Lessons I Learned from a Moringa Tree

In our Nubian village where we live, we have discovered a number of beliefs that the local people hold in regard to medical treatments and overall health.  For instance, if you are overheated, you should drink steaming hot tea to cool down.

If you drink ice cold water, you will get a cold.

Babies shouldn't bathe before the age of one.

And any other malady, internal or external, that you may have can be cured through the use of honey.

Some of the remedies they use have proven helpful to me.  When I had a deep cough, our friend brought us guava leaves and told me to steep them as a tea.  I did and it worked as a great cough suppressant.

At another time, a big bag of freshly picked oranges arrived at our doorstep because they had heard one of us had a cold.  Vitamin C.  Cool.

Last winter, a German botanist came through the city offering a workshop on medicinal plants.  He came to our village and held a talk in the nearby mosque.  John and I attended to support our friend and also make new friends in the community.

The botanist told about different plants and purposes they served when crushed, heated, dried, etc. for curing ailments that are typical to the area.

The first night about 20 people came.  The next night attendance doubled.  You see, there's not a lot of money for extras here and medicine is an "extra" unless it's an emergency.  So they are always looking for something that they can find and implement themselves.

One lady during the Q&A asked in broken English, "So what kind of tea do I drink to lose weight?"

The speaker paused for a moment not understanding her question.  "What kind of tea for what?"

The lady shook her head, "I'm fat!  I'm fat!  What tea makes fat go away?"

Tea that is actually sold in the local supermarket.

The botanist smiled slightly and said, "I'm sorry.  There is no tea for that. You must eat half and move twice as much."

Undeterred, she kept asking.  He finally changed subjects and held up a small sapling.

The botanist told about a tree called the "Moringa" or "Miracle Tree." This tree has been categorized as miraculous because every part of it is useful for a variety of medicinal purposes.  

Now I am no botanist, doctor or even a person with much of a green thumb, but it is pretty amazing what this tree is said to offer.  This particular botanist has the goal of placing at least one moringa tree in the home of every family in Africa. (To learn more, go to http://www.treesforlife.org/our-work/our-initiatives/moringa.)

Not looking good...

After the workshop, we were each given a Moringa tree of our own.  I was very excited about this.  We live in a desert environment and to be told that something that's green could actually grow here is great news.

I promptly went and bought a pretty pot to put it in.  Then being the good gardener that I am, I told John that I needed dirt and a tree planted.  He laughed and said, "I love how you garden."  I smiled and watched him as he took the sad little sapling and placed it in the dirt.  He then gave it some water and we both stood back and waited.

The next day, I ran out to check it.  Still alive?  Check.

And the next day…and the next.  However, one day I walked outside to greet my little plant and it was brown and stick-like.  What happened?  

It had simply given up.  It had been extra hot…around 120º, but the man had promised it could survive.  

John joined me and shook his head.  "Let's keep watering it," he said.  So we did.  Each day, it stayed the same…brown, lifeless.

I almost gave up until one morning I saw a green shoot from the side emerge.  "Joooooohn, it's not dead!"

Somehow this little plant had endured the heat and poor soil to sprout.

Woohoooooooooo!

After that, it took off.  It went from a small 4" brown stick to now a 4' tall tree.  It's on my patio where I can admire it when I go out to sit.

It doesn't have a lot of leaves yet, but that will come.  John said it needs a bigger pot now.  "Nooooooo!" It will be too shocking.  It is happy right now.  He said it is okay now, but it won't grow fully with a lot of leaves unless it has more room to grow.

So that's my next project.  Finding a bigger pot and making the transition…

I think there's good medicine in the Moringa tree, but I also think there are some good lessons to be learned as well.

1.  Life is still there even when it doesn't look like it. Keep nurturing it and give it time.

2.  Staying in the same pot will stunt its growth.

3.  Moving to another pot is shocking, but necessary to reach its full potential.

4.  You can thrive even in a harsh environment.

So me and my not-so-little tree are living together along the Nile learning about life in the desert.  Growing not just for our own benefit, but for those around us.

Here's to you, Moringa!

Now to find a new pot...

