Hallmark Moment

Last night we met dear friends at the airport and brought them back to our home for the next 3 days.  They made a joke and said that all of MY luggage had arrived.  They were referring to the great gifts of kindness that our family sent to us…about 30 pounds worth.  These are true friends for they brought every single item and didn’t even give us a hard time though I wonder if they were muttering under their breath as they were packing.

I tried to spin it and said, “Just think how much room you have now for Pharaoh statues!” They weren’t impressed.

Today we will go to an archeological site and then make preparations for Thanksgiving dinner.  Our local friends will also be with us throughout the day so it will be good times all around.

We also think of our two daughters and son in law who will be celebrating Thanksgiving with various family members.  How thankful we are for them! The great thing about children growing up is that they become great friends as well! I do wish we could be together at this time, but we celebrate at other times of the year when we can all be together. (So don’t stare at us if we are having a Thanksgiving/Christmas dinner in the middle of August!)

We won't have the traditional turkey dinner due to the fact that the turkeys here are quite scrawny. I also feel that if they've managed to eke out an existence this long, they should be able to continue trying. (I'll keep you posted on what actually ends up on the table.)

God has given us wonderful relationships here and there (from wherever you’re reading) and we are truly grateful for all He has done in us and through us this year.  Now if this sounds like the final entry of the year, you would be incorrect.  

I’m just feeling very Hallmark-y today and thought I would take the time to express our gratitude for kind words, thoughtful gifts, needed prayers and invested resources.  We leave you with this blessing.

How very, very thankful we are. 

May the Lord bless you and protect you.

May the Lord smile on you and be gracious to you.

May the Lord show you His favor and give you peace.

Numbers 6:24-26

Middle Eastern Maxine

One of the funniest characters Hallmark ever created is Maxine.  Maxine is a cranky, old lady who always sees the glass not half-empty, but cracked and leaking.  I have said on more than one occasion that I might indeed be the personification of her if not for Jesus reminding me to be kind.  It seems that the spirit of Maxine lives in more than one culture for I believe I have met her Middle Eastern self right here in our village.

For the sake of our story, I’ll call her Samah*.  Samah lives alone in a small mud brick home near ours.  She sits on the stoop by her front door every morning watching the other villagers going about their day.  She says little, watches much and sometimes chases children with a stick if they get too close.

As I was returning from errands one day, I stopped to greet her (4 kisses on each cheek.)  After the normal, “How are you? How did you sleep? Are you doing well? How was your morning?  How was your afternoon?  You are doing well?” she then asked, “Where have you been?”

I said that I have been here.  I asked, “Where have you been?”  

She clucked her tongue, “I am here!  I am always here! You think I go anywhere?!  I don’t go anywhere!  Ever!”

Well, I’m glad that was settled.

I then told her it would make me so happy to sit and drink tea with her.

She asked, “Why?”

I said, “We have had tea together before and I miss you.”

She smiled and then went serious.  “My house or yours?”

“My house would be fine.  Why don’t you come by tomorrow afternoon with Esma? (A mutual friend.)”

“What time?” she asked gruffly.

“2 o’clock, okay?” 

She grimaced and clucked her tongue again.  “Okay.  Okay.”

After some back and forth deciding if this really was a good time, she agreed.

The next day at 2:07 pm, she knocked.  I opened the door and ushered her into our living room.  

“Where’s Esma?” she asked.

“I don’t know.  I thought she was coming with you.”

She mumbled to herself with words I didn’t understand. It was probably better I didn’t.

We sat down and I offered her some raspberry iced tea.  Definitely not what she was expecting, but I thought she might like it.

“What is this?” she asked.  

“Tea,” I said.

“No, it’s not.”

“It’s iced tea.”

I thought she would roll off the couch.  No Esma and now iced tea.  It wasn’t that I was trying not to follow culture, it was giving her something new to try that was from America.  I thought she might like the experience.  Now I wasn’t so sure.

I offered her a brownie and some fresh pomegranate.  She said she would eat it later.

We chitchatted a while as I tried my best to keep up with her Arabic.  If I asked what a word meant she just said it LOUDER and shook her head in disgust.  It made me laugh.  It reminded me of myself a few times when I’ve tried to help others understand English by talking LOUDER AND SLOWER.  The rule is: If you don’t know the word, it won’t help to say it at another speed or volume.  It just won’t.

