Trust inspires growth.

I am normally teaching the seniors’ Bible class during this time, but right now I am sitting behind them on the stage of the church as four of the guys stand up and talk to the class. They told me that there was a problem this weekend, and they needed to solve it and asked if they could solve this problem while everyone was together because a lot of people wouldn’t show up if they called for a meeting. Sitting here, I am so proud of them. I understand a few words here and there, enough to get a very basic understanding of what the problem might be, and the way that they are going about it is so mature and responsible. Starting with a word of affirmation and encouragement and then addressing what the issue is. They are letting each other finish speaking instead of overreacting, storming out, and talking over each other. This never would have happened three years ago. For those of you who know the students here, the ones up front leading this discussion are Peter N, Bassem M, Ashraf A, and Peter S—SA and class presidents and vice presidents. I have been surprised by the leadership in all of them—I did not expect this. And I guess this is a really good example to support that people step up to where they are called. If we call them to a higher place, they will come to it. If we expect little, we will get little. Trust inspires maturity and leadership. Peter N was sneaky and lazy. Bassem was hotheaded and unwilling to communicate. Ashraf was a class clown who didn’t take responsibility for his actions. And Peter S was immature, with the voice of Mickey Mouse, and definitely not capable of leading his class. I respect these guys.

I also couldn’t be more proud of the way that the wall has fallen between the Egyptians and Sudanese within this class. The girls take pictures together and the guys joke around and affirm each other. They are so much more united than I remember, and Bethany says that racism is so much less of an issue than it was her first year here, the year before I first came in 2009. They still have their own preferences in music, food, and other things, but they appreciate and respect each other. I am so pleased. I want to end this post before I have to take anything back that I have just said. Just kidding.

Here are some of the guys joking around at a senior party they had. (L-R: Omar, Antony, Peter N, Bassem, Adeeb, Ashraf, Shenouda)

Her name means “happy.”

I sat on her bed writing in my journal because Priscila and Mary were already asleep, and there was nowhere else to sit in the house. Saeda was looking through pictures on Facebook next to her sister Marina, who had fallen asleep long before her. Saeda told me this year that she remembers when I first taught her in ESL three years ago. She remembers my big poster that said, “Good morning,” and “My name is…” I love it that I am one of her first memories of speaking English. She learned English really quickly because she is so outgoing and loves to talk.

I came back to visit NUA in May of 2011, just a couple weeks after the microbus accident that injured several of the students and ended up killing one of them. It was in that accident that Saeda lost half of three of her fingers after they were crushed. We were afraid that she would not come back to school after the accident, but she did. And I remember helping her soak and wrap her hand in the way that the doctor had instructed her. I remember the stitches, and how she didn’t like to look at it. She was always very strong though. I admired her. Most Egyptian girls are “foffy” (wimpy), but not this one. This one impressed me. This one called me to a new level of optimism and strength and trust. I was worried about her dreams of becoming a doctor. And I remember fuming about the girls who told her to hide her hand because someone might not want to marry her. Any deformity or imperfection is a big deal, especially for an Upper Egyptian girl.

So as I was sitting on her bed we began to talk. And eventually the conversation led her to ask me why God allowed that to happen to her. Why to her? We talked about this broken world full of pain and imperfection, and then about the beauty that God draws out of every ugly thing. I told her of her influence and how inspiring she is and how she reminds people that they can be strong when they begin to forget. We talked for a while longer.

The name Saeda is a very old name. No one here really names their daughter that anymore. She said she never knew why she was named that until the accident. As soon as she said that, chills shot up my spine. Saeda means “happy.” Now she loves her name and thanks God for it. It was perfectly chosen for her. And I just love God for things like that. He created her inmost being. He knit her together in her mother’s womb. I praise Him because she is fearfully and wonderfully made. She is such a positive and optimistic person. She does not deny that anything happened and is still haunted by images of it at times, but she is always smiling. And when she speaks up front, she has no shame in using her hands to talk. There is absolutely no effort to try to hide anything, and I’m so proud of her. Al Humdolillah. God chose her name. God named me too. My name means “Princess.” I never liked the meaning of it. I am not a girly girl. I am not high maintenance. I don’t have the commanding yet graceful presence of a princess. But in the summer of 2011, the thought hit me like a ton of bricks, “I don’t call myself a princess, but God thinks I’m one.” God thinks the world of me and lifts me up to that level. He chose my name too.

This is a man's world.

We had a 10-day vacation during the time of an important Muslim feast. So Austin, Jeff, Mary, Priscila (the Argentinian SM who works at the preschool in Heliopolis), and I travelled to two Upper Egyptian villages—Zewak and Tatalyah. We took the train from Cairo to Sohag Monday night on our way to Zewak.

This is part of my journal entry.

Welcome to Zewak!

Tuesday, October 30, 2012 9:24pm—on my bed @ Saeda’s house; Zewak, Egypt
Today has been on of the longest days of my life. We got here at 6am—a sweet Muslim lady helped us to know when to get off the train in Sohag. She was nice and smiled at me a lot. We thought we passed the station and were paranoid for a while. Mina Farid and Girgis Magdy were at the train station waiting for us. I feel very comfortable w/ them an dcan treat them like friends instead of putting on my I’m-trying-to-please-you-by-smiling-constantly face. We came to Saeda’s, where the girls are staying, and we slept for two hours.

