Aswan

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

12:48pm in the minibus on the way from Aswan to Luxor

I want to straighten my legs. That would be nice. I’m listening to David Crowder Band’s “Wholly Yours.” We left on Thursday after classes for Alexandria. It was my parents, Rafaela (our exchange student from Brazil), me, and Abanoub D and Mina F, who both live in Alex. We took minibuses, which ended up taking about five hours. I am overwhelmed by details that I could include, so I will just avoid all of them because my mind is crazy and can’t fathom not writing every detail. The dominant part of the ISFJ personality type is Introverted Sensing, which is a euphemism for “detail orientation to a creepy degree.” Citdadel at Qaitbay, Bibilotheca Alexandrina, amphitheater

We planned to leave Alexandria at 5:00pm on Saturday evening, but… you know how things go in Egypt, so we ended up leaving for the bus at 6:10, and the bus left when it was full at 7:30. I had found out on the way to Alex that we had to leave at 1:00am on Sunday morning for the airport to fly to Aswan, and I started to freak out because I had so much left to do for the people who were taking over my classes for the next four days. I wrote some worksheets most of the way back to the school. We got back to the school at 12:00, and I ran around like a crazy woman making copies and typing and doing last minute things. Our ride to the airport was already waiting before I had even gotten to pack, so I ran back to the room, grabbed underwear and t-shirts and stuck them in my unpacked bag. In the airport, I took advantage of being an American and laid down on the seats at our gate. It’s inappropriate for girls to lay down in front of men, but I figured that it was 2:00am in the airport, and I was travelling with the most American-looking parents in Egypt. (Well, I guess Dr. Weaver in a khaki bucket hat and a khaki vest with 700 pockets would have won had there been a contest.) I’ve also taken advantage of being American by wearing short sleeves. I won’t go around in sleeveless shirts like some of the tourists I see. Some are somehow oblivious to the fact that they are the only women with their hair and wrists showing in sight, and some are just indifferent about how they could be offending others. My dad said that he noticed at the botanical garden in Aswan that Rafa and I passed a group of guys who kept their mouths shut when we passed, and then a group of older women in tank tops passed and the guys started saying making comments at them. I guess that the men here feel that if women act a certain way, then they are asking for trouble because no “respectable” woman would put herself in the front of a cab or in a sleeveless shirt. Being here, I could understand why that would seem like common sense to them, but I can also understand how it wouldn’t be common sense to us. I don’t agree with that logic because I feel like you should have the same morals and integrity regardless of the decisions of the people around you, or even if no one else is around.

I came here to Aswan with the attitude that all of the men in the shops are just trying to rip the people off (which they are), but I hadn’t considered how little they probably make. Yeah, they overcharge people who can afford to be overcharged because some of them make next to nothing and have families to provide for. There were some young boys in gallabeas selling bracelets that followed us back to our bus. My mom kept calling them honey and talking about how cute they were. They were super cute, and one was even negotiating with my dad in English. We were suckers, and we bought from them. Some people are cons, but judging by the amount of brown, fuzzy plaque on their teeth that could have provided for some quality compost piles, I figured that it wouldn’t hurt to buy some bracelets for $0.40. I think that I will have Krista write some complicated math equation showing that the amount of education a person here has is inversely related to the amount of plaque on someone’s teeth. Truly. Jessica’s dad is an oral surgeon, and he’s bringing a toothbrush and toothpaste for all of the students and looking at their teeth. I am really looking forward to that. I am worried about their teeth and dental problems, and hopefully preventative measures will help them.

Our driver has a crucifix on his keychain and one hanging from his rearview mirror, and I have realized that I feel a special connection to every Christian I see here. I automatically feel a closeness… ***

I don’t know how much to tip people here. Back in Gabal, people would be satisfied with two pounds, but here, it’s just a guess. They could be really excited and think that we’re incredibly generous, or they could feel like they spent all day babysitting only to have the parents come home and disappoint them with a five dollar bill. A security guard at the Karnak Temple pointed at the obelisks and then offered to take a picture of the four of us. Five pounds… and the lighting of my picture barely shows the obelisks. Haha. Oh well.

Hearing about all of these ancient religions reminds me so much of Rob Bell’s NOOMA video where he talks about how the story of Jesus was nothing original when it came about. There were already tons of stories of people being the sons and daughters of gods. There were rumors of their gods being their saviors. All of this stuff was not new when Jesus came about, and that is what makes His story so interesting. It wasn’t new, but Christianity exploded after His death. It is fascinating how similar these pagan temples are to the Jewish sanctuary. There’s the outer court, the inner court, the holy place, and the most holy place (where only the king or high priest can go into). Inside the most holy place is the statue of their god because it’s where they believe that the god himself dwells. There is a boat that holds this god, and there are rods that the priests held over their shoulders as they carried this god. I was just awestruck by the similarities to the Jewish sanctuary. I felt somewhat disgusted too. But I was thinking that if I was a nonbeliever, I would consider that Judaism or Christianity was just another one of these world religions or false beliefs that was popular for a certain time and then pretty much retired. However, the Jewish sanctuary was historically in existence before any of these pagan temples were built. And the fact that there are so many similarities between these different religions suggests that there was a common origin. Ever since the fall, Adam’s descendants had been awaiting their Messiah who would crush the serpent’s head (Gen. 3). The old prophecies pointed to this descendant who would be the Son of God, born of a virgin. I’m no historian, so don’t take my word for it, but it’s my speculation that their idea of the sanctuary, the Most Holy Place with the Ark of the Covenant where the Shekina glory would dwell, whose Son would be born of a virgin, etc. originated from the Jews and diffused from there.

I’m at our hotel in Luxor now, and it’s very nice. It’s definitely not as beautiful as the one in Aswan, but it’s quaint. Outside our window, I can hear loud drums and Egyptian music. I can hear someone making that loud tongue-wagging noise that Ms. Janet makes at weddings. If you have never heard it or have no idea what I’m talking about, that last sentence probably sounds weird.

So my dad brought me a leopard-print snuggie… we had always laughed at those commercials. For those of you who don’t know, a snuggie is blanket with arms… or a bathrobe that you put on backwards. The commercials are just ridiculous. They have a lady reading on the couch, but oh no! Her arms are cold! What should she do? She needs a snuggie. Anyways, they’re just a terrible joke of an idea. When Krista got back from home after Christmas break, she opened her suitcase and showed me what her boyfriend gave her. A zebra-print snuggie! We were laughing so hard, and we decided to make a photo album of everything that we can do in our snuggies. I have taken a couple pictures so far. Sitting on my bed, reading about Kom Ombo temple on the balcony of our hotel room… I might bring it to the pyramids in Giza just for the sake of the picture.

The temples were so interesting. They are absolutely gigantic and elaborate. It gives me a greater understanding and a different perspective when I think about the temples in the Bible. Jesus said He would rebuild it in three days, and they laughed. He was talking about Himself, but they considered this enormous and incredibly intricate building with elaborate colors and details. Every detail had significance. I am just astounded by the amount of work that went into these temples.

There are certain things in America that are just gross… but apparently those things aren’t universal. Long pinky fingernails.

