sweet hot chaos

It's been two weeks of hot, sweet, and smelly chaos. Since landing in Cairo, I've learned how to say 'I speak a little Arabic' and to ignore the constant street calls. Similar to many large cities trash is everywhere, street vendors try selling you anything under the sun, and one hears 'welcome IN egypt' and 'how are you?' every block.

We are living in a little haven in the south of Cairo, a ghetto area. The evangelical church and its adjacent compound with classrooms, sparce hostel-like accomodations, and dirty football field is our safe place. Each evening, after a morning of Arabic classes half and hour away, and an afternoon filled with lectures and field trips, I return here for kind smiles and help learning Arabic phrases. My new favorite is 'harr moto'--dead hot. In reference to the sun, or the barbeque oven that cooks our chicken for supper.

Going to the pyramids, the Citadel (old fortress), Old Cairo (the old churches and synagogues) have been among our field trips thus far, and while incredible sights, the most exciting part for me are the times wandering the streets.

Dirt catches in my eyes; I hear the tabla beat of music from a taxi. A donkey cart rolls by, and then a woman in full hijab herding goats. Attempts at buying recognizable food on the streets with broken Arabic. Stepping over a litter of kittens. I try not to outwalk the rest of my group, and stay with a man. For an independent woman like myself, the gender rules are a challenge to get used to.

We've been reading and hearing a lot about the layers of Cairo. Rich and poor living ontop of each other; in Cairo the population is around 20 million. I was trying to think up an analogy for Cairo the other day, and a Club sandwhich came to mind. not sure why. The crisp, preppy dress of the shabeb (the young men), the bright head scarves and oober-tight long-sleeved shirts (an ironic attempt at being 'conservatively dressed'), beggars and street sellers offering tissues on the Metro train, Asian tourists, and women carrying heavy loads on their heads. And this all within just one Cairine block.

Two week down, and time already speeding by. I'll keep walking, trying out my Arabic, and eating fried felfales every breakfast. Busy, but seeping in the rhythm of Egyptian life.

P.S. ALso....I forgot my camera cord, and will attempt to load photos another time. In the meantime, check our the Goshen College SST website, Egypt link, for group photos thus far. http://egypt.b.goshen.edu/

From Rain to Desert

"Moses in the Reeds" silk painting by me,
from summer at Grunewald Guild

    
     The skies let loose this afternoon in Elkhart, Indiana, and I feel ready to go. Many cultures say that rain on your wedding day is a sign of blessing, a pouring out of God's holy water over the couple. Well, I'm not getting married, but I am about to embark on  a three month commitment to a group of 18 other students, one American teacher/leader, studying Arabic, navigating foreign streets, and submersion into a culture far different from any I've ever visited before.

     Send-off from Goshen College is tomorrow morning, and our home for the next seven weeks will be in a southern suburb of Cairo, Helwan. We will be living in a hostel-complex run by an evangelical church called the Eman House, and traveling by train each day to our study center. The second portion of our time in Egypt will be spent doing some type of service assignment, but those details are yet to be determined.

    
     People have been asking me: "do you feel ready for Egypt?" I think I'm as ready as I will ever be, minus the Arabic. But, I figure I'll either sink or swim. Or maybe just float along, grasping to phrases and words along the way.

Here's a prayer I stumbled upon today. If you have travel prayers, poems, or blessings that have been meaningful to you, I welcome you to comment, share, and pass them along. Salaam.

"I Praise You for What is Yet to Be" (from Guerrillas of Grace by Ted Loder)

Wondrous Worker of Wonders,

I praise you

not alone for what has been,

   or for what is,

     but for what is yet to be,

for you are gracious beyond all telling of it.

I praise you

that out of the turbulence of my life

   a kingdom is coming,

      is being shaped even now

            out of my slivers of loving,

                      my bits of trusting,

                      my sprigs of hoping,

                      my tootles of laughing,

                      my drips of crying,

                      my smidgens of worshipping;

that out of my songs and struggles,

       out of my griefs and triumphs

             I am gathered up and saved,

for you are gracious beyond all telling of it.

I praise you

that you turn me loose

       to go with you to the edge of now and maybe,

            to welcome the new,

                 to see my possibilities,

                     to accept my limits,

and yet begin living to the limit

       of passion and compassion

            until,     

                   released by joy,

I uncurl to other people 

      and to your kingdom coming,

for you are gracious beyond all telling of it.