Dear Friends,
Over the past few weeks, I have written multiple posts in my head. I am sorry you have not been able to read them.
In short, I moved into a new room with poor internet connection, my weeks got exceptionally busy and I found myself overwhelmed by the multitude of experiences occurring on a daily basis. Let me see if I can briefly catch you up here with reflections on both love and life~
I have been to prison, to multiple rehabs, sat with men and women, both Christian and Muslim, lamenting over relationships, parents, God, addiction, the state of Egypt, dreams for life, and more. I am full with the details of experience that immersion in another culture provides.
Many, many years ago, I was talking to someone. I stated, "I want to understand people from other cultures--what they think, how they feel and if their alternate experience of life, different from my own in the U.S., has an impact on their thought processes". I have had the awesome opportunity to explore just this interest.
The answer is yes and no.
Yes...culture, parental relations, expectations, faith, dreams, and similar all play a part in how we think, process and react to life. And no...at the core, at the true core of who we are as human beings, what we really want, regardless of all the previously stated influences...is love. It is so simple and yet, can be so difficult to obtain.
The doctor that I have been traveling with told me a very interesting thing in past weeks. Love is forbidden in Egyptian culture. This creates a deeper desire for it and yet, makes it all the more elusive. The men and women I talk with are desperate for love in all forms. Egyptians are desperate for love in all forms and its scarcity is evident every single place you look.
I have asked many people about this statement from the doctor with mixed reaction. "This would be for Muslims", "I know many Christians who understand love", but the doctor and I talked again and she restated her view only slightly and more emphatically. "Love is forbidden in Arab culture and its root is in Islamic influence". This is a disheartening statement, and yet, makes so much sense for what I hear and see.
So, in these past weeks, I set out to love anyone, including street kitties, I came across. I wanted to share it and spread it everywhere I could. On the subway, with the women through a smile. On the street, with the men through a smile (not recommended, but I didn't care). With the men and women in rehab through time, listening, tears, hugs and laughter. Through the sharing of heartache and experience. Through the feeding of street kitties, Glory, Morning and Brutus in front of my guest house and around Cairo.
What is so brilliantly fantastic about addicts is their vulnerability. The walls have been knocked down, the masks have been pulled off and they are raw, sensitive human beings with no filter. When I look back now at my statement years ago, desiring to learn about people from other cultures and their thoughts, I realize only God could have foresaw a practicum serving addicts in Egypt. Only God would have known my questions would be answered while He revealed his own heartaches for the people of Egypt and the Arab nations.
When I travel, I feel completely and totally submerged in the grand, global flow of life. That is why I love traveling so much. I love marinating in God's multiple expressions of creation and all He may desire to reveal. Many nights, I travel on the subway to and from my daily destinations. Though I am submerged in Egyptian culture everywhere I go, there is no better place in my estimation than the subway for complete immersion. I am virtually the only foreigner there and I get to stand side by side with the life I hear about on the television, read about on the internet, and muse about from comfort in the U.S.
Last night, I was returning from a particularly long day with the doctor that had culminated in a painful ending. I watched one of the women I have come to know well over the past weeks, crumble under a bipolar episode. It was heartbreaking and I knew underneath, this young woman is desperate for love, freedom, identity and stability when it is all said and done. At 12am in the morning, I was riding the subway home and got on the women's car, as I usually do. Another young Muslim woman, pretty and petite, got on with me. She looked around and we both realized the car was full with men which is quite abnormal. Very quickly sparks flew between this young woman and the men on the car and at the next stop, she stepped in front of the door and pushed it open. Another Muslim woman joined the effort and started pushing the doors open as everything came to a stop. Anger, yelling, screaming, bells ringing, crowds gathering around the two women as they pushed through with their endeavor. I stepped in and pulled both women back from the doors just as an angry policeman waving a baton came to break up the situation and get the subway car back on schedule. He pulled one of the rowdy young men off and with that the doors closed and the train started. Everyone was shaken, angry. I held the young woman for fear of her safety with the men, knowing that in a moments notice worse could ensue. The other woman faded into the background.
From my small gathering of what occurred, these women were fighting for their rights for respect. I have learned that there is actually good reason for the women's car. Not only is it segregation, but the women are in many ways protected from the men when they have their own car to ride in. They don't have to endure the male harassment when they ride with other women. I can't say who caused or started the fight, but what I can say is that these women are fed up. It would be one thing if the young woman acted alone, but when one of the only other women in the car besides myself got into the scuffle, I knew respect was being demanded.
In my many discussions with Egyptians, it has come clear that the Revolution has brought opportunity. There is significant fear that Egypt will return to the way it was under new president, El-Sisi. But a door has opened unlike never before, and has literally been pushed open. Egypt is fighting for change. In many ways, they don't know what that change is...they don't fully know how to articulate it, but part of what they are fighting for is love. A love that breeds respect and individuality. Love that allows young men to build their own lives without doting parents squelching their human drive. Love that allows young women to flourish and grow and change the world. Love that respects each individual for the precious, God-given treasure that they are.
With humility,
Christa
Thursday, August 7, 2014
Friday, July 25, 2014
Detox Sessions
I am in Wadi El Natroun, a country town outside of Cairo. There are fields and desert and orchards of olive trees. The stars shine at night, birds call, the palms sway and addicts talk.
Wadi El Natroun Rehabilitation Center is owned by Kasr El Dobara Church and serves addicts looking to detox and recover. It is one of the better facilities in Egypt because they don't tie up their clients for three days, force them to defecate where they lay on the ground and refuse to feed them. Addicts are treated as human beings suffering from a disease that plagues the body, mind and spirit.
It took nearly a week, but I finally connected with Dr. Wallee. She is kind, gracious, humble and dedicated. She works everyday, perhaps too much, and she acknowledges this openly. But she loves her clients and they love her. We talk easily about addiction, the Freedom programs, clients she sees and their experiences. We talk about women addicts, the stigma attached, and that for the rest of their lives they will be viewed equal to prostitutes, and unlike men in Egypt, they are never to recover from this curse. My heart hurts for the sweet, sweet Maadi girls.
Dr. Wallee is practically a movie star, just arrived on set, when we arrive in Wadi El Natroun. She is here to heal and to serve, guide and direct, listen and encourage. With the acceptance of every young man in detox, our first stop, I am privileged with the opportunity to watch her work and to listen to the struggle of each addict during their session. This is a hoot, of course, since all dialogue is in Arabic and I understand little.