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I finished right there. I don't know where I was going with that.

Disorganized thoughts and part of Alexandria

January 6, 2010 8:59pm

My name is Sara, and I ate Kraft Macaroni & Cheese for dinner. Oh yeah.

My right eye is magnun (or “matartash” as they would say in Alexandria)… this means crazy. I don’t know how to say “sick” or “red, watery, and gross” in Arabic, so magnun is my choice. I think that my lacrimal duct is blocked. I’m takin’ care of business. Why am I writing about this? Because my desire to scratch my inner canthus like there is no tomorrow is consuming my mind more than anything else at the current moment.

Apparently fish aren’t animals because they don’t have sex to reproduce. The fact that they have two eyes, a mouth, blood, and bones… is irrelevant. They’re not animals, so vegetarians really should eat them.

By the way, please go to niccageaseveryone.com My favorite is probably the Mona Lisa. Thank you, Alec and Michael.

I’ve been very tempted to play “luggage” on the minibus rides. The thought of it cracks me up… but it probably wouldn’t be as funny to any of you.

On Saturday night, Olivia (a tenth grade student), Neven (Arabic teacher and Pastor Tom’s secretary), and her sister Nermin (business office worker), and I took the train from Ramses in Cairo to Alexandria. I have been reading the book A Celebration of Discipline for a religion class that I am taking through correspondence, and I really like it. It is incredibly practical in its disciplines to have a closer relationship with God. I would like to expand more later... but just not now.

Olivia’s uncles picked us up at the train station, and took us to her aunt Sahar and uncle Ramy’s house. (I feel held to a higher standard in my capitalization because I teach English, so I feel the need to defend not capitalizing aunt and uncle. I am describing them—not using aunt and uncle as part of their names.) This family has the sweetest four and a half year old girl named Lydia, and she looked like a little model with her long eyelashes and curly hair. They gave us amazing koshary at about 12:30am, and we were in bed by 3:30. I thought that this was unusual, but apparently staying up until obscene hours is normal—even for the kids. At both houses that I stayed where there were young kids, they went to bed at 3:30-4:00am whenever we did. Whatever happened to an 8:30 bedtime? (Alec and I were discussing why parents choose 8:30, and we reached the conclusion that it’s not as rebellious as staying up until 9:00, and it’s not as prude as 8:00. It’s a little on the wild side. Thanks parents for the leeway.) They stay up obscenely late and get an obscenely late start. I wonder if they know that that’s weird. I don’t think that I feel that way only because it different from my culture… but that’s just weird. Lydia couldn’t grasp the concept that I didn’t speak Arabic, though I said it in many ways. J “Ana mish fehma Araby.” “Ana mabafhamsh Araby.” “Ana mabitkalimsh Araby.” She would just speak louder and slower. It was really cute. I played it off that I understood what she was saying by nodding, smiling, and saying yes, no and maybe. She saw gum in my purse at 3:00am and asked for a piece, so I, thinking that I am her parent, told her that I would give her some tomorrow. She went and pouted to her parents and came back and tried to ask in English. I told her that I would give it to her tomorrow. Eventually she started sobbing. Oops. Oh well. I told her no, and it would be bad to change my mind just because she begged.

We met up with Mina, Abanoub, and Wael, who were a lot of fun. Mina told me that his younger brother might leave school to meet us at a café in the San Stefano mall. I was shocked about him leaving school, but he told me a little more about the government school system. There were about 80 kids in his class, and people drank and smoked cigarettes and hashish during class. The teacher would come and join them sometimes. They may have taken English classes for 12 years, but some of them still didn’t know the alphabet. If the teachers only made 300 LE a month, they would intentionally not teach very well so that parents would hire the teachers as private tutors before the tests (where they would teach them to memorize the answers). This way, they would make so much more money than their normal salary. I have heard these kinds of stories from all of the students who have gone to the government schools all over Egypt. It’s so sad, and it makes me grateful that I took field trips to the Shedd Aquarium in Chicago and that I learned the bones of the body in fourth grade and learned how to summarize a story in second grade. These students have to learn what I learned the first 16 years of my life in five years, when their minds are not as absorptive as the minds of little kids.

Alexandria is gorgeous. The architecture is so pretty, and I love just sitting by the beach and watching the waves crash over the rocks. Olivia, Nermin, and Neven left on Tuesday morning, but later Tuesday night Wael, Abanoub, Mina, and I walked along by the water, and the white foam looked so cool in the moonlight.

I love walking up and down the streets in Alexandria and just watching the people. On the less busy streets, the people stand out on the balcony and yell down to the people on the balconies below them. I saw people pulling on ropes to bring whatever was in their basket up from the ground to their balcony. I was reminded of the beginning of Beauty and the Beast.

Faiyoum/Fayoum/Fayum/Faiyum/Egypt is inconsistent...

So... Egyptians are not consistent with their spelling. Even the name of their own country. It uses three letters in Arabic, none of which are vowels, so when they write it in English, it's either "Mosr" or "Misr."

I went to Faiyoum (?) with the wonderful Maryam Mosa for a few days. She is so sweet, and she invited me to stay in her village for a few days. Her village is actually called Byada, but it's close to Faiyoum. We took a minibus to the metro, where we then got another minibus that took us to Faiyoum. Then we took what looked like a mix between a hearse and a pizza truck into Byada. From there we took a tktk (Yes, I just spelled a word without vowels) to Maryam's house. If a car and a tricycle could have a baby, it would be a tktk. I don't know how else to explain it. Or I guess I could describe it as an olive with three wheels and curtains instead of doors. Before I had even met Maryam's dad, he was already telling her that I am his daughter and he was so excited to have me come over. The floors were cement, and I could smell the farm animals from the second I stepped in the house. The ants made loud crunching noises when I stepped on them. I began to love her house. As she described it, it was very simple, but it was so nice. The irrigation system seemed to be pretty effective in Byada because I had not seen so much green since Holland. There were palm-ish trees all over, green fields, cows, donkeys, and all other kinds of animals. I saw boys racing on donkeys down the road. It was so funny to me. Donkeys can't gallop beautifully like horses can. It just looks awkward when they try. We wore gallabeas (Egyptian dresses) and walked around on Maryam's farm. We fed her cows and ate green things (I have no idea what their called in Arabic, let alone English...) It was different to me, and I loved it. She knew everyone that we passed, and they were all so friendly. I realized that even if I had lived in Egypt my entire life, I still wouldn't know how many times to kiss the women on the cheek. I think it's two, and then they go for the third. I go for the third, and they go for six. All the meanwhile they are saying things like "Om le'e (How are you?)" "Al Humdilallah..." and other things. I was confused, but they were really sweet. The people were so wonderful. They all wanted me to come over, and they were so concerned with if I was eating enough and if I was comfortable. I realized that I show hardly any concern for my own guests (let alone my neighbors' guests!) compared to what these people showed me. They all invited me to stay for Christmas, and they were so hospitable and wonderful. I really liked being there. Maryam and I went upstairs, past where the chickens and ducks live, onto the roof and talked. We leaned up against the "dove" (pigeon) house and looked off into the distance at a man galloping on a donkey while talking on his cell phone. The roofs are all so close together that you don't really even need streets. You could just walk from roof to roof. It was so cool. I felt like I was in a book. Maryam's dad would ask me in Arabic whose daughter I am. "Ana binte Mosa." I really liked Maryam's sister Reda and her family. We got to cook a lot too. It was such a good time.