I heard a knock and opened it to a flustered Esma who began apologizing profusely for being late.  I told her it was no problem and that I was very happy to see her.  She presented me with a bag of oranges and made her way to the couch.

Samah was less forgiving.  She began telling Esma, “You’re late!  We said 2 o’clock and it’s almost 2:30.  What were you doing?  We said 2 o’clock!”

Esma who is a younger woman took the chastisement gracefully.  Once Samah had said her piece she resumed the conversation with me as if nothing happened.  Funny.

Esma immediately took the photo album containing Emileigh’s wedding photos and began looking and commenting.  Samah had already seen them so she began nibbling on the brownie I had set in front of her earlier.

After a few more minutes, Samah popped up and said that she had to go.  She had to go to the doctor and she didn’t want to be late.  She emphasized “late” while looking at Esma.

I walked her to the door and told her how happy I was that she came.  She gave me a half grin and I sensed I had gained her approval if begrudgingly.

Esma finished the photo albums and drank the iced tea with enthusiasm.  (Samah had tried a sip, but declared the weather too cold to finish it.  It was 90º.) Esma needed to leave.  I thanked her for coming and welcomed her back anytime.

As I closed the door and began cleaning up, I smiled.  Samah is what my mother would call “a tough ol’ bird,” but she let me see a glimpse of the woman inside for just a moment.

I decided that next time I would be sure to make hot chocolate for these frigid winter months when temps drop into the 70s at night.  Until then, I’ll keep praying for Samah knowing that if God can tame my tongue and keep me from my Maxine ways…He certainly can soften the heart of my friend.

*Not her real name

A Friend of a Friend

Some friends from Sudan

Our friend, Mohamed*, called us from Sudan.  John tried his best to understand all that Mohamed was saying.  You see, Mohamed, not only speaks in Arabic, but he speaks fast and has his own type of accent that even our Arabic-speaking friends can’t quite make out.

It seems that Mohamed was very happy to tell us that a friend of his was in our city and would like to see us.  

Now you may ask, “Do you know this friend?” To which we would say, “No.”

“Then why would you meet with a stranger?”

“Because he’s Mohamed’s friend and this is as close as Mohamed can get to seeing us.”

So John gets the friend’s number, thanks Mohamed and then asks me when we could have him over.  I checked our calendar and told him anytime over the weekend.

John called the friend and explained who he was.  The friend returned the warm greeting and began chatting with John as if they were long lost relatives.  No one found this unusual or the least bit strange.  John then invites this perfect stranger to our home and the date is set.

I made brownies (all our local friends love these) and prepared mango juice.  (Tea is only served right before you are ready for them to leave.  Serving it too early can indicate you are displeased with them and are cutting the visit short.)

Yusef** arrived and sat with John chatting while nibbling on the prepared brownies.  He told John that he is a granite worker and then said, “If you need anything made from granite, you tell me.  I will make it for you.”  (Our city is actually built in and around granite. They use it to pave the sidewalks here!)  I overheard what he said and immediately began scanning the house for future granite projects.  Rats.  I can’t think of anything.

They talked about families and how this man knew Mohamed.  Yusef went back as far as 5 generations in explaining the connection.  John lost track after the third grandma.

Yusef finished his juice and then stood to his feet.  He had to go, but thanked John profusely for meeting him.  They promised to meet again and a friendship was born.

Mohamed then called John to ask if they’d had a good visit.  John assured him that they did.  Mohamed was very happy.  I call it Friendship by Proxy.  Here they call it, “Normal Life.”  

We made a new friend…a granite-carving one to boot.  I guess it makes me reexamine how relationships are formed or even how I allow them room to form.  Food for thought.

Now how about a granite-carved toilet seat?

___________________________

*This is his real name.  There are many Mohameds.  I'm not really worried about his identification.
**Not his real name.

“Ride the bus,” they said. “It will be fun,” they said.

Our sweet ride on the way back...

“Ride the bus,” they said. 
“It will be fun,” they said.

John recently had some business in a city near the Red Sea called “Hurghada.”  We had visited a couple other places near there, but hadn’t yet had opportunity to visit this one.  Now we had the chance.

Our collection of tickets

Our local friend, Ahmed*, had just been there and recommended that we take the bus.  “It’s only 60 LE!  Well, 70 LE ($10) for foreigners.”  

