The Function of Bodily Functions

As it turns out, we have a little garden club at work that consists of four of us young people. Discussion involves: "Why does Israel kill children?" "How can you think that Jesus drank wine?" "Music is the sound of Satan." "If you steal my brother's land I must defend him" And various other weird political and religious and personal topics.

So you have these intense topics of discussion and moments of political and religious tension, but that is not why I'm here. I am chilling in the Middle East for awhile mostly to work on humanizing the demonized. I lose a little hope in this endeavor when I hear my friend say that he was happy 9-11 happened because it wasn't people who died, but Americans, however much he says he's joking, or when my Muslim Egyptian co-workers all think its hilarious to pull a knife out of the kitchen and ululate while mock slitting the throat of my co-teacher. At these points I kinda can't help but laugh, but I also can't help but be a little concerned for the future of this world. I am once again reminded that while everyone seems to value peace, it doesn't just happen, the practice of it requires intense mental and spiritual strength, and some very personal need to see peace, there must be people and relationships and love involved for it to be pursued. And when these personal bonds are in place, the pursuit is still a very long, rocky, risky road to travel with your enemies.

But why I am here is to look at similarities, to look at humanity across the supposedly insurmountable divides of culture and religion, and to see something and to show something universal. I see this in humor, and the way that everyone laughs at a joke. I see this in the way that mothers carry around their babies and kiss them on the head, the way that fathers proudly walk their daughters around from age 3 - 23. I see this in the way that women are almost sleeping on their feet in the metro after a long day of work. I see it in the school girls giggling together about some new music, about the strange foreigner on the train, or about a cute boy. However, there is one way of humanizing others that never fails.

Have you ever wondered why exactly God created farts? or burps? or hiccups? What function could they possibly serve besides smelliness, discomfort, and embarrassment? I can tell you that I have never been more aware of the common bonds of the human race as when I hear an Egyptian woman fart, then see her subtly look around hoping that no one heard. Or when a burp bubbles up from an Egyptian man's stomach after a hastily consumed Iftar, only to be released right in your ear. Or perhaps when trying to explain what the word hiccups means to a Level 7 grammar class by demonstrating, resulting in the entire class of young Egyptian women in headscarves, a teenage boy, and an older man, crying from laughing so hard. Or when an Egyptian co-worker asks if you can smell what he did in the bathroom, with a mischevious little grin. In light of this, bodily functions like this, while usually thought of as unseemly, in my opinion are some of the most ingenious and beautiful parts of creation.

You who know me will find this hilarious I'm sure.

Oh and P.S. I have a new job / internship. I will be working for the Arab West Foundation

http://www.arabwestfoundation.com/

doing copy-editing and setting up an NGO in the US for this Dutch organization working on promoting understanding between Western and Arab and Muslim and Non-Muslim societies. O I can't get away from the Dutch mafia, however much I try. But I am super excited. I start after Aied.

Disappointment, Frustration, Conflict, Honesty, Belonging

So this week has been pretty major. I've been balancing out the parts of my personality and trying to get to a life that I feel is truly mine. This week I decided to stop being friends with my friends from work because of their sketchiness and damage to my reputation and not exactly trustworthiness. So I had this talk with my co-worker about how I wanted to live my life in a straight line, he lived his life in a crazy curvy zig zag pattern so we couldn't really be good friends. I finally got this slightly self-righteous point across when he broke it all down by saying, "ok no problem, you are the metro (going straight), I am a minibus (going all over the city), I will meet you at Ramses (square downtown where all the minibuses and the metro go)." Hahaha!

So I got a new job, working as a copy-editor and setting up an NGO in the U.S. I cut down my hours at my teaching job. I reconciled with my friends from work again, realizing that we loved each other too much, my issues with them had something to do with what time of the month it was and other people's judgments, not my own, and since when do I get rid of friends or decide to avoid someone based on my reputation or their sketchiness in the eyes of society? As Alissa indirectly reminded me, "that's un-Biblical." I would even say, anti-Biblical. Luckily they easily forgave me without me even asking.

So anyway, sitting in our lighted garden at work during Iftar break after downing my pomegranate seed juice with the guys at work, I confessed the fact that I took a new job and was cutting down my hours at our center. An awkward silence settled, you could hear the wind in the small trees behind us. One understood my reasons, the other was being passive aggressive, "whatever you like Miss Kristin" and called me out on being selfish while pretending I'm not. And then it comes out, one is leaving at the end of the month, the other will leave then too. Then my co-teacher comes outside and makes his own personal confession. So then we all of a sudden know that this is over soon. All of a sudden honesty and affection and disappointment and impending change are all out floating around us, and savoring this moment, sitting in this garden together, becomes very important, and the humid air seems thicker. My co-worker gets the Qur'an and recites to us the Sura of Mariam (Mary, mother of Jesus). I could sit and listen for hours to the sound of the Qur'an being recited (which is a good thing because I hear it several hours of the day here, from our neighborhood mosque, from radios in every store, home, and taxi, and from the pious Muslims around me). I make some after Iftar tea. The guys "drink" a couple cigarettes (that's how it translates from Arabic), we breath in the heavy air.