I kept seeing this cute little girl named Myrna looking at me, so I asked her her name. I didn't know where Maryam went, so I stepped outside just to walk in front of the house, and Myrna said something to some kids around the corner, and all these little boys came running and stopped when they saw me. It was so cute. They all ran to see the pale American in a red gallabea. I was embarrassed about how little Arabic I knew. I didn't even know how to say hi to a group... and then when I thought about it, it was probably just the same because "SabaH el khyer" and "Ahilan" don't seem conjugated. I wrote, "Here comes Myrna again. She's peering in the doorway. Now she's watching me write and she has no idea that I am writing about her."

I felt bad having Maryam come all the way back to Gabal with me to bring me back to the school, so I tried to convince her to just take me to the minibus that is headed for El Marg, and I would be fine from there, but she refused because I am her sister. I fell asleep in the minibus, and when I woke up, she told me that the man next to her was asking if we were married and kept trying to talk to her. She leaned away from him, and he said, "Don't worry. I don't bite. I have two wives at home." Yeah, and what's a third to you, buddy? Gross. The man to her left and then men in front of us kept staring at us. I kept my eye on her to make sure that he wasn't trying to touch her leg or anything. Anytime that we talked or even whispered, the man in front of us would turn around and smile and try to listen. Go away, you weirdo. And then soon they were all talking in Arabic about how we "were talking about them" and were trying to get her to talk to them, so she told me that it was best if she and I stopped talking. What creeps. The guy in front asked her if I liked Egypt. She nodded. He said that he would "put me in his mind," which in Arabic means that he would take good care of me. Turn around. The man with two wives told her that she was very beautiful. They kept asking why she was so "hard" and why she wouldn't talk. I didn't want to answer my phone when someone called because I wanted to avoid as much attention as possible. She said that they didn't say anything bad - it was all okay, but she really had no business talking to them. At the end of the ride, they told her that they were mad at her and me, but mostly her because she is Egyptian and should have talked to them. Boo hoo.

I am really trying to avoid stereotyping people based on their religions because I have much closer contact with the Christians, but as far as the guys on the streets go, the Christians haven't bothered me. This could be because there are 9x as many Muslims as Christians, so it would only make sense that more Muslims bother me. But I can't help but consider what kind of influence a religion that openly declares in its holy book that women are not as valuable as men has on the people. If I am property, why would you respect me as your equal? That reminds me of when I was talking to Maryam's sister Reda and her husband Nasr. I said something about how a man will go to prison for hitting his wife in America. Nasr asked, "And what if she hits him?" I proudly responded that she could go to prison too because everyone is equal. He laughed. I love equality. I mean, things are not perfectly equal, but according to the law, we're equal, and I just love it so much. I was planning on listening to Lee Greenwood's "Proud to be an American" (thank you, Jordan) on the way back, but I soon discovered that my iPod was dead. Oh well. I'll save it for another time and probably cry. haha. But maybe.

I miss Jessica and Krista. I love them so much.

My parents and Rafaela are coming to visit soon! I can't wait. I'm trying to plan as much as I can in advance so that I am not stressed out when they get here. We're going to go into Gabal and get Koshary, take a minibus and the metro somewhere, go to Khan El Khalili, go with Mina and Abanoub to Alexandria. We're also going to go to Aswan and Luxor, to the Cairo Museum, and the pyramids. There's too much to see everything in Egypt, but we'll get a lot done. I am already preparing myself for being frustrated with untimely transportation and for people ripping us off. My dad said that they are bringing my two bags of walnuts. Al Humdilallah. (Praise be to God.) I've been so sincerely concerned about my omega-3s. I know how pathetic I sound, but I am really excited for that. Plus, I want to see how all these guys act around my dad because they're always joking about how they're going to go call "Amu Joooohn" whenever I put them in their place. They love to joke around with him, but they will probably be dead silent. haha. Well, goodnight.

Parts of My Journal

Tuesday, November 17, 2009 11:59 pm - in the mosquito net (I guess "under it") on my bed

Today at dinner, Jessica leaned toward me and said, "Why am I eating jelly and cheese with a spoon? Because I am in Egypt." I laughed so hard. I'm no longer "healthy Sara." My standards have gone so far down.

Michael can frown better than anyone I know. It is so funny. I really like him. He is such a nice guy. He also offered to help me grade some of my papers sometime.

Girls can't lay down in front of guys, even their dads. Girls should say "ya ma'alim," according to ___. Girls aren't actually people, so they should probably be beaten and knocked around and harrassed.

We're watching "The Ultimate Gift" in my 9th grade classes. It's cute and they like it. It's a nice break for me too. :)

Thursday, November 19, 2009 10:02pm - on the new couch at the Decker's house!

_______ just came here to talk to me. Poor thing. She talked to me once before. It's totally different from how she appears. She's so frivolous and sanguine, but she is so depressed... She was sobbing and telling me about how she's so bad and wants to die. She was crying in my arms on the balcony of the girls dorm. So tonight, she came looking for me because she was so lonely. She feels like people don't really love her. I told her how much God loves her and wants to hug her and help her up when she falls. She told me that I'm the only one here who encourages her. She said I'm like her little sister. Little sister? Really? Haha, Oh Lord, I don't feel passionate enough. I don't feel like I'm praying enough. She's slipping and she hates herself, and I'm not constantly begging for God's presence. Oh little _______. She cried into my neck and hugged me. I loved it because I felt like I was there for her. It was so sincere.

November 23, 2009 12:34 am - on my bed

alashan ana shooftuk - because I see you
hhazeena - sad
ala fikra - I think

Dry crusty feet and legs. Ew. I feel so fat too. I always say this, but I need to start exercising hardcore.

Funniest thing: I was joking out by the ping pong table and saying that Abanoub can't be trusted. Michael agreed and said something like, "Yeah, he can't be trusted." In his victim voice Abanoub asked, "But why?" Michael said, "Because you have a tattoo on your palm!" Haha! What kind of person gets a tattoo on their palm.

I read 2 Corinthians 12 today, and I had been so annoyed and frustrated with 2 Corinthians because it was boring and hard to follow. But this I could concentrate on, and I cried. I feel like I understand, "My grace is sufficient for you for My power is made perfect in weakness." It's not just being poor or having diseases that could be thorns in your flesh, but your character as well. I though, "God, change me! Change my mind! Why ... Take it away! Change me." I am still the same person, and I will probably always struggle with the same things, but I can still overcome because my weakness exemplifies God's power. I got a fuller understanding of it that I can't quite articulate.

I talked about pride today as a worship though in all of my classes. I felt very good about it. I talked about how we always have excuses, as did Adam and Eve, but that doesn't justify sin. And if we can't admit when we are wrong, God can't work with us. Satan fell from Heaven because of his pride, and Jesus was killed because the people were too proud to admit that they were wrong. I asked, "When is the last time that you told someone that you were truly sorry about something without making excuses?" "I'm sorry. I was wrong." If you can't think of a time, you really need to watch yourself.