Slug Syndrome

Something hit me this week that I can only describe as "steamroller-like."  I simply had no energy.  I couldn't seem to muster the will to do anything.  I looked at the pile of laundry in the corner and shrugged.  I walked past the pile of dirty dishes and said, "Meh." I listened to a recorded Arabic lesson and thought, "I don't know what he is saying and frankly, I don't care."

I told John that one of my "cars" had derailed.  He understood immediately what I meant.  I've mentioned in a previous entry that our life is broken down into "cars" (if you will) on the track that is our day.

The cars I've identified are: intellectual, physical, spiritual, emotional and relational.  If I did a quick assessment of them all at that particular moment, I would have said that 4 out of 5 cars were on track and buzzing along.  The "physical" car though seemed to cause all the rest to come to a screeching halt.

I pictured the news report that I saw this week of a roller coaster that got stuck mid track and had to have emergency workers help them down.  I felt similar.  I was stuck.  Too tired to move.  So I didn't.  John has a clear and compassionate understanding of this.  He looked at me and said, "Just go to sleep."

So I did.  I slept and I rested.  I read and slept again.  

I woke up today still a bit slow but much improved.  I don't necessarily know what to attribute to the "Slug Syndrome" except to say that that is life right now.

Now I'm trying to gain momentum for all the great aspirations that were ignored (with intention) earlier.  

Before, days like that used to freak me out.  I thought that every day should be remarkable, productive and happy.  If it wasn't, then I spent my energy trying to make it that way.  I've come to realize that days and life just come in rhythms, ebb and flow, yen and yang.

When my car is stuck on the track (and sometimes even hanging upside down), I try to do the things that I know will help put me upright again.

1.  Take a nap.
2.  Call a friend.
3.  Watch a funny movie.
4.  Take a walk in the sun. (If it's not the physical car derailed.)
5.  Read verses from The Book of Psalms out loud.
6.  Do something out of the ordinary.  Write. Paint. Draw. Create.
7.  Surprise someone with kindness.
8.  List the good things in life.

A couple things that leave my car hanging are: 1) believing my in-the-moment emotions, rather than what's true and 2) isolating myself for extended time.  They just aren't productive and they prolong the derailment.

So today I embrace my day understanding that wherever my cars may be, it isn't permanent.  It's just life.  God is with me, understands me…and that's enough.

Dancing Camels: A Day in the Life

My eyes popped open as I tried to adjust my eyes to the dark wondering what woke me up.  I paused.  I heard a dog nearby barking his head off.  I waited a moment to let my heart rate slow down a bit and realized that he apparently was in the mood to bark and kept doing so.  Dogs here aren't what you might be imagining…such as someone's dog got loose and is now having a heyday in the neighborhood.  No.  This dog and others like him are "free spirits" that don't belong to anyone and run about at will.  Usually they don't cause too much trouble, but this guy clearly had a point to make and I was in no mood.  It was 3:30 am.  Couldn't he wait until a decent hour to express himself? Obviously not.

I lay there plotting his demise when I guess I drifted back to sleep.  As the sun came up, I had to coerce myself out of bed to prepare for our Arabic lesson which happens in our home.  I splashed water on my face, drank some caffeine and braced myself for another humbling round of this terribly difficult language.  As we were sitting with our language teacher, the electricity went out.  Now small drops of sweat were trickling down my face and I willed myself to stay focused although I was quickly turning into my now-famous "burning ball of fury." (This is only internal.  Outwardly, I have the face of an angel.)  Thankfully, the outage was a short one and soon we had our swamp cooler blowing in some cool air once again.  Woot!

Watching via computer!

Following Arabic, John and I like to rest our brains by eating lunch and watching something on the computer.  We had just settled in when our neighbor stopped by to say something about something in Arabic.  I picked up enough to realize that she was telling me her son was coming home for a visit.  I congratulated her and made a mental note to make a cake for them.

After lunch, John continued the process of changing a date on a plane ticket to a meeting that we have coming up in September.  He started on Saturday and this would now be his fourth attempt in five days.  Each time, the customer service rep would end the conversation by saying, "Now you'll need to confirm this change by calling us back in 24 hours."  He had now done this 3 times…still no confirmation and the prices kept going up.

