Mafeesh Middle Ground

I have had several consecutive experiences lately where people have gone above and beyond what I ever expected and or they have left an incredibly sour taste in my mouth. There is very little middle ground.

Several of us SMs tried to take the train to Upper Egypt, and a man at the counter refused to sell us second-class tickets and refused to even speak to me after a while. He covered his mouth with a fifty pound bill signifying he wasn't going to speak to me anymore and refused to make eye contact. Rude.

We flagged down a man named Mahmoud standing by. We asked him if he would buy the tickets for us and we would pay him back. He also could not get tickets. He gave us his number to call him if we needed any help from him. Mahmoud came back long after we thought he was gone and brought us each a Pepsi and looked out for us while we were there, walking us from counter to counter. He wouldn’t take any money. He said that was wrong.

A boy was trying to sell us bus tickets to Upper Egypt, but a man in line leaned over to Jordan and whispered in English that we should not listen to anyone who tries to take the bus because they’re just not safe right now.

On the way back to the school, a guy outside the metro threw a lit cigarette into the window and it hit Taylor on the neck.

Everyone on the car was very concerned and many people rushed over to help. They yelled at the man as the train took off and kept shaking their heads and commenting to us that he was a dog and an animal. They were very protective of us and watchful over us. Even though we’d taken the metro a million times before, they tried to be helpful in telling us where to go and helped us find a microbus to take to the school.

We sat across from this really cute family. The woman was dressed very conservatively. Only her eyes were showing. Most of the women that I see dressed like her are very quiet and subdued in public, but this lady had life. Her boy was probably six years old and had the sweetest smile. On her lap she had a plastic bag… with an albino bunny in it. I didn’t even notice it at first. The boy was scared, and she was teasing him with it. It was really cute.

The next day Austin, Jordan, Mary, and I went to look for tacky misspelled t-shirts. The microbus driver told us the ride cost more than it did. I called him out on it, and he gave us our money.

We ran into Ahmed, one of the night class students in New Marg. Against our will, he got us a private microbus to where we were going. Then took us out to eat at a place nearby and walked us to the market we were going to.

After checking out at the market, a guy on the stairs came and tried to help us flag down a microbus to take us home. He told me that his people were not good and to be careful. He flagged down a tucktuck, paid the man, told him exactly where we needed to go and to be careful with us. His name was Kareem, which means “generous.”

The driver that was supposed to be good to us pulled over after a minute or two, said there was a problem with his car and flagged down another one. We got into the other one, and I did not let them drive off until I asked if the first guy paid the second guy. When we got to the school, I went to tip driver #2 which I don’t even usually do, and he asked for more. Driver 1 never paid him. They both lied to me and ripped me off. I told him. I know I have more money than them, and I enjoy giving, but to be taken advantage of is a completely different thing. I’ll give you money, but I will tell you if I know you’re stealing from me for the sake of your own character.

The next day we took a bus to Ain Sokhna to see the Red Sea. The driver dropped us off at a stop that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, so we ended up walking for quite a way. At one of the hotels where we stopped to ask if we could swim at their beach, the man at the gate was very helpful. He looked maybe forty years old and was friendly. He was very honest and gave us his number for if we needed help translating or anything else. He was very nice, but apparently he thought I was. I found this out when he called me the next day and was very upset with me for not returning his text message about me being like the stars in the “skay.” He was also upset that I did not respond when he sent me ten pounds of credit for my cell phone—“I’m sorry… I can’t read Arabic.” Pastor Tom answered my phone the next night when Mohamed called saying, “Hello.” … “This is Sara’s father.” … “Why do you want to talk to Sara?” … “Well Sara is my daughter. I am careful about who she is friends with. Why do you want to talk to her?” “’There’s nothing good in Sara’? Why do you want to talk to her if there’s nothing good in Sara?” … “Listen, Mohamed. Sara is engaged and she does not need another man in her life, so please stop calling. Do you understand?” Apparently he didn’t because he tried to call the next day and sent me this message: “sarha.howareyou you.handsome girl . with clean he lthy looks and br own hair and fav oured with lots of energy and maturity.good natured.you good sense of humour." I am handsome. I got this one last night: “I AM SORRY FOR INTERRUPT YOU . BUT I JUST NEED TO TALK TO YOU FOR 2 OR 3 MINUTS PLEASE I BEG YOU . AND IF YOU DO NOT NEED TO TALK TELL ME . AND I PROMISSING YOU THAT IT WILL BE THE LAST CALL . I BEG YOU ,JUST ONE CALL . FOR ME IT WILL NOT JUST A CALLING BUT IT WILL BE A NEW MEANING OF LIFE, I AM WAITING”









In conclusion… I’ve seen both extremes and still surprised, but less and less. People are good. God is at work in their hearts. And some people are so idle and uneducated and sometimes straight up stupid that their actions reflect that too. But God is the God of all, and they were made in His image. He knows who they are—who He made them to be. Therefore I love them.

