Fatima Hatfield and Hanan McCoy

Our village along the Nile

It started out innocently enough. John and I had a few errands to run so we put on our best walking sandals (Chacos for John for everything, every day and Clarks for me...Thank you, sweet Mother-In-Love!) and headed up the path out of our village. We had almost reached the part where the village road meets the city road when my sandal strap broke.

Sidebar: Any shoe that can last longer than 6 months in this terrain gets 5 stars. These had lasted almost an entire year! RIP, Beloved Shoes. 

But I digress...John told me to go sit and visit with an older lady who was peeling a bag full of garlic while he went to the apartment to get me another pair of sandals. (Same brand of sandals in various colors.)

I greeted Lulee* and she began asking about my daughters, MiMi (Emileigh) and Aya (Aria). I asked about her family and noticed that children began gathering around us curious to see what the khawayja "foreigner" was doing. They smiled shyly and we began chatting a bit. 

The scene of "The Episode"

From the corner of my eye, I could see two women coming out of their homes and looking up to another building across the path. I followed their sightline and noticed a woman in the second story standing at her window. Let's call her "Fatima." Fatima began raining down all sorts of words to the women below. She was clearly angry about something. I was trying my best to understand what was happening, but I am not fluent yet in Angry Arabic.

One of the two ladies below, let's call her "Hanan", returned the shouts complete with fist-waving and other colorful gestures. Lulee kept peeling her garlic nonplussed by it all. The children continued trying to engage me. I wanted to make sure that I was out of the path of any flying debris.

Fatima continued with a long diatribe that included "HE IS..." "HE SHOULD NOT..." Again, bits and pieces, but no clear story emerging.

The scene was escalating so Lulee shouted to the women that we had a "guest" with us and they should "cool it." (My word insertions here...)

They didn't care and continued back and forth now drawing additional village people to see what all the hubbub was about.

The mahkwaghee (the man in the village who does all the ironing for everyone) came from behind his ironing board and stood in the middle of them with his hands stretched out to the side giving them the "stop" gesture.

They did pause for a moment and then began directing all their angry words toward him. He looked up at me, smiled, shrugged his shoulders and went back to ironing.

It was at this time that John called me and asked, "What color sandals do you want me to bring?"

He had no idea what was going on. I said, "I don't care. Whatever. Just get here!"

He said, "Well, there are some kind of grayish ones and black ones, but I don't see any brown ones."

On most days I would love a man that would care that his wife wanted to be coordinated, but today I just wanted him to get back so that we could get out of the very awkward crossfire. 

He said, "Okay, I'll just bring these gray ones. See you in a few."

As I hung up, another woman stepped in and demanded that Fatima stop immediately and go back inside. This lady must have wielded some power because Fatima did quiet down, however continued muttering.

Hanan said a parting word to which Fatima had to respond, which made Hanan say one more thing. This continued back and forth until everyone settled down and returned to their homes.

I smiled at Lulee who had never once stopped peeling her garlic buds. The children continued to try to entertain me when John walked up and said, "Here ya go!"

I put my (obviously brown, not gray) sandals on, kissed Lulee goodbye and began walking out of the village.

I told John all the excitement he had missed. He said that it was great that the villagers felt comfortable enough to argue in front of me. Ah, yes. Mr. Sunshine Pants. My adrenaline hadn't worn off yet, but I'm sure I would eventually come to the same conclusion. 

Maybe someday I'll have enough Arabic to jump in and join or even mediate! But for now, I'm just grateful for backup sandals, my garlic-peeling friend and everyday life among the Nubians even when I don't quite understand or know what to say or know what to do. I'm learning and that's okay. They seem to be okay with it, too. That's a good feeling even when it's not. 

_______________________

*Not her real name

Hospitals, Mangoes & Parasites, Oh My!

Well…what to say? What. to. say. 

Post-Op Thumbs Up!

I’ve had a few false starts with this entry simply because I am struggling between telling it like it is and also retaining some decorum for the public stage. There’s a fine line it seems in the craft of “being real” without crossing into “sensationalism” or “artistic liberties.” I’ll try to keep it between the ditches.

This Summer has been challenging on a few fronts for me personally. I had major surgery in June and then returned to our desert abode prepared to recuperate without much ado. I imagined doing things like visiting neighbors and eating mangoes. One was great with good results. The other caused my face to swell, turn bumpy red and itch like crazy for about a week. I’ll let you guess which one is which. 

Feeling de-swelled enough to rejoin the public, I went with some friends to a beach area along the Nile on the 4th of July. I was still not completely recovered from surgery so I chose to sit ankle deep in the water and take it easy. A few days later, I noticed that I was nauseated, head pounding and stomach bloating. What in the world?!

Can you call it a beach if everything
is made of sand?

A few other symptoms appeared and soon I was bedridden watching my stomach get bigger while my appetite decreased (THAT is a sure sign that I am nearing the Gloryland…).  I began to Google my symptoms and discovered that I could be dying of any number of terrible diseases. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea after all.

We finally spoke to a doctor here in town and he thought that it might be giardiasis. Look it up. If I start to describe it here, it’ll make me queasy all over again and I’ll go screaming into the desert yelling, “GET THEM OUT! GET THEM ALL OUT!” 