Last night the guys, my co-teacher, and I got to have restaurant Iftar because our resident cook went home to eat with his wife. We take a taxi to Mo'men (an American style fast food restaurant, the name means "very good Muslim," which is why me and my co-teacher couldn't work there, haha) We order our food right before sunset and the crowd kept amassing. We get our food about 15 minutes after Iftar and eat out on a planter outside. Mmmm. My first fast food Iftar, thoroughly satisfying, and thoroughly strange culture clash. Came back to the center and I went out shopping. One of the guys went looking for me because I was gone so long he thought I was lost. I bought everyone some sweet potatoes.

Later last night I make my way to Masaara to see my family. I brought them some figs and I finally got to hear what is up with their sister in law. The father told us never to go upstairs where the sister-in-law lives. I found out why from the women. She doesn't like us being around for various reasons having to do with reputation, time, envy, and money. She was also bribed by a cousin to convince her sister-in-law to marry him, at age 16. I knew at some point that we must be a burden to this family, but it saddened me to hear this. On the bright side I heard about the family's approval of Alissa's friend as her husband and the story of the father and mother in the beginning. I also got to hear about how the family thought I was very shy and quiet and slightly unfriendly at first but now I am much much better. This morning Julianna, Gigi and I went to church at this church / monastery on the Nile. I successfully handled money changing in the mini-bus since I was next to the driver even though Gigi was convinced I couldn't.

Tonight my host family couldn't have me over for Iftar because the Mom and middle brother were involved in some kind of extended duel with their uncle in their village so Rebecca and I headed out for a nice dinner. On the way back on the metro, we must have hit the last train of the night because the thing was packed to the people bouncing off point. Luckily I was squished in the corner in the middle of this very funny, very happy, very big Muslim family. I asked them where they were getting off, we struck up a little conversation, they said I must live here because my arabic accent was so good (haha, very funny, but much appreciated), and then when my stop came up they successfully shoved me through the crowd to the door on the other side. Rebecca and I finally pretty much fell out of the metro as if we were coming home from a long night of drinking because of the sheer pressure built up inside that metro car. I get to the exit turnstile, put my ticket in and it won't let me through. Now this happens to me ALL THE TIME and I am no longer amused. I start mildly cursing / hitting the machine and jump over the turnstile. This is a pretty common Egyptian way to get away with not paying for the metro. The metro guy comes out of his office and yells at me. I throw up my hands, Rebecca's ticket in one, my ticket in the other in exasperation and yell, "feeh itneen!" (there are two!) "maksoor!" (its broken!) He smiles and waves me on. I walk out the door and all of a sudden I can't believe I just did that, cavalierly yelled at the Metro monitor man in Arabic after jumping over the turnstile. I'm toughening up and my temper is shortening.

So I have started to feel that I belong here, I have roots here. People are being more honest with me, I'm being more honest with people. This honesty is often the painful kind involving hurt and disappointment, but this seems to be necessary to be part of life and to have any kind of real relationship. You can't be part of life anywhere without experiencing a large share of hurt and disappointment it seems. The pain and frustration almost makes it real. It hurts to hear that our sister-in-law doesn't like us around. I hurt others by saying that I'm leaving and their life is not correct. Others hurt me by not following through on their promises and not meeting my expectations. So we have the point in life that conflict arises and then we have the point in life that the opportunity for honesty arises, and then the point where we move past it all together. Laazim (we must).

The First Day of School

So yesterday was the first day of school and university here. This means the metro is crazy as heck. Now usually I am squished between women in pretty tight quarters on my way to work, but yesterday I attempted several times to even get inside the metro car and just bounced back off the mass of females and had to wiggle my way into the next train. Yaksarra (what a pity).

The school children where uniforms here. This involves usually blue button down shirts or white button down shirts with navy blue long skirts for the girls. The shirts and skirts all can have a little variety, maybe a little embriodery here, a little number there, a little buckle on your hip. And then of course the girls get to decide on their choice of tastefully matching head scarf. This was probably one of the most adorable things I have ever seen, despite it being hot, crowded, and everyone being grumpy.

In my C5 class we talked about how "cute" the kids in their uniforms are and compared our experiences of school uniforms and uniform violations. I regaled them with my stories of plaid pleated miniskirts (how this was condoned by a school was beyond them, especially a religious school) and taught them the term detention, while telling them how I managed to get detention for a straight month in eight grade. We commiserated about getting in trouble for wearing a non-uniform jacket when its cold in the winter and about little ways to make yourself look different while wearing a uniform, and having to wash them so often (or if you're me or some of my friends just not washing them and keeping your plaid pleated miniskirt in the trunk of your car to put on over your pajamas in the school parking lot). Haha. Anyway, for one of the first times I was truly glad I had had a school uniform and could share this experience.

And now the year begins in earnest...

What is Egypt?

So this weekend, as almost every day, I ponder, "what is Egypt?"

A general disorganization, a pervasive apathetic laziness, a warm welcome, force-feeding, an elitist attitude, a hopeless attitude, a trust-in God attitude, a street brawl, the people who intervene to stop the street brawl, a ridiculous multitude of cats, the most ambitious people in the world, a giant problem composed of a million little problems, sheep grazing in the garbage piles, a display of religious piety, double standards and hypocrisy underlying it, a world drenched in sugar and honey and diabetes, a giant family composed of multiple little families, a network of gifts and favors, vanity, modesty, tight clothes with headscarves, the place where the world began, an obsession with color, an imitation of western culture, a staunch pride in Egyptian culture, a rich elitist separatism, a poor desperate separation, a propensity for gossip, a protection of what is private life while appearing completely open.