But I watch faces and gestures and body language and the doctor translates the stories and concerns after each man has left the room. It is a stunning experience to be a part of, this desperate fight for life during the first few days of sobriety, out among the olive trees. The room buzzes with flies, techno music pumps from somewhere in the facility, the floor linoleum peels and the phone rings, but the doctor goes right on doing her work, the work she loves best, helping addicts.
Wadi El Natroun Rehabilitation Center is owned by Kasr El Dobara Church and serves addicts looking to detox and recover. It is one of the better facilities in Egypt because they don't tie up their clients for three days, force them to defecate where they lay on the ground and refuse to feed them. Addicts are treated as human beings suffering from a disease that plagues the body, mind and spirit.
It took nearly a week, but I finally connected with Dr. Wallee. She is kind, gracious, humble and dedicated. She works everyday, perhaps too much, and she acknowledges this openly. But she loves her clients and they love her. We talk easily about addiction, the Freedom programs, clients she sees and their experiences. We talk about women addicts, the stigma attached, and that for the rest of their lives they will be viewed equal to prostitutes, and unlike men in Egypt, they are never to recover from this curse. My heart hurts for the sweet, sweet Maadi girls.
Dr. Wallee is practically a movie star, just arrived on set, when we arrive in Wadi El Natroun. She is here to heal and to serve, guide and direct, listen and encourage. With the acceptance of every young man in detox, our first stop, I am privileged with the opportunity to watch her work and to listen to the struggle of each addict during their session. This is a hoot, of course, since all dialogue is in Arabic and I understand little.
But I watch faces and gestures and body language and the doctor translates the stories and concerns after each man has left the room. It is a stunning experience to be a part of, this desperate fight for life during the first few days of sobriety, out among the olive trees. The room buzzes with flies, techno music pumps from somewhere in the facility, the floor linoleum peels and the phone rings, but the doctor goes right on doing her work, the work she loves best, helping addicts.
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
The Maadi Girls
Before I left for Cairo I was captivated by the new song and video "Chandelier" by Sia. The contemporary dance performed by a young girl in a blonde wig to Sia's lyrics about addiction, rocked my world.
However, watching the girl twirl madly, divinely, chaotically, I wrestled with how such an innocent presence could so brilliantly embody mental illness and addiction through flawless movements. She is only eleven years old. Granted she is an artist, but the depth of her emotion and understanding perfectly captures Sia's heartbreaking lyrics about shame, guilt, false living and a world spinning out of control. How could she possibly understand this painful adult experience?
I met the Maadi girls a week ago. It was a brief visit and most of the girls didn't pay much attention to me as I was sequestered with the director of the rehabilitation center for two hours. In addition to meeting the directors, I met my dear Maram. Maram is older than the other girls and was struggling deeply with the injustice of having to stay at the center for six months after being hospitalized due to an alcohol-fueled episode. She was doing her best to convince everyone, including me, that there were no problems, not one, at hand. We talked for some time and a friendship developed.
When I returned to the rehabilitation center this week, I was not only greeted by Maram, but nearly two dozen other girls ages 13 and up. In some instances, I was mortified by how young the girls were. They were mere children--soft and pudgy in the face, shy, wearing pink girly clothes--and I could hardly envision a heroin addict lurking within. Still, though I don't know all their stories yet, this kind of life is known by these little women. A life of prostitution, drugs and physical abuse. They are innocent old souls, caught in a web of lies, desperate for love and attention.
I was happy to give it. I spent a good part of the day with the girls, grew to know some of their names, talked with them and shared in their recovery by sharing my own. They were eager to ask questions, but more eager to share their own stories, to tell of their tragedies, and yet to convey hope as I stated multiple times to them, "you are very courageous". One young woman who I had met the week before, pulled me aside to ask how she could build her self-esteem, for she felt she had none. We talked about the small steps, recognizing our worth including the things we do well and things we need to work on. As she lamented her weight and looks, I told her "God loves you exactly the way you are". She beamed brightly and we agreed to talk again next week.
What was a surprise, however, was Maram. Something had shifted and though she is still struggling with acceptance, she is beginning to acquiesce that problems abound. The door had opened. While we talked, she explained that women in Egypt are only meant to bear children, cook and serve the man. There is little more for any of them without a steep mountainous battle. The stigma of addiction renders life all the more difficult considering the treatment landscape is 1400 male beds to a mere 100 female beds. There are many women addicts, but the families will choose to treat a son before a daughter and it is virtually impossible for a daughter to leave the home for six months to receive treatment. How could they when they are only meant to cook and serve?
In response, I am going to pray that my time with these girls provides hope for something more. They are bright, beautiful and courageous, but they know of pain and chaos deep within. Their souls dance like the young girl in the video and embody Sia's words of shame and guilt. There is more for them, each one of them. And with every moment I spend with the Maadi girls, I will be sure to let them know.
However, watching the girl twirl madly, divinely, chaotically, I wrestled with how such an innocent presence could so brilliantly embody mental illness and addiction through flawless movements. She is only eleven years old. Granted she is an artist, but the depth of her emotion and understanding perfectly captures Sia's heartbreaking lyrics about shame, guilt, false living and a world spinning out of control. How could she possibly understand this painful adult experience?
I met the Maadi girls a week ago. It was a brief visit and most of the girls didn't pay much attention to me as I was sequestered with the director of the rehabilitation center for two hours. In addition to meeting the directors, I met my dear Maram. Maram is older than the other girls and was struggling deeply with the injustice of having to stay at the center for six months after being hospitalized due to an alcohol-fueled episode. She was doing her best to convince everyone, including me, that there were no problems, not one, at hand. We talked for some time and a friendship developed.
When I returned to the rehabilitation center this week, I was not only greeted by Maram, but nearly two dozen other girls ages 13 and up. In some instances, I was mortified by how young the girls were. They were mere children--soft and pudgy in the face, shy, wearing pink girly clothes--and I could hardly envision a heroin addict lurking within. Still, though I don't know all their stories yet, this kind of life is known by these little women. A life of prostitution, drugs and physical abuse. They are innocent old souls, caught in a web of lies, desperate for love and attention.
I was happy to give it. I spent a good part of the day with the girls, grew to know some of their names, talked with them and shared in their recovery by sharing my own. They were eager to ask questions, but more eager to share their own stories, to tell of their tragedies, and yet to convey hope as I stated multiple times to them, "you are very courageous". One young woman who I had met the week before, pulled me aside to ask how she could build her self-esteem, for she felt she had none. We talked about the small steps, recognizing our worth including the things we do well and things we need to work on. As she lamented her weight and looks, I told her "God loves you exactly the way you are". She beamed brightly and we agreed to talk again next week.
