Sunday, May 18, 2008
On my way to a party...
As I strolled the streets, a ruckus, a fuss snared my ear drums. Cranking up a sense of expatriate awareness, as if I could possibly find this life in potential jeopardy, my spidey sense honed into a rioting crowd flailing about down the hill. Wings awkwardly flapping with intent to strike sense into the head of an agressor met no opposition from the bleached officer amid the fight club. Living here has allowed me to see how contagious anger raptures the mind of innocent bystanders. And in this chaotic moment, as I resumed my seat on the front row after darting onto a safer sidewalk, to my astonishment, a graying elderly woman transformed her purse into a weapon of Egyptian destruction rebuking one of the young combatants with a purse-fist-verbal assault combo. A chuckle somehow slipped from my throat, countered tactfully with a somber and pompous head shake of attempted disapproval. "You'd never see a fight in the middle of the day like this in the States," I boasted. "We would do it the sophisticated way - wait until dark and gather a gang of roughnecks and vandals to secretly destroy the property of our caviling foe. Face-to-face, fist-to-fist, nose-to-nose, is just to close; we need to respect others' need for privacy and personal space.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Lessons
Against my better judgment, I will stay the drooping desires of my eyes for your reading enjoyment (hopefully).
Some life lessons I've embarked on as of late:
1. Good things come to those who wait. But when you've waited 10 months and you leave in one, good things suddenly become frustratingly urgent.
2. Females are difficult to understand. Males are difficult to know. I explain it like this: Men like to fix things, work on things take things apart and put them back together. We want formulas, mechanisms, so we can work logically through the steps when something is awry. Women, however, as I understand, seem to be more relational creatures. They do not care to understand how you feel. They just want to know how your day was. Tell me about you. Functionality serves little to no purpose when you attempt to know a person.
This theory serves true even among same-sex interaction. For instance, the young men I join in a small group each Tuesday night are great guys. However, it has taken me the length of my stay here in luscious Egypt to finally know these men. They all depart within the month. You better believe the irritation from that is worse than bed bug bites from a cheap motel mattress.
3. Husbands love your wives. In one of our group meetings with the aforementioned young men, we spent a decent tangent discussing the effects of various translations of the Bible which inevitably led to a discourse/soapbox lecture on the equality and consideration a couple should have for each other. As I spoke, the Spirit must have taken over because the words spewing out my mouth were not from thoughts I had previously constructed. The discussion went something along these lines (edited for grammatical alterations and slightly more impressive presentation from yours truly):
Me: Take for instance Ephesians 5 when we read about husbands and wives. When you start off, the text is seemingly sexist in its approach to "wives submit your husbands, for they are the head" etc, etc.
Student: [affirmative nod] Yeah...
Me: And some could even read into the next portion as another gender-bias argument, however, let's read this quickly - "Husbands, love your wives." Now we are like woopidee do da. If he married her, he probably loved her, so what's so special about this? Keep reading - "Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ love the church and gave himself up for her [...]" So now, you get to die to yourself each day for the sake of your wife.
Student's mom: [walked in the door just in time to listen in on the end of conversation, pretending to fold clothes but truly just eavesdropping on her beloved son's meeting. Upon hearing "die to yourself for sake of your wife," chimes in to her son] Ben, are you listening to this man. You should be taking notes!
Me: [much quieter as mom exits, leaning in] She may have to submit, but you have to die?! Who got the raw end of that deal?
4. Sit at his door. In a world so rapidly moving, we expect God to show up on our schedule. We rarely (if ever) wait for the Lord to exit his home to meet us where we are. I find myself waiting for God like I would a late professor. You get 5 minutes before I leave, if I'm feeling generous. Who would have thought that the Creator has a different time schedule than his limited, boundary-confined creation?