I had my doubts.  Hurghada is a quite a distance and I’m familiar with the driving habits here.  John checked our other options (plane or private car) and discussed them with me.  After weighing all the pros and cons we thought, “Why not?  It’s only $10 each!”

I was worried that we wouldn’t be able to secure tickets at such a late date, but Ahmed assured us the day before was no problem.  We purchased our tickets.  We were Seats 1 & 2.  Apparently, tickets were no problem at all.

The bus would depart at 3:30 pm.  We (of course) arrived 30 minutes early.  No need.  There was no bus and no passengers until 3:25 pm.  Everyone calmly stepped on the bus.  I counted heads…7 plus a driver in a large charter bus.  Hmmmmm….this can’t be cost-effective.

The bus took off close to the 3:30 pm start time.  I pulled out a book and began to read.  John searched for a window he could look out so he wouldn’t throw up.  So far so good.

Where am I?! Yachts everywhere!

I was told that there was a bathroom on the bus which gave me a level of comfort should the need arise.  However, I did severely limit my intake anyway.  There were mostly men on the bus and I couldn’t imagine myself walking from the front to the very back passing all of the onlookers. (Did I mention I was also the only blonde on the bus?)

We trucked down the road a bit until we came to a small town.  The bus driver came to a halt and a few more passengers were added.  The ticket guy from Aswan rides on the bus and continues his job of selling tickets to those who secure a seat.  He wanted us to have extra good luck traveling so he played a recitation of the Koran on the overhead speakers…loudly.  Thankfully, I had my iPod with some sweet Kirk Franklin tunes ready to go.

We stopped at a couple checkpoints and government security came on to look around.  I’m not sure how secure of a check that is, but I sat with my best posture when he walked by.

The official bathroom stop came at Hour 5.  A local lady and I smiled at each other as we got off the bus and made a beeline for the facilities.  Now please don’t picture a gas station toilet when I mention this.  That would be a bit too nice to compare.  This stop had a row of squatty potties that were unisex.  I rolled up my pant legs, took my packet of tissues and hand sanitizer and headed in.  

Sort of like a 7-11, this place also sold tea, sandwiches and sheesha.  Truly a one-stop shop.

Kite surfing is a major sport here.

After 20 minutes, the driver sounded the horn and everyone boarded the bus.  We continued town to town collecting more and more passengers until the bus was entirely full.

We couldn’t make a lot of fast progress because of all the speed bumps that are in place.  Someone thought that during the Egyptian Revolution of 2011, that somehow speed bumps would prevent protestors from making it to Cairo.  So a LOT of speed bumps were put in from the very Southern part of Egypt, to the East and all the way to the North.  

I wonder if the French ever felt the same way. “Vive la…eh…too many speed bumps!  Let’s go home.”

Little by little we made our way.  A new ticket man put a movie in for all of us to watch.  It was some B-movie from America called, “The Land of Dragons” starring no one we had ever heard of.  It was in English so I think the guy was showing it for our benefit.  I hope that most American actors that have made B and C movies know that it's not in vain.  They live on everyday in Egyptian television programming…and now on busses.

Finally after 8 passenger pickups, 2 security checks and 2 bathroom breaks, we pulled into the bus station in Hurghada.  It was 1:30 am.

Hard Rock Cafe...Lettuce!  Beef!  Cheese!
Heaven...I'm in Heaven!

John and I unfolded ourselves and disembarked.  We asked about return tickets but were told that no tickets are sold in advance.  You have to come on the day you wish to depart and wait.  Then when the bus with your destination arrives, you jump on hoping that there is a seat available.  If so, then you sit and pay the ticket man.  If not, malish! (sorry!), come back again tomorrow.

We arrived at our hotel completely exhausted but grateful to have made it in one piece.  

The city itself is fairly new.  It’s a tourist town and attracts mostly Russians so signs and menus are in Arabic and Russian.  Million dollar yachts lined the marina and a Tommy Hilfiger store was across the way.  I couldn’t believe my eyes.  Aswan doesn’t even have a large grocery store and it’s the third largest city in Egypt!  This town had a Hard Rock Cafe!  I was indeed in shock, but still managed to order a burger there.

Don't ask me to explain...not sure.

