7 People on a Towel

Intrigued by the title?  I was as well when a friend of ours announced that this was the next game we were going to play.  I hadn't ever heard of it so we all stood awaiting instructions.

"The object of the game," he explained, "is to have 7 people stand on your team's towel and while they remain on it, flip the towel over."

What?!

Soon our team of 8 stood around this small (NOT beach towel-sized) towel and just stared at it.  Ideas began to come and go, but no one moved to take action.  It was a timed event and no one seemed to care.  How to do this? We were mesmerized.

Suddenly, someone clapped their hands and said, "Everyone on the towel!"

The team members all took a step forward and attempted to place both of their feet onto the towel.  Not enough real estate to accommodate all of the team members' girth. 

John doing the biting safari ants dance.
Don't judge him for his pink bandana,
it came with the game.

"Everyone off!"

We circled the towel again, staring, willing it to speak to us.  Nothing.

I piped up, "What would The Acrobats of China do?"

They laughed and began piling on top of each other.  It was a warm day and the guys were slick with sweat making this not only tricky, but rather…gross.  Still, it was a competition.

Since there were 8 of us, one had to stand on the sidelines.  "Oh, rats!" I shouted, "I'll have to sit this one out!"  No one was convinced of my disappointment.

As the pyramid of humans began to form, much laughing, instruction and collapsing took place.  Finally, one girl leaped up on top and all 7 were successfully on the towel.  We were half done. Now to flip it over.

Silence again fell as we considered how to flip the towel.  Someone yelled, "FLIP THE TOWEL!  FLIP THE TOWEL!  I'M FALLING!"

People began crashing from the sky.  Towel 1. People 0.

The (now in quotes) "friend" who started this whole thing announced, "Okay…only 6 people on a towel!"

Not 5 minutes later he yelled, "Allright!  Only 5 people have to be on the towel!"

We kept working at it, relieved that the other teams were having just as much trouble.  The guys were getting frustrated and were now completely drenched in sweat.  Still, the thought of competition kept them motivated.  The women, however, were pretty much over it wondering if there could possibly be a prize worth the level of this effort.

Another team cheered in the distance and it dawned on us that yes, this was possible.  Oh, snap!

The other team's success provided a moment of clarity for the remaining ones.  It can be done!  Suddenly, arms and legs flailed into place as we began flipping the towel inch by inch until it was accomplished.  Success!

Everyone, completely exhausted, let out a small mutter of celebration before grabbing the next clue and running to the next challenge.

Why am I telling you about this?  Not exactly sure, but I do think there are a few takeaways with this experience.

1) Beware of "friends' great ideas" or rather ask them to demonstrate the task first. 
2) Approaching a problem in a non-logical way, may be the the most logical way to solve it.
3) Team requires commitment to the task…or towel in this matter.  Everyone's got to be in…or on…you know what I mean.
4) Accomplishment requires action, but it also usually includes failed attempts. (We figured out many ways not to do it which eventually led to the successful result.)
5) Working as a team can be hilarious, frustrating, exhausting, but rewarding.  (We each won a bag of gourmet coffee…making it all worth while!)
6) Sticking with something until it's accomplished can be a huge encouragement to others attempting something similar.

7) If you are intrigued by this challenge, try it the next time you are with some friends. However, if you have to be the extra person, take pictures the whole time and keep them for any needed future favors/cash. (For those of you on my team reading this, you can wire money to: pamhasthephotos@…)

Sidebar: ONLY attempt this in a culturally appropriate setting.  This did NOT take place in our village.  Aren't you relieved? :)

Away and With

Baboons dare us to pass through. We dared not.
 (From a previous trip…)

I've just returned from 13 days in Kenya spending time with colleagues who share our same passion.  I know.  Some reading this might think, "Must be nice. 13 days in Kenya."  And you'd be right.  It IS nice in Kenya.  The weather is practically perfect all the time (high 70s) and the foliage is just like you'd imagine.  What's truly nice about this time is that it allows us a respite from some of the constant challenges we face in our sandy part of the world.  It's "Autumn" here, but it's still ranges from 108º-112º every day.  Couple that with ever-constant cultural education and the relentless push of Islam and well…Pam's zen balance may be a bit off.

John in our home on his first day of online degree school.

 Mind you, we love the Nubians, the Sudanese and the Egyptians that we are able to live life with here.  They are truly wonderful people who open their hearts and their homes to us on a daily basis.  But as they share with us, we also experience some of their ongoing challenges, too, such as health issues.  Remember all the weddings that we attend?  Normally food is served at them.  This food is prepared 24-48 hours in advance because of the sheer volume needed (The whole village is invited…).  After it's prepared, there isn't proper refrigeration for all of it.  It's covered and placed in a side room until it's time.  Bacteria has time to grow, then we ingest it and…kaboom…another round of probiotics.  