What was a surprise, however, was Maram. Something had shifted and though she is still struggling with acceptance, she is beginning to acquiesce that problems abound. The door had opened. While we talked, she explained that women in Egypt are only meant to bear children, cook and serve the man. There is little more for any of them without a steep mountainous battle. The stigma of addiction renders life all the more difficult considering the treatment landscape is 1400 male beds to a mere 100 female beds. There are many women addicts, but the families will choose to treat a son before a daughter and it is virtually impossible for a daughter to leave the home for six months to receive treatment. How could they when they are only meant to cook and serve?
In response, I am going to pray that my time with these girls provides hope for something more. They are bright, beautiful and courageous, but they know of pain and chaos deep within. Their souls dance like the young girl in the video and embody Sia's words of shame and guilt. There is more for them, each one of them. And with every moment I spend with the Maadi girls, I will be sure to let them know.
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
Kasr El Dobara (or, Good and Evil)
On Sunday, my heart was shaken to the core.
Upon rising, I checked my usual information sources and found a video posted to my IM from my boyfriend in the States. We are cat lovers and this story has a happy ending, but its beginning is devastatingly tragic.
In Colorado City, AZ, individuals who do not understand the meaning of love, submerged a kitten up to its neck in concrete, inside a pole, and left it to die. Workers that came to the site heard the sound of meowing and found the kitten trapped in both cement and at the bottom of the pole. They carefully cut the pipe down and delicately tapped at the concrete to break it. The kitten was freed.
The video destroyed me at 9am on Sunday morning. I cried and cried and cried and cried...deeply, painfully, longingly, shockingly. I could not understand this act. There is no doubt that this video unleashed a well of unresolved emotion from my experiences the past week. Though decimating on its own, it played a cathartic role in my Cairo journey. I called my boyfriend to weep openly on the phone as we discussed Good and Evil. He explained his experiences with evil as he has seen much, including the very dark side of humanity. Nowhere could I match a story he told me about a drug addict he knew that tied up a man in a barn, fed him drugs and beat him for days over a mere $10 dollars. The man escaped and the addict went to jail only to get out, do it again, and land in jail for 25 years. "Good", I said.
I am exceptionally naive about evil. I have no true experience with it despite the fact that I have a strange fascination for serial killers. In reading about them, I am desperately trying to piece together what makes them tick and why they do what they do. My limited mental capacity, though adept at psychological terminology and concepts, cannot comprehend in full such dark thoughts that breed evil action. This has been a personal question of mine for many years--are individuals such as psychopaths influenced by a chemical imbalance of the brain, or have they chosen to invite in a demon, real or imagined, that leads them down the path? I have resolved often, that it is a perfect storm of chemical imbalance, choice and lurking childhood trauma. Unfortunately, my intent is always to provide the benefit of the doubt to humanity, or I would trust no one, ever. This trusting nature however, renders me naive in more ways than one.
On Sunday night, I visited Kasr El Dobara, the large evangelical church in Cairo. It is a wonderful church and by the end of the service, I felt totally and completely at home (of course, earphones provided to foreigners that translated Arabic to English helped!). A warmth emanated from within and enveloped the congregation while they sang. I felt wholly a part of this love. As the preacher spoke about rebuilding the city, of fighting dark forces and embracing change and light, it was there that my psychic experience of Good and Evil began to truly unfold. I could visually see the city of Cairo in my mind's eye, the reality that its dominating religion had enslaved a people that shuffle about in dark clothing--empty and wanting, poor in mind and spirit. That the dominating religion requires one to pray for acceptance rather than knowing they are accepted simply by God's grace and worldly gift. Again, these are difficult concepts for me to embrace because Good and Evil conjure up visions of witchcraft and voodoo. Is there really a force for light and a force for dark?
Yes...yes, I believe there is.
Upon rising, I checked my usual information sources and found a video posted to my IM from my boyfriend in the States. We are cat lovers and this story has a happy ending, but its beginning is devastatingly tragic.
In Colorado City, AZ, individuals who do not understand the meaning of love, submerged a kitten up to its neck in concrete, inside a pole, and left it to die. Workers that came to the site heard the sound of meowing and found the kitten trapped in both cement and at the bottom of the pole. They carefully cut the pipe down and delicately tapped at the concrete to break it. The kitten was freed.
The video destroyed me at 9am on Sunday morning. I cried and cried and cried and cried...deeply, painfully, longingly, shockingly. I could not understand this act. There is no doubt that this video unleashed a well of unresolved emotion from my experiences the past week. Though decimating on its own, it played a cathartic role in my Cairo journey. I called my boyfriend to weep openly on the phone as we discussed Good and Evil. He explained his experiences with evil as he has seen much, including the very dark side of humanity. Nowhere could I match a story he told me about a drug addict he knew that tied up a man in a barn, fed him drugs and beat him for days over a mere $10 dollars. The man escaped and the addict went to jail only to get out, do it again, and land in jail for 25 years. "Good", I said.
I am exceptionally naive about evil. I have no true experience with it despite the fact that I have a strange fascination for serial killers. In reading about them, I am desperately trying to piece together what makes them tick and why they do what they do. My limited mental capacity, though adept at psychological terminology and concepts, cannot comprehend in full such dark thoughts that breed evil action. This has been a personal question of mine for many years--are individuals such as psychopaths influenced by a chemical imbalance of the brain, or have they chosen to invite in a demon, real or imagined, that leads them down the path? I have resolved often, that it is a perfect storm of chemical imbalance, choice and lurking childhood trauma. Unfortunately, my intent is always to provide the benefit of the doubt to humanity, or I would trust no one, ever. This trusting nature however, renders me naive in more ways than one.
On Sunday night, I visited Kasr El Dobara, the large evangelical church in Cairo. It is a wonderful church and by the end of the service, I felt totally and completely at home (of course, earphones provided to foreigners that translated Arabic to English helped!). A warmth emanated from within and enveloped the congregation while they sang. I felt wholly a part of this love. As the preacher spoke about rebuilding the city, of fighting dark forces and embracing change and light, it was there that my psychic experience of Good and Evil began to truly unfold. I could visually see the city of Cairo in my mind's eye, the reality that its dominating religion had enslaved a people that shuffle about in dark clothing--empty and wanting, poor in mind and spirit. That the dominating religion requires one to pray for acceptance rather than knowing they are accepted simply by God's grace and worldly gift. Again, these are difficult concepts for me to embrace because Good and Evil conjure up visions of witchcraft and voodoo. Is there really a force for light and a force for dark?
