The Eve of Birth

Driving up Pleasant Street toward Newton Square two nights ago, I saw the nearly full moon.  For now, big moons still remind me of my daughter.  She is nearly thirteen weeks old and was born at 4:20 p.m. under the rising supermoon of June 23.  On the eve of her birth and this rare lunar event I toured Coptic Cairo with Justin and our midwife, Erika.  Feeling nostalgic, I spent some time this week looking through photographs of this trip and would like to share them here.

I apologize for not offering more history of Coptic Cairo or explanation of the photos.  My mothering mind and body are as bleary as my eyes these days.  And although I so clearly see writing ahead of me, it remains more or less beyond my reach.  Looking at the images without a complete understanding actually feels more apropos to my supremely pregnant and somewhat disorienting experience in this very old part of the city (the Coptic Orthodox Church is believed to have been established in the first century).

We walked for hours under a severe Egyptian summer sun, among giant stone angels, tombs, crosses, and mausoleums.  Churches from as far back as the year 690 were literally above and below us.  The Hanging Church, which is built suspended over a gatehouse of Babylon Fortress, swallowed us whole.  In hindsight it was an awfully wild place to be on the eve of May's birth.  The moon and ancient holy temples above drew my gaze heavenward; May and an ancient fortress below pulled my being downward.  I felt stretched...  or better yet, dilated...  in every direction.

If you feel like getting lost in nearly two hundred images of this ancient place, click here to view our full (un-edited) album.

Be for Gladness

In eleven short weeks, I sense subtle ways in which May resembles her parents.  Like Dad, she is tall and strong, a champion sleeper, and she loves watching movies.  May recently powered through most of Kenneth Branagh's four-hour epic version of Hamlet and this ridiculous music video leaves her mesmerized.  Like Mom, she has big eyes, an expressive face, and a potential tendency toward contemplation.  

But more than anything, May is her own sentient being.  In her eyes, I see a willful and independent spirit.  When she sleeps, I sometimes gaze at her and think of Kahlil Gibran's poem, On Children.  I know this poem more as a song, sung by Sweet Honey in the Rock and recommend taking a listen.  My favorite line is... let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness.  :)

May at Wingaersheek Beach.  Something so essential about her in this particular moment.

Over the Moon

So I didn't get to see the fullest and closest supermoon this past Sunday night.  Instead, I stayed inside and felt her tremendous pull.  :)  Out came May, that late afternoon.  She was born in our home.  It was all so beyond everything.  

The two weeks leading up to her birth were extra special, as our midwife Erika Beecher has been living with us.  We explored some of the wonders of Cairo and I hope to write and share more about all of that.  And especially more about Erika.  Like a whole book about her, in the series that will tell the story of our life in Egypt.  In the entire universe of birth, Erika is the sage.  She is the salve.  Like Sunday's moon, we have the fullest, closest, most super experience of life yet to thank her for.  And my God, we love her forever.   

Zillions of photos have been taken.  We'll be so happy to share those with you as it all fits into our new way of life.  In the meantime, here is some of the video footage we've gathered.  It's all is my husband's secret late night, early morning doing.  I am so over the moon in love with him and this girl. 

Thank you everyone for checking in and sending love, prayers, meditations, and all else.  You are in our hearts and on our minds always.   

Birthdays, Deathdays, Lifedays

Threads of life and death are all tangled in an awesome way lately.  Fourteen years ago on June first, my mother passed away.  Four years ago on June first, Louise Champagne (daughter to my best friend Meghan Champagne) was born in the early morning, breathing new life into the date.  Today is the birthday of my closest friend throughout youth, C. Z-Spano.  C. Z-Spano, was with me the morning my mother died...  while today, she is pregnant with a baby boy who is scheduled to hit the scene within days of our baby girl.  End of April, my maternal grandfather passed away.  His memorial service in Washington D.C. will be held on June 15, one day before our girl's expected due date.  My sister-in-law Grace was born on June 13, 1988; my cousin Jonathan on June 3, 1983; Justin just three days ago in 1985.  Seems like it's all happening right now.  It's always 'all happening right now', but I feel an increase.  There is no clear line between any of the birthdays, deathdays, or lifedays in between.  Everything happens on the heels of the next thing or is connected to a thing from long ago.  Which means today has to do with what has yet to be.  My head is in a tizzy.