5. Perspective is a gift, given to those who don't really need it at a time it isn't really useful. Two close friends have some, how shall we say, prickly provocation any time they are in the same room. Both have sought mediation and counsel from others as well as myself. However, neither cares to listen to the portion they could improve or, more poignantly, the hard truth hidden from their cycloped eyes. With truth being hard and me a bit of a softy, nor residing in a place acceptable enough to deliver such catastrophic catalyst, we only pray they will discover these big red doors by combining there blinded peepers to form a single good pair they can share.
6. Family or Passionate occupation? Its an ongoing debate between inexperienced, idealistic twentysomethings. Save it for later.
Some life lessons I've embarked on as of late:
1. Good things come to those who wait. But when you've waited 10 months and you leave in one, good things suddenly become frustratingly urgent.
2. Females are difficult to understand. Males are difficult to know. I explain it like this: Men like to fix things, work on things take things apart and put them back together. We want formulas, mechanisms, so we can work logically through the steps when something is awry. Women, however, as I understand, seem to be more relational creatures. They do not care to understand how you feel. They just want to know how your day was. Tell me about you. Functionality serves little to no purpose when you attempt to know a person.
This theory serves true even among same-sex interaction. For instance, the young men I join in a small group each Tuesday night are great guys. However, it has taken me the length of my stay here in luscious Egypt to finally know these men. They all depart within the month. You better believe the irritation from that is worse than bed bug bites from a cheap motel mattress.
3. Husbands love your wives. In one of our group meetings with the aforementioned young men, we spent a decent tangent discussing the effects of various translations of the Bible which inevitably led to a discourse/soapbox lecture on the equality and consideration a couple should have for each other. As I spoke, the Spirit must have taken over because the words spewing out my mouth were not from thoughts I had previously constructed. The discussion went something along these lines (edited for grammatical alterations and slightly more impressive presentation from yours truly):
Me: Take for instance Ephesians 5 when we read about husbands and wives. When you start off, the text is seemingly sexist in its approach to "wives submit your husbands, for they are the head" etc, etc.
Student: [affirmative nod] Yeah...
Me: And some could even read into the next portion as another gender-bias argument, however, let's read this quickly - "Husbands, love your wives." Now we are like woopidee do da. If he married her, he probably loved her, so what's so special about this? Keep reading - "Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ love the church and gave himself up for her [...]" So now, you get to die to yourself each day for the sake of your wife.
Student's mom: [walked in the door just in time to listen in on the end of conversation, pretending to fold clothes but truly just eavesdropping on her beloved son's meeting. Upon hearing "die to yourself for sake of your wife," chimes in to her son] Ben, are you listening to this man. You should be taking notes!
Me: [much quieter as mom exits, leaning in] She may have to submit, but you have to die?! Who got the raw end of that deal?
4. Sit at his door. In a world so rapidly moving, we expect God to show up on our schedule. We rarely (if ever) wait for the Lord to exit his home to meet us where we are. I find myself waiting for God like I would a late professor. You get 5 minutes before I leave, if I'm feeling generous. Who would have thought that the Creator has a different time schedule than his limited, boundary-confined creation?
5. Perspective is a gift, given to those who don't really need it at a time it isn't really useful. Two close friends have some, how shall we say, prickly provocation any time they are in the same room. Both have sought mediation and counsel from others as well as myself. However, neither cares to listen to the portion they could improve or, more poignantly, the hard truth hidden from their cycloped eyes. With truth being hard and me a bit of a softy, nor residing in a place acceptable enough to deliver such catastrophic catalyst, we only pray they will discover these big red doors by combining there blinded peepers to form a single good pair they can share.
6. Family or Passionate occupation? Its an ongoing debate between inexperienced, idealistic twentysomethings. Save it for later.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Weekends
There was an anonymous complaint that I hadn’t written in a while. Please accept my sincerest apologies. The following is meant only to be humorous, not ethnocentric or culture bashing in any way.