Yes...yes, I believe there is.
Monday, July 14, 2014
Dr. Ehab
On Saturday, I visited with Dr. Ehab. He is a wonderful man with the light of God's spirit within. He radiated love and hope on a day I was irritated and homesick. I had been pondering my own selfish nature that morning. My desire to tell Cairo to live in its own hell, hop a plane and high-tail it to American serenity. Visiting the famed Egyptian museum, where I envisioned cool, well-lit corridors in which history and modernism might mix, a cafe with good food served worldly travelers, and tourists would jostle each other to view ancient artifacts, helped little and was mis-appropriated.
Instead, I was greeted by barbed wire, tanks, soldiers and more decay. The Revolution took its toll on the Egyptian Museum of Antiquities. Three years later, the government and its military heavily guard the museum with ten tanks, 40+ soldiers and multiple security gates. The museum is dark, quiet and nearly empty considering its world famous stature. The gift shop is non-existent, shelves are bare and no one cares. The restaurant is dirty and lifeless, save for a few Egyptians desperate to get out of the 105degree heat. The ice cream shop is not open, and probably hasn't been since Tahrir Square was filled with angry people. There are only two small soda cabinets where I buy a very expensive Diet Pepsi.
The art is wonderful. I have seen these artifacts in books, movies, and on television over the years, and now, I learn they are real. They exist. People have existed for thousands of years, living and roaming the Earth, leaving puzzle pieces for the generations to come and place together. What also exists is mummified cats, dogs, baboons, crocodiles, cows and more. I don't visit the mummified royals this time. I figure they have been there for many years and aren't going anywhere now. Instead, it is time to join a local Muslim in crossing the street to Dr. Ehab's office and as he says, "close your eyes, pray to Allah and run". This is the Egyptian way of crossing the street (and the only way to operate on the streets of Cairo) an event that can surely end your life in any failed moment.
I meet Ernest once again, exchange some new Arabic greetings, sit for some time and then he explains that Dr. Ehab is on the 5th floor. I find this funny that we sat for so long, he offering grapes and rest, before we visit with the doctor. When I see my friend, Bashar in the Dr.'s office, we laugh at this--I was sitting downstairs and they were sitting upstairs. But Egyptians are hospitable and this is one of the truly lovely graces about being in Cairo. We wait another 30 minutes for Dr. Ehab to arrive and when he does, I am so grateful. His spirit fills the room, his sweetness and humility is evident within moments, despite the fact that he is well known, a man of the Senate, and his father has just won the greatest literary honor in Egypt a week before.
He easily talks about his own ego, love for addicts, and that sin is no more pride, murder, theft, homosexuality or greed. It is all the same and that is how he can love addicts, God's children, that do unspeakable things but can be redeemed through the 12 Steps and God's light. Having studied the best programs in the US, the 12 Steps of Recovery and others, having spent nearly 25 years in the business of addiction, Dr. Ehab is convinced that true recovery, without relapse, is not possible without a spiritual foundation. In addiction circles, we all know that it is not the addict that chooses to get well, but an intervention of God and anything more is mere vanity. We agree that recovery brings about divine miracles, walking miracles, that transform and go out to serve. We agree that many come into recovery angry at God, rejecting, but on the journey to a new relationship, should the addict that has invited initial help from God into their life, continue to choose it.
In Cairo Christian circles (and recovery circles), the new atheism that has taken hold has been seen as a good thing. It is the beginning of a separation from Islam, that breeds deep darkness. It has taken me time to come to some resolution that Islam may not be the peaceful religion that many desire to articulate, but a darker force that has yet to see the light. I am still wrestling with this idea because I want to believe that most religions are connected to God, that spirituality is one's own. That is not to denounce that I am a Christian or God's gift as I stand dedicated next to a man who serves individuals in their darkest hour. I am honored to learn from and stand with this man who sees a murdering addict no less than a homosexual, no less than a prideful man or a greedy man or a man who simply does nothing. I am blessed and I will need this blessing for the Sunday morning to come when a lesson on Good and Evil arrives, and it arrives not from Egypt but from the US.
Instead, I was greeted by barbed wire, tanks, soldiers and more decay. The Revolution took its toll on the Egyptian Museum of Antiquities. Three years later, the government and its military heavily guard the museum with ten tanks, 40+ soldiers and multiple security gates. The museum is dark, quiet and nearly empty considering its world famous stature. The gift shop is non-existent, shelves are bare and no one cares. The restaurant is dirty and lifeless, save for a few Egyptians desperate to get out of the 105degree heat. The ice cream shop is not open, and probably hasn't been since Tahrir Square was filled with angry people. There are only two small soda cabinets where I buy a very expensive Diet Pepsi.
The art is wonderful. I have seen these artifacts in books, movies, and on television over the years, and now, I learn they are real. They exist. People have existed for thousands of years, living and roaming the Earth, leaving puzzle pieces for the generations to come and place together. What also exists is mummified cats, dogs, baboons, crocodiles, cows and more. I don't visit the mummified royals this time. I figure they have been there for many years and aren't going anywhere now. Instead, it is time to join a local Muslim in crossing the street to Dr. Ehab's office and as he says, "close your eyes, pray to Allah and run". This is the Egyptian way of crossing the street (and the only way to operate on the streets of Cairo) an event that can surely end your life in any failed moment.
I meet Ernest once again, exchange some new Arabic greetings, sit for some time and then he explains that Dr. Ehab is on the 5th floor. I find this funny that we sat for so long, he offering grapes and rest, before we visit with the doctor. When I see my friend, Bashar in the Dr.'s office, we laugh at this--I was sitting downstairs and they were sitting upstairs. But Egyptians are hospitable and this is one of the truly lovely graces about being in Cairo. We wait another 30 minutes for Dr. Ehab to arrive and when he does, I am so grateful. His spirit fills the room, his sweetness and humility is evident within moments, despite the fact that he is well known, a man of the Senate, and his father has just won the greatest literary honor in Egypt a week before.
He easily talks about his own ego, love for addicts, and that sin is no more pride, murder, theft, homosexuality or greed. It is all the same and that is how he can love addicts, God's children, that do unspeakable things but can be redeemed through the 12 Steps and God's light. Having studied the best programs in the US, the 12 Steps of Recovery and others, having spent nearly 25 years in the business of addiction, Dr. Ehab is convinced that true recovery, without relapse, is not possible without a spiritual foundation. In addiction circles, we all know that it is not the addict that chooses to get well, but an intervention of God and anything more is mere vanity. We agree that recovery brings about divine miracles, walking miracles, that transform and go out to serve. We agree that many come into recovery angry at God, rejecting, but on the journey to a new relationship, should the addict that has invited initial help from God into their life, continue to choose it.