I have no idea. One thing I know is that Egypt, as in life in general, but perhaps more than most places, is full of ridiculous contradictions. Teaching my students oxymorons was quite an easy task, Egyptian arabic is full of them. My favorite Egyptian Arabic phrase is Mushkilla Lazeeza (delicious problem). I learned this phrase when my co-worker told me with a mischevious grin that Alissa and I were a mushkilla lazeeza. I like that. When Gigi was complaining over how much her new baby was a problem because she cried all the time and never let her sleep, I reminded her she was a mushkilla lazeeza, she smiles and kisses Myrna on the head. As I've written before, this baby has caused immense difficulty for this family, and especially Gigi (for this child's sake she has had to stay with her abusive husband and now go back to live with him), but its all worth it, this child is beloved. Mushkilla lazeeza.


This weekend I found myself caught between Egyptian worlds again. Thursday night I filled in as substitute wingwoman for my roommate who found herself attending an Iftar with this perhaps too interested male co-worker for the sake of talking to his grandmother. I couldn't miss this. This home involves pueblo style architecture and the grandmother is fluent in Spanish! She showed us her Qur'an that she personally wrote and decorated in Spanish from hearing the Qur'an recited in Arabic. Weirdest experience ever to be downing pomegranate juice, talking over fish names and American politics with this old woman in Spanish! (I didn't know how much I knew)

Maasara, where I saw a dog carrying around a dead cat (Julianna: "its the circle of life"), said goodbye to my sister maybe for a very long time because she is being forced to return to her monster of a husband, heard about the men vying for my sixteen year old sister as their wife, and was given an excellent hair cut and curl styling as well as a jelly jar full of tea.

The weirdest thing ever was experiencing the "house party circuit" of Cairo. I was on a houseboat on the Nile, listening to American pop music, candles burning, all speaking in English, watching people drink beer (delivered for a fee) and hip hop dancing, even some mild grinding. Besides the mild rocking of the house boat and the fact that the people were mostly Egyptian and I was able to sit on a railing and look out on the freakin Nile, it was like being back in college, exactly. I found myself sociologically studying this phenomenon while I was there, as I often do when I find something strange, and conducting qualitative and quantitative studies in my head. I started interviewing these upper class Egyptian guys about how this house party thing works. Evidently its kind of like a cultural event / club. Everyone knows each other and they send out word about these American style imitation parties through text messages. One guy said that he got involved through his friend and now he goes like every week. The house boats are a prime location for this. Now in my over-simplified mind, Egyptians live with their families, they don't drink because its forbidden in he Qur'an (which during Ramadan has a little more credibility), and they don't socialize this way. This world should not exist in the Egypt in my mind, but it exists! Everything exists here evidently, o the contradictions.

And then last night I went to see my host family. This family is a ridiculously welcoming, sort of conservative but not at all legalistic family. I love them to death, also because each personality is so different. Let me describe them: The father is dead since a little before I met this family, but I hear about his integrity and sense of humor and love for his family and neighborhood all the time. The mother is laughing all the time. She loves to spend her time cooking in the house and standing on her balcony looking out on the neighborhood, saying hello to everyone, taking care of the widowed woman who lives alone in the apartment with the balcony directly across from her. She knows everyone on thes street, says they are all good people, Muslim and Christian. Last night she was on her way to a funeral for her Christian neighbor at the church. The oldest brother, works in a bank and feels guilty about the whole charging interest thing that banks do because its forbidden in the Qur'an, but not guilty enough to give up his job that he loves. He is the head of the family now without his father there but he hates his neighborhood and wants to live where it is quiet. He loves his family immensely, but thinks his youngest brother is the only one with a really good mind. The sister is hilariously funny, loves to make fun of everyone while simultaneously displaying her love for you. She was engaged a while ago but the man was bad so she broke it off. She's also mellowed considerably in the last two years, her brothers love to beat on her. The middle brother is three months younger than me. He is the reckless rebel of the family. He works as a bartender and loves it. He is out with his friends all the time, but thought that it was good advice from me not to put that on his resume. He recently asked a girl to marry him but his mother and older brother would not go to talk to the girl's family and so he is stuck. He's throwing me a birthday party next week (birthdays last forever here it seems) and he will finish tour guide school in October. The youngest brother is probably one of my favorite people in the world. He's 14, but small for his age. He stays home most of the time, and is very close with his mother. He is very good at English already. He had heart surgery when he was a baby and his mother constantly reminds him to be careful. He has absolutely no problem blatantly making fun of me (my Arabic pronunciation, grammar and spelling, my hand writing "this is very bad", my soccer skills, my earrings "why do you have plants on your earrings? that is ugly,") while obviously still enjoying my company and this makes me happy and comfortable and laugh more than anything. We speak the same language on many fronts (English/Arabic and making fun of each other).