This time, he had almost reached completion of this task when the rep said, "Now, sir, all you have to do is…" And the power went out.  No kidding.  You could have heard his cry of frustration across the land.  "No way did this just happen!" he said.  I shook my head.  Of course it did.  It's happened to me at least 3 times over the last 2 weeks.  I'll send a note to one of our girls or a friend saying, "I'm ready to SKYPE!" and then immediately the power goes out.  All dressed up and no where to go…

After the disbelief wore off, he poured himself a cold drink and began listening to his Arabic lesson that he had recorded earlier.  So diligent.  I lay there like a lump pondering what the weather conditions in Siberia were like at that same moment.  Lucky babushkas!

Once again, the electricity returned and John started the process of the ticket saga.  I began to spruce up because we had to get ready to teach an English class which goes from 7-10 pm.  (Yes, that IS late.  However, the students just recently requested that we switch to 8-11 pm because it would be better for their schedule. Red Bull, anyone?)  

John teaching in Sudan. No recent ones to post yet. 

We made our way to English class and John took the lead.  If you've ever seen the Michigan J. Frog cartoon, then a comparison must be drawn here.  John is a reserved guy.  He's perfectly content to sit and listen in a group.  (Obviously he married me for my party skills.)  However, once in the classroom…he's a different person.  He is animated, hilarious and captivating.  The students (all adults ranging from 15-40 years old) are laughing, engaging and learning.  I was the lamest one in the room.  

John had just told the students to prepare for the next unit when the electricity went out AGAIN.  The language school is located on the 5th floor of a building with a small room which was now dark and full of sweaty people.  However, the locals are completely used to this and never missed a beat.  An assistant from the front desk came with a battery-operated light and the class proceeded as we all tried to make the best of it.

During a break, I talked one of the girls into coming with me to a store nearby so that I could buy everyone cold drinks.  I thought they at least deserved that being good sports and all.  We sat in the dim light, sipping and learning.  What a resilient group!

After class, Sadik* called and said he was out front waiting for us.  John and I quickly changed into our "wedding gear" and met him at his taxi.  He had invited us to join him and his wife for a dear friend's wedding.  Of course, we agreed.  We love Sadik* and couldn't wait to meet his wife and family.  

He drove us to a local club that was near our apartment.  As I stepped out of the car, a woman with a sweet face pulled me toward her and planted two giant kisses on my cheek.  She hugged me fiercely and did the same to John.  Sadik introduced his wife and we were so moved.  She had just given us a family greeting…in public.  She took my arm and ushered me through the gathering crowd up the stairs to the decorated auditorium.  Lights were draped from the ceiling and chairs had purple satin covers.  A man at the door presented me with a juice box.  I smiled and followed Sadik to a table with his friends.  He introduced us and indicated we should sit.  We did.  

Dancing camel...

It was now around 10:30 pm and we were ready for the long haul.  After all, it was a wedding…in Egypt.  We had waited just a short time when we heard drums.  Sadik told us to follow him outside.  The bride and groom had arrived…already!  They were at the bottom of the stairs surrounded by family and a band.  The bride and groom danced for a while and then was greeted by two men dressed like a camel.  Then the camel began to dance.  Then everyone joined in.

The camel trotted to an exit and the couple made their way up the stairs.  A DJ was in the wings and announced them as they came through the door.  Then the party really started rockin'. The crowd (mostly younger ones) got up and began dancing around them.  The guys even picked up the groom tossing him in the air. This continued for over an hour until finally the couple needed a break.  They took their seats on a red sofa on stage.  Sadik nodded toward us to follow him.  We walked up the stairs to the couple to give them our greetings and congratulations.  They were not the least bit shocked that a stranger was there.  Middle Eastern hospitality is amazing.  Everyone is welcome to events whether they know you or not.  "Y'all come!" so to speak.

We returned to our seats and more dancing ensued.  Sadik's wife pointed to John and Sadik and told them to go dance.  They both laughed and laughed.  No one moved.

