is the motto here.  Deep fried is the only way to go.  I knew we had to do something.

We went to the fruit guy and loaded up on all things healthy.  I had to fudge a bit (I'm absolutely sure that's a Freudian slip!) on the "free range" and "organic" mentions since…well, let's just say they aren't up to that here yet.

I christened our final night of "old way" eating with a Diet Coke and a bowl of cereal.  Goodbye you sweet, bubbly glass of goodness…

By writing this entry, I'm creating a "community of support" for myself, encouragers who will cheer me on.  I need them because as of right now all I can think about is how much my head is pounding and how good a piece of cheese sounds.

I'll keep you posted each day during the 30.  Even if it's only a sentence that would sound very much like a whimper when read out loud…

____________________________

Today's BOGO Blog:  The Sultan

The Sisterhood of the Traveling Abiya: Valentine Edition

This is how they dress.  Not a photo from me…I'm working on it.

Yesterday at 3:30 I walked over to my friends' home for tea.  The grandmother had her chair perched in the sun and her swollen ankles resting on a small made-shift footstool.  Her daughter sat next to her.  As I approached they smiled broadly and pulled out a chair, "Faddallee!  Faddallee!" (Come, welcome!)  I kissed the grandmother on each cheek while asking about her family.  I then greeted her daughter and we began catching up with the news from each other.

They told me not to worry.  That soon the weather would not be so cold.  Spring is coming, they promised.  I smiled.  "Winter" has been low in the 50s at night and high in the 80s during the day.  Pleasant to say the least from my perspective (and from all those in the frozen tundra of the U.S.). However, they long for the days that are coming all too soon when the temps top 120 and winter is a distant memory.  (I'm silently praying for more Polar Vortex.)

As if on cue, the daughter hopped up and went to make tea for us.  She returned a short time later with a small steaming cup of black tea with chopped mint leaves and 3 teaspoons of sugar.  (That is standard unless otherwise indicated.  But if you ask for it another way, it will still be like this.)

I also wished them a Happy Valentine's Day.  They smiled and said, "Kolo sena wentee ta3b!" (May all the year be good!)  I continued telling them that Valentine's Day is a day to show love for each other and that I had a gift for them.  I pulled out a variety of wire bracelets and asked them to choose a favorite color.  The grandmother chose a pink one and the daughter a royal blue.  I told them that they were made by a friend in America.  They were thrilled.  They looked turned their wrists this way and then watched them sparkle in the sun. 

Not too long after, two children arrived to see what was going on.  I told them Eid Hob! (Feast of Love or Happy Valentine's Day!)  They smiled and I gave them each one piece of candy.  Not long after another daughter arrived and then a granddaughter and a few more ladies all which are part of the family.  I'm not too clear yet on who belongs to whom, but I'm working on it.

They each received a bracelet as I told them how God loves them and I love them.  More children arrived and now we are all sitting in a circle making a group of around 15.  The grandmother looked at me and said, "Hellowa!  Hellowa!"  (Candy!  Candy!)  I had given all of the kids one piece each but I realized that she wanted a piece.  I laughed and gave her one.  Then all the other adult ladies said they wanted one too.  Oooooookay.  Got it.

The kids came back for seconds and I said, "No.  Only one today.  Too much sugar is not good for your teeth or your stomach."  The grandmother clucked her tongue and said, "This is right.  Don't ask her for any more."  They obeyed immediately.

We continued to sit and visit for a while longer.  I looked over one of the children's English homework assignments and gave a small lesson to everyone while they helped me with my Arabic.

The ladies asked me about our girls and I gave them an update on their lives.  They knew Emileigh would be getting married and that Aria was coming for a visit.  They were making plans for tea and maybe a party when Aria arrives.  

The time for visiting was over and the time for napping was upon us.  I took my leave and they all made their way to their home for the afternoon rest.  (You have to love a place that builds a nap into their work day!)

I said goodbye and walked back to the apartment.  Later in the evening John and I were walking through the village to meet a friend.  One of the ladies from the "tea meeting" walked passed me.  She pointed to her bracelet and smiled.  

I smiled too knowing that another step toward friendship was in the making and that God's love is irresistible.  

