Things That Go Bump-Bang-Bump in the Night

It had been a long day full of good things, but frankly I was done. I was more than tired. I was weary which was quickly descending into quelled annoyance with anyone and anything. A non-verbal sink full of dishes was my last hurrah before giving myself permission to crash. Through the window as I stood with soap up to my elbows I heard a herd of seemingly unhappy goats, the call to prayer, two women arguing and neighborhood dogs barking at an unfortunate cat who got caught in the mix. 

FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! CAN’T I HAVE A MOMENT’S PEACE AROUND THIS PLACE?!

The continuing cacophony left me with a resounding answer of “No.” Not just no, but “heck no.”

Sigh. I finished the dishes and wiped down the counters. I turned off the light and began my evening ablutions.

Crawling into bed I muttered something very Scarlett-like and declared, “After all, tomorrow is another day," told John good night and went to sleep.

At 12:38 am (I remember distinctly) I heard what sounded like hammering. This is not unusual. It seems that workmen here get their second wind after midnight. However, the hammering sounded incredibly close. That was unusual and (do I dare use the word again?) annoying.

I got up and looked out the kitchen window. I could see a couple buildings over that some workmen were doing something to an apartment that was being renovated, but what and why so much pounding?

I debated whether I should get dressed and go investigate OR do I ask John to get dressed and go investigate? I liked that idea better. He didn’t. Soon I saw our landlord walking toward the noise and checking out the scene. Ah, sweet relief. He’ll tell the guy that this isn’t going to work and we’ll all go back to bed.  No dice.

Our landlord greeted the workers and then he and his wife proceeded to get into their Jeep and drive to town. (Some weddings would just now be starting…)

The hammering continued TAP-TAP-taptaptap, TAP-TAP-taptaptap, TAP-TAP-taptaptap, TAP-TAP-taptaptap…

In my mind, I begged, pleaded, plotted, threatened and called down fire from heaven. Still they hammered on.

Finally at 3:33 am (I remember this also), they packed up their wares and departed. No party or work usually occurs after the call to prayer which happens around 4 am.

I dozed off in an angry, aggravated, sleepy stupor.

I woke up early the next day against my will. John’s a morning person which makes me feel like a slacker if I am not up and about by 7:30. (Only in my mind…he never says anything…self-imposed.)

We got ready to go to our little international church service when I ran into the people organizing the flat renovation. They were very excited that the new tenants were preparing to move some things in that day and they wanted everything to be ready including new screens on every window...even if it meant working into the wee hours of the morning.

I smiled. While I was about to research remote-controlled tasers, these dear people were trying to show extreme hospitality to the newcomers. I was ashamed and embarrassed at my behavior. So selfish. So what-about-these-bags-under-my-eyes-centric! Hospitality is key here and welcoming new friends is paramount. Sleep could come later…for everyone.

I had a chance to test my change of heart for the very next night the closet-building man arrived at 9:30 pm complete with hammer, drill and loud-playing radio. Ah, yes. while he builds storage, I’ll build some better character. 

Jesus, help me to do just that.

Your Pie Is On Vacation

I met a friend at McDonald’s yesterday for some girl time and maybe a McFlurry. (I did walk a long way to get to McDonald’s. I’m sure it would even out.)

At the counter, I placed my order and the girl shook her head and said, “No ice cream today.”

I stared for a moment and sighed. “Okay, what else ya got?”

“Would you like an abble bie?” she asked in her best English.

“Yes, that would be nice. One for me. One for my friend and one for me to take home to John.”

She rang it up and said something in Arabic about a vacation and work.

I asked her to repeat herself. Same phrases…vacation and work.

Finally, I looked at my friend and asked, “Do you know what she’s saying?”

My friend laughed and said, “She said that one pie is on vacation, but the other two are at work.”

“Oooooooh! Wait….what?”

My friend then explained that meant that one pie was already cooked, but the other two were still in the fryer. (Yes, you read that right...FRYER. No stinking baked pies over here.) 

I wouldn’t have understood that idiom without help that’s for sure.