At midnight, the disco lights were turned off and the DJ told everyone to leave.  Party was over.  Midnight?!  That's so early!  Sadik told us that it was indeed over.  Clubs in town always end the party at midnight. Sadik and his wife drove us back to our apartment.  We thanked them profusely and they asked if we had a good time.  Yes, yes, we assured them!  

I fell into bed completely spent from the day's events.  I smiled and thanked the Lord for strength to go another day here in a land that can be harsh and unpredictable, but also full of people so kind and gracious.  I had just dozed off when my friend, THE DOG, returned…

Just another day in the life…and it's a good one.

______________________

*Not his real name

Schmear Me!

For the past two weeks I've had a hankerin' for 2 things: chips and salsa (That is one unit.) and a bagel with cream cheese (also a unit).

Craving food from the homeland isn't anything new.  Since we've taken to this life, we have learned to press through the yearnings and find new favorites…most of the time.

So far so good.  They look like bagels!

Here in our city, there is one little "store" of sorts that sells foreign foods, but they import mostly British food.  Seriously, who ever says, "Let's go out for English tonight?"  So sometimes we just go without.  However, a few of my Laura Ingalls-like friends encouragde me to try to make some of these things myself.  (I even once had a friend who made her own crackers?!  What?!)

I can make salsa, but the chips and the smell of a greasy little restaurant decorated in red tamales can't be duplicated here.  I have now been challenged to try to make bagels.  I haven't ever really even given bagel-making a thought.  Why would I when Panera is on every corner?  (Which by the way, Panera, if you're reading this…you really should consider an international presence…now.)

So my friend sent me a recipe and step-by-step instructions for making bagels.  How hard can they be?  Well…they be.

This is the boiling stage…got ugly here.
Still not sure what happened or why.

I've documented my attempt via photos and will highlight them in the post.  While they tasted nothing like Panera or even a bagel for that matter, they were good.  I didn't have cream cheese so I put on some weird little white cheese that comes in squares here which also contributed.

Now some of you are asking, "How does this fit in with the Whole30 deal?" It doesn't.  Not even close, but some cravings can't be quelled.  Now that I've spent a good portion of my life's energy on a batch, I'll think twice before I do it again.  It's pretty tiring and my oven set on 500º almost became nuclear at such a high temp.  (Not to mention the cook was nearly a puddle at the end, too.)

John was very happy with the results.  Poor guy.  Make him eat meat, berries and cucumbers for weeks on end and then dangle a bagel-wannabe in front of him…of course it tasted good.  (That was my plan from the start. Bwa ha ha ha ha.)

Anyway, this was my first attempt.  I will have to investigate what happened between shaping the bagels and boiling the bagels…I simply have no guesses.

So if you do live near a Panera or an Einstein Bros. Bagels location, please go by there and eat a bagel for me.  Take a photo of yourself with the caption, "Schmear me!"  I'll take it as the best love note I've ever received.

Salt and sesame seeds on top.  They look like bread,
but not very bagel-esque.

Toast Sweat and Talent

My Father, Mother and Grandmother

 In 7th grade, Mrs. Meadows assigned our English class homework. We were to write a story about a future career that interested us.

At the time, I was a volleyball player so I took pencil in hand and wrote of a glorious career that would ultimately culminate as a player for the USA Olympic team.  (Of course, we won gold.)

She returned our stories replete with red ink giving comments and our final grade.  A+.  I was happy to be sure, but her comments underneath are what stuck.

"I laughed out loud while reading this.  You have a real gift, Pam.  Keep writing!"

No one had ever come right out and said that to me probably because up until this time my stories were about "Poky, the Long-Eared Dog" and "Mr. Eggo and His Waffles."  

I hadn't viewed myself from the outside before.  This was revelatory.  I knew my parents loved, encouraged and supported me, but it was from a generation that rarely spoke it verbally.  It was assumed in the way that they provided shelter, clothes and food.