Other conclusions: I am handsome with clean healthy looks and give a new meaning to life.

Be still and know

This is my honest account of what happened. It is sad:

Every Friday evening, the Millers invite all the staff over for dinner before vespers. It's a really nice time for all of us to get together and eat and talk and open the Sabbath. This past Friday night, Peggy asked me if I could stop at the girls' dorm because she got a frantic call from the girls' dean's phone, but all she could hear was screaming. She said that she was getting a migraine and would come as soon as she took care of herself. Pastor Tom called and said that the girls called him and told him to get Mrs. Peggy as well. The students freak out very easily. I have been instructed to run as fast as I could to see boys who have physically been perfectly fine but have refused to move or talk... In the past there was also a rule that the girls were not allowed to faint because fainting is so common here. If someone faints, it's usually because they were stressed or heard bad news or got in a fight. So I don't always take their urgency too seriously. Peggy and I started to get a bag of medical things together quickly for me to take, and three girls ran to the door. So I left with them and started running to the dorm. Then I remembered that they freak out very easily, so I walked for a little bit. Then I remembered being in Sandy's room that morning and commenting to her that it smelled like gas from the water heater, and that I had forgotten to say anything to Ron about fixing that, so I took off running again. I ran into the dean's apartment on the bottom floor and was directed to the bathroom. The first thing I was saw Jackline, one of my senior girls, standing in the bathtub propping up Sandy against her shins. As a teacher you're not supposed to have favorites, but my first thoughts were the impression that this was gravely serious and "Not Sandy... oh no... Not Sandy..." I ran over to Sandy, who was unresponsive, and felt for her pulse. If I did feel it, it was thready if palpable at all. I checked the window in case carbon monoxide leaked from the heater, and it was already open. I told Jackline we needed to get her out of the bathtub so I could start CPR. But Sandy was a little bigger, and there was no way I could get her out of the tub without her helping at all. Ron came in shortly after me, and we called for people to help pull her out of the bathtub. We got her on the floor, and I lifted her chin to open her airway... CPR was not like it was on the dummies in my training classes. I thought I was doing it wrong. But the air wouldn't go down.
It just wouldn't go down.
I'd breathe into her, and it would come right back up.
Oh it wouldn't go down no matter what we did. :(
I fear my details could disrespectfully cheapen this experience or lessen the gravity. Ron called for Gladys to call Peggy and to say that, "Ron says to come quickly," so that she knew it was an emergency. Peggy got there as soon as possible, and we were in crisis mode. Ron and Peggy took over CPR while I made phone calls. I called Abo Fady (who lives on campus and owns a Suzuki van) and told him to get to Ms. Janet's house to take us to the "mosteshfa DELWA'ATEE" (hospital NOW!). I called Jeff to get a door by the work shed so that we had something to lay her on so we could take her to the car. They were much faster than I had expected, and I was so thankful. Some of the girls had to help us put Sandy on the door. Other girls were screaming and crying. Gladys and Peggy kicked them out of the way. The door wouldn't fit in the back of the van--I was so upset--so we had to take her off the door. Poor little Sandy. We continued CPR in the car and rotated positions. I prayed so much. When I wasn't giving compressions or breaths, I sometimes made eye contact with people in cars we passed, and I motioned to them to pray.

We got to a hospital, and Ms. Janet (Sandy's aunt and the girls' dean) jumped out and asked if they had emergency medicine. If not, we would have kept driving to the city. They did, and a stretcher was at the back of the van soon. We got her on the stretcher, and I ran the stretcher up the ramp and into the hospital yelling, "Feyn?! Feyn?!" ("Where?!") and was directed to a room. The poor kid in the other bed in the room must have been freaked out by how frantic we were. The doctors and nurses rushed in. I kept giving Sandy breaths. They told me to back off so they could see her, but I refused because I had to finish giving her air. Poor little thing. The doctors got kind of a slow start, but they were much more competent than the last hospital I had heard about--and Peggy and I would not stop what we were doing until we were sure they were ready to jump in. I stepped back and let them do their thing. They tried their best to get her airway open and to suction her mouth. They actually had a defibrillator, which I was very surprised about. I was upset but composed until I saw Abo Fady standing at the bottom of the bed, and it reminded me that eleven months to the day before this he was standing at the bottom of his own daughter's hospital bed, where she died as well. Pain on so many ungodly levels. At times my business mode would shut off and I would feel, feel like a teacher and a friend. Tears streamed down my cheeks. The nurses were very good. I was pleasantly surprised. I saw two of them tear up and turn away from Sandy. It made me remember how most days at work were kind of the same, but there were some days that just... owned me. And for those girls, it must have been one of those--some looked no older than me. After some time we were told that there was nothing more that they could do. I prayed and I cried and wrestled with my faith. I watched Peggy as parts of the night pierced through her emergency-mode exterior.