This weekend, our youth staff of 6 (-1 since Kev is taking some leisure in the good ole U.S. of A.) plus 3 generous, sacrificial volunteers spent our selves from Thursday at 4:00 p.m. until Saturday at 5:00 p.m. with 80+ middle and high schoolers. Upon the conclusion of the camp we as a clump concurred in a cumulative constructive criticism that quarters were a bit crowded and we could’ve connected a couple more counseling compadres close to our kids to cut the quantity of crew-to-kid into a quality control. Just for a little extra humor and test of patience, the Big Kahuna allowed for a croaked engine on one of our two transporting buses. Indeed, the grass was greener on that side of Egypt than any other I’d yet been, however, at that point, it was only the other side of my pillow I truly cared to embrace.
In true Egyptian fashion I will recount the rest of this story with the a logic I simply refer to as “Welkham to Ejyp(t)” mentality (Welcome to Egypt, ‘t’ is silent). The rest of this story will be backwards as to slowly reveal more only when deemed necessary assist the conversation in some way, however, I do apologize if there is a touch of coherence. That may detract from the full experience a bit.
Let me begin at the end by explaining how the shade we experienced at a Christian owned complex brought about an appreciated coolness from the oppressive heat of the crescent moons atop the local minaret. There seemed to be an unusual joy floating among the other residents. I will note that I am still unsure of where this perceived joy is sourced. I did not ask but I guessed that one group was a gang of business folks together for some teambuilding weekend activities. This guess is only led in this direction because of the experiential evidence I gathered from watching the upper class businessmen here in Ma’adi. If not Christ, the only other reason I could give to the flocks of laughter would be due to the apparent youth of our fellow retreaters.
Even in this appreciated shade, the Egyptian mentality towards work shined bright despite any cooling cover. There was a reluctance to work beyond anything required or even keep one’s word after constructing a negotiation. We argued politely for use of the ropes course, our cabins, and our general meeting room, all of which had been previously “taken care of”.
One thing I have learned from our fearless leader Travis, if you lay down for the desires of deceitful business, no one win. Lose-lose (thanks again, Covey.) So again, as so often he has, bossman took matters into his own hands by requesting the room from the people occupying it. We received full confirmation at 1 a.m. after the first day. To remain humble, I’ll just say we were tired. But by 1:40 I finally found myself scuffling across the dark of our wood cabin floors clawing for the rod iron poles of my bunk nearly as hard the floor itself. The blanket was pleasant, though.
I typically try to make a strong effort to avoid monocultural comments or anything that could be construed as rude. It does seep into my writing a bit and for that I apologize. I have a genuine affection for the people here, despite the difficulty it is to work with them on occasion.
This weekend, our youth staff of 6 (-1 since Kev is taking some leisure in the good ole U.S. of A.) plus 3 generous, sacrificial volunteers spent our selves from Thursday at 4:00 p.m. until Saturday at 5:00 p.m. with 80+ middle and high schoolers. Upon the conclusion of the camp we as a clump concurred in a cumulative constructive criticism that quarters were a bit crowded and we could’ve connected a couple more counseling compadres close to our kids to cut the quantity of crew-to-kid into a quality control. Just for a little extra humor and test of patience, the Big Kahuna allowed for a croaked engine on one of our two transporting buses. Indeed, the grass was greener on that side of Egypt than any other I’d yet been, however, at that point, it was only the other side of my pillow I truly cared to embrace.
In true Egyptian fashion I will recount the rest of this story with the a logic I simply refer to as “Welkham to Ejyp(t)” mentality (Welcome to Egypt, ‘t’ is silent). The rest of this story will be backwards as to slowly reveal more only when deemed necessary assist the conversation in some way, however, I do apologize if there is a touch of coherence. That may detract from the full experience a bit.
Let me begin at the end by explaining how the shade we experienced at a Christian owned complex brought about an appreciated coolness from the oppressive heat of the crescent moons atop the local minaret. There seemed to be an unusual joy floating among the other residents. I will note that I am still unsure of where this perceived joy is sourced. I did not ask but I guessed that one group was a gang of business folks together for some teambuilding weekend activities. This guess is only led in this direction because of the experiential evidence I gathered from watching the upper class businessmen here in Ma’adi. If not Christ, the only other reason I could give to the flocks of laughter would be due to the apparent youth of our fellow retreaters.