So from simultaneously watching the falucas ride by on the Nile and people consuming alcoholic beverages while discussing my Arabic name (which is now Salma, which means peace) to discussing funeral happenings, market locations, and fashionable headscarves overlooking the small alleyway in Embaba with my Mama and her neighbor, I have no freakin clue what Egypt is, and maybe its time I stopped trying. Oversimplification is something I hated about academia, MESP, and is a major but I guess necessary weakness of sociology. May I not cheapen humanity by categorizing.

culture shock and culture wars

So I've been here approximately 2.5 months.  This is the amount of time I was here before.  Its like the point of no return, this is the farthest I've ever been from home now, according to distance and amount of time.  I'm looking back and forward in disbelief that I got here so quickly.  This Egypt thing is now really happening.  I am really here and this is really my life.  I am not on vacation.  I am savoring and living the moments more and starting to think in terms of all that I will miss here when I leave instead of all that I miss from home.

Last time I left the Middle East I experienced mild culture shock, but the effect was dulled by lots of MESP program processing, an airplane ride for two days, etc.  It wasn't so bad, and I probably wouldn't have even called it culture shock, just mild readjustment issues (like having problems looking men in the eyes and freaking out in silent, uncrowded places).  I never really even understood the term culture shock until this Friday morning.  I rode the Metro with my roommate to Maadi to check out this new church (since I will not being going back to my other church and Julianna was looking for a friend of a friend).  We walked down the streets, the vegetation and streets get really nice in this area, mostly inhabited by ex-pats.  We draw near to the "address" we have, start to hear a milling crowd, I see behind the church courtyard wall, spotlights and a sign that says "Extreme Church Makeover."  My defenses are immediately up.  We walk up to the name tag table.  English voices and American-clothed, English name-tag bearing multitudes are congregated.  The life group table sits in the back corner, the folding chairs facing a stage or on the other side.  We are in an American Evangelical church in the heart of Cairo.  My heart just about stops, my mind is doing flips to take this in.  I had just begun to find a sense of continuity and understanding of Egyptian life, and then this!?  The projector screen cycles those ridiculous backrounds that you see in every church trying to make themselves look cool and "dynamic" for the youth and seekers.  The band starts up, the CCMesque praise almost puts a hole in my gut from the sheer weirdness of it all.  

It literally feels like an electric shock, adrenaline rush to the heart and inability to function while still being rooted to your spot for a full hour long service of music, offering, communion (grape juice in little baby plastic cups in the metal tray, where do you even FIND this in Cairo!?  Did someone bring it in their suitcase from America?), announcements about a church information session and ministry to people displaced from the rock-slide here, sermon about living in community (which means joining a life group with all the other ex-pats), altar call to receive prayer form the prayer servants, introductions, and on and on.  We walked around for awhile, asking people for help in English, looking for Julianna's friend of a friend while we evidently were both frantically thinking of when we could go back to the Cairene world outside this church that we could make sense of. 

I realize I have a double standard.  Arabic or Hispanic ex-pat churches in America are the coolest thing ever, but American ex-pat churches in Egypt... I can't stop judging the clothing and the culture and the wierdness of it all, harshly.

So I guess I have officially become an awkward ex-pat that can't navigate within her own culture.  This kind of church is where I became a Christian and where I spent a lot of time in the last several years.  This church was the exact replica of what my culture and religious culture had been.  No longer is this the case evidently. I don't like this kind of church, somehow it rings a little false for me now.  This worries me a little.  I guess I should rejoice in the fact that right now I've made it to the point that I feel the most relaxed, happy, and comfortable in Egyptian homes, Egyptian Ahwas (coffee shops), or walking along the Nile (this is a far cry from where I was two years ago) but at the same time, what will it be like when I actually go back to America?  Will I be able to function at all?  Especially in any kind of religious cultural context?  How long will it take for me to readjust, if ever?

And at the same time this weekend I have been forced to recognize the endless relationship between culture and religion.  Both seem to have the power to transcend the other in terms of people connecting with and understanding each other.  Both are ways to understand life.

We went to a festival in the monastery at Masaara last night with our family where we saw the Anglican community's reaction to Ramadan.  Tattoos on the spot of any religious picture (Jesus, Mary, cross, the local Bishop), juice and peanuts and garbanzo beans for sail, boys and men on bad behavior, statues of Jesus for sale.  I bought some 1 pound puzzles with pictures of Jesus on the cross, Jesus rising from the tomb, and a glowing Mary.  While in America this would be the equivalent of a county fair, religion permeates everything here: decoration (Allah Akbar is in almost every home, taxi, business, and sign), identity, community, social life, family.  Religion is a culture in itself.

I kind of think of myself as floating here, apart from culture somehow, not really American, obviously not Egyptian.  The ex-pat conundrum is you never quite fit anywhere.  I am a living, breathing culture war.  Religion and culture are ways of understanding life, and here I am forced to confront and choose between peices of these ways of understanding all day every day. 

This is part of why I love being here: possible lifestyles and ideas, like the people, are constantly vieing for your attention, brushing up against you, running straight into you, sometimes to the point of intense annoyance and almost despair, but necessarily and sometimes pleasantly reminding you of the vast ocean of humanity and of possibilities that you live in.  But at the same time, when you have so many possibilities to choose from, and a person like me who can't reject anything until thoroughly convinced it is bad and who compulsively almost always choose at least two things (majors, jobs, countries to live in) or nothing when one thing is called for, I am pulled in every direction, with no one possibility to call my own.

Example #1: I am partly in Cairo to discover myself, to learn that I can do life in a different context.  This sounds like a valuable thing to almost all Americans.  To Egyptians I sound crazy and selfish.  Why would you leave your family and friends and life to be on your own? I am also here partly to learn about dependence on others, community, and love, but in order to get here I had to leave all of that that I had built up and start off by myself, aww the paradox of it all!