Some might say, "Just don't eat it."  Ah, but there's the rub.  You simply can't not eat.  To turn down someone's hospitality here is nothing short of a slap in the face.  If you reject their offer of food, attendance to special events, etc. you are rejecting them.  To love them, means to be with them, to eat with them and to suffer gastrointestinally with them.

I'm not at all saying this for pity.  It's just a fact.  One that we readily accept, but understand that there are ensuing consequences.  Time out of context allows us to recharge our batteries as it were, to regain our health and to recalibrate our hearts.  It's not only a wonderful time, it's necessary for longevity.  

Maasai Mara

So when in Kenya, we eat butter chicken and naan with abandon and walk in Village Market with a deep sense of appreciation for stores that have items with price stickers on them.  We visit with good friends who understand our unusual lives and will laugh and cry with us. We discuss, learn, commiserate and plan. We also rest and listen to the steady rain as we sip on steaming cups of chai….sigh. Yes, time away is good, but time with is better.

We returned yesterday to our sandy sahara and were greeted by our friend, Mohammed*, at the airport.  He immediately grabbed a cart and began helping us with our luggage.  He and John exchanged greetings and visited while the customs guy inspected John's keyboard case.

Pork chops and corn on the cob
…a rare treat.
No comments on my corn-eating habits.

After all bags were located and cleared, Esam* waved to us from his taxi.  Sadik* wasn't able to pick us up, so he sent his friend.  Esam shook John's hand and loaded the luggage in and on the taxi.

As we drove through our village, the mahkwagee ("the man who irons clothes") waved vigorously.  Sara* (who owns the village store) smiled broadly and welcomed us back with the traditional Arabic greetings.

Mira* came this morning with greetings and our house keys.  She surprised us by cleaning the house, opening the shutters and turning on the swamp cooler so that it would be ready for our arrival.

Our Canadian friends welcomed us warmly and presented us with a freshly cooked dinner knowing we would be wiped out from the travel.

Ahmed*, our good friend, sent us a text welcoming us back and saying that he hoped to come by to visit soon.

What great love and kindness waiting on our return!  Is this life sometimes hard? That would be a BIG 10-4.  But our presence here makes a difference.  No let me correct that.  Jesus IN us and demonstrating His love THROUGH us, makes a difference.  But we have to be here for it to be possible and sometimes there (Kenya or elsewhere) to keep us sane. 

So, yes, our time in Kenya was fabulous…always refreshing, but our life, our work and our purpose are here and we dedicate ourselves to it.  Now someone pass the Pepto.

Aria's high school graduation week in Kenya.

Ahhhh.so pretty!

Beautiful campus...

The tea fields of Kenya.

* Not their real names

Fire and Nice

Eating Whole30 can be a pain at times especially when all of the "allowed" ingredients cannot be formed into any way, shape or fashion resembling a brownie.  Still it does allow sweet potatoes and for that I will give them a hearty two thumbs up.  I was in the mood for fried sweet potatoes (yes, allowed) for breakfast and proceeded to fry them up.

John and I were in our living room eating these little crisp shards of goodness, watching an NBC news podcast when he said, "I'm going to close the door.  The neighbors must be burning trash."  I sniffed.  "Yeah, you're right," I said.  Just then I looked to my left and saw a billowing black cloud coming around the corner.

I jumped up and ran to the hallway looking toward the kitchen.  There I saw an orange glow and quickly ran to see what was happening.  The sweet potato oil had caught on fire.  John calmly looked at it and said, "Get the flour." I got the bag out of the freezer and began flinging flour on the flames.  Just then I thought, "Isn't this supposed to be baking soda?"  Too late now.

John then calmly placed a lid on top of the skillet and carried the smoking pan, grease, fire, and flour outside to the sidewalk.

Tea Fields

I stayed inside wondering what to do.  Black smoke was everywhere.  My eyes were burning so I left the room and began opening all the windows and turning on the ceiling fans.  John returned, took one look at me and I burst into tears.  "How stupid is that?! I must have turned the wrong burner. I thought it was off!"  He didn't say anything but just gave me a hug as I cried some more.

He called our Arabic teacher and told him that maybe now wasn't a good time for lessons.  We continued to walk through the house surveying any damage.  Once the smoke cleared we realized that there really wasn't too much except a thin layer of soot that now covered all our worldly possessions.

We began scrubbing the stove, the dishes, the walls, the tables, the sheets, the curtains…pretty much everything.  I was even shocked to discover a ring of soot on the toilet AFTER THE FACT.

This all happened before noon.  After, I started to pour myself something stiff to drink (Diet Coke straight up, no ice) and noticed that the cup I held had soot on it too.  I didn't even care.  I used it anyway.  Carcinogens be hanged.