Even in this appreciated shade, the Egyptian mentality towards work shined bright despite any cooling cover. There was a reluctance to work beyond anything required or even keep one’s word after constructing a negotiation. We argued politely for use of the ropes course, our cabins, and our general meeting room, all of which had been previously “taken care of”.
One thing I have learned from our fearless leader Travis, if you lay down for the desires of deceitful business, no one win. Lose-lose (thanks again, Covey.) So again, as so often he has, bossman took matters into his own hands by requesting the room from the people occupying it. We received full confirmation at 1 a.m. after the first day. To remain humble, I’ll just say we were tired. But by 1:40 I finally found myself scuffling across the dark of our wood cabin floors clawing for the rod iron poles of my bunk nearly as hard the floor itself. The blanket was pleasant, though.
I typically try to make a strong effort to avoid monocultural comments or anything that could be construed as rude. It does seep into my writing a bit and for that I apologize. I have a genuine affection for the people here, despite the difficulty it is to work with them on occasion.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
The Christina
Everyday here, exciting or seemingly extraordinary events occur that an inner dialogue sways me to believe I could expand that instance into a well scripted and dramatic or comedic narrative. However, despite Egypt's 3rd world country status, it remains a place busy enough to keep me from the desire to write. Not only that but, it seems that the times I do have to write, the proper pen and paper (or keyboard) are not accessible. So tonight I bring to you a story written by some friends of mine while we voyaged down the Nile on a simple yacht name The Christina. This is their recount of our quest:
"We all played Sleep Olympics. We were on the middle of the boat on a big soft cushion that's smooth, wrestling for my (Kyle's) over shirt. Asena and Iasonas spied on a man from the crew. We saw cows and sheep eating grass from the green land. Wind was blowing hard and the food was delicious, especially the spicy chips. When we wrestled, the nice boy and girl tried to throw my shirt in the Nile, as well as my flip-flops. In a mad and mean warning, I tricked them by saying I would throw them in the mucky green water, almost the color of the grass. The shade of the bridge brought relaxation from the buckling heat. When the fast speed boat passed by, the wake it left caused an explosion (in our imagination) on the tiny police boat nearby. Also, there was a field on the boat for soccer. Asena reminded us she is an expert on everything. An 88 year old windsurfer named George Washington glided up near the helm to try to steal our yacht but instead we invited him aboard to join the party. He was so overwhelmed and surprised with joy, he decided to stop stealing but the police took him to prison anyway. But we informed the authorities how nice he really was and they let him out."
I did assist in the construction of this story but mostly just in grammar. I might have helped with a word or two, but the story is truly theirs. Iasonas and Asena are approximately 7 or 8 years old. You might imagine, we had quite the fun on this tiny ship. These stories are worth 100x anything I might spew out attempting to perforate a cut out picture for you to take home with you. I thought a little coloring might look a little prettier. Thanks Asena. Thanks Iasonas.
"We all played Sleep Olympics. We were on the middle of the boat on a big soft cushion that's smooth, wrestling for my (Kyle's) over shirt. Asena and Iasonas spied on a man from the crew. We saw cows and sheep eating grass from the green land. Wind was blowing hard and the food was delicious, especially the spicy chips. When we wrestled, the nice boy and girl tried to throw my shirt in the Nile, as well as my flip-flops. In a mad and mean warning, I tricked them by saying I would throw them in the mucky green water, almost the color of the grass. The shade of the bridge brought relaxation from the buckling heat. When the fast speed boat passed by, the wake it left caused an explosion (in our imagination) on the tiny police boat nearby. Also, there was a field on the boat for soccer. Asena reminded us she is an expert on everything. An 88 year old windsurfer named George Washington glided up near the helm to try to steal our yacht but instead we invited him aboard to join the party. He was so overwhelmed and surprised with joy, he decided to stop stealing but the police took him to prison anyway. But we informed the authorities how nice he really was and they let him out."