Example #2:  With my Egyptian family, I cannot mention the fact that I spend time with boys or Muslims.  When anyone in this family happens to see a picture of me wearing a higab, with someone wearing a higab or a male, the reaction is either fierce distate or if you're my discrete 16 year old sister, turning red and hiding the picture from the rest of the family.  Am I supposed to stop spending time with males and Muslims?  Nope, not gonna happen.  Am I supposed to think or tell my family that they are ridiculous, don't understand, and have no right to judge me?  Absolutely not.

Micah has infused me with a spontaneous need to read Kierkegaard...  I think I'll go do that.

9-11

September 11th, 7 years after the fact, and I find myself in Cairo.

I had forgotten that it was this day and according to Alissa, the American news has forgotten also, or has better things to talk about this year. My co-worker says its because of Obama. I wrote the date on the board for my student but you write it the other way here (so 11-9) and I didn't even think about it. Alissa and I both wore black today on accident, whether coincidently or subconsciously I don't know.

After eating Iftar (breakfast at night for Ramadan) at work, Alissa, our Egyptian co-worker/friend and I sleepily sat outside digesting in the garden, a slight, expectant after dusk breeze ruffling the humid air and bushes surrounding us, and we talked about this day 7 years ago. My co-worker is 20, I'm 21, Alissa is 23, we all remember this day clearly. We all watched the planes and buildings collide in shock and horror on the TV over and over. We watched the people running and jumping and couldn't believe. Alissa was in Physics class calculating the velocity of falling people in her head. I was on the Bishop's school quad watching the sky for a single plane flying to make life normal again, thinking selfishly that my birthday in a few days was going to suck.

My co-worker says that no one can love this day, even if they only love Arab Muslims because Arab Muslims in America had a worse life after this day, and all things in the World became worse after this day.

Tragedy is the word which makes most sense here. My coworker, Alissa and I all nod as it comes out of Alissa's mouth. This tragedy started a ripple of tragedies that is echoing through the world still in so many unimaginable eye for an eye situations, in so many violent minds who were seeking justification, in so many individual and collective consciousnesses that have been plunged into pain and fear as a direct or indirect result of this one day. But this day had to do with people, it didn't just happen, and it wasn't just crazy terrorists, there are forces at work here that we can't even fathom and as the actions befitting these forces are escalated, tragedy and despair seem the only thing appropriate. And then there comes hope, the highest form of which comes out of tragedy and despair.

With a lot on my mind I didn't even remember the significance of this day until Alissa brought it up, but then after we talked I suddenly wanted to cry for my country and for it's dead and wounded, which I don't think I ever even did in 2001. Cry for the unimagined ripples carrying on. Marvel at the fact that I'm in Cairo right now discussing this, when seven years ago, in tenth grade of prep school, vaguely hearing about Middle Eastern conflict, Saadam Hussein, and Egyptian terrorists all rolled together, how would I ever fathom that I would be here trying to pick apart the pieces of that bundle and put back together the pieces of the world that were ripped apart and scattered, one possibility of a fraction of a peice at a time? How does it take being so far from your country to discover the deep love and protectiveness for it that you harbor and hide? And so I think maybe for the first time I am really starting to mourn the loss that was 9-11.

--------------------------------------------------------

So today, a lot was on my mind besides recent history because today had to be my day to confront injustice in the church. I had to think of it this way in order to muster up the courage. I have had encouraging emails expressing sympathy and similar stories from people ranging from my best friends from college to my grandmother. My friends here offered help in the form of disguising themselves as my Christian fiance by drawing crosses on their wrists and coming to talk to this guy with me (my coworker) as well as beating this man up (Rebecca) and havng me vent until my laugh went back to its normal level of happiness (Mohammed). I talked to my best friends here and this is the advice I got: You need to talk to this pastor and the Bishop because otherwise you will never have peace, and you need to confront these issues in the church or else they can go for centuries. So after accidently yelling at my best friend here (and quickly apologizing), Mohammed (who deserves being yelled at less than anyone I know) out of the intense anger I felt about this subject (a combination of my hate for authority figures and manipulation, particularly of the religious kind) I knew I had to do something besides complain.

So following my friends' advice and my own advice I had given to a friend in a similar situation, I steeled myself and my extremely shaky knees and talked to Mr. Pastor today. I said everything I had to say, and I said it with a straight face. (I am a little worried that the intense scowl that I seem to wear on the street these days to ward off the yelling and grabbing and the disillusionment I seem to keep facing is starting to seep into my soul and take away a lot of the light-heartedness that is usually so much my nature). Basically, I told this man that it was wrong of him to talk this way, he had no right to tell me what the Bible said and Satan said on this subject and that he should never do this again. There was nothing else I could say, and still he didn't seem to understand that this was a problem. He was still saying the same things, laughing, saying it was no problem for him that I was saying this. I wanted to scream, "Its a problem for me! That's what I'm saying! Its a problem for the church! Of course its not a problem for you!" Fortunately I kept calm, I went straight to talk to the Bishop, my knees getting back to shaking again between the church and the office building. I've never talked to a Bishop, but I go. I tell him the situation, actually tearing up a little a couple times when he apologizes to me, thank God the Bishop agrees with me that this is not ok! And it turns out Mr. Pastor is not actually a Reverend, he has not theological degree or authority. Thank God I know that too! For some reason that does make me feel better, not that I put a whole lot of faith in academic learning as you all know.