Dominique is so funny. I try not to laugh at him because he's usually hitting on me subtly in corny ways (but not enough to call him out on it), but he's so funny. I love Gonjowk in 10th grade. He is so sweet. I want Benjamin James to do really well because he tries so hard.

Gladys shared her testimony Friday night, and I wanted to cry. She's such an ENFJ/INFJ and I love her. She made a decision to love the unlovables. It was so good. It convicted me that I really need to have a perfect husband. God must lead. I wanted to cry for ____. It has to be able to be better than that. Oh Lord, please be with them.

Thursday, Nov. 26, 2009 6:05 pm - kneeling on the floor, writing on the bed

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!! I am so full I could throw up. We ate Mexican food at the Deckers'. It was so good. Black beans, pinto beans, flautas, mashed potatoes... We then started to watch "The Polar Express," and the boy was all distraught about whether or not there was a Santa, so he ran to the bookshelf and started flipping through a book. Chim said, "Calm down, Sara Olakowski." I laughed so hard. I was flattered.

We played football today. :)

Friday, Dec. 4, 2009 10:25 am - in my place on the steps outside the church

Oh, before I forget to write about it: I gave a worship thought on "Character is who you are in the dark," DURING PRAYER (name) tried to sneak up to my desk to take (name 2)'s homework to copy it because (name) didn't do his. Are you kidding? I was awestruck.

December 14, 2009 1:32 am - on my bed

I just got tangled in the mosquito net trying to get in here. I love Krista. We laugh so much together. We just tried on our tackiest gallabeas (mine has music notes and says "Illinois" on it...) and we took pictures with Jessica while she was sleeping...

The tenth graders are getting really into Night. We have two pages left. The room is dead silent while I read. Thanks, God.

Today was a hard day for me. The cheating is incessant. The lying is just as bad. I was worn out and exhausted from arguing about their punishments. I show them mercy, and I should have shown more. Really?

I wish I could teach 9th grade Bible next semester. Oh, what I would do for that!

Oh! Krista was explaining "explosion" to (name), and she mentioned Hiroshim. He said, "Yeah, and that's why their eyes go like this!" and he pulled down on the corners of his eyes. Haha! Krista said, "No. You're black, I'm white, and their eyes do that. It's the same thing."

December 24, 2009 8:54 pm - Pastor Llew's house

"I am evermore standing on the precipice of who I am and who I could be." -Alec
(name) said to Alec, "Is it scientifically proven that when women get married, they get fat?"
(name2) told Alec that he wouldn't want to go to America because people have sex in the streets.
(name3), in a paragraph about his future, wrote that he wanted to marry a "beautiful woman or a rich man." Every time I looked at him that day in class, I started laughing.
(name4) "changed his brain" and decided to pass the ball instead of shoot it.

Shagia's lines: "So what?" "So what shall I do?" "Don't." "Don't even think about it." "You're gonna lose your life." I love Shagia. haha.

Jessica told me that the word for want and the word for need is the same in Arabic. There is no difference. That's scary.

You know you're an SM in Egypt when...

• it doesn't take conscious effort to remember to put the toilet paper in the garbage can.
• you don't hesitate to use pieces of the cardboard roll as toilet paper for a few weeks because you're out and too cheap to buy more.
• you're used to doorknobs not turning.
• you sneak awkward side hugs to the guy SMs in the staff room or at Pastor Tom's house because it's socially unacceptable and you are bad to the bone.
• you can fall asleep on a typical minibus ride where the driver is blasting his music and driving in a way that throws you all over the bus.
• you wear the same clothes every day, but it's okay because everyone else does too.
• you wake up in the middle of the night because your face and hands itch so much.
• your legs are so bitten that anyone back home would think that you contracted smallpox.
• your sheets are blood-stained from your mosquito bites, but that doesn't really phase you.
• you commit a cultural taboo by lifting up your pants to scratch your knees.
• you can pronounce the names Mamdouh, Shenouda, Mahrous, Kout, Mekebeb, Nyadeat, Nyakoun, and Abanoub.
• the names Mamdouh, Shenouda, Mahrous, Kout, Mekebeb, Nyadeat, Nyakoun, and Abanoub become normal to you.
• you don't bust into laughter or offend someone by calling him "Fady," "Moody," or "Tut" (Toot).
• you get angry when there's no gibna (white cheese) at dinner.
• halawa doesn't seem quit so bad, and guavas really don't taste like garbage.
• you embrace the white hotdog bun breakfast every Sabbath morning.
• the required staff meeting has four staff members at it.
• you dump syrup on a cake and call it basbussa.
• you find fingernails in your "macaroni"... multiple times.
• you're not phased by mosquitoes in your hot chocolate.
• oil is a condiment... of which there is never enough.
• you have to have a babysitter to step out of the compound because for the risk of creepy men on the prowl for "mozas."
• you know every single way to express that someone is beautiful in Arabic because your students have called you them.
• it's almost normal to see someone hacking at a donkey's head with a machette.
• a man on the street offers you a half-peeled orange or a camel's leg (knee to hoof) because you're beautiful.
• you can differentiate Arabic songs.
• you're in the habit of not making eye contact and keeping your voice low while on the streets.
• you get your butt grazed on a regular basis, knowing full well that a student would rip of his belt without hesitation had he known what happened.
• random stragers pull you into their homes, name their babies after you, and ask you to marry their sons.
• you've gotten multiple proposals from people, some of which you've never met.
• people you've never met have "fallen in love with your character."
• a three ounce box is too heavy for you to carry and must be given to a man.
• you can't even step out of the classroom with your things without a chivalrous student carrying everything for you.
• you begin to hoard pens because people steal them... and you're part of the problem.
• there are five ninth graders named Deng, and four of them are named Deng Deng.
• sixty degrees is FREEZING!
• Thursday night is the new Saturday night.
• cows make the sound "bitnarrrrr."
• your idea of being scandalous is even considering hanging up your laundry in shorts.
• a man on the metro throws shells of seeds at your feet.
• your school has a rule that girls aren't allowed to faint.
• people gossip about your messy room.
• you have a student who has a tattoo with his name spelled wrong.
• your bread has betles, wood, sawdust, sand, rocks, mysterious brown things, or all of the above in it.
• there are fleas in your bed.
• you drink from the same community cup in the center of campus as everyone else.
• one click means "yes," and two clicks means "no."
• you think you're waving and someone thinks you're calling him over to you.
• flip flops are "ship ships."
• sizes are described by putting your hand against your opposite arm, rather than creating the distance between your two hands in the air.
• snow globes don't look as tacky as they once used to.
• the HoHos are flat.
• tea is a staff meeting essential.
• students spell their names differently on each assignment.
• you give incredibly awkward hugs because you're no longer in the practice of giving them.
• you can go all day without drinking water because it's 1/4 mile walk to refill the jug.
• when a 40 minute taxi ride takes 2.5 hours because people can't admit when they don't know where something is, so they just point and hope that it's the right direction... all for the sake of saving face.
• every main character dies at the end of every popular movie.
• everyone has a pack of kleenex on them at all times.
• telling a student that another student's grade is not their business is considered giving giving someone capsa (public embarrassment).
• "not your father's business" is an insult.
• being known as the son/daughter of your mother is an insult.
• a sousand beoble come ub to you on Friday night and say, "Habby Sabbas."
• students are curious about their last test score and ask where their "testes" are.