I want to share a couple photos of my mother with you.  Throughout my younger years, she was mom...  since pregnancy, she has returned as Mother.  What I mean by this is more of a book thing and less of a blog thing.  I am in love with the mystery of how relationships continue to evolve long after death.  Today, I feel her.  In my bones, I really do feel her.  And she is perfect now.

Love you all and thanks for reading!  Hope your weekend is/was relaxing and offered some respite from the heat.

Mom with my Grandpa and Grandma.  Damn, they're good lookin'.  This gang has passed on, are all reunited in some mysterious way, and all now know the score.

Ain't she pretty?  And groovy hair, right?!

Mom and Grandma.  A couple of strong women, these two.  

And the next two in line.  Feeling damn proud of who I am and who I come from.

     

Motherwall

It is officially one hundred degrees in Cairo, Egypt.  The intense heat of the sun makes it very easy to exhaust the inner fuel tank.  One need do nothing at all!  Just be in the sun for half an hour (give or take).  To sit idly works just fine.  Before you know it...  "Ana gyp degaz!"  This is terrible phonetic spelling for a common Arabic phrase that means, "I'm outta gas!"  So this morning I decided to pump the AC and finish a home project that's been on my to-do list.  All done now and my tank is re-fueled.  I'm full of gas!  ;)

For months now, I've pondered the billions upon billions of women before me who have done what I am soon going to do.  To birth, that is.  I imagine these women in so many different settings...  a bedroom, the jungle, a pool, fields and meadows, a hospital room, the desert at night, a taxicab...  doing a thing their bodies are so simply capable of doing.  I especially like to remember the mothers in my life.  They are a source of strength for me; when I think of the personal birth stories they've shared, I believe in my capacity even more.  Creating a photo collage of these women seemed like a good tool for practicing this remembering every day until, and even during, labor.  I love it!  And recommend something like this as a support for any expectant mom who draws strength from the interconnectedness of all mothers throughout time.  

Here are a just a few photos from the wall, minus the two most important that I left behind in Worcester.  My mother and my maternal grandmother aren't in the mix!  Since both have passed on, it feels a shame to not see their faces in the collage.  But I guess when you think about umbilical cords and threads and such, they're quite literally a part of me...  in a way that no photograph is...  and I couldn't possibly have left home without them.  

A Quick Blog Boast

The STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics) schools Justin has been working with were recently highlighted on a news network in Cairo.  The fellow speaking about the project is Essam Heggy, member of the NASA Science team.  Justin and a co-worker took care to translate and add subtitles.  I'm feeling very proud of Justin and want to share this clip with our devoted readership.   Toot toot!  Enjoy!

As a sidenote...  when asked why Essam was drawn to space exploration, he replied, "Being born in a small oasis in the desert, I always wanted to learn how to explore water and understand why stars are shiny in the clear desert night sky."  Yes!  I don't know when Essam first felt this pull, but his remark makes me think of children.  Little ones are so close to 'the source'...  or, to whatever preceded life and whatever comes after life.  The thoughts and wisdom they have while so young are not to be taken lightly.  I hope May and any other children we have are as fearless as Essam in pursuing their greatest personal wonderments.  

Something

Two weeks ago, Justin and I went to the premiere screening at a nearby church of a film titled The Stones Cry Out; The Story of Palestinian Christians.  Filmmaker Yasmine Perni also spoke about her experience creating her first documentary.  During the Q&A a woman expressed gratitude for the illuminating story and asked, in an almost desperate tone, "This is so important to know.  What do we do now, Yasmine?"  Yasmine's way throughout this portion of the evening was honest, humble, and endearing.  She must have reiterated with each question that she is not a filmmaker, has never produced anything, and has very little idea what to do next.  She simply suggested that this woman tell people, share the story, and to keep learning.  In fact, Yasmine suggested this in each response...  and explained that somewhere along her life path, she started hearing a new perspective on an old story.  It compelled her to learn more and, ultimately, share the stories.  To say something.