I did assist in the construction of this story but mostly just in grammar. I might have helped with a word or two, but the story is truly theirs. Iasonas and Asena are approximately 7 or 8 years old. You might imagine, we had quite the fun on this tiny ship. These stories are worth 100x anything I might spew out attempting to perforate a cut out picture for you to take home with you. I thought a little coloring might look a little prettier. Thanks Asena. Thanks Iasonas.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Last week
It has been a few days since we last spoke, so please allow me a insufficiently quick description of a few of the activities I’ve lately participated.
Cake delivery
Last Friday marked the 23 years my friend and brother-from-another-mother, Kevin P. had been on this earth. Because of the generosity of the community here as well as his general genial persona, he received to whole birthday cakes. One of which he did not want to go to waste. Since we couldn’t eat both, Kev decided we should pass out the remains to some of the locals around his villa – i.e. the guards, the police, the street sweeper, a nearby family of squatters, etc. In all honesty, when he called me, I had no desire to join him as I was in the middle of a mission on my most current video game. Alas, the Spirit won and drug me off my fat butt to do some Kingdom work. It was good.
Diversity
Every so often something will happen that reminds me of the awesome diversity of youth with which we work. On Monday, I jumped in on a basketball game with an Egyptian, Sudanese, South African, and American. Does it get better?
Rite of passage
Last Saturday 7 adult men took one 12 year old boy into the desert, for within the week, that boy would become a man. Not in the way western culture defines it; in fact, just the opposite. The culture we call home has divorced rites of passage into manhood thus leaving us with clueless, confused boys trapped in 40+ year old bodies. The 7 of us decided we would train this one differently and spoke words of affirmation and encourage into this (now) young man's life. We also tried to explain a bit of what he could expect but also remind him that we would be there to walk with him along the perilous journey.
One week from tomorrow I will baptize this young man into the body of Christ. Unreal.
Weather/ sickness
Most places around the world claim to have four seasons of weather. Cairo fits that mold but in a slightly unexpected format. Normal seasons = Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter. Egyptian seasons = Spring, Khamsin, Summer, Pre-spring. There is no Autumn, but rather when the heat becomes too unbearable at the end of Spring and into Khamsin, then any leaves that managed to sprout wither and die. It takes less than a week for the whole process.
Now you might be saying, "Kyle, what is this new Arabic you've learned? We uninformed Westerners don't understand that funky language." Well my friends, consider this your first lesson in Arabic. A khamsin (phonetically: hard kh like your [k]hawking up a pile of mucus from the back of your throat, kh-ah-m-seen) is what the Egyptians refer to as the 50 days of intense winds and sand storms that sweep the country. Allow me to paint this desert picture for you with a quick tale. Last week, a couple of us jumped out to the local wadi (dried river valley) for a swift 5k jog. When we reached our turn around spot, we stopped rub our eyes in disbelief (and to clear the sand now raining in our faces). The usually visible-despite-the-smog skyline of greater Cairo had been removed and replaced with a massive, "thick and dreadful darkness".
Now that you know what it looks like outside, how about a brief explanation of how it feels. Today it did not get hotter than 28C (82F). The previous day it was nearly 40C (104F). Needless to say, this weather will jack with a person's immune system. Many people I've encountered complain of headaches, soar throats, and overall weariness. I am not immune.
Warnings
I never have actually met anyone who experienced persecution for their faith until lately. One of my yoga buddies and local saint seeking simply to bring cup of cold water to the thirsty has recently received some serious warnings regarding his status in the country. He travels a lot. It has happened to others without warning, they just don't let you back into the country. And I complain about the weather.
Prison visit
To cap it off, our team took a visit to one of the Egyptian prisons. After multiple frisks and personal space violations we were allowed to interact with the prisoners. We met a group of Nigerian inmates who had been arrested for anything from drug possession and trafficking to simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. MCC sends a man a couple times a week to maintain our cell ministry there (bad pun, but not intended). These men held sweet joy in there smiles and conversed with pleasure and ease.