My father was a first generation American-German man who loved his family and spoke rarely.  He was first a 20-year Army veteran and then worked the remainder of his life as a factory worker and maintenance man.  But he had a hidden talent.  He could draw.  Every morning (even after retirement) he rose at 5 am.  At his chair, he would tear off a paper towel and place it in front of him where he'd place 2 buttered pieces of toast and a mug of coffee.  As he ate in the early morning silence, he would take his pencil and begin to doodle on the paper towel.  Sometimes he drew people or animals or some design he imagined.

He would then finish his coffee, rise from his chair and lightly tap on my bedroom door to wake me for school.  I would groggily wander into the kitchen and pour myself a bowl of cereal.  After I read the back of the cereal box, I would pull his paper towel toward me.  I was always fascinated to see what he had come up with.

As I would look at the drawing of an old man sitting next to a dog or a funny cartoon character, I would exclaim to him, "Dad, these are great!  Can I keep them?"

He would smile shyly and mutter something about toast sweat and butter being on the towel.  I didn't care.  These were good.

First published book
co-written with one of my dearest friends

I was surprised that my father's art talent never went further than his early morning routine.  Not many people knew about this hidden gift.  But I knew and I wanted everyone to know how amazingly talented he was.  I think for him this may have been the first time he too had received such affirmation for an ability.  His parents and their generation simply didn't have it in them to encourage such a pursuit.  They had recently immigrated from Germany.  Then it was WW1 and then WW2.  Survival was the goal and every family member had to contribute.

I'm a product of their tenacity and determination.  The life I have had simply wouldn't be possible without their sheer grit.  I'm sure they each had hidden talents and abilities that were pushed aside so that money could be earned for bread day to day.

So what do I do?  What do you do for those who help us "see" ourselves…who uncover and affirm abilities in our lives that we've left unrecognized or deemed unworthy?  

First, I say thank you.  Thank you for pausing long enough to investigate my life and seeing something worthwhile.  Thank you for speaking confidence in the spaces of uncertainty.  And a heartfelt thank you for taking time in your day to read…well, anything that I write.  I'm no Charles Dickens or Max Lucado and I couldn't be if I tried.  (Okay...I've tried.)  I'm simply Pam, the girl who loves Jesus and desires to live her life reflecting Him.  

Second, I say "Go for it."  Are you waiting for someone to "see" your abilities?  Believe in you?  Prod you? God certainly sees, because He created each of us uniquely.  The stamp of the Creator (who is very creative) is in you.  We are made in His image, therefore as He is creative so are you. You bring something to this world that is uniquely you.  What are you waiting for?  

Maybe I'll work on a sequel to my volleyball Olympic story.  I'll call it, "Bump, Set, Spike 2: A Tragic Story of Golden Dreams and Card Table Legs."

_______________________________________________

This entry wouldn't be complete without a shout out to my two daughters and husband.  They are a source of constant encouragement and borderline nagging, but nonetheless inspiring.  You are loved and appreciated.  

This picture makes me laugh every time I see it.  Love these two!

Who Brought the Cheese?

Our friend smiled as he recounted our time together at his recent engagement party.  He said, "I spoke with my fiancé and she said that when one of her friends walked into the house and saw Pam the woman asked, 'Who brought the cheese?'"

John belly laughed and I did too.

So now I'm "Cheese."

They eat a lot of feta cheese here which as you know is white.  This last remark has been mentally added to the collection of names that I seem to have evoked from our village here.

If you remember, I have a friend who lives at the front of the village who without fail will greet me and then say, "Entee tomatum!  Entee tomatum!"  (You are a tomato!  You are a tomato!)

We realized that this came with my red face that she sees after I have walked through the city in often sunny and 110º+ heat.

My friends that I drink tea with named me baed or "egg."  When asked if it was because I was white, one lady shook her head and said, "No, there are brown eggs too."  To this day I still have no idea what this means.

Cheese, tomato and egg.  Occasionally I have been called sucar or sugar, but that hasn't really stuck and is used often for everyone like "Honey" in the southern states of the US.

Even now as I type, John chuckled under his breath and whispered…"Cheese."

I can only attribute it to forming good relationships.  Nicknames only come with familiarity.  I am not ready to reciprocate though.  I'm afraid my well-intentioned teasing would become some major social faux paus that would haunt me for the rest of my days.  Right now I'm lucky to pronounce their real names correctly.