But I did it and I didn't back down and I made my complaint heard within the church in the most honest and unvicious way possible I think. Alissa and Mohammed were very wise to advise me this way. If I want to be a woman of integrity and her word I can't go around complaining about injustice and then run away upset and scared and self-righteous, especially within the church, that is exactly the problem. People who see injustice or misdirection, know its wrong, and still stand by and do nothing, are the most to blame. The church is floundering so severely in large part because good people see the bad in it and instead of deeming it worth the pain and effort to combat or speak against injustice we often look to escape. But Christ died for his bride. If he cared that much, how can we run away?

--------------------------------------------------------

And here is my question for this week:

Why does sacrifice exist and why is it so important?

In a discussion of marriage in one of my advanced conversation classes the topic of sacrifice came up as something you learn in marriage. The conversation goes something like this, as I became desperately curious about this question:

Ahmed: You learn sacrifice.

Me: Ya! sacrifice! Why is this important?

(silence)

Do you think its important to learn how to sacrifice?

Mostafa: yes its important for marriage because you must always do things you don't want to do after you get married.

Me: ok yes, but is this an important thing to learn if you're not married?

(silence)

in life?

Noha, Ahmed, and Mostafa: "yes of course!"

me: why?

(silence)

Noha: maybe because no one will like you if you don't sacrifice.

Mostafa: yes if you don't sacrifice you will have no friends.

I let it go at that point, but why is it important?? I know its important to Christians, but I wanted to know if the theme carries outside of Christianity, if this is a deeply significant meaningful thing to all people. It seems like maybe, but maybe not, and maybe no one knows why.

I have discussed many times with my little brother, who I love and respect deeply, but who is almost completely opposite me in life philosophies and beliefs, the idea of sacrifice and why it exists in the world. His idea is that it was an evolutionary trait at the societal level that helped societies survive and therefore was selected for. This is why sacrifice exists in humanity and is praised by most humans, it helps the survival of a society.

I am not satisfied with these answers. Anyone else have an idea?

The Church

All my life I've had problems with churches, loving Jesus so much in large part because he never would've tolerated all the crap I see in the church today, and because he is so different than all the petty human and worldly cares, abuses of power, and hypocrisy that plague the church.

I have always been more than a little frustrated with the church, and had been hoping that maybe this was just the American church and that if I just went to another country, all people and groups claiming to be Christian would be much truer followers of Christ. It turns out, that's not gonna happen.

So I come to Egypt, idealistic, determined to find a church and a mentor and to live the Christian lifestyle in that church. I started going to service EVERY week, tithing, volunteering with some awesome people, and found a spiritual mentor in a pastor there that I talked to at least once a week. I started to feel like this was the church I was missing all along, it served and supported a very diverse group of people including me, doing really good work and feeling like a home.

But somehow I end up walking home from church crying again (reminiscent of middle school).

Today, I somehow found myself walking to a cafe with my pastor after church. This man is approximately 40, doesn't speak English all that well, African but not Egyptian (I will not say more in case his reputation might be at stake). He has sort of always given me sort of creepy vibes but I always ignored them cause he's a pastor, laughs all the time, I knew him two years ago, HE' S A PASTOR! I will stress this again. So he starts getting a little too forward in his touchiness, in the street (this is not really done in Egypt) but hey he's my OLD pastor, he's just trying to be reassuring and fatherly, right? So we go out for orange juice and he commences telling me how his mother had a dream that he would marry a white woman, how he told his Bishop he was probably getting married, that the holy spirit wants us to be together in love and that Satan is the one telling me I don't want to get married right now.

As these words go on I get more and more red and uncomfortable and unable to look at him or speak or even move. I say I don't understand, he laughs, and continues. I'm screaming on the inside, "sketchy, sketchy, sketchy, Kirsten run away! but this is ur pastor, u have to stay" at the same time. As he begins to tell me that God wants us all to be married for the sake of our bodies and minds, I remind him that Paul says its better to not marry. This pastor tells me I am mistaken in understanding scripture. What the hell kind of a pastor is this? I know my scripture and that's what it says, don't u dare try to deny what the Bible says! I ask what time it is, say I have to go to work, and run as fast as I can, still pretending nothing happened and I don't understand, and so I find myself walking home from church crying.

I get home and blow up at my roommate, "what the hell?! This is abuse of authority! How do I get myself into these situations?! Crap I can't go back to church there! Crap I volunteer there! What the hell do I do? Why can't church just work out for me once in my freaking life?! Is it really THAT difficult to find a church where you can serve Jesus with sincerity and not worry about creepy old pastors posing as your mentor and friend. This, exactly this, is why I fear and hate authority figures, I thought I was starting to move past this!"

And then I hit myself on the head and think, I really don't have that big of problem here. I can switch churches, I can get away. I think of my Egyptian sisters. Gigi just had a baby by c-section. This tiny baby and this very tired and ill and abused woman are having to return to an abusive husband /father who beats Gigi and starves her (and most likely her daughter too) because the church refuses to recognize divorces for any reason and the family's reputation in the church is too important to let Gigi live without her husband.