I definitely had some adrenaline pumping through the whole LET'S-NOT-LET-THE-WHOLE-HOUSE-BURN-DOWN episode, but not as much as I thought.  In many ways, we live daily life at an adrenaline level that only Bruce Banner might understand.  Much of what we experience is new, exhilarating, heart-pumping and sometimes hair-raising.  We somehow get used to the pitched fever of life and learn to live with it.

We don't often realize the level of sustained stress we live under until we leave our context for a break in another location.  A few days of deep exhaling and we suddenly remember what a full night's sleep feels like.  Bliss!

That is what's happening this week.  In a few hours, we'll be heading to the airport for a conference and a few days of R&R.  I'll be spending my birthday in a cool climate (Woot!) and much predicted rain  (Double woot!).  I'm thankful for opportunities like this.  It gives us a chance to recalibrate our hearts and minds while allowing our physical bodies to recover from the sometimes harsh environments we find ourselves in.

Our local friends have already come to wish us farewell.  How thankful we are for the relationships we have here!  What a privilege to live life shoulder to shoulder with them.  Ironically, they asked us why we hadn't taken a vacation before now since Ramadan had finished in July.  (Traditionally, most folks here take their vacation after the festival following Ramadan.)  So they wished us well and spoke a traditional Arabic blessing over us.

Jesus, thank you for kind friends, for sweet rest, for amazing colleagues, for your great love and for protection from sweet potato incidents.  We are truly blessed.

Beautiful!

Friendship by Candlelight

Battery-operated LED micro lights
in handblown Nubian glass.

The electricity had gone out for the fourth time in one day.  Each time the stint was 1-2 hours.  I sighed as I asked John to bring the flashlight and hold it over the stove as I continued cooking. (Thankfully it is  operated by a side propane tank.)  Our city boasts one of the largest dams in the entire Middle East and was created to provide hydroelectricity for Egypt.  But somehow it ain't gettin' to us.  But I digress.

I was preparing a dinner for some of our friends who had just returned from a trip.  They requested American food (which could mean a variety of things) but I understood it to mean fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, extra fixin's and strawberry shortcake.  I understood correctly.

They arrived and the electricity still had not rejoined us, so we sat together by candlelight recounting our week.  No one was affected by the extra sweat trickling down our necks or that we were squinting to see one another.  You just learn to roll with it and we did.

We had a wonderful time laughing, talking and eating.  In what some would dub a "small miracle" the electricity came on just long enough for me to make homemade whipped cream for the shortcake and coffee to go with.  Then, it was out again.

We talked some more and then said our goodbyes.  As we closed the door I told John, "That was really fun." He agreed.

I didn't want to do dishes Helen Keller-style, so I decided to wait until morning.  Let the ants have their hey day.  

The electricity did eventually return and allowed the blessed a/c unit in our bedroom to function.  We sighed contentedly realizing that here even "small wins" are still "wins." We drifted off to sleep thankful for our friends, electricity when we have it, ants when they hibernate and cool air in the desert.

Another Wedding (Or Just Call Me Paris Hilton)

The month before school starts (August) is wedding season here in our city.  The celebrations usually take place Thursday through Sunday starting at around 10:00 pm and lasting until the wee hours of the morning.  

Our friend, Sadik*, had invited us to join him and his wife at a wedding a couple weeks back.  I mentioned it in an earlier post.  We had a good time and told him so.  He must have believed us because he invited us to join him for another wedding the following weekend.  

Now I'm all for getting out in the culture and being among the people.  After all, that IS the point.  However, along with all this opportunity comes some pretty debilitating "bonuses" that happen.  Take this wedding for example.

Sadik arrived with his car at 9:30 pm.  John wore his jalibaya (men's tunic) and I wore some of my blinging American clothes. (My abiya was dirty.)  Sadik told us that he needed to pick up some of his family members on the other side of town before the wedding.  We said no problem.  We made it through the traffic noticing that the streets were filling up with other wedding parties along the Nile's edge at local clubs.  

After about 15 minutes we arrived at Snob Café (not kidding) where we were supposed to meet his family.  Sadik made a few inquiries and found out that they hadn't arrived yet.  He waited about 10 minutes and then told us that they would come later.  

We went back across town to a club that we hadn't been to before.  You could hear the music pounding as we approached the entrance.  Sadik's wife spotted us and waved us over.  She greeted me with four kisses and took my hand.  Sadik pointed to one door and told me that the women were in there.  I told John goodbye knowing that we'd be separated the rest of the evening.

At the door, we were greeted by this cute little old man that had been at the last wedding.  We'll call him Samir*. He was in his 60s with a toothless smile.  Sadik told us that he was deaf and mute, but he communicated through his own version of sign language.  It seems he attends all the weddings he can so he's an expected fixture at these events.

Samir smiled broadly as we walked in, handed me a juice box and pointed to the front.  I took the juice and followed his directions.