So that's it for today.  Cheese signing off.

Geckos and Snakes Magna Carta

John and Borris

I had designated today as an official BIC (Behind in Chair) Day. These days are part of the discipline I'm choosing to implement as a way to a) improve my writing, b) keep from the "some day" mentality and c) enjoy this creative outlet.

Usually, I can pull from some humorous anecdote that recently happened or some poignant quote that so lovingly hits me between the eyes.  Today, I have several ideas floating around but nothing seems to be working. I'm distracted.

Instead, I'm thinking about the ants that have returned en masse since I carpet-bombed my kitchen with an overseas version of Raid. I'm wondering if I can use anything stronger and not grow a third eye.

The creatures here are relentless.  Just in the last month, I've had my own National Geographic experience with ants (small, medium and large), small mosquito-eating bats (maybe 6" wingspan), giant fruit bats (wingspan about 3'!), spiders (on my one imported avocado!), a family of geckos that live with us and a small snake with a big head that I found trying to get into our front door.

These are just the everyday ones.  I casually mentioned the snake to our landlord; he promptly called a guy to come out and deal with it.  Now we have little Walmart-like bags tied around the perimeter of our flat.  They have some type of snake deterrent in them.  I'm not quite sure of the science since the plastic bag is tied in a knot.  Does the snake just know it's bad juju in there for him?  At any rate, we've had no snakes since and now my patio is decorated for Fall in "Urban Hillbilly."

The giant fruit bats swoop down toward us any time we try to leave our flat at dusk.  Now, we try not to leave our flat at dusk.  The bats seem agreeable to this arrangement.  I'm wondering how I can communicate to them that I am not to be mistaken for a giant mango.  More study is required…

The geckos range from tiny (2") to Komodo dragon (8").  We have a treaty with them of sorts.  If they eat all the unwanted ants, mosquitos, spiders, etc. AND stay on the ceiling, then they can stay.  If however, they come 1) into our bedroom or 2) below the wall halfway mark, then a soccer ball may be lobbed at them by John from any angle.

While Aria was here, one tiny gecko adopted her and followed her wherever she was in the house.  In Arabic a gecko is called borse.  Knowing this, she named her new friend, Borris the Borse.  All of the geckos followed the agreement with the exception of Borris.  Borris was found in our bedroom just 2 nights ago.  He froze trying to be invisible, but John explained to him again the ground rules for living in our house and carefully escorted him out (no soccer ball for him since he had a name and all…)

As for spiders, they seem to be the least of my worries right now.  No, I don't like them…but they are in the minority of creatures that have taken up residence in our home.  I know some of you would adopt the "scorched earth" policy, but they've all worn me down.

At first, my goal was to eradicate any and all living things in our home with the exception of us.  That's too lofty.  It's not possible.  The entire building is built on sand or as the nimla like to say "one big giant anthill."  If I used enough Raid to rid ourselves of them, I do believe John and I would start glowing green very soon after.  

So we try to live in some sort of Circle of Life harmony.  I jump, shiver, smash and scream and the survivors carry on as if nothing happened.  I imagine a small, underground support group that meets weekly.  All of them joined together antennae to wing to paw singing softly together,

All creatures of our God and King
Lift Up Your Voice and With Us Sing
O Praise Him, O Praise Him, O Praise Him

All humans in our home and land,
Take heed lest we will bite your hand
O Fear Us, O Flee Us, O Leave Us.

One Sheet at a Time, Sweet Jesus

I just flipped my calendar* to August.  I stood looking at the scene of two men fishing on a hot summer's day while a boy and his dog looked on from the dock nearby.  Simple days of Summer.  Time to just "be."  Niiiiiiiiice.

John & Aria at an old Monastery

The pace here in our part of the world is definitely slower than that in the West.  One part of me really appreciates the paused approach to life.  They understand that you can't beat the sun and advocate rest in the hottest part of the day.  Another part of me, however, wants to get stuff done and having to wait for it to cool down, for the store to open, for the electricity to come back on, etc. can be maddening.