I enjoyed my time with my friend and made my way back toward the village.

As I neared my home I noticed Zena* sitting outside her house. In her wrinkled, arthritic hands she held prayer beads that she constantly rotated while murmuring the 99 names of Allah. 

I greeted her with a kiss on each cheek and asked her how she was doing.

In Arabic she replied, “Well, look at me! My knees hurt and I have to use a cane now!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Zena. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Do you have medicine?”

“No, Zena. I’m a teacher, not a nurse.” (No, this is not a repeat story, but rather a repeat subject which happens all the time.)

Her granddaughter was sitting quietly on the side observing our conversation. She piped up and said, “Her sister is the nurse!”

Zena shook her head in agreement. “Ah, yes! Where is your sister?”

By “sister” they mean my dear friend who is a nurse, but is currently out of town.

Zena continued, “There is a doctor who could work on my knees at the hospital. Do you know when he’ll be in?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t. I don’t work there.”

Not satisfied with my answer, she repeated the question with more gestures and said “doc-TOR” with much force. Her granddaughter muttered to her, “She doesn’t understand you, Grandma.” To which I replied, “I do understand, but I don’t know when the doctor will be at the hospital.”

I got a look of shock with a hint of admiration from the granddaughter. Zena then said, “Ask your sister! She’ll know!”

Giving up, I nodded and said I would check with her. 

She patted my hand and smiled at me while saying an oft-repeated phrase about the fate of Allah. I covered her hand in mine and breathed a prayer for this dear woman as I kissed her goodbye. 

Bits and pieces of life lived, heard and understood only in the way of time and proximity. What a privilege to be in the Land of Sand and Employed Apple Pies.

_______________________________

*Not her real name.

24 hours

Girls on their way to school.

24 hours in the village:

1. Wild dogs barked all night.

2. The electricity went out.

3. The people in the apartment above us have taken up tap-dancing...or something similar.

4. The three mosques in our neighborhood were competing in “volume wars.”

5. A hired “gardener” decided that all the weeds on the hillside beneath our house should be set aflame.

6. I got some sort of awful flu.

7. I startled a gecko that was dancing in my not-yet-hot oiled frying pan so much that he ran away leaving a trail of Mazola footprints up my wall.

8. The chicken I thawed from the freezer was spoiled.

9. John has decided to make his chewing as loud as possible. (Maybe…I’m a bit on edge.)

10. Some of our village neighbors observed that their Christian friends are loving and have peace in their homes. They would like to know more how this is possible.

Good day? Yeah, the best...

Sandstorm

Every morning during this frigid winter ranging between 65º-95º, we open our windows to let some fresh air in. This is something that never tires me. When we lived in Sudan, our windows were opaque to reduce sun and for security. Around our home were tall concrete walls laced with razor wire around the top. It was a very secure habitat, but not very view-friendly. So when we moved to this new location, I couldn't believe it. Windows with clear glass! I could...see out!

A particular morning this week, John opened the windows and noticed that the wind was gusting. I smiled. (It's the only kind of weather we ever get here. Seriously...no rain. Ever. Sun 365.) The sky turned from blue to gray to orange. That could only mean one thing...sandstorm.

We had these as well in Sudan. Although "sandstorm" doesn't adequately describe what took place there. A giant wall of dark gray would form on the horizon and grow bigger with amazing speed. Once you saw it you knew you had to rush home, close all the windows and begin stuffing towels into every crack and crevice. 

The wind and such here I call, "Sandstorm Light." Yeah, it was windy and dusty but definitely manageable. Until now.

The papyrus began to fold sideways, the water in the Nile began to show whitecaps and the air became thick. I continued puttering around the house keeping my eye to the window because I'm weird that way. I'm an honorary member of the Addams Family because I just love inclement weather and here I am in a place that has none. 

Soon we could smell the sand and dirt in the air and we began to close up everything and just ride it out. It's usually a couple hours, then the wind and sand settle down. 17 hours later I couldn't find one thing in our house without a coating of sand on it. 