We had a great time, took care of business and mentally prepared ourselves for the bus ride back.  Our new taxi driver friend, Adl*, picked us up and waited with us at the bus stop.  It was 10 pm.  When the correct bus pulled up, he took his 5’1” frame and forced himself onto the bus.  He hockey-checked a couple people while yelling at me, “Madam!  Madam!  Go!  Go!”  I felt bad for half a second when I saw all the others also trying to get on, but the bus world is a dog-eat-dog world and if we were going to get seats, this is how it gets done.  I scooted to the back making apologies along the way and found two seats together.  I draped myself across both of them until John could get the luggage stowed and get on board.

Adl wished us a safe trip and we settled in for another long journey.  We left around 10:30 pm and made it back to Aswan at 7:30 am.  (Egyptians love to travel at night and see no point in day-time travel…ever.)  This bus had a similar pattern of stops and starts with the exception of security.  This bus had originated in the Sinai peninsula so the checkpoints were definitely more thorough.  We (and everyone else aboard) had to show our passports to an armed guard.  No issues though so we were waived on.

Upon our return, our friends asked if we would do that again. I think I would.  Yes, it was long and sometimes a bit (okay a lot!) uncomfortable, but this is how most all locals travel.  It’s good for us to know the challenges they face and the way that they have to navigate their destinations.  It’s real life here and we are one bus ride richer for it…even if it is eternal.

So many fabulous lights!

NaNoWriMo 2014...or Pam Writes a Book

This is a quick entry, but I've decided to put it out there.  This month is National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) which is an online community committed to writing 50,000 words (per entrant) during the month of November.

I've signed up with the idea that I would finally gather all my blog entries into a cohesive collection for perhaps...maybe...a (gulp) future book...e-book...something.

We have a couple days of meetings (or rather John does) so I'll be plugging away every day trying to meet my words per day minimum (1,600).  It's a challenge and I'm up for it.

So now I need to pour myself a steaming cup of inspiration and get going.

Imagine: A Stick-Free Society

Teacher Development Workshop 2014

“How can there be something better than 'The Stick'?” a teacher asked sincerely.

“Through this workshop we’re going to learn many other ways to manage your classroom besides 'The Stick,'” John countered.

And so our 2 weeks of the Teacher Development Workshop progressed. Last night was our final session.  

We hadn’t taught this particular material in Egypt before so we weren’t really sure what to expect.  A friend of ours arranged the location (our local village), the building (the neighborhood mosque), the time of day (5:30-8:30 pm) and the attendees (teachers in government schools).

Our first night we had around 33 in attendance and also 3 babies, a couple toddlers and various elementary-aged children running in and out.  Some came initially for curiosity.  Over the days we finally settled into an attendance of averaging 20-22 (plus the tiny to mid-sized people who came with their mothers).

We used a translator because frankly even some first-language English speakers would have trouble initially understanding some of the educational concepts that are necessary to the teaching.  (And let's be real...NO ONE wants to learn from a Tarzan-like speaking delivery.)

Imagine if you were a government teacher in Egypt.  You have a small classroom, the walls are scuffed and there aren’t enough chairs or desks.  Each textbook is shared between 3 students.  The teacher/student ratio ranges from 25-45 to 1. The school year is from October to December and Mid-February to April.  There are four periods in the day including one period for Islamics.  The remaining three are used to teach all other required educational benchmarks required by the government.  The only form of discipline you’ve been taught to use is “The Stick.”  It’s what you experienced when you were a student and it’s what you know as “normal” as a teacher.  No cooling (in the long summers), no heat (in winter).  You tutor students after class to supplement your salary trying to help them achieve the standards that you are unable to reach in the allotted classroom time. "Lack" and "same" are the two words you mutter most.

Yet here were these teachers gathered in this room together all sitting with their notebooks and pens ready.  They long for new information, new approaches, different resources.  We even taught them a couple affirmation cheers, i.e. “Rollercoaster,” “Fantastic,” and “Firecracker.”  They loved them and insisted we use them throughout the teaching.

I believe this kind of teaching is especially poignant right now for Egypt.  As my Grandma said, “If you always do what you’ve always done, then you’re gonna get what you’ve always got.”  In other words, unless new types of thinking and problem-solving are interjected into a society, they will “get what they’ve always got.”