Sadik's wife led me to a group of benches near the front of the stage where the DJ was set up.  Lights were flashing from a giant decorative heart overhead.  The DJ had Amr Diab blaring and approximately 1.3 million children were running around in their best clothes having a really good time.

There were already many guests present (at least 300) and it seemed that all 600 eyes were following me as I made made my way to the women's section.  I was greeted by two women, a mother and daughter.  They shook my hand curtly until I greeted them in Arabic.  Then their eyes lit up and they gave me a kiss and insisted that I sit down.  (I guess all that brain-numbing study does pay off…)

I had just settled in as the staring subsided when Samir appeared at my row.  He smiled and walked toward me.  I didn't know what he wanted.  He pointed to the stage and began to dance.  Then he gestured that I should join him.

All eyes were now back on me as we had this exchange.  Um…. Sadik's wife told him (or rather motioned) that I didn't want to dance.  He persisted.  More eyes turned toward us.  His arms began to flap wildly.  I held my ground.  Sadik's wife finally took him by the arm and told him that I wouldn't be dancing and that he should go back to juice box duty.  I breathed a sigh of relief.

The ladies patted me on the back as if to say, "It's okay.  We understand."  The music continued to play and we all waited for the bride and groom to arrive.  The clubs stay open only until 12:30 a.m. which means the bride and groom have to arrive before that if they want to have any party time.

It was now 11:45 p.m. and I asked the lady next to me if she thought the wedding couple would make it in time.  "Insh'allah," (If God wills) she says.  Shortly after, live drums began to play and a troop of young men dressed in matching outfits led the way for the bridal party.  They had arrived in time. Everyone rose to their feet and began clapping.

The bride's mother walked ahead of them throwing candy out into the crowd.  Alongside her was a boy off the street holding a handful of Spongebob balloons he hoped to sell to the gazillion children. 

The couple danced their way to the front of the stage where they took a seat on the decorated bench.  It's at this point that the wedding guests all begin to make their way to the front to congratulate the couple.  I waited for John and Sadik to come so that we could go together.  However, Sadik didn't see us so he and John went alone.  

Sadik's wife took my hand and told me we could go up also.  Just then, Samir arrived.  He thought I was ready to dance.  I told him no thank you.  He then understood that we were going to greet the bride and groom so he took it upon himself to part the way.  It was of Moses proportion.  He began swatting his arms back and forth yelling at the crowd in an indistinguishable voice.  However, they seemed to know what was happening.

Once again, all eyes were on me as we walked through the "Red Sea" o' people.  We made our way up the stairs and Samir still wasn't finished.  He began pushing on my back so that I would get to the front.  I was trying to not make a spectacle and be respectful of those already in line.  Samir didn't see it that way.  He moved two small children and handed me to the bride's mother who in turn handed me to the bride.  I was now 2 feet from the bride (one I didn't know) so I gathered my composure and congratulated her.  She was as surprised as I was, but graciously accepted my greetings.  

I turned to walk back down the stairs where Samir awaited me.  He cleared the path toward the dance floor, but I quickly skirted my way back to my seat.  Sadik's wife had somehow survived the frenzy with me and had arrived back at the same time.  

A lady handed me a bag with two bottles of Dasani water in it.  "For you," she said.  I thanked her profusely and smiled at her thoughtfulness.  The greetings waned a bit so the groom made his way to his group of friends near the front of the stage and began to dance.  They hoisted him on their shoulders, threw him up in the air and danced all around him.

The bride danced with her friends up on stage, although briefly.  The heat was still quite oppressive and she had on many layers.  (Here the bride doesn't carry a bouquet but a decorated fan which is WAY more practical.)

I noticed someone poking my back. I turned to see who it was and was greeted by a girl about 12.  She smiled and said, "Whassyourname?"  I introduced myself and asked her hers.  Soon word got around that the white lady was approachable.  Now a continuing stream of pokes, giggles and handshakes followed.

A few adult women also came by to greet me and say hello to the foreigner.  They were extremely kind and gracious, but always with the glint in their eye that says, "What is she doing here?"

It's novelty to invite a foreigner (especially American) to social events.  I am for all intents and purposes the Paris Hilton of Aswan.  But is that why I'm here?  Of course not.  It's far too difficult and stressful to make this a full-time occupation for the sake of being wanted.

Being different all the time in every situation is awkward and tiring. The staring is at times brutal. (Not considered impolite in this culture.)  At events like these, I'm the only one not wearing a head covering.  I'm the only one not brown-skinned.  I'm the only non-Egyptian. I'm the only Christian in the room.  

Wait. I am the ONLY Christian in the room. I scan through the crowd and look at each individual.  I pause, breathe a prayer for her and search for the next face.  

"Jesus, be real to them," I pray.

THAT is why I'm here and that is why I will continue my career as Wedding Guest.

_______________________________
*Not his real name