In Cairo Christian circles (and recovery circles), the new atheism that has taken hold has been seen as a good thing. It is the beginning of a separation from Islam, that breeds deep darkness. It has taken me time to come to some resolution that Islam may not be the peaceful religion that many desire to articulate, but a darker force that has yet to see the light. I am still wrestling with this idea because I want to believe that most religions are connected to God, that spirituality is one's own. That is not to denounce that I am a Christian or God's gift as I stand dedicated next to a man who serves individuals in their darkest hour. I am honored to learn from and stand with this man who sees a murdering addict no less than a homosexual, no less than a prideful man or a greedy man or a man who simply does nothing. I am blessed and I will need this blessing for the Sunday morning to come when a lesson on Good and Evil arrives, and it arrives not from Egypt but from the US.
Friday, July 11, 2014
Pyramids
Anger is welling up inside of me. I still do not have a regular sleeping schedule. I could easily blame Ramadan that has the whole city captive, lagging the dinner hour late into the evening. Bashar and I went to Nile City, a Nile River-side barge with Chili's, Johnny Carino's and a seafood restaurant. There was no service until after sundown. Buffet lines waited patiently, hungry Muslim patrons picked at dates available on the tables during daily fast. We inquired at Chili's and they were serving. Two hungry Christian patrons, Bashar and I, ate Egypt's version of Spinach Queso with chips at America's "authentic Tex Mex" restaurant. I have reserved to eat American when offered as it seems to be what my pleasing Egyptian hosts want most for me.
Dinner conversation quickly shifted from my incessant, random questions, "how much does it cost to take out the twinkly-lighted boats I see on the water?" to "why doesn't the government do something about the trash?" to Bashar's broken heart. Bashar is a man deeply in love. Only, the woman he loves does not love him back. He has spent two years playing the role of best friend while she dated another man who left her six months ago. She is experiencing her own broken heart, but Bashar sees the opportunity despite the fact that she has assured him there is none. Though not a man of substance addiction, he is a man with a personal addiction. As any sympathetic ear would do, I suggested first to fight for her, but as he shared more deeply, I became convinced he needed to move on. Like anyone thick in obsession, he failed to see that God could have so much more for him if he just let go.
Bashar dropped me at the guest house and I resolved not to battle the heat, traffic, smog and darkness for my evening ice cream. I fell asleep only to wake up a few hours later, get ready for bed, and attempt sleep once more for an early morning rise to see the Egyptian Museum of Antiquities before meeting with Dr. Ehab. At 2am, I still could not sleep. A vision from the day of a lone dog by the side of the highway picking at trash with the pyramids in the background plagued me, and brought tears to my eyes. Bashar and I had just spent two hours talking with the manager of Pyramid Gardens Rehabilitation Center about men and addiction in Egypt, but yet, this image of a dog is what brought tears to my eyes. Bashar took me by the pyramids shortly after this sight, but in all true confession, though it was a momentous moment, I didn't care. They meant virtually nothing to me in this landscape of desperation and despair. They were a representative beacon of all that Egypt is and is not. A symbol for tourism, currently non-existent, and a world that comes and goes leaving thousands to the daily task of living in abject poverty.
I desperately reviewed my seminary schooling finding everything inadequate to answer my growing anger. Fuller did not prepare me for this and I want my money back. But then, I was envisioning stray dogs rather than people. Why did I not care more about people than stray dogs? The truth is I do, but the Egyptian scene is too much for me to bear at this time. I have sublimated my pain for humanity, within a stray dog. It was these "stray dogs" that Jesus sought out and served. I don't know if I have the energy to do what Jesus did. I don't know that I have the fortitude, the gumption or courage to be Christ-like. I want to go home to happy July 4th parties, and smiling children, and thriving adults, and warm fuzzy kitties that I love and can cradle. I want my Starbucks and scrumptious Italian food and Target and pristine home town with rolling hills and snow-capped mountains. I want the nightmare, the reason I lie awake at night, to end.
But, it can't, and it won't, and there is no turning back.
Like addiction, a symptom of a life at dis-ease, the pyramids are symbolic of the elephant in the room. Egypt, and places like it, are the elephant in the room of the world. I fear I cannot address this elephant. An elephant that has stood the test of time, is deeply rooted in the culture and markets a main attraction for a wealthy world. I have no answer today, I have only an evening in which I can sit with a broken-hearted Egyptian sharing personal experience and stories, reveling in our common humanity from culture to culture, human being to human being.
Dinner conversation quickly shifted from my incessant, random questions, "how much does it cost to take out the twinkly-lighted boats I see on the water?" to "why doesn't the government do something about the trash?" to Bashar's broken heart. Bashar is a man deeply in love. Only, the woman he loves does not love him back. He has spent two years playing the role of best friend while she dated another man who left her six months ago. She is experiencing her own broken heart, but Bashar sees the opportunity despite the fact that she has assured him there is none. Though not a man of substance addiction, he is a man with a personal addiction. As any sympathetic ear would do, I suggested first to fight for her, but as he shared more deeply, I became convinced he needed to move on. Like anyone thick in obsession, he failed to see that God could have so much more for him if he just let go.
Bashar dropped me at the guest house and I resolved not to battle the heat, traffic, smog and darkness for my evening ice cream. I fell asleep only to wake up a few hours later, get ready for bed, and attempt sleep once more for an early morning rise to see the Egyptian Museum of Antiquities before meeting with Dr. Ehab. At 2am, I still could not sleep. A vision from the day of a lone dog by the side of the highway picking at trash with the pyramids in the background plagued me, and brought tears to my eyes. Bashar and I had just spent two hours talking with the manager of Pyramid Gardens Rehabilitation Center about men and addiction in Egypt, but yet, this image of a dog is what brought tears to my eyes. Bashar took me by the pyramids shortly after this sight, but in all true confession, though it was a momentous moment, I didn't care. They meant virtually nothing to me in this landscape of desperation and despair. They were a representative beacon of all that Egypt is and is not. A symbol for tourism, currently non-existent, and a world that comes and goes leaving thousands to the daily task of living in abject poverty.