As they began to soak in some of the concepts, we could see understanding in their eyes.  Things could be different.  Life doesn’t have to be the same from generation to generation.  Hope was forming.  

John closed asking God to bless them and telling them that as a man of prayer he will be praying for each of them.  They smiled and did the “Rollercoaster” cheer for us.

We then presented completion certificates to each of them and took a class photo.  Some of the ladies weren’t keen on photos so we told them “no problem” and made sure they weren’t included.  I had made bupcakes (“cupcakes”) and passed them around.  They all clapped and took pictures making me feel like Tom Colicchio in the airport.

Kids then came out of the woodwork and we gave all the treats away.  We hugged one another, took a few selfies and then said our goodbyes.

The teachers were already planning what they’d like to learn at the next workshop.

It was a good week; one filled with hope and promise (and no stick) for a beautiful people.  

Do You...Dance? (Part 2)

The receiving room where John drank tea
for a couple hours pre-wedding. 

Last time I left you, I had just had a rather embarrassing conversation with my new friends that I had made while waiting for the wedding to begin.  Thankfully, I was rescued by the sound of horns honking in the distance.  This indicates that the bride and groom are on their way.  Thank goodness!

The bride and groom arrive
with video guy.

By the time they weaved in and through the narrow dirt roads/paths, it was around 12:30 am.  I had already “celebrated” for 2 and half hours and the party was just getting started.

John emerged from one of the homes and we made eye contact.  I told the women that I was going to go stand by my husband and they gave me a wink.  I’m glad they couldn’t see me blushing in the dark.

The bride and groom were led into the reception area by a group of young men playing drums and singing.  All of the village attendees poked their heads out of their homes and took to the streets lining it as the couple walked by.  (They were the smart ones.  They know how these things roll.)

People dancing all in the street
See the rhythm all in their feet. 

Everyone began dancing and made their way to the reception area.  The band kicked it off with some happening Nubian party music.  Our friend, Ahmed*, appeared around the corner and greeted us.  We were relieved to see a familiar face in the crowd.  He then introduced us to two women he had met through his work.  One was British and the other German.  They wanted to see an authentic Nubian wedding.  This one would not disappoint.

We aren’t accustomed to having other foreigners with us so when we walked into the crowd, we caused a bit of a stir.  John and I were dressed in traditional Nubian wear, but the other ladies had on typical tourist clothes complete with fannypack and large camera about the neck.

The space was divided into two areas.  The women were on one side and the men on the other.  The groups separated and began dancing.  I sat on a little bench tapping my foot and smiling.  It’s important to keep a good game face throughout all these events.  Our every move is watched and scrutinized for later conversation. 

We're going to party,
karamu, fiesta, forever...

The German lady popped up and walked into the throng of dancing women.  She joined in and snapped pictures at the same time.  I got up and walked along the perimeter making small talk (as best I could over giant speakers) with some women.  The German lady outlasted me and I returned to the bench and resumed my smile.

Just then the men in the crowd pulled our friend Ahmed into the circle of dancers.  He resisted at first, but knew it was inevitable.  John laughed and clapped for his friend.  2 minutes later, John was also invited/pulled into the circle.  Now the men were satisfied and begin to sway and shuffle together.  I wanted to snap a picture of John in the group, but the men dance very closely and there was no way I was going to step into the middle of that.

Bling is in this season!

One man walked up to me and the British woman and said, “I am just so happy that you are here in my village!”  We were touched.  This nice elderly man was happy we were here.  

The German woman returned to take a breather.  Several kids saw her camera and began striking poses in front of her hoping she would take the bait.  Funny thing though, so did some of the men.  They began dancing and moving closer toward us with just that perfect “Covergirl” “Blue Steel” look.  She began snapping and soon she had more clients than she could handle.

I had noticed that the men were taking on some new dance steps as the evening progressed.  John and Ahmed had long left the enthusiastic dance group and were back on the sidelines with a good number of men.  The remaining dancers were spinning, leaping, shimmying as it were.

Don't forget to include flags of
your favorite soccer team!

The elderly man came to us again and said, “I am just so, so happy you are here in my village!  Welcome!  Welcome!”

Again, we were touched but this time as he swung by I smelled what seemed to be alcohol wafting in the air.  Alcohol?  But these are Muslims!