I love it here but miss driving in Laura's car.

8:00 pm – in the detention study hall room… where no one is in detention

I am so much more productive when I am on supervision in this room than when I am free to do what I want. I love this. Maybe I’ll be on supervision every night.

Gonjowk just came to check his grade, and he saw that the background of my computer is Andrews’ campus covered with snow. He asked if we use refrigerators in my country. Um… yes… "Your country is a refrigerator!" When I go back to America, I’m supposed to tell the government that “Gonjowk objects to the weather.” Objection is a vocabulary word. Good job. J

I am currently writing a quiz for my ninth graders about if clauses and future tense time clauses. I feel like I have been teaching this forever. Some are still really struggling with it. I wrote out a multiple choice worksheet today where they had a billion different options and they had to choose one that was right. Hopefully that made things more clear. I am always using staff members’ names in my tests and worksheets because I have run out of things to write about. On the worksheet that I wrote at lunch I wrote, “After Mr. Jackson eats his cabbage, he’s going to smile.” Stupid, stupid sentence.

Speaking of sentences, I’ve been having my students write sentences as a punishment. “I will refrain from disrupting Grammar and Writing class because it distracts other students from learning and it is disrespectful to continue to talk after my teacher has repeatedly told me to stop.” Write that a billion times, you who knows three of those words.

I am participating in the strictest Secret Santa game of my life. Benjamin, our SA president is running a tight ship. People are given little things daily. And if you’re not getting things from your secret friend, you can complain to Benjamin about it. I think it’s so funny. When he was explaining the rules, he was very clear that we were not to give our secret friend garbage. We are also not supposed to give things to people if we are not their secret friend. I laughed and laughed at the idea of sabotaging the game. I wouldn’t, but the thought of me planning to ruin it and the frustration level that the intense ISTJ president would reach would be incredibly amusing. (Oh gross… I accidentally spelled amusing with a “z.”)

So I believe that I am officially in stage two of my culture shock, and I am feeding every new piece of information about the culture into my arrogant and ethnocentric theory that this culture is immature. The short tempers, the passionate fervor to keep one’s pride and avoid shame at all costs, the gaudy furniture, the overly dramatic movies with cheesy suspense music, the fact that people actually fight with belts and knives as a normal thing… okay, I’ll stop. I’m not angry or anything right now, but little things get to me sometimes. One of my friends lost his temper so badly the other day when we were at our field trip to the citadel, and I was just astounded. It was scary and it was for a reason that I thought was invalid. I talked to him later and said that if he doesn’t get his anger under control, it’s going to get the best of him and negatively affect any relationship that he has. I told him that to be honest, it makes him less of a man to me if he can’t control himself--which is a huge blow to any guy over here. He listened and said that his father always told him to never be beaten. Nobody is allowed to win over him. If someone is going to start a fight, it will be him, and he will win. He said that his uncle taught him the same thing. When he was little, another boy hit him in the face, and my friend started crying and went to his uncle. His uncle told him that he should never let anyone do that to him and told him to go get the boy back, so my friend threw a rock at the other little boy’s head. I can’t even imagine that mindset. It helps me to understand though.

If anyone from the SM program at Andrews is reading this, I could use my culture shock letter that I wrote to myself. If it’s a flat envelope, it won’t cost me anything. My parents are coming in January too.

Jessica absolutely hates when people say “ridonculous” for reasons of experience, and Alec just taught the smiliest overachiever in the school to say it. It is the funniest thing. He just came to me, and I taught him to make fake guns with his hands and move them in circles while saying“ridonculous” with his thick accent. I feel like the funniest person in the world. I hope that those of you who know the story behind “ridonculous” are amused.

I get to teach Krista’s geometry class because she is going to leave for Christmas a few days early. I’m so excited. Math is my thing. I have realized these past few months more than ever that out of my Introversion, Sensing, Feeling, and Judging, my sensing is the strongest. I am incredibly detail-oriented—above all. Detail-orientation makes one out to be a creep. It’s true.

I feel the strong need to pray with people for people. Yes, I need to pray with people like students for their personal needs, but I also need to pray with someone who is like-minded so that we can pray for the students and the school. I feel like I need to. I am craving it. But I don’t do it. Why? Am I too lazy to get around to it like everything else? Jessica, Krista, and I started out praying together at night, but then we all started going to bed at different times. (By the way, I couldn’t have better roommates. I love them so much.)

I have never experienced so much dishonesty in my life. As I type this, I am watching a student take a test out of the corner of my eye. There’s another student in the room, and I feel like they will be whispering answers to each other. They know A, B, C, and D in sign language because they can drop their hands down by their desk and tell people the answers to multiple choice questions. They will switch quizzes when I am not looking and then deny that the handwriting is not theirs. Hi, I grade your papers, I know that your writing looks like you tried to write with your feet, and his looks like Sam Slikkers wrote it in her font-like writing. I own you. They consider it "helping," and they holding helping a friend in a higher regard than honesty, which is pretty normal for many places in the world.

The floors are easy to slide on. I spend a lot of the time running and sliding around the staff room on my flip flops. Someone has to answer the door? I’ll get it... and I’ll run and slide right to it. I’m on study hall supervision and I’m going to check on the students in the library... let me run and slide all the way there. I feel like a four year old.

These kids talk about God all the time, but I feel like the relationship part is lacking. Their relationships are very works-oriented, cross-tattoo-on-wrist oriented, tattoo-of-the-Virgin-Mary-on-their-bicep-oriented, and Jesus-painting-on-wall oriented, but the part where they know God as their best friend is missing. That is my project. That is my burden. Sometimes I feel so ineffective, and God lets me feel that way. It’s okay. I accept that I will not labor in vain (Isaiah… I don’t remember where. Fifty eight, maybe?), but then sometimes God really uses the students to help me to realize why I am here. I had one of those moments on Saturday. I have been talking to a girl with an addiction, and I felt like I was ineffective and throwing encouraging words into a hopeless abyss, but no. J God is alive and well. Though we don’t always see what is going on, our labor is not in vain. I victory danced (appropriately) and smiled like a fool with this lovely girl. Praise God.

I miss my family and friends. I love it here so much, but I miss you guys. Oh, to have my mom play with my hair… or to drive around in Laura’s car and listen to N*Sync’s Christmas album on the way to Barnes and Noble. I miss studying. I honestly do. I’m not homesick, but there are times when I am reminded of things, and I miss them. I feel like I am finally starting to feel normal. I am glad that I have reached this point.

Unposted from 12/9/09

8:00 pm – in the detention study hall room… where no one is in detention

I am so much more productive when I am on supervision in this room than when I am free to do what I want. I love this. Maybe I’ll be on supervision every night.