It is customary to bury the dead within 24 hours of them dying. Sandy's parents were in Australia with her sister. We had to bring her body back to the school, and the ambulance offered to bring her back for free. When we drove on campus behind the ambulance, we heard the girls start to scream. I got out of the Suzuki, and the guy SMs were physically holding back some girls from running into the house. Some were yelling and crying and trying with everything they had to come in. The next couple hours were a mess. People sobbing and yelling. I heard, "Lay, ya Rab?!" (Why, God?) I held Sarah, who had found Sandy. Some people felt very faint, so I came to take their blood pressures and reassure them that they were okay. I came to see Waheed, who was in front of the boys' dorm. His dad died maybe a year and a half ago, and I think his thoughts were there. I listened to his heart, had him breath into a bag, and ran my fingers through his hair until he calmed down. The school was a mess.

We don't know what happened. We can only speculate. Maybe she slipped and hit her head and compromised her airway. Maybe she had a seizure. Maybe carbon monoxide poisoning--we had some gas issues in our own apartment earlier this year. I don't know.



I have been wrestling with a lot of ideas since then. I would not choose this. Ever. But the wrestling has been good for me. I thought that if I really had faith I would be angrier with God because I couldn't tell whether or not I was being apathetic, and apathy is much more dangerous than anger. So I was angry--sincerely and because I thought there was more to figure out. I have struggled with guilt and sadness. But through it all, through my questioning and anger and guilt and grief, all I could know is that God loves me. God loves us. God loved Sandy much more than any of us. And God hurts with those who hurt much more than any of us.

I'm memorizing Romans 8, and I can't get this off of my mind. Paul writes, "For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us. For the earnest expectation of the creation eagerly waits for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of Him who subjected it in hope; because the creation itself also will be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation groans and labors with birth pangs together until now. Not only that, but we also who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, eagerly waiting for the adoption, the redemption of our body." (8:18-23) The earth, the world, we, God Himself is just anxiously waiting to glorify us. The world cries out for our redemption. I think of this when riding through the dusty, trash-filled streets past mangy, hungry dogs. I think of this as I pass the pathetic crippled beggars selling packets of kleenex at the metro. I think of this when I remember that Sandy is gone and that she has left a hole in all of our lives. My heart breaks with God's.
Why?
Why?
Why?
I don't know.
But I am more than confident that God is strong and that He loves me. So I will be still and know that He is God even when I cannot see.

From February 27, I think

Tonight we had a “farewell” for one of our students and one of the former students. Beshoy and his family are moving from Alexandria to London. His sister was severely injured in the bombing that happened New Year’s Eve/Day 2010/2011. She has either been in England for surgeries since then or has been back and forth between Egypt and England. He told me about her at the beginning of the year. At 4:45 Peter, the SA Vice President, came to me and said that we were going to have a farewell in the church at 5:00. For who? For Beshoy, who was leaving for the train station at six. Wow. I had just taught him in class that morning and had no idea. That’s kind of typical. “Surprise! I’m up and moving to Toronto.” “Surprise! I’m moving to England in thirty seconds.” But it’s sad nonetheless. Unfortunately, they are used to goodbyes here. My friend Deng has not seen his dad in ten years and his mom in eight. Wael went to America three years ago to join his American wife, and he is not able to come back until he exceeds the maximum age that the army would want him. He’s young. Twenty five, I think. Rafic moved to Canada in November, I believe. When in the world are his best friends ever going to see him again? It just makes me hurt. When I graduate from where and we all go our separate ways, we can still see each other. When my best friend moves to Colorado, I can work extra and fly out to see her. It’s not as easy, but it’s nothing like it is here. And that hurts. I hurt for them. That’s not how things were supposed to be. I feel like every deep down ache is a sign that things were not supposed to be that way. People were never supposed to die. Couples were never supposed to break up. Friends were never supposed to say goodbye. Dogs were never supposed to run around the streets starving to death. But this is a broken world. Last night I was reading with one of the ninth grade boys in Romans 8. “…the creation itself also will be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation groans and labors with birth pangs together until now. And now only they, but we also who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, eagerly waiting for the adoption, the redemption of our body.” (Romans 8:21-23) Sobering things just happen sometimes. And it just makes me thankful that the Earth and us will be glorified. We will be restored.