Ahmed told us that at times for weddings, the men will drink a little in order to loosen up for the dancing.  Ah, that would explain some of the Michael Jackson moves that began to take place as the evening wore on.

The British woman and the German woman had seen enough.  They told Ahmed that they wanted to return to their hotel.  Ahmed told us that he would make sure they arrived safely and then he would return to us.  We told them goodbye and maintained position.

And more dancing...

The bride and her party crossed over from the other side to dance with the groom and the other men.  A popular Nubian singer had been hired for the event so everyone was singing to the top of their lungs, dancing and having fun.

It was around 2 am at this time and Ahmed had been gone for 30 minutes.  Surely that was enough time to go and come back.  We shrugged and hung out.

Someone asked us if we can have good conversations at events like this.  The answer is an emphatic “no.” There’s simply no way to hear anything.  In a room the size of 30’x100’, they usually have 6-8 large speakers cranked until they have reached distortion. Smiling and sign language (of sorts) are the only forms of communication available.

We go to these events because it’s part of village life.  To understand village people, we have to be with them, near them, awake with them.  So we go, we sit, we get stared at and we try to keep our eyes pried open at 3 am…when Ahmed still hasn’t returned.

Now John’s tolerance for moments like this is FAR better than mine.  I’m so ready to go by now.  It seems that a very rich village man provided 15 cases of beer for the occasion.  24 cans in each.  By the way they were acting and dancing, I surmised they were on case #12 already.

The groom dancing before the crowd.

Our elderly village man once again stood in front of me and said, “Have I told you how happy I am that you are in my village?  Come dance with me!”  He began swaying back and forth and then some others joined in the invite.  John shook his head no and they instead danced around each other.  

Some men who had successfully avoided the mosh pit were now being picked up from their seat and being placed in the middle.  There was no fighting it now.

One man lit a Roman candle and held it in his hand.  One flame shot out.  When the remaining four did not he held the candle to his eye so he could see what was wrong.  OH MY WORD!  (“A Christmas Story” scene all over again, “You’ll shoot your eye out!”) He tossed it aside and it began flaring from the ground sending the bride running.

I wish I could say that was the first and last of the fireworks but it wasn’t.  A young boy had a cone that shot sparkles out of the top.  He lit it and set it in the middle of the crowd where flammable materials, curtains and people abound!  People would scatter and then return to dancing after the smoke had dissipated.

Around 4 am, Ahmed still hadn’t returned.  I looked at John and gave him the official, “I am so done” signal.  He understood and we began our goodbyes as we declined one last offer to dance.

We fell into bed around 4:30 am and slept until 11 the next morning.  I hadn’t had a drop of their special celebratory beverages, but my head pounded just the same.  I suppose it was a compilation of late night, loud music and social stress.

Ahmed stopped by the next day to explain what had happened.  As he was returning the 2 women to their hotel, a man from the wedding offered to give them all a boat ride back. (Their hotel was along the Nile.)  They accepted.  As he was casting off, he fell in the water.  Apparently, he had had some special dance juice, too.  Ahmed fished him out and had to make new arrangements which took far longer than he anticipated.  He apologized profusely for not returning.

We smiled and told him we understood.  Things happen.  LOTS of things happen when you go to a village wedding.  But we would only discover these things by being here, near and with.  Painful as it can be sometimes to be stretched so much, it’s necessary to be a part.

Jesus left the splendor of Heaven, confined Himself to human form and lived among us.  He did it so we could experience who God was in real life…in the grit and truth of our existence.  People were drawn to Jesus because He met them where they lived, mourned, celebrated and muddled through. 

The rope being offered to you in a pit can only be grasped when it is illuminated by light.  

We pray that we reflect the love and light of Jesus at every wedding, funeral, dinner together, teaching workshop, baby celebration and Eid. I also pray that we find discreet earplugs for future events and that I can poke out my mind’s eye from some of the dance moves I saw at Case #15. 
___________________
*Not his real name

Privileged to be here!

Do You...Dance? (Part 1)

Back to back weddings are tough.  The first one this week happened at a sports club which meant that the festivities were over at midnight.  Not too bad.  The next one, however, was in the village which meant this was an all night deal.  John and I try to prepare ourselves for these events by spending extra time praying and taking a nap sometime during the day so that we can be fully conscious and present with our friends.