I desperately reviewed my seminary schooling finding everything inadequate to answer my growing anger. Fuller did not prepare me for this and I want my money back. But then, I was envisioning stray dogs rather than people. Why did I not care more about people than stray dogs? The truth is I do, but the Egyptian scene is too much for me to bear at this time. I have sublimated my pain for humanity, within a stray dog. It was these "stray dogs" that Jesus sought out and served. I don't know if I have the energy to do what Jesus did. I don't know that I have the fortitude, the gumption or courage to be Christ-like. I want to go home to happy July 4th parties, and smiling children, and thriving adults, and warm fuzzy kitties that I love and can cradle. I want my Starbucks and scrumptious Italian food and Target and pristine home town with rolling hills and snow-capped mountains. I want the nightmare, the reason I lie awake at night, to end.
But, it can't, and it won't, and there is no turning back.
Like addiction, a symptom of a life at dis-ease, the pyramids are symbolic of the elephant in the room. Egypt, and places like it, are the elephant in the room of the world. I fear I cannot address this elephant. An elephant that has stood the test of time, is deeply rooted in the culture and markets a main attraction for a wealthy world. I have no answer today, I have only an evening in which I can sit with a broken-hearted Egyptian sharing personal experience and stories, reveling in our common humanity from culture to culture, human being to human being.
Thursday, July 10, 2014
Hitting a Wall
Yesterday I hit a wall, figuratively. I had the day off as a result of the adjustment in my schedule. My new friend, Malek, came to teach me Arabic. Before we began, we talked about the differences in how addiction, homosexuality and other important issues are viewed in Egypt versus America. Homosexuality is in no way accepted in Egypt. Not in any circles, at any time. Malek, however, understands the debate well and we related it to the discussion of women in the church pulpit, among other things. Then we began:
"SabaH el khayr, izzayik ya Christa?" I reply, "kowaysa el Hamdo lillah."
He left me a few hours later, after which I ate dinner and ventured forth on my first lone attempt to ride the metro. The metro was quiet as I sat in the women's car (men and women are separated on the metro, except as families or during rush hour when there is more mixing). I traveled down to Maadi for a recovery meeting and met a few folks that spoke English and shared their struggles with addiction. The meeting ended shortly after "break fast" which is the time of day when fasting for Ramadan ends and Cairo comes to life. At 10:30pm I took a packed train back to Zamalek where I am staying. It was the difference between night and day on the subway. I grabbed a cab from the Opera stop to the guest house and did a last run out to see if the ice cream shop I had heard about was open. Surely, at 11pm at night, it must finally be open and serving ice cream...and it was.
As I walked home eating my delicious mandarin and blueberry ice cream in a cone, I felt no peace. None. All I could see was filth, dirty kitties, trash, poverty, decay...and I am in an upscale part of town, equivalent to Manhattan in NY! I knew I had hit a wall. For me, this is typical after five days of travel. I have seen this play out with tour groups as well. Five days seems to be a saturation point for many. The amount of energy it takes to do something in Egypt is monumental, at least, to this American. But, this is typical to an Egyptian. It is hard for me to understand and process as life in the U.S. is geared towards making everything easier and the quality of life better.
Today I need to take care of myself, re-gather emotional strength, and hit the streets. God has been so tremendously good and provided every step of the way. This morning, Beverly and David came back to the guest house after travel. They are Canadians who work the guest house and Sudanese refugee ministry out of the All Saints Cathedral across the street. Beverly talked with me about some ways to find normalcy in a city that is anything but normal, to an ignorant American. She did comment that most Egyptians are content, despite her own experience of seeing exceptional poverty within homes she visits. Beverly received her call in India where we both agreed the poverty is "in your face" whereas in Egypt it is more hidden.
I am relaxing this morning, drinking coffee and practicing my Arabic. I look forward to seeing the women at Maadi Girls Rehab again where I spent most of Tuesday talking with the director about addiction, and then spent an hour with a woman who is struggling with acceptance. This won't be for another week, however, since I go to Wadi ElNatroun Rehab next week. In the meantime, I gather strength from God and look towards my visit to the Pyramid Garden Rehabilitation Center with Bashar tomorrow and Saturday's meeting with Dr. Ehab.
"SabaH el khayr, izzayik ya Christa?" I reply, "kowaysa el Hamdo lillah."
He left me a few hours later, after which I ate dinner and ventured forth on my first lone attempt to ride the metro. The metro was quiet as I sat in the women's car (men and women are separated on the metro, except as families or during rush hour when there is more mixing). I traveled down to Maadi for a recovery meeting and met a few folks that spoke English and shared their struggles with addiction. The meeting ended shortly after "break fast" which is the time of day when fasting for Ramadan ends and Cairo comes to life. At 10:30pm I took a packed train back to Zamalek where I am staying. It was the difference between night and day on the subway. I grabbed a cab from the Opera stop to the guest house and did a last run out to see if the ice cream shop I had heard about was open. Surely, at 11pm at night, it must finally be open and serving ice cream...and it was.
As I walked home eating my delicious mandarin and blueberry ice cream in a cone, I felt no peace. None. All I could see was filth, dirty kitties, trash, poverty, decay...and I am in an upscale part of town, equivalent to Manhattan in NY! I knew I had hit a wall. For me, this is typical after five days of travel. I have seen this play out with tour groups as well. Five days seems to be a saturation point for many. The amount of energy it takes to do something in Egypt is monumental, at least, to this American. But, this is typical to an Egyptian. It is hard for me to understand and process as life in the U.S. is geared towards making everything easier and the quality of life better.
Today I need to take care of myself, re-gather emotional strength, and hit the streets. God has been so tremendously good and provided every step of the way. This morning, Beverly and David came back to the guest house after travel. They are Canadians who work the guest house and Sudanese refugee ministry out of the All Saints Cathedral across the street. Beverly talked with me about some ways to find normalcy in a city that is anything but normal, to an ignorant American. She did comment that most Egyptians are content, despite her own experience of seeing exceptional poverty within homes she visits. Beverly received her call in India where we both agreed the poverty is "in your face" whereas in Egypt it is more hidden.
I am relaxing this morning, drinking coffee and practicing my Arabic. I look forward to seeing the women at Maadi Girls Rehab again where I spent most of Tuesday talking with the director about addiction, and then spent an hour with a woman who is struggling with acceptance. This won't be for another week, however, since I go to Wadi ElNatroun Rehab next week. In the meantime, I gather strength from God and look towards my visit to the Pyramid Garden Rehabilitation Center with Bashar tomorrow and Saturday's meeting with Dr. Ehab.