In the midst of that Bible study, some other students came in and one noticed my hand. He kept reaching out trying to get a better look at it—to which I kept pulling my hand away. But the thing that he found interesting about my hands was that they are fat/flabby, I guess…? To which his friend responded, “They’re like pump it up.” What. In. The. World.

Picture Update

On the anniversary of the revolution (January 25) we had a field day where the students competed in different events between classes. It was a lot of fun. We tried to make it similar to things that we had known from high school... but it was a little different. Lots of fun though.


This is the most organization that there was in the water balloon toss. People were scattered all over the place and wouldn't back up. Or one partner would back up and the other would step closer. "You have to back up." "But then it's too far." "That's the point."


Pastor Tom with two tenth grade guys - Samuel and Waheed.


Tug-of-War: As soon as the rope was even in sight, kids ran at it and just started pulling from both directions. haha. We brought in some order though. However, some students joined the junior class so that they defeated the seniors, so the juniors didn't win that competition... and they were lame and didn't do anything else that day. This picture is of the senior class pulling the rope.


One of the events was the donkey cart push. Whichever class could push the donkey cart around this square field the fastest won the event. It was quite a mess. Some never learned to steer, which was a good thing they did it backwards so that the poor driver didn't get run over. The senior class was really systematic and did an amazing job. This is a picture of the ESL class. This was a hilarious event to watch.


We took a trip to Dream Park, which is an amusement park near Cairo. I had been getting to tired of being the bad guy. It had been wearing on me always having to reprimand and get people in trouble. I want to have fun with my students, but I can't until their behavior is under control. So this trip came at a perfect time--because I could walk around and go on rides with them. Most of them have never been to an amusement park before, so it was all new. They call the rides "games."
"Ya miss, how many games did you play?"
Translation: How many rides did you go on?
They also use the word "dangerous" instead of scary, which does make a difference. haha.
There was one ride that a group of us went on. It was a little scary because it went up really high and swung back down several times. But I liked it, and I laughed while we were on it. Antony, one of the senior guys that I was beside, was in complete shock. He said, "Maybe I only know Egyptian girls, but I don't understand why you would ever laugh on that ride." Abanoub is a ninth grader, and he was sitting next to Jordan. Apparently his eyes were tightly shut and he was whimpering the whole time. haha. So much for these macho guys.


This is a group of students on the bus on our way.


Mtha is the son of Nyasha and Felly, an absolutely wonderful couple from Zimbabwe who work at the school. He's my little friend. He has trouble saying his r's, so he calls me "Sa'a." "Sa'a! What doing?!" He's so cute...




Wasseem and Jordan


I couldn't help but take a picture of these guys...


Saeda and Naama on this spinning pineapple ride. (Oh my goodness... their accents are in my subconscious mind. I wrote "pineabble" and then changed it...) They were so cute. I took a video. Saeda is laughing but also kind of scared, and Naama is whimpering and buried in Saeda's side.


Christine, Marina, me, Saeda, Naama, and Jackline

Strange things are afoot at the Circle K

It has been so long since I have written. A lot has happened since I last wrote. Istanbul was incredible. I don’t know if I have the time to backtrack and write all about it. Maybe I will later. At the end of break, Taylor, Phil, Chris, Jeff, Austin, and I went to Alexandria.

There has been a lot of energy at the school ever since coming back from Christmas break. I feel like things are going to be very different spiritually this semester, and I’m very hopeful.

Before the break I started having Bible studies with one of the sophomore guys who tends to get in quite a bit of trouble. We read through Philippians because I was hoping that he could relate to Paul and channel his energy for good things. After break we started studying on the grass and people started coming by to see what we were doing. Some people came by and seemed to be making fun in asking what we were doing. I invited my senior student Mina to get his Bible and come join us. He said okay, and I thought that it was one of those Egyptian things where they don't want to say no so they just agree to something and don't follow through. But after five minutes he came out of the dorm with a cup of tea and his Bible (that I had given him three years ago) and joined us on the grass. I was self-conscious and hoping that he would get something from it even though he's the kind that usually acts too cool. After we had a closing prayer, Mina said, "I am free the same time tomorrow." So he studied with us a few more times. I was really thankful for that. I also made my way into the girls dorm, and read some stories about Jesus with them. I think that they are very open to God, but they just need someone to lead them. It reminds me of the verse that says, "The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few." I don't want to let this slip away. I want to be diligent about keeping up with them.