Around 10 pm, we put on our wedding gear and made our way to the other side of the village.  We weren’t exactly sure of the location, but thought that we would just follow the music.  After we walked a bit, we came upon a section of street that had been decorated with all manner of LED lights.  This must be it.  As we approached the area we noticed that there wasn’t any music playing.

We looked around and couldn’t seem to find anyone in wedding mode.  We greeted a woman sitting in a chair near the entrance of a home.  She returned our greeting and said that this was the place but lissa, lissa (not yet, not yet).  I sighed.  Even when we try to be late, we’re still very early.  

She motioned for me to sit next to her so I did.  Just then a man walked by and greeted John.  He then told John that the wedding wouldn’t start for a while so he should come with him to drink tea.  John looked at me and said, “You can go with me or you can stay here and visit.”

Since I didn’t know either person, I chose to visit with the woman.  I began speaking to her in Arabic and she smiled broadly.  “Oh, your Arabic is so good!” she exclaimed.  I smiled in return knowing that my Arabic is not that good but that she was being kind. We chatted about a lot of topics and then she asked, “Is your husband a good man?”

“Yes, he’s a very good man,” I said. 

She nodded and then asked, “Do you love him?”

“Yes, I do.”

She then told me the sad story of her husband.  “He is not a good man,” she said.  She has two older daughters and one 4 year old boy.  She said after the boy was born, her husband left her.  She now has no husband and her parents are dead.

I took her hand and said, “I am so sorry.  That is very hard.”

She then asked again, “Your husband is a good man?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Mashallah.  Mashallah,” she retorted.  (This is a saying that basically means, “I envy you, but God protect me from being jealous.”)

Just then her sisters came from their homes and pulled up chairs.  They switched to Kinsey which is their native language.  She then told them all about me.  When they wanted to know something from me directly, they would switch back to Arabic.  Once they had their answers, they would discuss me in Kinsey.  It’s all very unnerving, but it’s how it goes here, so I just have to get used to it.

My first friend said to them, “She has a good husband.  She loves him.”

I smiled and wondered what their reaction would be.

They just smiled and said, “Good.  Good.”

Just then a white van loaded to the brim pulled up in front of us.  8 guys jumped out and began unloading all the sound equipment.  Ah, the band is here!

When the ladies saw them they looked at me and said, “Oh you can dance!”

I laughed and said, “No, I probably won’t dance.  I’ll just watch.”

“Oh, you must dance!”

Now in nervous laughter I reiterated, “I like dancing, but I’m just not very good at it.”

One sister said, “You are shy here, but you must dance in America!”

“No, not really.  I’m just not very good at it so I don’t really dance.”

Another said, “You must dance there!”

To add emphasis I said, “No, I don’t dance here or in America.” I continued, “I don’t even dance in Germany or Kenya! In fact, I don’t dance anywhere in the world!”

“You don’t dance anywhere?”

“Nowhere in the world!” I said laughing, thinking that this conversation in Arabic was going well.  I’m understanding.  They’re understanding.

Just then one sister looked at me and said, “You never dance?” while she crossed her arms as to give herself a hug and began rocking side to side. She continued, “Your husband is a good man?”

“Yes, of course, he is a….” Wait.  What are you actually asking me?  Are we still talking about dancing? 

I looked up and now all three sisters are staring at me intently.  One then said, “Do you dance or not?”

Now I’m speechless.  This whole time I’m thinking we’re having an innocent discussion about dancing.  Somehow we aren’t talking about dancing anymore…at least I don’t think so.

I’m sure my face turned a deeper crimson than normal as I began to understand the full ramifications of their questions.

Somehow I misunderstood a verb or did not know about a particular euphemism or something.  All I knew is that I had just dogmatically stated to 3 strangers that “Nowhere in the world do I….uh, dance.”

They all saw my distress and began cackling loudly.  They slapped each others’ hands and began speaking quickly in Kinsey.  I’m sure I had just provided fodder for them and all their friends for weeks to come.

I hadn’t even made it to the wedding yet and already I’d made an impression, a big impression.  Even typing this is painful in a horrible but hysterical way.  (I’d certainly be laughing very hard too if this were anyone’s story, but mine.)

My awkward silence was covered up by the now blaring speakers which had been placed all around the area.  Almost time to get this party started…What else could possibly happen?