Not to mention this sick, abusive man is a pediatrician and respected church member. She met him at church. And then my other sister Sara is now having gossip spread about her through the church because she was seen near a girl who was talking with a boy in the street, which is jeopardizing her chances for marriage as well, which is tantamount to death. It is partly the gossipy nature of lower class Cairo that's doing this to Gigi and her family, but also partly the people of the church. I mean Jesus, how is this happening? How do you let your body abuse and be abused so horribly under the umbrella of your name?

I see the way that class divisions are mirrored in the church in almost every society. There are the rich Evangelical and Coptic churches and the poor Evangelical and Coptic churches here in Egypt. There is a sense of the church being almost like a social club here. You go to church for social reasons and you keep yourself isolated from the big, scary Muslim society. You hate and fear Muslims because its easier and safer that way than contemplating the fact that someone you know and love might not share your faith. After all, if you know people with other beliefs, then you might question if it all in fact is true. A contemplated and tested faith is a sought after treasure and a gift from God (albeit difficult and painful) in my mind and in the Bible, and yet why does the church so many places insist on protecting its people from this to maintain something shallower? Is it all about the power structure? About stability? About making sure your children go to heaven? What is this!??

And then I see my family here pray hard and live in joy with each other and trust Jesus and welcome anyone who God puts in their path (this includes me) as they would Jesus, despite however much this also might be harming their reputation. I see the churches in Cairo being the only free tourist attractions, with free tour guides, which is huge in a country that wrenches every possible cent out of every tourist. I see a Christian woman in the Metro being the only one to offer any reassurance or even contact (plus a piece of candy) to the Muslim mother of a screaming child on the Metro. I see an entire organization of people working hard, motivated by Christ, to care for the refugees (the lowest of the low) here in Egypt. I see my roommates rushing to hug and comfort me and fight my enemies and ignore all my faults, which in this world seems impossibly good. I hear God telling me to speak to and love certain people. But yet, can it ever be that YOUR TRUE CHURCH exists? Is this something that will only come after the Day of Judgment?

Thank God for Hope.

Racism

Lets start by examining what I have heard in Egypt over the last couple years on the subject, from my students, from my co-workers, from my host families, etc., in Arabic and English:

"There isn't anything like this racism in Egypt. As Muslims we believe that all people are equal and treat all people as equals."

"I think Black-African people are impatient."

"She hates Chinese people because they are always selling things."

"Egyptians respect foreigners more than they respect their own people."

"Muslims are good, Christians are good, but not Jews. I cannot love them."

"If a Black African has something bad happen to him in Egypt it is his own fault, he won't respect our traditions."

"Gulf people are arrogant, they think they are better than everyone else."

Ok so I have heard these things, I have seen religious, gender, and class conflict and discrimination, but racism I haven't been particularly personally confronted with. Of course there's always the small things like paying higher prices, being yelled at on the street, that differentiate me from Egyptians in a negative way, but that has never really annoyed me all that much, or really struck me as a supreme injustice.

Today the subject somehow came right up and slapped me in the face. Maybe I have avoided it before by not knowing that much Arabic or just hadn't been here all that long, I don't know, or maybe it really is as rare as my students would lead me to believe, I don't know. However, today I was a little late in my trek to work and metro rush hour is earlier because of Ramadan, leading to a ridiculous shoving mob/line for metro tickets. This nice man tells me in English that I can go to the woman's line (which is much shorter) for my ticket. I've never seen this before because I've never seen the metro so busy before I guess. I gratefully move over to the significantly smaller mob of women and am almost to the window when this woman starts speaking to me in Arabic. I didn't quite catch what she said except something about Arab. I take off my sunglasses, ask her to repeat herself and listen attentively. It seems she's telling me this line is only for Arab women. I incredulously look at her (I mean are you serious? People actually think and talk that way?) and ask, "feeh mushkillah?" (is there a problem). She assures me there is and stares me down, I can see other women looking at me at this point, no one's really jumping to defend me, so I give a kind of incredulous look and step back from the line. After a couple steps back I regain my spine and sense of justice and remember all the people I was proud of in American history for fighting against crap like this. I'm not leaving this line cause of one woman who has a problem sharing the ticket line with a non-Arab woman! Seriously! So I step back in front of her and she glares but doesn't say another word. I feel a strange mixture of depressed and proud. I feel perhaps a tiny fraction for a tiny moment of what must be felt by minorities in America their entire lives. Are people seriously wanting to deny me something or avoid me because I look different? You feel downtrodden and dirty and helpless but at the same time a need to fight it. How many times in history were people told they couldn't stand in this line or sit in this bus or drink at this fountain or be in this country because of racial reasons? How overwhelming is the temptation to despair that must accompany that?

So I make it to work and then, while finishing up Iftar (breaking fast), the subject of Jews comes up again. A says Jesus was from Palestine, there were no Jews in Palestine. My fellow teacher points out that Jesus was a Jew in Palestine. A says this is not possible, he hates Jews and he loves Jesus. "How could Jesus be a Jew? Jesus was a Christian right?" Umm no, Jesus was a Jew, only after Jesus were their Christians. Jesus being Jewish seems almost harder to stomach than Jesus being the Son of God "And Mary?" he asks. Yes she was a Jew also. "What?! But I love Mary so much! She was a Christian right?" No she was a Jew, and then maybe a Christian. We didn't even get into all the other prophets that were Jews. Where as he hates the American government but loves American people, this is not the case with Israel. He maintains that all Jews are evil, conniving land grabbers bent on Egypt's destruction. I'm no fan of the State of Israel, but you can still acknowledge the humanity and goodness of the Jewish race right? We argued this point for probably an hour before acknowledging the futility of it all.