We had a week of prayer recently—it was actually a Friday through Tuesday because of scheduling with exam week. Herbert, an Australian SM who was here last year, (Feb. 4, 7:15pm), and four of his friends who study at Avondale in Australia were the guest speakers. It was such a blessing. I believe that in general, it is more effective to be a long-term missionary because you can learn the ways of the people and connect through history and shared experiences, but there is a lot that short-term missionaries can do that the long-term ones cannot. These guys brought energy and excitement. The students were much more willing to listen to them in the church than they are to most of the people who speak up front. The theme was "Image is Everything," and was about finding our identities in Christ. I was really thankful for the examples that these guys were to the students. In such a male-dominated society, it was really effective to see a group of admirable guys who were completely devoted to God. These guys were not weak or boring, as many people fear they will become if they surrender to Christ.

The last night of the week of prayer was really powerful. I made decision cards for the students, and they could check any of the following options: I want to commit my life to Jesus, I want to recommit my life to Jesus, I would like to study the Bible with someone, I would like prayer, I would like to be baptized. The response was huge. There were 27 people who said that they wanted to be baptized. I do believe that some of them were confused ESL students who didn't fully understand--though the card was translated into Arabic as well. Jordan--one of my closest friends from high school, who came in January to fill the chaplaincy position--and I are working on having staff give baptismal studies to the students who requested them. We're also starting student-led Bible studies in the dorm, which I am very excited about. I was involved with that in high school, and so much good came from it. That is how my best friend in the whole world--Jessica--and I became so close, it is how I learned how to give Bible studies, and where I experienced strong Christian fellowship. I may not even be here if I had never been involved with that in high school because Jessica and I wouldn't be as close, and we decided to be SMs together. And I would not have started Bible studies in my dorm room in college had I not in high school, which would mean that I wouldn't have known my closest group of friends in college.

This is Pastor Tom with the Aussies.

Jordan and I are teaching English night classes to community members. He does the advanced level alone twice a week for two hours, and I help him with the beginner level twice a week. I'm really thankful for the experience. I had wanted to last semester but was given other responsibilities, which was fine, but I am really excited to be involved now. The class is small, and we have three or four people that come consistently but others who come off and on. The core group is young, and they're fun to talk to. Mina is a 20-year-old Christian guy, Mohamed is a Muslim guy who just turned 16, and Heba is a 22-year-old Muslim girl. Saher comes most of the time, and I feel like I know him well, but I don't know who he reminds me of. They seem to enjoy the class. Monday was Mohamed's birthday, and during the second half of the class we had a party for him. We bought junk food :-/ at the little student association store on campus called The Canteen, and we brought hot water--because nothing says party in Egypt like tea. Jordan busted in with his guitar and enthusiasm, and they were all so excited. Mina recorded a video of us singing, and then the guys took pictures pretending to play Jordan's guitar. So funny... Jordan and I always have our Bibles with us, and most people don't know what they are, but I think that they think we act different. We prayed for them before the class started on Wednesday. That night Mohamed was asking about my religion on Facebook, so I got to tell him many of the similarities between Adventism and Islam--and there are a lot.

Read this article from Adventist World. It is very interesting. I sent the link to Mohamed today. http://www.adventistworld.org/article/708/resources/english/issue-2010-1002/adventists-and-muslims-five-convictions

Things politically feel the same in Gabal Asfar. I have heard more gunshots, but I am not sure if it has always been this way and I just hadn't been aware of it or if it's getting worse. I think that people just shoot the guns into the air sometimes. It's not very close. Who knows what they're doing. The other night Austin, Jeff, Mary, and I went outside the school to pick up food, and two separate groups of young people threw rocks at us and pretended not to when we turned around. I told them, "AHtermu nefsuku," which means "respect yourselves" and is not something that is said unless people are really out of line. It may have just been an off night because that hadn't happened before, and it didn't happen today when Jordan and I went out.

Every time I pass a group of girls I smile or wave at them. I can't smile at the guys are talk to them, but if it's a group of girls, I know that they want to talk to the American girl, so I try to be as friendly as I can with them. They seem really sweet, and I'd love to get to know them better outside the school.

I am exhausted. Going to bed.

"The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few." We are all in this together and we all have a part to play. Who can you reach for God around you?

Medical rant while camping in the airport.

Date: Monday, December 24, 2012
Time: 1:51pm… wait, 2:51pm
Location: Amman International Airport, Jordan

I’m currently sitting in the rows of chairs in the middle of the walkway in the hall in the Amman airport. I refuse to go to the World News Café to my left. The cashier with the sticky pink lipstick gave short rude answers when Priscila and I were asking about the Internet. So now I’m taking my rights—Egypt has rubbed off on me. ☺