It’s pretty common here, but since I hadn’t had it before I didn’t know just how terrible it could make a person feel. The doctor gave me 4 giant pills to take at once and said that that should take care of it. That was on Sunday of this week. Monday I felt great. Tuesday my stomach began pooching out again and by Wednesday I was given 4 more giant pills to finish off the last of the resistant trouble in my system. Today is Friday and I am feeling human again…around 90% which has been the highest percentage since maybe January. Woot!

I’m telling you all this for a few reasons:

1) It explains the gaps between blog entries. (Remember my rule that I never write while using prescription drugs?)
2) I want to report the highs AND the lows. There are plenty of good things to tell you, but it wouldn’t be an honest chronicle if none of the challenges were mentioned.
3) You’re my friend and getting to share all of my life makes the separation by an ocean easier…even if that includes parasitic discussions.
4) I don’t have a “Chicken Soup for the Soul: Desert Edition” to cheer myself up.

I’ll have another entry about some of the great things that have happened this Summer running parallel to the challenges, but alas I grow weak in my typing. Ha. Not really. It’s actually a bit late in the day and I forgot that I have chicken thawing…I’d like to avoid salmonella poisoning for at least a week.

Shopping for beads helps me heal quicker.

Par-TAY

Decorated piece of candy

 At 4:57 pm Thursday we heard a forceful knock at the door. Upon opening we discovered our tiny neighbor girl of about 6 smiling brightly and presenting us with an envelope. Inside was an invitation to a birthday party for a boy turning 1. We smiled as we saw the day and time. It was for this same Thursday at 10 pm. A toddler’s birthday starting at 10. We laughed and thanked her and began rethinking our schedule for the day.

It was important that we attend. In this culture, a one year old's birthday party is very special. I think it stems back to the fact that before vaccinations and clean water the infant mortality rate was incredibly high. To have a child that lived to his first birthday meant that he had a good chance of survival so a celebration took place. That tradition carries on today. 

In order to hang out with these night owls, we have to sometime include a proactive nap somewhere in the day. John pressed through with his to-do list, but I “rested my eyes” for a bit so as to be alert and conscious.

Special chandeliers for the party...

Throughout the rest of the evening we noticed that our lights kept getting dim and our voltage regulator kept making whirring noises. We couldn’t figure out what was happening until we saw a guy on a ladder outside our door taking a wire and adding it to our electric pole. He needed electricity for all the party lights so he just helped himself.

The party was right next door so we had the advantage of being able to peek out the window to see when the other invitees actually started showing up. FYI: If the invitation says 10 pm, it’s never 10 pm. The question is…Is it 11 or later?  Sure enough around 10:45 pm others began gathering in a garden area that had 10 round tables set up along with a dance floor and party lights.

The women were sitting in one area and the men the other so John and I smiled and went to our respective groups. There I was received warmly by the other women with kisses and handshakes and told to sit down beside them. We chatted for a while as we waited for the family of the 1-year-old to make their appearance. During this time, a woman presented me with a piece of paper and a pen. I wasn’t sure what to do. She told me to write a blessing for the baby on the paper. I did and then put it in a giant plastic baby bottle designated.

Some of the decorations

From a side building 3 characters appeared that looked to be Winnie the Pooh, Donald Duck and Jerry (of the Tom and Jerry cartoons). The costumes were pretty busted, but the kids didn’t care. They swarmed them and began jumping up and down to greet them.

After a bit of visiting, the family of the birthday boy arrived and presented us with a tray of chocolates that had been individually decorated in blue with “Baby Boy” on top. I took one at her insistence as did the others. Once the tray was passed around, she ushered us into their home where a large table was laden with a giant sheet cake with her son’s picture on it. Around it were juice boxes, candies, mini-pizzas, the works.

As all people gathered around the table, giant sparklers were added to the cake and the lights were dimmed. We sang (to my shock) “Happy Birthday” in English as the sparklers lit up the room. Then a version in Arabic. We all clapped as the one year old looked around trying to figure out what was going on.

The cake!

The beaming father asked us to return to the garden where they served us pizza, salty snacks, cake and bottles of water. We visited with one another and wondered what else would happen at the party.

A magician appeared on stage and for the next hour he amused and thrilled the children. We were just getting ready to depart (as it was creeping up on 12:30 am) when the cartoon characters appeared and created a conga line of sorts. John was in the direct line of fire. Soon Winnie, Donald, Jerry and John were dancing up and down the aisles making the whole evening completely worthwhile.

As soon as he was able, he took an exit ramp and returned to his chair. More dance music was cranked and I was surprised that the whole playlist was Western music including, “Peanut Butter Jelly Time,” “Spon-gee Bob” and something by Akon (a 10 year old girl next to me told me).

Our sweet neighbor and the beautifully decorated table

The father danced with the newly turned one year old throwing him up in the air every once in a while to keep things exciting. The mother walked from table to table to make sure her guests were cared for. I could only see her eyes behind her veil, but she smiled warmly at me and pressed another piece of candy into my hand.

Some other local friends began saying their goodbyes, so John and I took that as our cue that we could as well. We thanked our host and said our goodbyes.

The next day we heard another sturdy knock on the door. It was our same little neighbor friend smiling and holding a gift bag that said, “Baby Boy.” She said that these were party favors from the host. She opened the bag and showed us the party confetti, glow-in-the-dark necklaces, candy and a blue ink pen.

We thanked her and smiled. Family here is premium and marking special events in their lives is important. We're so thankful to be a part, share life and to learn how to form a proper conga line. :)