Today's BOGO Blog:  New Face, New Place

Vicar, Vexation & Valentine's

"Bathrobe Day" is a term our family affectionately calls a day where we recover from big events.  We sit in our bathrobes all day, resting, lounging, watching a movie but usually in a "cone of silence" from all other inputs.  Today is a day like that.

Making the house festive...

Yesterday, I officially celebrated Eid Hob (Valentine's Day) with my friends here.  I had been plotting and planning this event for a couple weeks.  In the evenings, I would cut out letters from Christmas wrap that Emileigh had wrapped our gifts in (later saved by me!). I gathered recipes and worked on fun activities.  The day was arriving and I had "Pam's Countdown Plan to a Good Time" written out.  

Tuesday I woke up with a bit of a crick in my neck.  Nothing big but just a bit annoying throughout the day.  Wednesday my neck was much improved and Operation: Valentine's Day was in full effect.  As I moved around the house I felt something in my mid back pop.  Uh oh.  I stood or rather tried to stand and realized something was wrong.  

Mind you I haven't had ANY trouble with my back since "The Incident" of emergency back surgery in 2010.  I hunched over a bit and waited until I could catch my breath again.  Oooooo, maybe just give myself a minute.  I shuffled around and took a minute to stretch out on the bed.  That's better.

After a brief rest, I made my way back up and understood that it may be a bit of a recovery from this one.  Certainly not like the pain before but definitely not in the "okey dokey" zone.  I considered calling my friend (the chiropractor) and tell him that I had a dream that God told me to tell him to come immediately to Egypt.  But, alas, my integrity got the best of me.

John prayed for me and jumped in to help with preparations which is a good thing because before the party (on Friday) I had offered to host lunch (on Thursday) for a British vicar who's vacationing here for a month.  When else in my life would I have such an opportunity?  T'will be brill! 

This vicar was especially unique because this vicar is a woman.  As she told me later, the Church of England has only ordained female vicars within the last 20 years.  She's one of the first.  Joan* proved a delightful lunch guest and we spent the afternoon laughing and discussing the history of the church in England.  I told her about the party on Friday and invited her.

I needed to go to the grocery store to pick up a few things so I asked if she wanted to come along.  She agreed and Sadek* arrived shortly thereafter.  We arrived at the first store where I found a few of the foreign goods I was looking for:  sliced bread, crackers and Peanut M&Ms (for John).  Joan purchased a couple of things too and then presented them to me by saying, "These are a couple things from England.  Now you and John can have a proper snack!"  It was a bottle of elderberry soda and a box of Digestive biscuits.  I laughed and thanked her for her thoughtfulness. (I'll save them for an episode of "Downton Abbey.")

Now I just need guests...

We made the rounds and then dropped her off at her hotel.  She waved goodbye and I was thankful that I made a new friend.  I was also grateful that my back had held out for the visit.  I returned home and laid out flat.  John had organized everything back in it's place while I was gone.  He's a keeper for sure.

Thursday evening came and I wrote a short status on FB asking friends to pray.  Wow.  I couldn't believe it.  Immediately, friends from all over the world were adding comments that they were praying.  I will always be grateful to Mark Z. and his crew for the creation of FB for this very reason.  How else could I communicate a need and have the ability for immediate response?  How wonderful to know that friends care! And that I, too, in return can remain involved in their lives as well.

Friday, John wished me a Happy Valentine's Day and said, "Whatever you need to get ready for your party…just say the word."  Such a great guy.  He, too, had had a variety of minor illnesses off and on for a couple weeks…but was feeling full speed on this day.  I was feeling improved…still stiff, but at least mobile.

I worked in the kitchen to make the items for the party:  Chocolate bun….bun…bundt cake (Please refer to "Big, Fat, Greek Wedding" scene), English Strawberries and Cream cake, savory hors d'oeuvre and ice cubes with pomegranate seeds for color.  

I looked through my decor cabinet and pulled out all things red, pink or purple and spread the cheer around the house.  John grabbed some cheese, crackers, his computer and headed to the bedroom (or bunker) to wait out the wave of estrogen-carrying celebrators coming his way.  Looks like we were ready for a party.

This party would be different from other ones I had held here since our arrival last August.  I had local friends and also had ex-pat friends (people from other countries), but I usually didn't see them at the same time.  I wanted to host a party with a full mix of people. 