Priscila, the SM who works at the preschool in Heliopolis, and I are traveling to Istanbul together for a week. We left at 5:30 this morning, had a layover in Amman and then a connecting flight to Istanbul. Well, we got to Amman and went straight to the gate where our next flight was… and… we ended up missing the flight. (The rude lady just starting yelling across the way to get someone’s attention. Quiet, rude lady.) We did not know that there was an hour time difference between Cairo and Amman because the flight was just over an hour and we could not understand any of the announcements that were being made. Five minutes before our supposed boarding time, we asked one of the men where to go, and he freaked out and started yelling at us and radioing everyone and their mom—wait, no dad (because it’s a patriarchal culture)—and we had no idea what was going on, so we just followed person after person for a long time and eventually found out that we had missed the flight. They were trying to charge us to change the ticket—the next available ticket was for the same time Christmas day. And our options for nighttime were to stay at the airport hotel for $180 or we could buy a visa and take an expensive taxi ride into the far away city of Amman. But I asked the man if the tickets were available and if we could have them free of charge. He didn’t answer but went into a back room… and we have our tickets. Praise God. We’re spending the night by the gate. “We’re volunteers in Egypt,” didn’t rouse enough sympathy for a free hotel room.

It has been nice to be out of class for a few days. Everyone was ready for a break. The students have started to get crankier and have more attitudes, and some are just restless and talk more. The flu has been going around the school as well, so no one is at his or her best.

I sat next to a lady while waiting for the plane in Cairo. She looked maybe in her early 60s. She said she had just gotten married, and her husband would be joining her in two weeks to a month. She’s been in Egypt for the past nine months… and I’m a little nervous for her. I hope that he is a good man. Egyptian men can be very smooth. And they’re very masculine, chivalrous, generous, and supposedly charming. But I have never seen people fly off the handle as quickly as them either—which of course does not come right away. And domestic violence is not really considered domestic violence. Oh, whoops, too bad that happened, but such is life. People fight. So I hope that she is okay and that they’re nice little friends that live happily ever after.

I’d really like pizza. With lots of sauce. My mouth is watering.

Oh. Anyway, this lady was saying that her mother-in-law had surgery with “two cuts” (very technical), and she received no pain medicine, no one came to check on her for hours at a time, and several other things. My friend, whose name I never learned, said she had to have surgery too, but she’d have it done in Egypt over her dead body. There are some good hospitals in Egypt. But there is a very big gap between the good hospitals and the bad ones. While chewing out some students for carrying their sick friend out of the dorm Biblical miracle-style to a car to take him to the hospital (because Peggy and I apparently didn’t know what we were doing…), she told them that she wouldn’t take her dying dog to that hospital. That was an event.

(Preface: I know that every culture is different. The two that I happen to know the best are American culture, of course, and Egyptian culture. So me speaking of Egypt could really be me speaking of half the world or however many countries have the same mentality about sickness and medical care.) I have never seen such wimpy guys in my life. The men in Egypt are VERY masculine and the women are VERY feminine, but as soon as a guy has a slight fever or whatever it might be, he wraps himself up like a little hotdog and “cannot” move from his bed and can barely speak—if he can speak at all. At first I would get really worried about them because the friends would run to come get me and tell me to run to their friend because he’s “very very sick.” Everyone is “very very sick.” I think they feel like they won’t be taken seriously if they only say “sick,” or “kind of sick.” To me, very sick describes someone in a hospital with his life at stake.

