My adventurous spirit provides me with surprising and wonderful experiences, but also gets me in trouble at times. While I feel that I have a decent internal sense of people I meet--what their character is like and if they are trustworthy--I've had to face the fact that just relying on my gut instinct isn't enough proof to other people. Let me start from the beginning of my story to make it clearer.
Last week I had the experience of sitting in the women's car on the Metro train towards Helwan, looking over my Arabic homework. This, I've found, is a likely way to start conversation. Sure enough, a woman in a full hijab with a toddler sleeping in her arms started helping me with my worksheet. We started attempting to chat, but mostly just laughed. When the train came to its last stop, we both exited, but she insisted on buying me juice. Holding my hand with her gloved hand, she protectively guided me to the nearest juice stand, and bought me sugar cane juice. I loved seeing her glass and straw disappear behind her black veil, returning promptly again empty.
She communicated her strong desire to invite me to her house for lunch, and I sorta understood that we might meet in two days or so. Phone numbers exchanged, we parted ways. All I knew were her warm eyes and her name, Kisma.
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About four days later, I was thinking of her, and decided to give her a call. I agreed to come to the Metro at 4:30 pm, and met her there. She obviously saw me before I recognized her...which is a good thing. We climbed onto a crammed microbus, and she refused to let me pay anything. Doding pot-holes, donkeys, and people at break-neck speed, the busy carried us out of the mess of Helwan into what looked like the beginning of desert. Large factories, a single towering mosque, and some high-rise apartments emerged from the dirt. My heart pounded with nervous excitement.
I noticed the stillness as soon as we stepped off the bus. No horns honking; no animal noises. Up three flights of stairs, and we entered Kisma's apartment. I felt like one who is priviledged to hear a secret, seeing this hidden world of Muslim women in Egypt. Her sister-in-law met me with a smile and Kisma went off to change out of her hijab. When she returned I had a moment of confusion; I thought Kisma was someone else, and said "hello, I'm Andrea!" Only two minutes later did I realize that the woman wearing the hot pink spandex sports-suit was in fact my friend. I knew it was going to be an interesting evening...
Kisma's two-year old boy, Noor, was an immediate way to connect, since I can play with kids without advanced language skills. I tickled him and played hide and seek while Kisma prepared food. The T.V. stayed on continously, with the sister-in-law glued to the screen most of the evening. When it was time to eat, a low table was brought in front of the T.V. Sitting, I ate lots of rice, chicken, gooey green mullihayya soup, orzo soup, and fresh guava and banana juice. "Eat more, eat more!!" Kisma pleaded. Not wanting to be rude, I tried my best, recognizing this cross-cultural trend of hospitality.
Photos of her wedding were shown to me--wonderfully cheesy ones with photoshopped stars and glitter in the background. I noticed she was dressed modestly in sparkly white, with brilliantly colored blue eyeshadow. I showed her the one family picture I had brought with me. Next, she proceeded to gift me with perfume (which I likely won't use), a fluffly, frilly little jewelry box (which I'll keep for the hilarity-factor) and, what do you know...her infamous blue sparkle eye-shadow. "I can't wear it anymore," she told me. "Except in the house. You should have it!" I tried my best to refuse, but with generosity like that, one simply cannot.
Fast-forward two hours or so, and I'm still stuck on her couch watching lousy American 'horror' films, like "The Fog," and "Wolf Creek Canyon." By this point I was exhausted and sense that I should leave. I tried to suggest leaving, but she seemed offended because apparently it was too early yet. She wanted my company.
Some more time passes, and I sensed it was late. My phone was in my bag. This time I make my need more adamantly, and she agreed to take me to the microbus. Donning all her black again, we waited for the bus, which eventually comes. I was confused as to whether she is coming with me or not, but turns out she paid my fair and just tells the driver where to take me. I called one of my male SSTer friends, and he agreed to walk me back from the Metro stop again.
Then, I got a call from one of my Egyptian male friends from the church we stay at. He was coming to pick me up. I started to realize there might be trouble....
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When I got safely back to the church, I found seven Egyptian young men and two of my SST women waiting for me. Trouble. The next day I had a talk with Adhil, our cook and surrogate 'protective older brother,' who told me off for going off on my own. "She was not your friend, you didn't know where you were going, you stayed out too late, you could have been harmed!!!!"
My tail between my legs, I admitted I made a mistake. I didn't think through all the consequences, and I apologized profusely. I promised Adhil I wouldn't do it again. Everyone's care and worry humbled me.
And yet. Brashness and recklessness aside, I'm secretly glad for the experience. My judgeerience. My judge of character did turn out to be right, but perhaps that is just luck. I was gifted with unusual hospitality and a rare chance to see behind the veil. It gives me a new way of looking at the world here, and fills me with hope. God continues to surprise me, love on my when I least expect it.