I asked Mustafah* what is proper protocol for inviting people to a party.  He laughed and said, "Just walk over the day before and ask them to come."  The day before?! Seriously?  In American, we have to plan months in advance, check calendars, synchronize our watches, check the Prime Meridian.  He continued, "It is easy here.  Just ask."  I asked if he would help me write an invitation.  He laughed again, "Nubians don't have a written language, but you don't even need to do it in Arabic.  Just tell them."

Having too much fun!

So I did and you know what?  They came.  So did my ex-pat friends.  A few couldn't come, but I consider anything over the count of 2 (John and myself) a successful party (barring that one disastrous attempt at festive occasion New Year's Eve 1999, but that's a whole different entry).  

We sipped water with the fancy ice cubes when a friend quipped, "What is that in there?  Are those teeth?!"  I gasped, "No!  They are pomegranate seeds!  Martha Stewart said they would make the water look festive!"  She laughed and said, "Oh, good. I was worried."

A friend opened in prayer (in Arabic) before I passed around the food. We sat together at the table with Arabic and English flying around between the women.  I was pleasantly pleased that I could understand a lot of what was happening around me.  That's progress.  One of my ex-pat friends is further along in her Arabic which helped immensely.  She acted as the translator when I was trying to explain what a photo booth was and the craft we were going to make.

The very cool wire bracelets...

We made props for the photos, visited and enjoyed being women together.  I pulled out some scarves and we all began posing for photos.  Our local friends were warming up to the idea, but enjoyed themselves once they understood what we were doing.

One woman indicated that she would need to leave soon so I pulled out a tray of bracelets that I had for each of them.  A friend in the US made them before we left and I've been saving them for a special occasion like this one.  I let them each choose a color.  I think they really liked them as there is little opportunity to see new or different things in our remote area of the country.

They all began gathering their purses and moving toward the door.  Time had passed so quickly.  I hugged each one and thanked them for their friendship.  One friend took my hand and said, "This is the best Valentine's Day I've ever had."

I smiled and told her that I was so glad she had come.  I closed the door and breathed a sigh of thankfulness.  How rich a follow of Jesus' life is!  The love that He lavished on me compels me to demonstrate it toward others.  And so it goes.  Love for Him.  Love for my new friends.  Love for my long-time friends.  Love for my family.  Not just on Valentine's, but loving every day.  What a event!  What a life!

Now where's my bathrobe?

_________________________________
*Not their real names

Today's BOGO Blog:  First Valentine's Day in Sudan

Monday Mornings of the Soul

Local art

It's lunchtime here and I have made several long sighing noises since this morning.  Yes, it's Monday and we could all commiserate on our feelings about this day…but it feels like more than that.  It's a deep sigh of the soul that's too tired to crawl out of bed, look at the next 24 hours and say, "Here I am!  Bring it!"

Part of it is simply the season we're in.  Learning a language is hard…Let me rephrase that.  Learning how to move in and out of culture without epic scenes of humiliation is hard…and humbling.  You begin to measure your success by the number of decreasing failures.  Not exactly the greatest incentive program.

Another reason in part is the nebulousness (Is that even a word?) of our future.  Will S*dan open again?  If so, when?  What if it doesn't?  What then?  

The Ride of Life

I've been known to tell a few close to me "Don't borrow trouble" when they've contemplated similar questions about their next step.  And I suppose I am telling it to myself.  I certainly don't have anything more than the day that's right here with me at this moment.  Tomorrow never really comes.  It's always "today" that I'm given.  Why fret about something that isn't there?  (Something I needed to learn as a 5 year old when my sisters told me a ghost lived under our stairs.)

But platitudes are only best when given to others…at least in my mind.  When I offer them to myself I am at minimum, cynical and at most…well, still cynical.  Magnets, memes, quotes and renditions of "Just what makes that little ol' ant…" ring hollow when the soul aches.

So what do I do on a Monday that has started less than exuberant?  I fill my mind with Truth.  Truth must be the fuel that propels me and the filter that guides me each day.  When I allow my emotions or wild imaginations to lead, I will only feel discontent…lacking…empty.  Why?  Most of the time I would say it's because I'm not thinking from Truth.  I'm processing life through my filter of "perceived truth" or "projected truth" or "assumed truth" which really isn't Truth at all. I fill in the blanks for unknown things in my life and the lives of others with fictitious "facts" simply because I long for resolution to my worries, my doubts, my fears, my nosiness. 