A few weeks ago, my father-in-law Scott drove me to Logan Airport to catch my departing flight back to Cairo.  We got to talking about all kinds of things, including the bombing at the Boston Marathon.  Scott, Claire, and Aiden were all within a block or three blocks of the finish line when the bomb detonated.  We spoke of the country's reaction (which continues to unfold) and both expressed great hope that it not be one that perpetuates the cycle of violence, hatred, and fear.  Scott had responded to questions from different news sources that week, feeling it's very important to say something...  and to participate in promoting peaceful solutions, at the very least, through the sharing of words and experience.

Just this past week, I've come across articles on Facebook about the protests going on outside the Graham, Putnam, and Mahoney Funeral Home in Worcester.  Owner Peter Stefan has assumed responsibility for the care of Tamerlan Tsarnaev's body and for working to find a cemetery that will welcome him.  Word spread quickly and protestors wasted no time in expressing opposition.  Many claim Mr. Stefan is supporting a terrorist act.  I'm not sure if or how the City of Worcester is involved in this dispute, but if they are I hope they do the right thing and support Mr. Stefan's efforts.  This article is worth reading, as is the Catholic Worker's press release (scroll down) announcing a vigil to be held tonight in support of the burial of Tamerlan Tsarnaev.

More often than not, my mind races with wonderings about roots.  What is the root of hatred?  Of violence, poverty, hunger, oppression, or fear?  I tend to hang back when controversial topics come up, assuming I don't have enough experience or knowledge about history, society, culture, or whatever else to really go to bat...  for a feeling.  Is a feeling enough to move forward with?  Just this morning, someone older and wiser reminded me that it absolutely is.  And my wisdom does run deep.  How quickly we second-guess ourselves and defer or keep silent.  That, in it's own way, perpetuates the very cycles I so often contemplate.

The internet, Facebook in particular, assaults me daily with articles and images of so much.  For some reason, I felt especially triggered by a recent headline about escalating airstrikes over Syria by Israeli warplanes.  Incredible.  I'm not sure what this rambling post is all about.  Like Yasmine, Scott, and millions of others have discovered over the years...  it's just important to say something.  Where it all leads, who knows?  Trust small acts and early steps.  Period.  And what I have to say is I'm certain that the root of violence is not more violence.  Makes me think of something I read about the film The Interrupters.  "This powerful documentary follows CeaseFire, a Chicago-based group - staffed by former gang members - that's dedicated to wiping out urban violence.  The organization treats violence like an infection and seeks to eradicate the root cause."

Fear not, loved ones!  Lighter posts and beautiful photos to come.  :)  Justin had the past five days off and we were up to all kinds of fun and exploration.  Looking forward to sharing those with you as well!  In the meantime, follow the links in this post.  You can watch the trailer for Yasmine's film and learn more about tonight's vigil in Worcester.

And since blogs are better with more visual stimulation, here are a few photos for the sake of photos (mostly taken during my visit to the states).  Consider each one of a million reasons to not get violent?  KEEP THESE THINGS ON THE MAP!

Donkeys!  You know, the Animal Kingdom...

Babies!  Family!  Walking them to preschool in the morning!

Rooftop gardens in Cairo and around the world!  Growing food for yourself and others.

Art!  Self-expression!  Here, zooming in on one of Aiden Schaeffer-Duffy's senior art show pieces.

More family!  And community!  My cousin Kyle Preston is in there somewhere.  

Moss?  Yeah, ancient stuff like moss.  Also healing!  This was taken alongside a stream in Jaffrey, NH near the John Harvey Grey Center for Reiki Healing where I've been studying Reiki.

What's Really a Wonder of the World?

We've been living in Egypt for over three months and I have yet to visit the Pyramids.  I have yet to see the Sphynx.  It is not to say that I have no interest in seeing this Wonder of the World, but I do not overwhelmingly care to (note the first listed etymology on this link).  Maybe for the same reason I find it hard to remember mundane things or harness my attention, I've not noticed my interest turning toward the Pyramids for very long.  Call it what you will...  mommy brain...  uterine brain drain...  I am hopelessly fixed on a different little wonder of the world.         