Monday, July 7, 2014
Learning
Today was my first day of work. It didn't turn out as planned when the doctor didn't show for our appointment. I sat in the office with Ernest who did not speak more than 14 words of English, but who offered me tea and apples as we sat, he on the phone and me reading my camera guide.
An hour later, someone decided he should drive me to Shoubra, a few minutes from Tahreer Square where we were. What a trip that was! The rule in Egypt on the road is: there are NO rules! This cannot be underestimated in the slightest bit. Egyptian traffic is sheer and utter chaos for miles. People, animals, cars, bikes, buses, taxis all fighting for the smallest right of way. Upon arrival at the training center, I was greeted by a woman and two Christian men--one a current seminary student and one a graduate. We had a great conversation about the needs of the church in Cairo, particularly the needs for youth. For the first time in history, youth are asking questions about faith, and the men feel it is good.
We were joined an hour later by a harried doctor who did not expect me but had come to the office to greet me. She asked some questions about my time in Egypt, what the head doctor had planned and why I had come. Her response to my answers was: "that all sounds great, but we have one big problem--you can't speak Arabic." I felt an immediate rush of embarrassment come over me as I questioned myself what the head doctor could have been thinking. How was I going to be of service in this foreign context in which the language barrier was great? I resolved that God had brought me this far, the head doctor must have known I was not fluent as he mentioned situating me with English speaking doctors, and to sit tight as more was to be revealed.
The afternoon, as we all tried to figure out what to do with me until the head doctor returned on Saturday, was filled with talk about the program, drug addiction in Egypt, the difference between male and female stigmatization, God's place in recovery and the Revolution. Little did I know that I was sitting with Arab revolutionaries that had been fed up years before and taken to the streets much before the January 2011 eruption. They had been "making noise" for a long time, and then one day, someone heard it. And the sound they made brought down a 30 year regime.
It was a fascinating day as we each learned from each other. Five Egyptians to one mis-fielded American. God was present in our discussion as we worked to fill my schedule through the week. Tomorrow, a new friend will teach me Arabic and then we will head to the Maadi Girls Recovery Center. God will do the work, I need only to show up and stay open to the learning.
An hour later, someone decided he should drive me to Shoubra, a few minutes from Tahreer Square where we were. What a trip that was! The rule in Egypt on the road is: there are NO rules! This cannot be underestimated in the slightest bit. Egyptian traffic is sheer and utter chaos for miles. People, animals, cars, bikes, buses, taxis all fighting for the smallest right of way. Upon arrival at the training center, I was greeted by a woman and two Christian men--one a current seminary student and one a graduate. We had a great conversation about the needs of the church in Cairo, particularly the needs for youth. For the first time in history, youth are asking questions about faith, and the men feel it is good.
We were joined an hour later by a harried doctor who did not expect me but had come to the office to greet me. She asked some questions about my time in Egypt, what the head doctor had planned and why I had come. Her response to my answers was: "that all sounds great, but we have one big problem--you can't speak Arabic." I felt an immediate rush of embarrassment come over me as I questioned myself what the head doctor could have been thinking. How was I going to be of service in this foreign context in which the language barrier was great? I resolved that God had brought me this far, the head doctor must have known I was not fluent as he mentioned situating me with English speaking doctors, and to sit tight as more was to be revealed.
The afternoon, as we all tried to figure out what to do with me until the head doctor returned on Saturday, was filled with talk about the program, drug addiction in Egypt, the difference between male and female stigmatization, God's place in recovery and the Revolution. Little did I know that I was sitting with Arab revolutionaries that had been fed up years before and taken to the streets much before the January 2011 eruption. They had been "making noise" for a long time, and then one day, someone heard it. And the sound they made brought down a 30 year regime.
It was a fascinating day as we each learned from each other. Five Egyptians to one mis-fielded American. God was present in our discussion as we worked to fill my schedule through the week. Tomorrow, a new friend will teach me Arabic and then we will head to the Maadi Girls Recovery Center. God will do the work, I need only to show up and stay open to the learning.
Sunday, July 6, 2014
Women In Egypt
What they say is true. I have been fortunate so far, perhaps due in part to new laws set in place by President El-Sisi the past 10 days, but women have it bad in Egypt.
I spent a good part of the day with new friends, Nalek, wife Ani, their four boys, and a summer intern from a US seminary, Helen, discussing and reflecting on the political state of Egypt, Israel's response to the death of three Israeli youth, our life journeys and the plight of women in Egypt. Ani, an exceptionally bright and bi-cultural Egyptian woman, shared her experience having lived many places and returned to Egypt in past years. Apparently, the influence of the Islamic Brotherhood, the cultural influence of the Gulf states through Egyptian workers who bring religious and cultural expectations back to Cairo after long bouts of work, the influx of tourism from Middle Eastern countries and the economy (it is cheaper to dress in a few ensembles every week than have a closet full of clothes) have all added to the tightening grip on women and their daily harassment in Egypt.
When President El-Sisi, a military man trained in the US, was elected and his inauguration held, a woman was gang-raped in the midst of the crowd formed in Tahrir Square. A few days later, El-Sisi paid a visit to the woman in the hospital, gave her roses, and apologized on behalf of Egypt. This was a monumental step towards acknowledgement of the exceptional harassment problem. He gathered his advisers together and implemented harsh penalties for verbal and physical harassment as well as rape. Again, this was a monumental step towards addressing the plight of women in Egypt.
Ani explained that in the past 10 days, things have been better. The hardcore stares I received, or Helen received, have not gone away, but the catcalls and general harassment has lessened. Walking around the neighborhood with Meled, an Egyptian youth who was more than happy to show me the area in which he lived, was a fun, if not a cautious, occasion. He took me to a supermarket where the owner, who spoke little English, was sure to ask me before I left, "what is your opinion of Egypt now?" I replied, "good", so as to lend positive support for the direction of the country from American eyes.
I was surprised a little later when Meled touched me on the shoulder in a friendly manner, which is not done by Egyptian men under any circumstances. But Ani explained he is young and the youth don't know any better until they grow older when they become more accustomed to the social rules of Egyptian life. It is these same youth that are often the harassment culprits. Meled, however, was dear and his friends did much to welcome and provide for me as I sat at the seminary gate trying to discern if it was wise to venture out. I did choose to venture out, but was on the street only a few minutes before Meled, my new friend joined me and escorted me the next hour.