Closed shops

After Aria returned to the US following our time together here, I wanted to keep myself busy…not as easy as you would think.  I'll wash the sheets.  Yes, that's it.  Clean sheets are progress.  I took the sheets off the beds and walked to the washer.  Only one sheet would fit.  One.  Not one set.  Just one sheet.  

I admit I was tempted to cram a whole set into the washer and see what would happen.  However, our little washer is temperamental and pushing it to its limits would not be an overall productive move.  So I put the fitted sheet in and closed the door.  I turned the button to "D" and walked away to pour myself something to drink.

"D" Cycle is the shortest possible cycle on the washer in which water is still involved.  It takes 2 hours for the cycle to complete.  "Just take it out earlier," you say.  The washer is a front loader type and the doors lock for the whole cycle and then 5 minutes following.

Beats a rock any day!

According to my calculations, all my sheets will be completely washed in May 2017.  At least the 2 hours per sheet gives time for the one clean sheet to dry under the ceiling fan in our side room.

Newly organized closet

As I washed the sheets, I planned other organizational tasks.  (To see my OCD approach, click here.)  Yes, it's the "Dog Days of Summer" here…or rather the "Donkey Days of Summer…" Not sure what the actual equivalent is called.  At any rate, I'm trying to embrace the seasons of life (fast and slow) that come my way, savoring each one and not pining for a new season to come simply because the one I'm in doesn't suit me.  

You see, how I approach tasks and seasons reveals more about me than the actual accomplishments in passages of time.  So I'm chillin' (so to speak).  I'll enjoy life a lot more, probably avoid a stroke and realize there's richness in every experience whether it comes quickly or in the form of a long-awaited, lone, washed white sheet.

Donkey Days of Summer

Ancient inscription which means,
"I shall learn to play the harp
while I wait for the sheets to dry."

_______________________________

*Thanks to Bruce and Julie for the very thoughtful gift!  

Ahmed's Party

Everyone gathering for the party.

"You are invited," he began shyly, "to my engagement party on the last day of Eid."

"Engagement party!" John exclaimed, "You're getting engaged?"

Ahmed* gave a half smile and said, "Yes."

We both burst into exclamations of congratulations for our dear friend who had not mentioned a word about any particular girl until now.  He's rather shy and I suspect he knew it would cause great attention.

We immediately agreed to come.  John said, "I will even buy a new jalibaya (common local robe for men) for the occasion."

Ahmed told us that he would send a driver to our home to pick us up.  We thanked him for his thoughtfulness.

Our new duds...

The days of Eid (holiday or actually meaning "feast") passed festively as Muslims celebrated the end to the 30-day daylight fast or Ramadan. The souq (market) had been closed for the holiday so John and I had to wait until the night before Ahmed's party to purchase our new outfits.

John is very much a "search and destroy" type of shopper so we entered the souq at the exact shop we needed.  Purchased said jalibaya for him and abiya (women's robe) for me within 30 minutes.  Done and done.

We knew that these parties typically run long into the night so we had thought it best to take a nap prior to the big hoopla.

Around 9:30 pm we received a call from Ahmed saying that the driver should be arriving soon.  A friend of Ahmed's had agreed to share his car and pulled up right on time (within an hour give or take is very punctual here.)

The men's area of waiting...

We rode across town to a new section that we hadn't been to before.  Our city is half a million people so there's a lot we have yet to explore.  The roads became paths and the paths become alleys until we were in the correct area of the village where the width of a car would no longer fit.  I guess we will park here.

Our driver directed us up the alley toward loud music and flashing lights.  People in the village had already begun to line the path and we had to walk the gauntlet.  Everyone was very friendly greeting us along the way, but also declaring that "Khawaja" (foreigners) were coming.

As we approached the party, we evaluated who was where.  The men were seated in a side alley with benches and the women were inside the bride's family's home.  John and I said our goodbyes and I put on my brave pants and entered the room full of women.

I was immediately greeted by a girl about 20 who took my hand, introduced herself and directed me to sit on a padded bench.  Soon more and more women arrived.  All of them greeting one another and catching a side glance of me.  They came and shook my hand and took their place in the provided seating.  And there we waited.  Music played in the background, kids danced in the middle and the women spoke quietly to another.  