I was called to come to the boys’ dorm one Saturday night while I was on supervision. One student was apparently very sick.
“Okay, can you tell him to come outside the dorm so I can see him?”
“I don’t think he can.”
“Well, I don’t want to go in the boys’ dorm, so have him come right outside.”
“I’ll tell him. But he can’t move, and he can’t speak.” (This is the biggest indicator to not take someone seriously. It makes me want to take longer to get to a person like this because I have seen very sick people throughout my time working in the hospital, and almost no one is incapable of moving or talking—and even less 16-22-year olds.)
“Yes he can.”
“Uh…”
“Okay. Fine. I will come there.”
So I go to his room, where he is crowded by sincerely concerned friends—bless their hearts. Of course he is unresponsive. He has good color, capillary refill. Vital signs are completely normal. From what I can tell, completely faking it. Possibly uncomfortable, but still capable of movement and communication—just choosing not to. One boy told me that this “very sick” student may have had a problem at his house earlier that day. Ah, so that’s the problem. They said that he is complaining of chest pain. So I give his friends two Tylenol to work at giving to him. If he was unresponsive, I would have given some other form of medication, but he was fine. And he did end up taking the medication between that time and the next time that a group of his worried friends insisted that I come see him—again. I was already irritated because he the sick guy was faking it or just being ridiculously dramatic, and his friends were being very impatient with me and yelling for me to hurry and run and because he was “dying,” so I heard in Arabic. I said that I just saw him and he was okay, etc. This friend Thomas adamantly disagreed with me in Arabic saying that the “sick” guy can’t move or talk and he’s not fine. Unfortunately I did not speak with the patience of Christ, and I said in a combination of Arabic and English (because Thomas has one of the smallest English vocabularies in the school), “I am a nurse. You are NOT a nurse. HE IS FINE. He doesn’t WANT to move. He doesn’t WANT to talk. HE IS FINE.” “No, ya miss.” So I went again. He was fine. I had called Peggy earlier to see if she would do anything else or if I could be missing something. Nope. She called the boys’ dean to tell him that this guy was fine. The boys’ dean and the RA saw me later and were worried because they hadn’t seen someone act like that before and they just wanted to be sure. So I went. Again. I retook all of his vital signs, explained everything that I was observing to the dean, the RA, and the friends that think they’re doctors. I explained that all of the things that this guy did not have control over were perfectly fine. It’s only the things that he can control that seem to be the problem. The RA was really annoyed with the guy at this point and was saying to the wannabe doctors that he was faking it. I thanked the concerned friends for caring about him and told them that if they wanted to stay with him and talk to him they could. “What if he falls asleep like this?” “Good. That means that he is tired and not in enough pain to keep him awake.” An hour later I heard a report, “He lifted his head!” “Very good.” The next day, he was fine. Ughioafgnoiadmgoismdfg. I tried to pray that I would have love and patience for this student because for someone to fake sick for attention like that… they’ve either learned no other way of getting attention, they want someone to love them, or they feel like it’s perfectly okay to try to punish whoever they’re mad at by faking sick. And that is sick in and of itself. There is a no-fainting policy at school because the women in Egypt faint far too regularly. If they faint, they have to leave the school and come back with a doctor’s note saying that they’re okay. The culture is so dramatic that there are more physical manifestations to their emotions… which I believe they could control.

I just don’t like feeling incompetent, and the heroes that dragged the guy off to the hospital and his friends felt that way. “All you give is ibuprofen!” Yes, and he has the flu. I’m not going to give him antibiotics for a virus like they did in the 1940s and still apparently do all the time in Egypt. I want to bring down his fever and take away his body aches. I could use 20 different medications in many different forms (they seem to think injections fix everything…), but I’d rather stick to only a few so that you are capable of taking care of yourself and your family for minor things instead of running off to the hospital for every little thing. Many of the doctors in Egypt treat the people like they’re stupid by saying things like someone has “electric” in his brain when they feel that explaining a migraine is too complicated for laypeople to understand. This girl has a cold and will get over it in a few days… but let me whirl around and let you think that I’m a magician who knows what I am doing, and stick a nasal cannula in your nostrils and administer oxygen to you, girl with perfectly fine oxygen saturation. Let me write a prescription for FIVE medications, some injectable, some effervescent pills to dissolve in water, and some capsules so that you feel like I’m really smart and covering all my bases, when all you need is one. Because apparently many of the doctors either don’t have patience themselves, or don’t think that the people will come back to them if they’re told to wait and that something will get better in time. So let’s load them up with unnecessary meds, listen to their stomach, and give them a big ol’ shot in the rear end. I don’t have strong feelings about this or anything. ☺ I am just thankful that the doctors in the US are required to have three years of residency and continuing education even after they graduate to keep up their licenses. And I am incredibly thankful to have someone as competent as Peggy at NUA. I would trust anyone I truly care about to her.

Not everyone is foffy ("wimpy" in English). Akram looks miserable but does his best to speak English and even try to work with a fever of 102. So I don’t speak of everyone. And sometimes I’ll see miserable-looking people and have them come with me so that I can check them out even if they never asked for my help. And the worrying friends are probably concerned because they have known people who have died from things that seemed very simple, so they freak out easily. It’s not what I’m used to, but it’s all that many of them have ever seen and known.

Priscila and I sat at this café here in the airport for five hours. During that time, she went to the bathroom twice. Each time, the guy behind the counter brought me something for free—hot chocolate and then pringles—and was very helpful. I wasn’t sure if he wanted a tip or if he was hitting on me. I like to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, so I assumed he was nice. Until he winked at me behind her back. His name is Omar, and he is coming home with me in June. (For those of you who didn’t know, after prayer, communication with nursing professors and hospital people, and more consideration, I’ve changed my ticket and am coming home after graduation. I’m really looking forward to it, though I do miss home.)

Recent Update. Relationships/Marriage

Neven teaches Arabic and is in charge of the greenhouses here on campus. I like her. She is really tall, which is an insignificant detail. She’s also very straightforward, which is very unusual for an Egyptian, especially a woman. It’s very refreshing. I like to know where people stand, and it’s nice to not have to guess what someone’s thinking. I’ve asked her to teach me Arabic, and she’s excited about it. Students have taught me some words, but they have not taught me how the language works, so I’m really hoping to learn quite a bit. I’m excited. Taylor started coming with me. That’s good.