Worry says:  Prepare for the worst, then you won't be caught off guard.

Truth says:  Don’t fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It’s wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life. (Ph. 4:6-7)

Doubt says: I'm not sure God will come through.  I had better intervene.

Truth says: God is a safe place to hide, ready to help when we need him. We stand fearless at the cliff-edge of doom, courageous in seastorm and earthquake, Before the rush and roar of oceans, the tremors that shift mountains. Jacob-wrestling God fights for us, God-of-Angel-Armies protects us. (Psalm 46:1-3)

Fear says: I can't control the outcome, so I'll insert my opinion and influence every chance I get.

Truth says: I pray to God—my life a prayer—and wait for what he’ll say and do. My life’s on the line before God, my Lord, waiting and watching till morning, waiting and watching till morning. (Psalm 130:5)

Hmmmm…waiting and watching till morning.  Do you suppose that includes Mondays?

Dome inside the Coptic Orthodox Church

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The Engagement Party

Ladies in waiting…and waiting... 

My German friend, Jeanette*, invited me to on a day trip to Luxor.  She would take care of some business at her bank, we'd lunch together and then we'd return later the same day.

I'm always up for a road trip so I readily agreed and met her at 7 am.  Our driver, Malachi*, was already at the gate waiting for us.  (Neither of us own cars so we hire transport whenever we need to travel.)  Before we left the city, Malachi picked up one of his friends so he'd have a relief driver. 

Our trip went well and soon we were on our way back, Jeanette having completed all her necessary tasks.  Malachi is a personable man who is Nubian.  He allowed his friend to drive while he regaled us with several different stories about Nubian customs.  

I mentioned that our oldest daughter was engaged and he began to tell us about responsibilities for the bride and groom in their culture.  For instance:

The Groom

Gold jewelry to be presented at the engagement (ring, necklace, bracelets, earrings)
A furnished apartment (complete with lightbulbs which will be checked by the bride's family) 
OR if the groom will live with his family, a wedding cabinet with a complete set of China
The wedding itself and all the trimmings (party following)
The honeymoon 
The wedding photos and video

The Bride

Her dress or dresses (I've seen up to 4)
The many salon visits for hair, makeup and henna
The dishes, pots and pans for the kitchen

It may seem a bit inequitable but the women here have to get the "goods up front" because there is the possibility that the man may not 1) have any additional money in the foreseeable future 2) may not want to buy anything additional if there's no incentive or 3) take another wife who would need the same exact setup.

We listened intently for over an hour when he said, "There is a wedding coming up this week!  You should come!"

I nodded and said, "That would be very nice."  I seriously didn't think it was a real invite because he only mentioned it once and normally you need at least 3 offers before you should consider it.

The days passed and Jeanette called to say that Malachi was serious about his offer and wondered if we wanted to join him.  I told her, "Why not?"

We were to be ready at 9 pm.  He would pick us up.  John and I knew that this would be a long evening so we took naps to prepare ourselves.  At 9, we received a call that said it would probably be closer to 9:30 before he came.  Then 9:30 became 10 and finally 10:30.  You have a choice at this moment:  1) get mad, blow a gasket and die early of stroke or 2) roll with it and watch a movie until you get the official "go."

10:30 arrived and so did Malachi.  Jeanette joined us so we piled in the car and made our way to a restaurant named "Pharaoh."  All of the tables had been removed and the chairs were pushed to the perimeter.  Malachi introduced us to a man who looked a lot like a Nubian James Brown.  He greeted us and lit a cigarette while pulling a chair out for John.  John and I nodded at each other and knew that this would be the last we'd see of each other for a while.  No mixing at these events.

Jeanette and I greeted each lady with a handshake, a "Hi, How are you?" in our best Arabic and a few kisses on the cheek.  We were certainly causing a hubbub throughout the crowd, but have grown used to our "anomaly status."  We sat down on a bench beside a woman with a small girl.  I chatted a bit with her and noticed a couple women from my neighborhood.  I rose and crossed the room knowing that every eye was on me.  