Happy Guests!

Around 11:30 pm an aunt of the host family walked in with a large tray of food and began passing out plates to all the guests.  I was one of the first ones served.  My plate contained a white sauce lasagne, zucchini stuffed with rice, pieces of beef, bread and tahina (sesame dip).  All of it was delicious, but I was especially conscious of the fact that everyone watched me and wanted to know what I thought of the food.  I made sure that I complimented the food many times loudly as I ate.

Ahmed's mother greeted me and insisted that I eat more.  She poured a glass of 7 up for me and told me to "Eat!  Eat!"

John in the men's area was also eating.  However, his is a different type of scene.  The men eat at long tables.  As they eat, they are silent.  They eat about half their plate and then get up and walk away.  

Dining quietly

I'm afraid that type of system would kill the women who were talking, laughing and asking each other about their day.

The plates were collected and we chit chatted some more.  I would answer a question and it would be passed along the room until everyone smiled and nodded.  Then another question.  I suppose it was a good diversion because the bride to be had not yet arrived from the coiffure (hair stylist).

It's tradition for the bride and her bridesmaids to all go to the hair salon for updos, henna and makeup.  This is an all day and mostly all night procedure.  Truly.

Around 1 am, one of the women announced that the bridal party had arrived.  Woo hoo!  Let's get this party rolling, I thought to myself.

We exited the house and gathered in the center of two intersecting streets.  Ahmed was dressed in a Western suit and tie.  The whole look shocked me.  I thought he would be in a very dressy jalabaya, but he had on our type of clothing!  

The whole village celebrates!

The bride wore a bright fuchsia dress that was completely bedazzled.  Her hair had been styled beautifully and she couldn't stop smiling.

Soon they were seated on a special bench.  A young girl approached them with a silver tray which held the engagement jewelry.  Ahmed gave his (now fiancé) a gift of gold jewelry consisting of 2 or 3 rings, a bracelet and necklace.  Ahmed received a silver ring to wear on his right hand during the engagement year.  After the wedding, he will change it to his left hand.

All of this is ceremonial since the families from both sides had already gone to the mosque for the contract signing which actually seals the engagement.  This is the fun recognition of that agreement.

After they exchanged the jewelry, guests began to approach to congratulate them.  Soon Ahmed's brothers told us to go up and shake their hands.  As we went, the bride's father insisted that we step up on the bench with them.  We told him that wouldn't be necessary, but he wouldn't relent.  John tried to step up in what would be equal to wearing a long formal gown and tried his best to keep the spectacle minimal.  However, the whole village was now watching the foreigners crawl up the bench and have their picture taken.  Oh, well.

The Much Ado Picture

The father took the picture (which turned out blurry), but we told him it was fine which allowed us to immediately crawl down and rejoin the crowd.

Ahmed's friend who drove us told us to follow him and he would take us back home.  As we were in the car, the driver stopped at the photography studio to confirm Ahmed's engagement photo session.  It would take place at 2 am.  Yes?  Yes.  We waited until Ahmed arrived and saw that everything was working out.

The car is decorated and ready!

We were then driven home.  We found out later that Ahmed returned to the party after the photo shoot for a short time of dancing.  Ahmed is quite shy so he put in the minimal time for dancing and ended the party.

As we were trying to wind down after the party, we reflected that we were the only Christians present among these beautiful people.  How privileged we were to be there, to say a pray for each one and to be allowed to participate in their lives.

We visited with Ahmed today and noticed that he had henna on both hands which marks him as a now-engaged man.  It will be his job over the next year to secure an apartment and furnishings prior to the wedding.  The wedding cannot take place until everything in the flat is purchased and completed. (Engagements typically last 1-5 years.)

Arriving at the photography studio

Ahmed thanked us for coming and we thanked him for including us.  We told him that at the wedding, however, we were staying the whole time and that both he AND John would be dancing.  He smiled and said, "This would be nice."

I, of course, will be videoing.

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*Not his real name