I am her timpani drum.  Lately, from inside, she wails her very own arhythmic song of creation.  If there were a rhythm to her expression I would be the one to know.  Me.  Mother?  Surely something about all of this defines or even transcends rhythm, but that is hard to explain.  Maybe that something is overall creation...  coming into being.  

Anyway, here she was.  Some of the childbirth preparation work and exercises Justin and I have started include relaxation techniques.  Yesterday afternoon, we were talking about observation as a necessary prelude to relaxation.  I hope you too feel a certain melting-away feeling as you observe this tiny wonder.  

    

   

Despite all my Rage

So, it's 6:03 AM here and I am just back from dropping Patricia off at the airport.  She's headed back to the US for a few weeks, while Harley and I hold down the fort at home.  We were driven to and from the airport by our good friend/taxi driver Sami (pictured left), who reminds me of a more talkative version of this guy in that he is a stylish dresser (like most people here) and knows the score.  Cairo at 5 AM on a Friday is quiet, and driving back from the airport takes you through the Necropolis (city of the dead) which is especially quiet.  So... yalla nadardish (let's chat... the favorite Egyptian pastime).

Sami speaks fluent English, so we started chatting about where to get the best leather shoes and how the security people in the Necropolis deal with the threat of grave robbers looking to supply medical students with cadavers.  Eventually, I decided to ask him about a recent email I'd gotten from cairowarden (the State Department's alert service for Americans).  This was the subject line:

SUBJECT:  Security Message for U.S. Citizens No. 40:  Calls for “Day of Rage” on Saturday, April 6, 2013

"Day of Rage"?  Sounds pretty ominous.  My conversation with Sami went something like this:

Me: Hey, did you hear there is supposed to be a big mazahara (demonstration) tomorrow?
Sami: Yeah, I did hear that.
Me: Where did you hear about it?  What do you know?
Sami: You know, it was supposed to be today...Friday.  But they change it.  Because today we make a day, a special day for the children.  Children who have no mother and no father, something like that.
Me: Orphans.
Sami: Orfanz?
Me: Yeah.  In English we call them orphans.
Sami: Yeah, today is the day for these children.  So they change it because they respect that.

Today's headline: Day of Rage rescheduled in honor of National Orphans Day

Odds and Ends

Street Cats and Pi Dogs

To walk a dog is essentially simple.  At times it feels like a chore, but more often than not it's just really nice.  Early morning is the best time to stroll in our neighborhood.  Most cars and their stinky presence have yet to rise, so jasmine and orange blossoms creep into your nose and saturate your headspace.  Many bowabs have begun their sunrise watering routines of rinsing flowers and trees, cars and sidewalks.  You can feel and smell the wet, and imagine rain.  Harley and I are happy as pigs in shit, this perfect time of day.  But the moment the city wakes up, along with it's hundreds of feral felines and canines...  one must beware.  For behind any garbage can, beneath any parked car, atop any shrub or tree, they lie lawlessly in wait.

Last weekend, Justin and Harley came home from an early evening walk with bloody wounds and an unfortunate battle story.  A gang of fierce street cats pounced out of the woodwork, screaming their deadly howls and leaving my guys cut-up on leg and nose.  I've yet to have a run-in with cats, but have created a score of outrageous scenes fighting off the nastiest of pi dog packs.

Justin's first line of defense is carrying a rock in hand, which serves to threaten rather than attack.  My strategy is to make as if seeing a bear in the wilderness...  scream and act big.  "AH!  AH!  GITOUTTAHERE, GIT!"  I bark, flail my limbs and biggering belly, and push back.  I swear, one could ride a small surfboard on the ripcurl of these dogs' gnarly snares.

While it feels good to protect and defend my own, I realize the dogs are just doing the same.  The poor creatures have no caretaker to whom they can dedicate their hearts, so they dedicate them to the lonely streets they roam.  And when it's the female dogs who come at us, as we all bark, I can't help but feel a respect and kinship...  toward nipples hanging low and full, and defenseless pups somewhere nearby.

Beautiful People

Everywhere, there they are.

Standing next to me on the train in a black headscarf, a woman twice my age observes my pregnant self and offers me her seat.