We chatted for a while and I took my place again on the bench.  There were probably 100 women and 75 men there by this time, however the bride and groom had not yet arrived.  "Lissa," (not yet) they said.

Malachi checked on us and brought us each a small glass of tea with 3 teaspoons of sugar and mint leaves.  We sipped and waited.  Waited and sipped.  A small band had set up right by my head and I realized that I had chosen poorly for location.  A DJ started playing from a playlist Nubian pop music along with a sampler CD of American music which included jazz, rock, rap and country.  I chuckled to myself.  

A joy-filled event!

A shriek startled me and I tried to find out where it came from.  A small boy was being shooed away from the musical instruments and he was ticked.  He screamed and screamed.  None of the women moved.  None of them cared.  This was the biggest excitement they'd had in a while and they weren't going to let a banshee ruin it for them.  Soon his big brother (I assume) came and stuck a piece of candy in his mouth and he calmed down.

I began to tip over around midnight and wondered truly if someone had forgotten to invite the bride and groom.  Someone once again reassured me that they were indeed coming.

Around 12:30 am, a group of people began to make their way up the steps to the main door of the restaurant.  When I saw the videographer with the flood light I knew they had arrived.  Women began ululating and 4 men were beating on the tabalas (local drums).  The groom wore a suit and tie while the bride had on a royal blue dress with enough bling to make a Vegas chorus girl jealous.  

I asked about the blue dress and someone informed me that this was their engagement party, not a wedding party…thus any color could be worn.  Oooooooh, at least I was right about it being a party.

They came in dancing and smiling and soon all the women rose to clap, dance and join in.  I was wedged between a speaker and tea table so thankfully I couldn't be pulled out to contribute my dance moves.

The "welcome" dance continued for about 20 minutes.  After the music stopped all the women began rushing to the engaged girl to congratulate her while the men patted the back of the groom and giving him hugs.

Groom (Left) and Bride (Right in Blue)

I asked someone where they had been prior to this and they said:

First, the families signs the official legal contract.

Second, the groom goes to his home to get dressed while the bride and her friends go to the salon for hair and makeup. (This takes hours…)

Third, the bride and groom meet at a photographer where their engagement photos are taken complete with green screen which allows them to be in front of the Eiffel Tower and near the Leaning Tower of Piza.  This also takes hours…)

Fourth, the couple then exit the photographer to a group of happy family members dancing about them.  They join in the dance.

Fifth, The couple get into a car with a long line of cars and drive all over town honking.

Sixth, The couple and entourage finally arrive at their engagement party.

The dancing resumed and the restaurant was packed.  Standing room only and even that was up close and personal.  Jeanette asked if we could move outside away from the speaker.  Being a kind gracious friend who was now only able to read lips, I agreed.

More people were outside and at the windows looking in.  A man walked up to us, handed us a juice box and kept walking.  Another man who had befriended John presented us with another cup of tea.  We sipped and visited wondering when a proper exiting time would present itself.

The party's a rockin'

We had discovered that once the music starts, no further discussions could take place.  It is simply too loud.  Malachi found us and said, "Oh, this is the first singer.  There are 3 more.  All night!"  Jeanette (who is older) told him that she wouldn't be able to to stay all night.  I rode on her "excuse coattails" and agreed.  The process of leaving usually takes a while so you have to start long before you intend to go.

Slowly, slowly we repeated our goodbyes and thanks.  Malachi understood and told us, "Next time you rest first and then stay up all night."  We laughed and said, "We would remember that."

The children from the village were still going strong and the drums were heard long into the night.  As we made our way to the car, more people were continuing to arrive.  The party was just getting started.  It was 1:30 am.

Malachi took us home and said that he would return for a bit more dancing.  I told John he could return with him if he wanted.  He laughed and said thanks for being so generous.

I went to bed that night thanking the Lord for these amazing people who so warmly open their hearts and lives to us on a daily basis.  Sure events like this wear me out, but investing in people takes time and effort.  The more I know about them, the more I know how to pray for them.  The more I pray for them, the more my heart grows in love for them.  So bring it on…these all night dance parties.  Maybe I'll introduce them to Kirk Franklin next time…

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*Not their real names

Today's BOGO Blog:  10 Sudan Society Rules