Gonjowk just came to check his grade, and he saw that the background of my computer is Andrews’ campus covered with snow. He asked if we use refrigerators in my country. Um… yes… Your country is a refrigerator! When I go back to America, I’m supposed to tell the government that “Gonjowk objects to the weather.” Objection is a vocabulary word. Good job. J

I am currently writing a quiz for my ninth graders about if clauses and future tense time clauses. I feel like I have been teaching this forever. Some are still really struggling with it. I wrote out a multiple choice worksheet today where they had a billion different options and they had to choose one that was right. Hopefully that made things more clear. I am always using staff members’ names in my tests and worksheets because I have run out of things to write about. On the worksheet that I wrote at lunch I wrote, “After Mr. Jackson eats his cabbage, he’s going to smile.” Stupid, stupid sentence.

Speaking of sentences, I’ve been having my students write sentences as a punishment. “I will refrain from disrupting Grammar and Writing class because it distracts other students from learning and it is disrespectful to continue to talk after my teacher has repeatedly told me to stop.” Write that a billion times, you who knows three of those words.

I am participating in the strictest Secret Santa game of my life. Benjamin, our SA president is running a tight ship. People are given little things daily. And if you’re not getting things from your secret friend, you can complain to Benjamin about it. I think it’s so funny. When he was explaining the rules, he was very clear that we were not to give our secret friend garbage. We are also not supposed to give things to people if we are not their secret friend. I laughed and laughed at the idea of sabotaging the game. I wouldn’t, but the thought of me planning to ruin it and the frustration level that the intense ISTJ president would reach would be incredibly amusing. (Oh gross… I accidentally spelled amusing with a “z.”)

So I believe that I am officially in stage two of my culture shock, and I am feeding every new piece of information about the culture into my arrogant and ethnocentric theory that this culture is immature. The short tempers, the passionate fervor to keep one’s pride and avoid shame at all costs, the gaudy furniture, the overly dramatic movies with cheesy suspense music, the fact that people actually fight with belts and knives as a normal thing… okay, I’ll stop. I’m not angry or anything right now, but little things get to me sometimes. One of my friends lost his temper so badly the other day when we were at our field trip to the citadel, and I was just astounded. It was scary and it was for a reason that I thought was invalid. I talked to him later and said that if he doesn’t get his anger under control, it’s going to get the best of him and negatively affect any relationship that he has. I told him that to be honest, it makes him less of a man to me if he can’t control himself. He listened and said that his father always told him to never be beaten. Nobody is allowed to win over him. If someone is going to start a fight, it will be him, and he will win. He said that his uncle taught him the same thing. When he was little, another boy hit him in the face, and my friend started crying and went to his uncle. His uncle told him that he should never let anyone do that to him and told him to go get the boy back, so my friend threw a rock at the other little boy’s head. I can’t even imagine that mindset. It helps me to understand though.

If anyone from the SM program at Andrews is reading this, I could use my culture shock letter that I wrote to myself. If it’s a flat envelope, it won’t cost me anything. My parents are coming in January too.

Jessica absolutely hates when people say “ridonculous” for reasons of experience, and Alec just taught the smiliest overachiever in the school to say it. It is the funniest thing. He just came to me, and I taught him to make fake guns with his hands and move them in circles while saying “ridonculous” with his thick accent. I feel like the funniest person in the world. I hope that those of you who know the story behind “ridonculous” are amused.

I get to teach Krista’s geometry class because she is going to leave for Christmas a few days early. I’m so excited. Math is my thing. I have realized these past few months more than ever that out of my Introversion, Sensing, Feeling, and Judging, my sensing is the strongest. I am incredibly detail-oriented—above all. Detail-orientation makes one out to be a creep. It’s true.

I feel the strong need to pray with people for people. Yes, I need to pray with people like students for their personal needs, but I also need to pray with someone who is like-minded so that we can pray for the students and the school. I feel like I need to. I am craving it. But I don’t do it. Why? Am I too lazy to get around to it like everything else? Jessica, Krista, and I started out praying together at night, but then we all started going to bed at different times. (By the way, I couldn’t have better roommates. I love them so much.)

I have never experienced so much dishonesty in my life. As I type this, I am watching a student take a test out of the corner of my eye. There’s another student in the room, and I feel like they will be whispering answers to each other. They know A, B, C, and D in sign language because they can drop their hands down by their desk and tell people the answers to multiple choice questions. They will switch quizzes when I am not looking and then deny that the handwriting is not their. Hi, I grade your papers, I know that your writing looks like you tried to write with your feet, and his looks like Sam Slikkers wrote it in her font-like writing. I own you.

The floors are easy to slide on. I spend a lot of the time running and sliding around the staff room on my flip flops. Someone has to answer the door? I’ll get it, and I’ll run and slide right to it. I’m on study hall supervision and I’m going to check on the students in the library, let me run and slide all the way there. I feel like a four year old.

These kids talk about God all the time, but I feel like the relationship part is lacking. Their relationships are very works-oriented, cross-tattoo-on-wrist oriented, tattoo-of-the-Virgin-Mary-on-their-bicep-oriented, and Jesus-painting-on-wall oriented, but the part where they know God as their best friend is missing. That is my project. That is my burden. Sometimes I feel so ineffective, and God lets me feel that way. It’s okay. I accept that I will not labor in vain (Isaiah… I don’t remember where. Fifty eight, maybe?), but then sometimes God really uses the students to help me to realize why I am here. I had one of those moments on Saturday. I have been talking to a girl with an addiction, and I felt like I was ineffective and throwing encouraging words into a hopeless abyss, but no. J God is alive and well. Though we don’t always see what is going on, our labor is not in vain. I victory danced (appropriately) and smiled like a fool with this lovely girl. Praise God.

I miss my family and friends. I love it here so much, but I miss you guys. Oh, to have my mom play with my hair… or to drive around in Laura’s car and listen to N*Sync’s Christmas album on the way to Barnes and Noble. I miss studying. I honestly do. I’m not homesick, but there are times when I am reminded of things, and I miss them. I feel like I am finally starting to feel normal. I am glad that I have reached this point.

Red Sea-ish

I don't update my blog enough. Ana asfa. (I'm sorry.)

It is 11:35pm, and I am hoping that typing this will not take too long because I want to know what I am doing for my classes tomorrow before I go to bed. I am starting to get sick again. My tonsils were swollen and I am very congested. Krista asked what color it was when I blew my nose to determine whether it's a cold or allergies. I refused to tell her because I refuse to be an allergy nerd. (No offense to those of you with allergies. I know you can't help it, but I just refuse to have them.) In my tenth grade class, we are still reading Night, which is definitely a challenge for the students, but they're starting to like it more and get used to the big words. We also have finished five units of vocabulary lessons, so we are going to have a unit test soon, and I am planning on having a spelling bee using all 50 words on Thursday. The ninth grade classes watched "Akeela and the Bee" in Jessica's class, and they got super excited, so she had a spelling bee with them. They got really into it. We just finished studying the past tense in ninth grade, and I gave them a fatty unit test. The results... oh boy. I am determining which directions of mine were unclear and which failures I can attribute to laziness. I praise God that I have a book to follow and that I am getting into the swing of things. It's about time, eh?