On my weekly trip to Menar's farm, Ommy ow Magdi brings me tea sweetened with sugar and tells me to put my feet up.  Ommy ow Magdi translates to 'mother of Magdi', which is how many women in the countryside are addressed once they've had children.

A cab driver from almost two months back with a smile so bright you need shades told Justin with deep pride and affection of his three beautiful daughters, all of whom were born at home.  The youngest daughter is named May and he showed us a photograph.  "If you have a daughter, you name her May."  We are having a daughter and we have named her May.

Ostaz Gamal, a seventy-six year old man we met in February, narrates a tour through his beloved street garden on a long, wide median strip in downtown Heliopolis.  We struggle happily to communicate with one another in broken English and broken Arabic.  He names every flower and says with an endearing accent, "This one, very nice.  This one, very beautiful."  He explains that the Indian jasmine is a new transplant he hopes to cultivate into a canopy that will envelop passersby in it's fragrance...  or in what he worded as "a beauuuuutiful smell tent".  Yes!  Sometimes, flowers and other items are stolen from the garden.  Sometimes, they are simply broken and left behind.  He says it makes his heart hurt, as the flowers are like his sons.

Ostaz Gamal is an ardent gardener and beloved community activist.  In Arabic, 'ostaz' means 'mister' and 'gamal' translates to 'beauty'!  I should say you sure do exude it, Ostaz Gamal.

Ostaz Gamal showed us around for well over an hour, identifying myriad flowers and plants by name.  He oversees volunteers who help manage the Heliopolis Street Garden, a protected and multifunctional green space in downtown Heliopolis. 

Indian jasmine...  the beginnings of an intoxicating smell tent.

The Red Sea

The world's northernmost tropical sea... a home to more than one thousand invertebrate species and two hundred varieties of coral...  has now cleansed we three.

Through the Gulf of Aden, the Red Sea exchanges it's water with the Arabian Sea and the Indian Ocean.  I love to think about this exchange.  An exchange of salt water, a sharing of personal strength, a give and take of healing power.  Still can't believe my body and May and J were in it.

I have two cousins, intrepid travelers inspired by our family's older generation of intrepid travelers, with a life aspiration of setting foot on every continent.  Barb and Linda have long been on their way toward this goal.  I think now of it's complementary goal that I might take on...  to set my body in every ocean on this awe-some planet.  Click here for a few more from our day at the Red Sea.
       

 

Maps

So I've been looking at and pondering my breasts lately.  A lot.  Although they're more like road maps with their fascinating and intricate network of veins ever-developing.  Two maps on either side of my heart and above this growing baby.  Sometimes I look at them and wonder...  where would these maps lead me?  

Soaring peaks and bottomless valleys make up the landscape of our daily lives here in Cairo...  city of seventeen million people and ongoing revolution.  The best and worst of humanity punches me in the face morning, noon, and night.  I either catapult into the ether with optimism, love, and determination...  or am hammered down, pounded into polluted ground with a broken heart and spit in my face.  Justin and I have spent a good stretch of time talking about the staggering spectrum of emotion that we can feel in a single day.

Things happen and some days I feel angry, oppressed, and misunderstood.  Usually I think that if only I had more knowledge...  which would lead more understanding...  which could lead to more empathy or compassion...  then this wouldn't be the case.  Maybe the pollution, the glares, the shaming fingers wouldn't bother me so.  And what is really, actually happening in these moments, anyway?  What is lost or created in the risky business of perception?  Were the glares from that man on the street this afternoon all in my mind?  Who am I to assume what a certain look means?  Are body language and facial expression as different in a foreign country as oral language?  I feel how I feel, sit with the questions, and try to just be.

The volley from peak to valley to peak, left to right to center, love to contempt to ambivalence leaves me feeling cashed out, confused, and lost.  Staring at these weird breast maps is comforting.

This past weekend some map or intuition led us out of the city to Bahariya, Egypt.  Bahariya is a massive geological depression and desert oasis located 360km outside of Cairo.  Inhabitants of Bahariya refer to themselves as 'Wahati', 'of the oasis', and are descendants of Bedouin tribes.  Justin, Harley, and I stayed for three days.  We swam in a hot spring of rust-colored, iron-rich water.  We toured the sights.  We walked into various unmarked caves and tombs and looked at various unmarked paintings and carvings on the underground walls and chose to believe that yes, this probably is the tomb of Alexander the Great...  or yes, these probably are the Golden Mummies.  Whatever it all was, it was far out.  And it was old.  Very, very old.