Our Nubian friend told us later that this was a special wind called an "omsheer." This wind will last 2-3 days in March indicating that winter is over and summer has arrived. Noooooooooooooooo!!!!!

When winter is so warm, you can maybe imagine what summer is like. Sort of like a toaster oven and I'm a perpetual Hot Pocket.

The rest of the day I spent dusting the furniture, rewashing some dishes and commenting on my darkening socks.

Everyone in the village just takes it in stride. It's part of the life of desert people. Storms come and they go. Expect it. Endure it. The sun will reappear. Good wisdom and free exfoliation.

I'm Bam. Have we met?

It's been quite a long while since PamintheSand has written a blog entry. The first of a long line of excuses is because “we were traveling,” then “we were returning,” “then life…”

I really do enjoy the discipline of writing, but some days…er, weeks and months my pen goes silent. I struggle to put in words all that we are experiencing and feeling. So I wait and the blog sits idle. For that, I apologize. We’re friends and friends want to stay involved in each other’s lives. So today I gave myself the ultimatum, “B.I.C., Pam!” (Behind In Chair, Pam!)

In other words, I’m not to get up until I’ve penned something and actually posted it. Ironically, I have just now noticed that we do not have internet right now. That makes me chuckle. Maybe it will return by the time I finish this entry, but most likely it won’t. Life is like that a lot here in Upper Egypt (which remember is actually Southern Egypt).  Starting…stopping….waiting…adjusting.

I’ve made a joke that to live abroad you must pack your “flexible pants.” I’m now upgrading that to a “flexible wardrobe.” Every day I have to roll with life here trying to sense what God is leading me to do. I still have scores of lists and a beautiful color-coded calendar, but I have to release all that into His hands and be willing to do “the better thing” which often appears spontaneously.

So thanks for hanging in there with me. I’m grateful for your friendship. Feel free to send me a note about your daily happenings. I really do want to know. You can reach me via FB or email. Just send me a comment and I’ll send you the info.

I’ll leave you with a story from my Nubian friend, Rabina.* Rabina is 86 years old and has a better goatee than most of my male friends. She’s small, stooped and infirmed but has some serious spunk remaining. Every day as I leave the village to walk into town, I will go to where she sits under a tree and greet her. She pulls me in to plant a kiss on each cheek, calls me "Bam" and asks about my two girls. 

The entrance to our village.
Robina* sits under the tree on the right.

“How’s MiMi (Emileigh)?” she asks. 

“She is doing well,” I reply.

“Is she good to her husband?”

“Yes,” nodding my head.

“It is a good marriage?” she continues.

“Yes, they are very happy.” I report.

“How’s Aya (Aria)?” she asks.

“She’s doing very well. She enjoys school and traveling.”

“Traveling? Is she coming here?”

“No, she’s in school right now.”

“She should come!” she said rather emphatically.

“Yes, we love to see our children,” I said.

“Well, MY children run off to town and leave me here,” she grunted.

I took a moment and looked around. There were two of her daughters sitting nearby. I wondered what she was talking about.

“I need some medicine. I have a headache!”

“Oh, I don’t have any medicine. I’m a teacher, not a nurse remember? But I am happy to pray for you.”

She looked at me and said, “My children ran off to town!”

Just then one of her daughters came over and said, “We went to town yesterday to get medicine for her headache. She’s still mad at us because we couldn’t sit with her AND get her medicine at the same time.”

“Ah,” I nodded. I understood a bit better now. Rabina gets confused now and then about time. This makes it all the more interesting when I’m trying to understand all of the conversation in Arabic while hearing verbs in past, present and future.

Just then, Rabina straightens her back, smiles her biggest 2-toothed smile and says, “Hi! My name is Rabina! Do you live around here?”

Another chance to practice my Arabic conversation.

“Yes, I do. So nice to meet you, Rabina. My name is Bam."

______________________________________________________

PS For a visual look at daily life, follow me on Instagram (paminthesand) and Twitter (@paminthesand). 

* Not her real name.