My standards for food have dropped astoundingly. When I first got here and saw the gibna (white feta-ish cheese) I almost died. Now, I eat it like it's nothing. Everything is deep fried or cooked in oil. We made lunch today for the guy SMs, and we used oil in everything. I've heard, "Just choose healthier things to eat." Really? Bring on the granola... but if you can't, I don't want to hear it. It's hard to find much of anything else. Everything is white and processed, and there are no laws against trans-fats. They have Hostess Hohos here (which are flat, by the way), and I refused to eat them at first. Now, they're like nothing to me. Ugh. I disgust myself. The fruits and vegetables are good here though. We go into town to buy some occasionally. That it good. Oh what I would do for walnuts... You have no idea. Michael got them on top of his ice cream when we were in Alexandria, and he gave me one but it fell on the ground. There was no restraining me. It was a walnut after all. I would kill for omega-3s... almost.

Home leave was amazing. Krista's dad came here (and we had an early Christmas with all of the things that he brought from our parents). We went with him to Sharm El Sheikh, which is on the Red Sea. The bus ride took eight hours on the way there - it should have taken six, but there were many check points where they had to look at our passports. There were some crazy Egyptian movies playing as we rode to Sharm. All of them were incredibly dramatic. The man and woman were screaming and each other, more people were screaming, some people were in love, there was lots of really corny suspense music, and in the end the woman tried to light herself on fire. It was just too weird. (I decided to give myself a vacation-ish last week, and I showed my ninth grade classes "The Ultimate Gift" and had activities for them to do with that. When it was over, some of the guys said that they were not good actors. Um... yes they were. That's how people in America act. "When someone dies in Egypt, the people throw the dirt in their hair and scream." "Oh... not in America...") I snorkeled in the bluest water I had ever seen in my life. If I hadn't been there myself I would have believed the pictures were photoshopped. It was amazing. The water felt soft. Jessica read the story of the Israelites crossing the Red Sea for worship. It was so nice. I snorkeled for two days, and I got to have an introductory scuba diving lesson from Guiseppe ("Joseph"), or instructor. It was the most amazing thing I've ever done in my life. It's a whole new world down there. I felt like the Little Mermaid, and probably would have tried to swim like her had not been holding Joseph's hand the whole time. I just stared at the fish in awe and considered that they are there and act the same way even when there is no one there to watch them. (Well, duh, but it was felt so profound to consider that.)

We heard some pretty great lines while shopping at Naama Bay: 

"You marry me, I give you my shop." 

"I've been looking for a pretty American girl to marry." To which I responded, "Well keep looking."

They thought that it was so funny when we responded in Arabic. They were very surprised too. One man said, "I love you! Will you love me today?" "La. (No.)" He burst out laughing, "But why?!" "Alashan ana oltekeda. (Because I said so.)"

We got the prices much lower than they were selling everything for because we live near Cairo. "Seriously? We live in Cairo. I can get this for 10 pounds."

I get really close to people through one-on-one interaction, and I've had the opportunity to talk to some of the students on a very deep level. Some have shared some very deep problems with me, and many struggle with addiction, insecurity, loneliness, depression, and every other problem that young people struggle with. Please please please pray that God would be everything that they need and that He would strengthen them. I have two particular ones that are struggling with addictions and temptation, and I want to ask you to lift them up in prayer. Thank you so much.

I've been singing a lot more here. Publicly and just on my own. I feel like my voice has improved, and I love singing so much. 

I have to give Krista her computer now. My mosquito repellent is not very effective. We've been sleeping in our mosquito net and joking about the "caged bird" singing. Things always seem to be funnier at night. Much funnier.

Spoons, hot computer, complaining, rambling, & love

Too many spoons were disappearing from the cafeteria, so Pastor Tom decided that everyone gets their own spoon, and they have to bring it to all the meals. If they lose their spoon, they can buy another one for two pounds. When Om Fady (the lady who is in charge of the cafeteria) sees that not too many people have had to buy new spoons, we can go back to the old way of eating. Some of the kids are punching holes in the handles and making them necklaces. Some are wearing them as bracelets. They're having fun. I love young people.

I told my computer to turn off and put it in my bag… but it didn’t turn off apparently. I heard a strange noise coming from it a couple hours later. I pulled out my laptop, which was shrieking and felt like it was on fire, and I forced it off. (I’m sorry Dad…) Since then, my computer has worked just fine, but the fan has been really loud, and the students can’t stand it. They either offer to take it somewhere to be fixed or to break it. (Some have said that they will “attack” it. Attack is a 9^th grade vocabulary word.) I am watching my student Korollos make up a quiz, and the sound of my computer sincerely bothers him. He’s clutching his ears, and he shudders every time it gets a little louder. Oh well… it will teach him patience and help him to love the unlovable. Haha. He just handed it to me, and I graded it quickly. At the bottom he wrote, “With my blessings to you… Kero the prince of love.” Minus 2.

Apparently, this year has been the most academically challenging year that they have had at NUA, and there have been complaints. I don’t know if it is because some teachers aren’t good at teaching or if we are just holding them to higher standards. I am just so annoyed with laziness and irresponsibility. Then I consider that in elementary school, we were given assignment notebooks to write down everything that we had to do. They’ve probably never heard of that, and if they don’t remember what the homework is, they don’t do it. They come up to me a lot and ask, “Do we have anything?” I am passive aggressive. “What do you mean?” I know exactly what they mean. “Tomorrow, Miss!” “You have work and your classes tomorrow…?” “No, Miss!” “Ask me what you mean to say.” “Do we have any homework for tomorrow?” “You tell me.” I’m not always that difficult. I feel like such a complainer on here, and I apologize. One more complaint, and then I’ll talk about good things. For my grammar and writing classes, we’ve been covering the past tense for who knows how long, and so they’ve been working on writing a children’s story. It has to be told in the past tense, and they also have to summarize it, tell me the point of view, character traits, themes, and the other things that I’ve taught them. There aren’t enough computers in the lab for everyone to type their rough draft, so I split up the class. Half of them were in the lab, and the other half I gave a simple writing assignment and said that they could leave if they wanted to but there would be no excuses or complaints later. They had 80 minutes to type their one paragraph-ish stories. How many of the writing assignment did I get yesterday from 9A? Four out of seventeen. Are you kidding me? Are you serious? FOUR?! Then I beasted them and told them how lucky they were that I give them 70% credit for late work. I started out not taking any. “Do you know what you need in this class to go on to tenth grade? 70%. Many of you are failing—not because you are not smart, but you are being very lazy and irresponsible. You tested into this class, so I know that you can do the work. I give you plenty of time, and this is completely inexcusable. If you want to be in ninth grade again, that is your choice. At most high schools and colleges, late work is not accepted, and you had just better hope that you do well on the rest of the assignments.” 9B was a better about it—13/19. I’m done. Sorry.