Our last night we camped in the White Desert.  Sixty million years ago, we'd have been camping at the bottom of a shallow sea.  I won't try to describe this place or the affect it had on me.  Not right now, not yet.  But I'll give a shout out to our guide Hamada.  You'll see Hamada in the photos.  My time in the White Desert shifted my whole being.  I'm too afraid to try and articulate what I mean, though it was for sure away from the angry, oppressed, and misunderstood.  Hamada had to do with the shift.  The infinite space had to do with the shift.  Getting to be alone, while near Justin and Harley and the growing baby in this feeling of the infinite had to do with the shift.  I've never experienced space so vast or deafeningly silent.  I've simply never felt so close to space.

Below are a few nice photos, though you can click here to see a bigger album.  We stopped frequently along the way from Bahariya to the White Desert.  Scrolling through the photos, you'll know when you arrive at the latter.  Looks like Star Wars, looks like snow, but really it doesn't look like anything else in the history of the time and space (as far as I know).  We left our Canon Rebel at home, but the PowerShot proved itself a solid back-up.  Not bad, not bad at all!

       

      

New Friend

Last week we welcomed our first visitor.  Jonathan Ostrow, brother to our good friend Tonia, stopped through Cairo on his journey home from a wedding in Athens.  We did not know much of Jonathan before his visit.  Turns out we have a new and dear friend who opened our minds and eyes in ways we didn't quite expect.

Jonathan blazed into one of the largest cities in the world without a detailed plan, but with a wellspring of undaunted determination.  He flew solo his first night and wasted no time, making his way around in cabs to his hotel and to Khan el-Khalili market.  The challenge of completing even a single cab ride in a city this size, with cab drivers who don't speak your language but who have mastered the art of scamming foreigners, is a triumph unto itself.  And to continue onward and brave one of the oldest, most disorienting souks in the world?  On your own?!  Well...  hats off to you, Jonathan.

In the few days that followed, Justin and/or I joined Jonathan on trips to the Museum of Islamic Art,  Khan el-Khalili, and al-Fishawy Cafe.  The Museum of Islamic Art is my kind of museum.  Usually, I feel some sort of weird social pressure to absorb the extensive information that accompanies exhibits in American museums.  Here in Cairo, and I recall this was the case in India as well, the background and descriptions provided are short and sweet.  As someone who spends lots of dreamy time in her own head, I really appreciated this approach.  Observe, imagine, and wonder.  This museum is chock full of woodwork and ceramic, glass, and textile artifacts.  All the pieces are so geometric in their design that it's a great place to sit and sketch, if that strikes your fancy.

To visit Khan el-Khalili is to experience sudden and overwhelming stimulation of all senses...  and then some.  It is an utter labyrinth dripping in brass antiques, brass junk, rainbows of textiles and jewelry, ribbons of shisha smoke, tea and coffeeshops, spices beyond compare, and more than everything in between.  The souk dates back to 1382 and spreads out horizontally in some areas, but more often towers above encasing you in it's looming maze of alleyways.  We visited the market at night, which made for a hypnotizing evening that twinkled in the shine of so many goods and wares.

Al-Fishawy Cafe rests in the heart of Khan el-Khalili and translates to 'cafe of mirrors'.  A perfect comparison, as the whole area is so winding and alive that I swear you'd disappear if you dared to blink.  Al-Fishawy was a frequent hangout of Nobel Prize winning author Naguib Mahfouz, and offers mystifying charm.  The three of us camped out in the cafe past midnight after wandering the serpentine streets of the old souk.  We drank tea, ate falafel and tahini, and enjoyed the unexpected live serenade of an oud player.

Jonathan's appetite for experiencing and understanding other cultures is as genuine as spring rain and entirely contagious.  It's been a long time since I've met someone with such an endearingly curious and inquisitive nature.  I had no idea what a good time we'd all end up having together and am really thankful he shared his zest for the outside world with us.  Thank you, Jonathan!  You have set the bar high for all future visitors.  :)  

Check out the albums from some of our adventures!  Justin's eye strikes again!  Peruse when you have a minute, as the photos are many and all quite stunning.