Neven and I are in charge of the play for the Christmas program. We were instructed that there was to be nothing to do with drinking or drugs in the play. Stupid instruction, I thought. Then I remembered: No… that’s a very good guideline. Nothing should be assumed. The last time I was here, there were some people that were really pushing for something along those lines. And I think it was the last line or two that mentioned something about, “Oh, it’s Christmas. Let’s forgive the drunk man that murdered my family.” “Okay.” Yes, I exaggerate, but that was the story line—I kid you not. Not this year. We’re doing the nativity story. Gladys suggested that we ask a man who sometimes works on campus if we can borrow his baby camel for the play. Neven came to me last night and said that we couldn’t. “Why not?” “Because he ate it.” So that’s that, I guess.

In my junior and senior Bible classes I’ve been teaching a lot about marriage. I am not married, nor do I have kids, yet they still take me seriously. Haha. I guess that works. This past week we split up the girls and the guys. Pastor Tom talked with the guys, and I took the girls and talked to them about physical abuse in relationships, waiting for a guy who is worthy, rape, and how we teach people how to treat us. On Monday I will be teaching them about female genital mutilation. Egypt and Sudan have the highest rates of FGM in the world. I believe that it started along the Nile and is a tradition that persists. It is apparently less common than it was ten years ago, but I am sure that some of these girls must have undergone it. I want them to learn about what exactly happened, why it is pointless, why they should never make or allow their daughters be cut, and what the hymen has to do with virginity. It is still a very common practice here for the family to come the day after the wedding to see the bloody sheet. I was mortified when I first heard that, but now I’m more used to the idea of it. I mean, who needs privacy anyway?

One of my Egyptian friends got married a couple years ago to a non-Egyptian guy. We were at her house, and her non-English speaking family was talking in Arabic about the wedding that was coming up and about how they were going to come over the next day, etc. Her fiancé got very serious and said to her and me in English, “They will see nothing. If they want to see blood they can go kill a goat.” I started laughing and was so proud of him.

I wish that marriage was more respected and treated more sacredly in American culture than it is. And I have come to appreciate how highly marriage is regarded here. But there are downsides to every good thing, and here the downside is that girls sometimes feel like they can’t get out of relationships. Dating around is not an option. Reputation is just about everything, and a girl who has dated too much in her past, or even at all, may not be looked at as an acceptable girl to be with. Even if a guy is fine with her, his family might really have a problem with it. And her family is all paranoid that she will seem loose and dirty. But I strongly emphasized to them that it is better to feel pain and shame and be talked about now than to be miserably married to the wrong man for the rest of their lives. I am excited about teaching these girls to make decisions for themselves. I am all about honoring parents and authority, but I think that here, especially within the conservative Upper Egyptian cultures, families don’t know how to mind their own business. Everything is everyone’s business. I put a lot of emphasis on “…a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.”
Who is he leaving?
His mother and father.
Who is he becoming one with?
His wife.
So who is he supposed to put first, his wife or his parents?
His wife. But Miss, the Bible says to honor your mother and your father.
You can and should still honor them. But you are one with your wife. You must be united to each other. And you must put each other before your parents. Love them, honor them, but you may have to establish boundaries with them so that your marriage can work.

I do not want to turn them away from their families, but when everyone in their extended family lives in a single apartment building all on top of each other, or even within the same house, the controlling mothers-in-law run wild.

Before we split up the girls and the guys, I began to touch on domestic violence, and I realized that I had to cross a couple guys off my I-don't-think-he’d-hit-me list. It was surprising and yet not. I heard reasons like, “No, it’s not good, but we are only human and sometimes we can’t control ourselves,” and, “We saw our fathers do it all our lives, and their fathers did it, and their fathers did it. It’s part of our culture and it’s what we know.” I explained as best as I could why it is very faulty logic to think that that is acceptable even if “by accident” and added solid Biblical reasoning. But me explaining all of that may have just sounded like someone who didn’t want to get hit. So I let the big 6’4” man, Pastor Tom, finish that one off.

I have high hopes for these students. They are good. And I am so thankful that we can teach them these things. There have been so many things that I have just considered common sense, but then I realize later through something that I’ve seen that I learned that information in school at some point. So hopefully what we are teaching them will become like common sense.

I told the class that I was going to marry someone who would teach Sabbath school with me someday and we’d have the young people from our church over during the week and eat and talk about God. Ashraf smiled and said in a That’s-cute,-let-me-pat-you-on-the-head-for-your-sweet-idea voice, “There’s no one like that, ya Miss. There’s no one like you.” “Ashraf, you can come to my wedding someday.”

“Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart.” –Psalm 37:4

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.