My students are so funny though. When we have a test, I let them take desks outside, which helps control cheating, and it’s just nice to go outside. One of my 9A guys, David, brought out a desk, and stuck it in a tree, and took the desk up in a tree. I didn’t notice until he was done and couldn’t get it out. Oh I was laughing so hard. Sometimes I try to be serious, but they know when they get me and I can’t help but laugh. I’ll be taking attendance, and they mess with me. “David?” “Always here.” “Dominique?” “Just for you.” Just for you? I tried to keep my mouth shut, but I started laughing so hard. When the students know the answer, they want the world to know, so even if I call on someone, the entire class tries to answer. I’ll call on Jackline. Abanoub shouts out his answer in a sing-song voice. “Abanoub, are you Jackline?” He mutters in Arabic that we are all same to “Messiha.” I start laughing and turn around to write on the board.

Next semester, Jessica does not have to teach Reading anymore (I capitalized “Reading” because it’s the name of a class, not because I’m one of those frivolous, “think-outside-the-box” people that capitalizes random words). Because she is losing two of her classes, she is probably going to pick up a couple of mine, and I am praying that she takes two periods of writing. I can write, but I just have so much trouble teaching it. I own the world when it comes to proof-reading, but I am not creative enough or “big picture-oriented” enough to teach writing. Hopefully then I can teach a pre-algebra class or a Bible class. Maryam Mosa is considering giving me her Bible class. Oh… I would love that. I would absolutely love it. I feel like such a naggy witch of a teacher a lot of the time because grammar is so boring, so they are bored in class and don’t do their homework. But at the beginning, I give a short devotional thought, and in those few minutes, I feel like myself. I feel like if they don’t learn that “There was a boy name magdy he is seventeen…” is wrong, they will at least, hopefully, learn something more about God. They like my stories, and they have a lot of questions, that I would love to address. Answers are so important.

I don’t feel like I’m giving enough. I feel distracted, and I… I guess I know what to do. I just don’t want to. I feel like I could be more effective and like I could be serving more if I was not distracted. While I focus on helping one area, I am missing another. Once again, I am being obnoxiously ambiguous. But I just want to tell you how I feel, without divulging any information. Not fair. I know.

 I’m forgetting my nursing things. I’m going to have my parents bring my pathophysiology book when they come to visit in January. The nurse practitioner here, Peggy Miller, is letting me do some little things. I’ve gotten to give a few IM injections, and I feel a billion times more comfortable with that. Some students have heard that I’m a nursing student, and so they think that I am practically a doctor and that I have permission to excuse them from classes. Hahaha. Sure I do.

Tonight my drama class has their first performance. I stole the skit to “You Were There” by Avalon from camp. We’re doing it Egypt-style. It looks good. I’m excited for them.

I’m on a soccer team. Yes, me. I felt like I should be involved.

I’m learning some Arabic expressions and jokes, and I understand them when I hear other people say them now. “Ya maAlim” kind of means that someone is a good teacher (the meaning is taken from a movie), but it’s in a way where someone owns something. When Jessica did something really well in soccer, one of the guys shouted, “Ya maAlim!” When I was explaining the verb “draw” to 9B and drew a stick figure on the board, Mina yelled, “Ya maAlim.” Haha. He started calling me “Bent e maAlim John,” which is “daughter of the great teacher John.” They always make jokes about my dad. My name, by the way, is Sara John Emil.

I was watching a movie about the Holocaust and there was a scene in a Dutch home, and Jessica and I got excited because it looked like Iwan’s parents’ house in Holland and we had a connection with that. Then we considered what it would be like to see a movie about Egypt a year from now. “That is my place! I understand that! Just so you know, I get it! Yes! Did you hear that?! That’s exactly how it is!” And no one would understand how we would feel. I’m so glad I came with a friend. Leaving here is going to break me.

Read the first few verses of 1 Corinthians 13. If you sing a special music that is not done in love, to heaven it sounds like you are banging pots together. You can give everything to the poor. If it’s not done in love, it’s worthless. “By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another”
 (John 13:35). 

Breakdown and Recovery

I had a breakdown on Wednesday night. I guess it's about time. I've been here a while. I was stressed out because I didn't have a reader to help me grade papers, tests, or quizzes. So in addition to lesson plans and writing worksheets and tests, I had to grade six periods worth of work. I'm adjusting and learning a lot. I know have Sara Miller, the missionary daughter of the nurse practitioner and maintenance man, helping to grade for me. My assignments do not have black and white answers, so I needed an English speaker. I am so grateful.

I'll be very open with you (whoever you may be) and write some of what I wrote in my journal:

October 15, 2009 1:04 am - on my bed

God... I need Your help. I am so stressed. I would love Your peace, but I also need help grading papers. Ah. I just want to cry. How can I not have a reader? But a reader can't grade essays and sentences. Stupid English. Lord, please. I am so tired and I have so much to do in so little time. My grades are a week overdue. I am disorganized and inadequate. I want to bond with students, and I want to help them, but there's no time to grade anything or plan anything at night. I'm so tired. I need help. I don't know what to do. If 7/17 people turn in an assignment, is that my fault? I need to cover things more in depth because they don't seem to be learning a thing! So many have Ds and Fs... what am I supposed to do? DO YOUR HOMEWORK! TAKE MY CLASS SERIOUSLY! Basketball is not spelled "beicetball," (name 1)! (name 2), sit down and shut your mouth! (name 3), stop being so lazy. Just because you people can't cheat on my homework doesn't mean you can skip it. God, I just want You to hug me. I'm so inadequate. ... (stuff I don't want to broadcast to everyone with internet access) ... I'm tired of wearing the same clothes every day. I'm tired of breaking out. I'm a bad person... I could and should be better. Why am I ruining my only SM year? I owe Mrs. Peggy ___ LE for that package from ____. (name 4), stop talking. (name 5), shut up! (name 6), sit up in your desk and act like you are alive. Do not say, "That's enough, ya Miss," or I'll punch you. (name 7 and name 8), why are you in tenth grade? (name 9), open your eyes and close your mouth. (name 10 and name 11), if you lay your head on your desk one more time, I'm going to flip it over. (name 12), don't you dare try to act like I'm an idiot. You need to mind your own business and READ THE DIRECTIONS! To myself: Shape up. Why do you do what will harm you? Oh God, I love You so much.

So now you saw into my ugly soul. Hm. There I am. (For the record, I wouldn't punch anyone or flip their desks over...)

October 16, 2009 1:08am - on my bed

Today started out really rough. I was incredibly stressed, and 10 minutes before my 10th grade class started I had no idea what I was going to teach--no idea. Anything would have pushed me over the edge to make me cry. I was almost crying when asking Jessica for ideas five minutes before class. She saved my life. I taught topic sentences, and it took 80 minutes. Abanoub Khamis asked me to check one of his sentences. It was supposed to be, "I like ___ because ___, ___, and ___." It said, "I like my best teacher Mis Sara. She is my sister because she tell me I need help, she offer to help me, and she patient with me." It was something really close to that. I wanted to cry. He is such a quiet and sweet guy, and I just praise God for using him. To hear that someone thinks that I am patient with him means so much to me.

God has never given me anything more than I could handle. Never. I am so happy to be here.