Antiquing
Our Trip to Khan al-Khalili and al-Fishawy
The Islamic Museum

Taxi chats

I spend a lot of time in taxis these days. Thanks to Cairo's infamous traffic, I have been getting a lot of impromptu Arabic lessons from cab drivers. Boshoy (my driver today) have been going back and forth for the past hour and a half. Mainly traffic related vocab, it sounds something like this:

'Ey da bil ingleezy?' (What is that in English?)

'Pothole'

'Bothul?'

'Pot... Hole'

'Balt..hull?

'Pot hole'

'Bothole'

The next five minutes are quiet while Boshoy whispers 'bothole' to himself over and over.

His English approximations are much better than my weak attempts at Arabic. We both laugh at each others inability to pronounce certain letters.  He shows me his "I heart you Jesus" bracelet after asking about the ashes on my forehead. I tell him about Ash Wednesday (which I loosely explain as 'the start of Catholic Ramadan'). He shows me his Coptic tattoo on the inside of his right wrist. I listen to his taraneem (Coptic music), I show him some jay z but we can't figure out how to transfer files between our phones.

We pull up to the apartment. I ask for change, he smiles and corrects my pronunciation. "I glad to meet you" he says haltingly as I leave. I tap on the glass add he begins to pull out and say "Ana mabsood... shan... shufta".

Come on!

Secret Garden

I spent Sunday morning at one of the most quaint and beautiful farms I've ever seen.  Nestled thirty-five miles outside of Cairo in Mansheyet Kasseb, Giza, the land teemed with fruit trees, vegetable crops, herbs, flowering plants, birds, and bees.   It's owned and operated by a small business owner named Menar.  I learned of her business, Minnie's Dried Fruits and Vegetables, during my December visit, when a friend introduced me to her products on sale at a local restaurant.  Anxious to sniff out farming/gardening possibilites upon my move here, I read a bit more about Minnie's online.  Turns out the mission of her work is just as much about providing training and employment opportunities to women in rural communities as it is about offering healthy, organic, and sustainably produced foods to neighborhoods throughout Cairo.  Menar responded to my email inquiry with kindness and generosity, inviting me to visit as soon as I'd settled in.

The photos below capture a few nice close-ups.  The women you see are setting out strawberries for drying on a solar-powered dehydration tunnel.  Although the business sells only dehydrated products, Menar and her team of women grow scads of other crops that feed their families and friends.  I wandered around all morning, sketching what I could of dill, caraway, linseed, and other herbs, but the greatest highlight was seeing my first cinnamon tree!  Wow!  I eat cinnamon daily and was all smiles to see where it comes from.  Cinnamon trees have to grow for quite some time before the bark is ready for our enjoyment.

Menar sent me home with an overflowing bag of garden goodies.  Justin and I ate an enormous salad that night full of spinach, romaine, arugula, celery, green onions, and a zesty homemade lemon-herb vinaigrette.  We've got leftovers comin' out our ears.  

I am looking forward to seeing how this new connection grows.  Saturday, I'll join Menar in Zamalek, Cairo to sell at a farmer's market.  She also works with an NGO that has interest in starting a community gardens program here in Maadi.  Most of the women are working so hard on other projects that they haven't had the time to move forward on this one...  but perhaps with a new set of hands, they will!

Life is buzzing; many more photos and words are brewing.  Our first visitor arrives tonight, so J and I are in a race to see who arrives first...  Jonathan or the sheets for his bed in our guest room!  

Beautiful turnips.

Dill!  Patterns, numbers, everywhere in nature.  Perfection.

Working hard, laying out fresh strawberries in the solar tunnel for dehydrating.

Dehydrated peas, a new addition to Minnie's menu of deliciousness.

Behold color!

Felt like I'd found Eden.

The oranges and tangerines tasted like candy... 
sweetened only by their own, natural sugars.

Tunnel vision.

My Meyer lemon tree back home looks nothing like this.

:)