We got up at 8:30 and ate the typical Egyptian breakfast—fool (beans), falafel, cheese, tomatoes, cucumbers, warm sweet buffalo milk, and this thick Upper Egyptian bread that they bake on the roves here. Then Mina came for us by yelling Saeda’s dad’s name outside the house. (He said that if he said hers or her sister’s names, her dad would kill him. I guess then because the neighbors would know that a girl named Saeda lived there. People’s lives there seem to be ruled by everyone else’s opinions.) We stepped over some dead birds, dead mice, and even a flattened cat as we were walkeing around today. The dirt roads are scattered with hay, garbage, pieces of sugar cane, feathers, poop, and dead animals. It was comfortable with Mina’s family. I’d been there a couple years ago. Plus his uncle was there who works in Kuwait and speaks very good English. He’s funny and more westernized, though I don’t believe that the Zewakese men who work in Kuwait treat their wives in a western way. The houses we visited today were Mina & Girgis, Sobhy, Mikhael M, Ibrahim A, Yousef & Iscander C, Lina H, Gad S, Amir H, Adeeb & Adel, Ashraf, and Steven’s. Lunch at Mina’s, dinner the second time we went to Mikhael’s house. We also went very begrudgingly to the pastor’s house because of Mr. S____. I’ll explain later.

Marina, Saeda’s sister, tried on her mom’s berda, which is a big black robe thing that many of the Christian women have to wear when they go outside—“have to wear” because their husbands say so. They are wearing just as much clothing as the conservative Muslims wear, but just in a different way. Saeda’s mom got married when she was 13. She said she didn’t even know what marriage was. (When we talked to her and Saeda later, they were explaining that you never really think to question your parents. They say, “You’re going to be engaged to this guy.” You say, “Okay.” No big deal. Such is life.) She is now 36. She said (and this is all through translation) that she is in such bad shape now that she wouldn’t be able to walk to the main road. She gets tired going up her stairs. Why is she in such bad shape? Because she hardly ever can leave the house. She is upset that Saeda is not engaged yet. Saeda though she’d be engaged by 15 or 16 and married at 18 until she came to NUA and felt her eyes were opened. Her mom is upset and wants her to be engaged, but her dad thinks it’s good and wants her to finish school. (Thank God that he seems to be pretty progressive.) Mina’s aunt and grandma cooked for us. They weren’t allowed to go in certain parts of the house in case men walked by and saw them. Then his uncle would have shouted. The men sat around and joked and were served, or so it appeared (but I acknowledge that we came here to see mostly guys) while the women served them. This is such a man’s world. It made me depressed. This is where Mina grew up before he moved to Alexandria, but he said he cannot stay here when I asked how he preferred things after he explained some things about the women. Gad’s brother got married August 4. He works in Kuwait, and his beautiful young wife lives alone in a beautiful house. Her name is Wafa’. She is beautiful. She must be 18 or so. She was talkative and sweet and fun, though she didn’t speak a word of English. She asked us to stay with her. I think we will Wednesday night. –Oh no! I hear a spoon stirring in a glass outside the door… more tea? Hibiscus? Lord, please no! I drank 9 sodas, 3 cups of juice, and 2 cups of tea today in addition to three gigantic meals. I almost threw up. –Anyway, I feel so bad for cute little pregnant Wafa’ because she’s only a kid. And she’s lonely and her husband works in Kuwait. I think we will have a good time staying w/ her. I know more Arabic than anyone in our group, and we can make do w/ that. Maybe God will use us in her life. Al Humdolillah.

This is Priscila wearing a berda at Ibrahim's house with his aunt and grandma. She is showing more here than a woman on the street would. They house the headscarf part mostly closed in front of their faces.

Oh, when we first got to Saeda’s house just after 6am, Marina walked down the stairs of the animal room/area (?) from the bedrooms holding her 1 ½ year old brother Mosa. Priscila was in front of me and went to touch him to say hi, but she jumped a little. I looked, and in his hand was a black pigeon that he was clutching by the wings.

I’m not sitting on Saeda’s bed. We’re talking about life here. She said before NUA, she was a “blind cat” (expression in Arabic). I am SO endlessly thankful that she is at NUA. She and the other girls. There are so many beautiful, smart, fun women trapped away. In the house, they do joke and seem comfortable, which is a relief to me.

If any change happens it has to be because Zewakese men buck the system. Saeda said she wished our love and marriage class was taught here. Ha! They would beat me to death--not sure if that’s an exaggeration or not… But it has to start with a Zewakese man. Lord, have mercy.

We went to a meeting at the SDA church tonight, and Yesa Mosa (Maryam’s brother) is the pastor. There is still the wall between the men and women’s sides of the church. They sang enthusiastically and that made me happy. Then he welcomed the guest from Nile Union Academy. “Shukran.” (Thank you.) Then he said that they were going to have one of the teachers from NUA speak to them. We all looked around at each other. No one volunteered, so I gave two impromptu sermons. My first one apparently wasn’t long enough, so I had to talk about something else.

This was taken at the SDA church in Zewak. It's the SMs with some of the students, one of the elders, and some kids.

I have a LOT more I want to write about, so I will update again as soon as I get the chance.

This is the food that we ate at Steven's house. Egyptians make so much food that you can never eat more than half of it. In Tatalyah, the tables were so filled food that there was nowhere to put all of the bowls.