So how do these things change? How will the world get to a point where these things don't exist? My students keep asking me if racism still exists in America. They thought it was gone, something of the past, but see it in movies. They hear about gang violence, about inequalities and ghettos but they don't understand this. I ask them if they think people will inherently discriminate against other groups of people, some say no, some say yes, some deny that Muslims would ever do this while simultaneously saying they think black people shouldn't be allowed to have the jobs that Arab Muslims want, because there aren't enough jobs for non-Egyptians in this country, while simultaneously telling ME, a blatantly unskilled foreigner, this and paying me to teach them English. Is there any amount of reasoning and attempts to open minds that will change someone's ideas about another group of people or that will convince someone they do not belong to the most superior group of people on the earth? Is there enough strength and hope and determination and unselfishness in the human race to combat this obvious weakness of our species? I pray with all my heart.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

So its Ramadan and something is different in the air here in Cairo. September 1st is Ramadan 1st this year, pretty convenient. The time went back an hour this weekend, the weather is cooler with fluffy clouds, tiny Christmasesque lights, metallic paper, and Fanawes (Ramadan lamps) of various sizes are strung across all the narrow streets, and the mood of the entire city has slowed down, sombred and lightened at the same time.

Never have I loved Islam so much as during Ramadan.

Yesterday I stepped out of my apartment, feeling brave and a little rebellious after my weekend escape so wearing my tighter jeans AND my hair down. Let them stare, I'm thinking, I will not apologize for looking slightly more attractive than a sack. I don my sunglasses, clench my teeth and start down the street. What is this? No one says a single thing all the seven minutes walk to the metro, in the metro and from the metro to work. What is up? Oh ya! Its Ramadan!!!! While I have become used to averting my gaze to the ground whenever a man is approaching, today I look straight ahead, and the men quickly look at their feet. Ramadan Kareem gidan! (Ramadan is very very generous!)

In the Metro the number of women reading their Qur'an has probably tripled, in the streets the number of gallibeyas (religious robes for men) has probably also tripled. A few fainting (halfway or completely) casualties have been spotted, with multiple people helping them out. I am working approximately 16 hours /week this month (and that's with my school basically forcing some students to stay) with free food and the same salary because the entire schedule of the country is rearranged. However, as Amr says, we must keep working or the world will think Arabs and Muslims are lazy people.


A little information I've picked up about Ramadan:

Why Ramadan?

On an unknown day during this month about 14oo years ago, Mohammed received the first revelation. Now, every year the angels come down to earth on this same day, and every Muslim's prayer is heard and attended toby these angels on this day. However, no one knows exactly what day it is, so you must pray as much as possible the whole month in order to catch it.

What is Ramadan?

The holiest month in Islam. All Muslims are given this month as a gift. It is a reminder of your dependence on God for all things and all life, it is a chance for all your good deeds to provide 70 times the "bonus" you store up for the day of judgment, and some say bad deeds are also 70 times as bad.

What do you do during Ramadan?

If you're a pious Muslim:

You celebrate your religion and your family. You fast during the day from food and water but after sunset eat a ridiculous amount, especially sweets. You eat so much that the prices for food almost double because of the rules of supply and demand. If you are rich you supply gigantic tables with iftar (the breaking fast meal) in the middle of the street for any poor person to partake of. This entire month you purify yourself from sin of all kind. You are not permitted to lust, be angry, drink, hurt anyone, or do anything else that might dramatically decrease your credit for judgment day. You have to help those around you by providing for their needs in whatever way you can. You remember how generous God is to you. At night you stay up until perhaps morning prayer eating and enjoying your family and friends and full stomach. You never complain about fasting, or even admit that its really difficult.

If you are a Christian or not pious Muslim:

You sneak your food and water during the day whenever Muslims aren't looking, and never on the street or metro or public place. No matter how thirsty or hungry you get, it can't be as bad as the people who haven't had anything since sunrise, just wait till you get home. You complain about the high prices of food, the fact that most restaurants are closed during the day, and the children throwing fire crackers at you. You revel in the good behavior and calm of the day time and either enjoy or hate the craziness of night time. You are invited to iftar meals at least 4 times a week, you are given tiny cheap light up fanus keychains.

American Christmas or Easter vs. Egyptian Ramadan:

Ramadan here is very much like Christmas in America (the month of festivities and decoration, the better behavior, increased generosity, a religious holiday, a new array of special holiday foods, particularly sweets). However, the differences are also great. Christmas in America has largely lost its religious meaning. While it supposedly increases good will and community (although actually is a highly suicidal time of year statistically), it often is not particularly oriented towards remembering God or Christ. Ramadan here on the other hand holds onto its religious meaning quite heavily. You fast and you pray and you do good deeds to remember God. The fasting is a little like Lent in America (with people who observe Lent before Easter), and evidently there is always the problem of fasting for the right reasons in both of these circumstances. Basically Ramadan is the religious holiday of all religious holidays.

So Ramadan Kareem! (this literally means Ramadan is generous, but its like saying Happy Ramadan) I wish you could all see it.