I spent a good part of the day with new friends, Nalek, wife Ani, their four boys, and a summer intern from a US seminary, Helen, discussing and reflecting on the political state of Egypt, Israel's response to the death of three Israeli youth, our life journeys and the plight of women in Egypt. Ani, an exceptionally bright and bi-cultural Egyptian woman, shared her experience having lived many places and returned to Egypt in past years. Apparently, the influence of the Islamic Brotherhood, the cultural influence of the Gulf states through Egyptian workers who bring religious and cultural expectations back to Cairo after long bouts of work, the influx of tourism from Middle Eastern countries and the economy (it is cheaper to dress in a few ensembles every week than have a closet full of clothes) have all added to the tightening grip on women and their daily harassment in Egypt.
When President El-Sisi, a military man trained in the US, was elected and his inauguration held, a woman was gang-raped in the midst of the crowd formed in Tahrir Square. A few days later, El-Sisi paid a visit to the woman in the hospital, gave her roses, and apologized on behalf of Egypt. This was a monumental step towards acknowledgement of the exceptional harassment problem. He gathered his advisers together and implemented harsh penalties for verbal and physical harassment as well as rape. Again, this was a monumental step towards addressing the plight of women in Egypt.
Ani explained that in the past 10 days, things have been better. The hardcore stares I received, or Helen received, have not gone away, but the catcalls and general harassment has lessened. Walking around the neighborhood with Meled, an Egyptian youth who was more than happy to show me the area in which he lived, was a fun, if not a cautious, occasion. He took me to a supermarket where the owner, who spoke little English, was sure to ask me before I left, "what is your opinion of Egypt now?" I replied, "good", so as to lend positive support for the direction of the country from American eyes.
I was surprised a little later when Meled touched me on the shoulder in a friendly manner, which is not done by Egyptian men under any circumstances. But Ani explained he is young and the youth don't know any better until they grow older when they become more accustomed to the social rules of Egyptian life. It is these same youth that are often the harassment culprits. Meled, however, was dear and his friends did much to welcome and provide for me as I sat at the seminary gate trying to discern if it was wise to venture out. I did choose to venture out, but was on the street only a few minutes before Meled, my new friend joined me and escorted me the next hour.
Muslim Prayers
It is 3:22am in the morning and I am in Cairo, Egypt. I slept through most of Saturday but ventured out for money, food and wifi around 5pm. A man at the Evangelical Seminary of Cairo gate, where I am staying, spoke in Arabic explaining where to find a bank and main street with shops. Thankfully, an American who spoke English came through just at that time and walked with me. He explained it is advisable not to walk alone as a woman, a cautionary tip I have received from many now.
Poverty is rampant, but in my humble estimation, India is still worse. Egypt is similar to what I have seen in the West Bank, Turkey and other. It is a conglomeration of places visited, but unique in that it is a harsher landscape, rugged and God is harder to find. It is worlds away from the pristine town of Romer, Germany where I sat at a sidewalk cafe looking towards the river and watching World Cup fans stroll by. Germany won yesterday and the youth decked in flags, red, yellow and black, could not have been more overjoyed. Smacking on lipstick, swigging their beer on the train, they have little knowledge of what it is like to be an Egyptian youth, growing up in trash, filth and poverty. And the truth is, neither do I.
Muslim prayers have woken me up, even though I wasn't sleeping. I remember the first time I heard Muslim prayers in Israel, having just arrived and been situated in my room looking out onto the Old City walls. They were later in the morning, however. Around 5am or so and their melodic sound rose with the sun. I fell in love with the sound of Muslim prayers at that time. It was one of the most beautiful chants I had ever heard. The Muslim population in Egypt is in the midst of Ramadan, so perhaps prayers come more frequently throughout the day or night. The sound is similar to a wailing with words, a call to God. It is methodical in its yearning. Sacred in its wish.
I am grateful for this experience. Within this short time, I feel a closeness to God that is different. This trip is on God's terms, not mine. In many ways, my past trips have been what I wanted, though my first trip to Israel was God-directed. I could not have dreamt up the opportunity to travel for Fuller to Israel in my wildest dreams. This trip for my practicum, to Egypt, is God's and I know it. We are in sync. I am protected and there is much to be revealed.
Poverty is rampant, but in my humble estimation, India is still worse. Egypt is similar to what I have seen in the West Bank, Turkey and other. It is a conglomeration of places visited, but unique in that it is a harsher landscape, rugged and God is harder to find. It is worlds away from the pristine town of Romer, Germany where I sat at a sidewalk cafe looking towards the river and watching World Cup fans stroll by. Germany won yesterday and the youth decked in flags, red, yellow and black, could not have been more overjoyed. Smacking on lipstick, swigging their beer on the train, they have little knowledge of what it is like to be an Egyptian youth, growing up in trash, filth and poverty. And the truth is, neither do I.
Muslim prayers have woken me up, even though I wasn't sleeping. I remember the first time I heard Muslim prayers in Israel, having just arrived and been situated in my room looking out onto the Old City walls. They were later in the morning, however. Around 5am or so and their melodic sound rose with the sun. I fell in love with the sound of Muslim prayers at that time. It was one of the most beautiful chants I had ever heard. The Muslim population in Egypt is in the midst of Ramadan, so perhaps prayers come more frequently throughout the day or night. The sound is similar to a wailing with words, a call to God. It is methodical in its yearning. Sacred in its wish.
I am grateful for this experience. Within this short time, I feel a closeness to God that is different. This trip is on God's terms, not mine. In many ways, my past trips have been what I wanted, though my first trip to Israel was God-directed. I could not have dreamt up the opportunity to travel for Fuller to Israel in my wildest dreams. This trip for my practicum, to Egypt, is God's and I know it. We are in sync. I am protected and there is much to be revealed.
Sunday, June 29, 2014
Preparation
It is the Sunday before I leave. I am a twitter with excitement, exhaustion, and fear. Reports of demonstrations and bombings in Cairo have surfed the news this week. One part of me chooses not to look out of fear, one part of me chooses the ego response "Bring it on, I will be fine", one part of me simply doesn't have the time to engage with the other two.
Reading The Cross and the Switchblade about Dave Wilkerson's journey to 1950's New York City to work with the gangs bolsters my knowledge yet causes question "do I have something to offer Egyptian young people burdened heavily with heroin addiction?" This time next week, I will be on the cusp of finding out.
Reading The Cross and the Switchblade about Dave Wilkerson's journey to 1950's New York City to work with the gangs bolsters my knowledge yet causes question "do I have something to offer Egyptian young people burdened heavily with heroin addiction?" This time next week, I will be on the cusp of finding out.
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