One of the men who joined our team for the day was on business in Cairo from Nigeria and heard, by the grace of God, that his childhood friend happened to be held in this prison. Upon their reunion, the tears, joyous tears that wrecked his face darkened and dried as they rolled down that black-as-midnight skin into a prideful finger pointing to the gloomy reality of cold, gray prison bars.
After all these events, starting with my entrance to this country, then culminating in Romania and perusing my life still this is the one thing I’ve learned: serve others before yourself. It suddenly makes sense.
Cake delivery
Last Friday marked the 23 years my friend and brother-from-another-mother, Kevin P. had been on this earth. Because of the generosity of the community here as well as his general genial persona, he received to whole birthday cakes. One of which he did not want to go to waste. Since we couldn’t eat both, Kev decided we should pass out the remains to some of the locals around his villa – i.e. the guards, the police, the street sweeper, a nearby family of squatters, etc. In all honesty, when he called me, I had no desire to join him as I was in the middle of a mission on my most current video game. Alas, the Spirit won and drug me off my fat butt to do some Kingdom work. It was good.
Diversity
Every so often something will happen that reminds me of the awesome diversity of youth with which we work. On Monday, I jumped in on a basketball game with an Egyptian, Sudanese, South African, and American. Does it get better?
Rite of passage
Last Saturday 7 adult men took one 12 year old boy into the desert, for within the week, that boy would become a man. Not in the way western culture defines it; in fact, just the opposite. The culture we call home has divorced rites of passage into manhood thus leaving us with clueless, confused boys trapped in 40+ year old bodies. The 7 of us decided we would train this one differently and spoke words of affirmation and encourage into this (now) young man's life. We also tried to explain a bit of what he could expect but also remind him that we would be there to walk with him along the perilous journey.
One week from tomorrow I will baptize this young man into the body of Christ. Unreal.
Weather/ sickness
Most places around the world claim to have four seasons of weather. Cairo fits that mold but in a slightly unexpected format. Normal seasons = Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter. Egyptian seasons = Spring, Khamsin, Summer, Pre-spring. There is no Autumn, but rather when the heat becomes too unbearable at the end of Spring and into Khamsin, then any leaves that managed to sprout wither and die. It takes less than a week for the whole process.
Now you might be saying, "Kyle, what is this new Arabic you've learned? We uninformed Westerners don't understand that funky language." Well my friends, consider this your first lesson in Arabic. A khamsin (phonetically: hard kh like your [k]hawking up a pile of mucus from the back of your throat, kh-ah-m-seen) is what the Egyptians refer to as the 50 days of intense winds and sand storms that sweep the country. Allow me to paint this desert picture for you with a quick tale. Last week, a couple of us jumped out to the local wadi (dried river valley) for a swift 5k jog. When we reached our turn around spot, we stopped rub our eyes in disbelief (and to clear the sand now raining in our faces). The usually visible-despite-the-smog skyline of greater Cairo had been removed and replaced with a massive, "thick and dreadful darkness".
Now that you know what it looks like outside, how about a brief explanation of how it feels. Today it did not get hotter than 28C (82F). The previous day it was nearly 40C (104F). Needless to say, this weather will jack with a person's immune system. Many people I've encountered complain of headaches, soar throats, and overall weariness. I am not immune.
Warnings
I never have actually met anyone who experienced persecution for their faith until lately. One of my yoga buddies and local saint seeking simply to bring cup of cold water to the thirsty has recently received some serious warnings regarding his status in the country. He travels a lot. It has happened to others without warning, they just don't let you back into the country. And I complain about the weather.
Prison visit
To cap it off, our team took a visit to one of the Egyptian prisons. After multiple frisks and personal space violations we were allowed to interact with the prisoners. We met a group of Nigerian inmates who had been arrested for anything from drug possession and trafficking to simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. MCC sends a man a couple times a week to maintain our cell ministry there (bad pun, but not intended). These men held sweet joy in there smiles and conversed with pleasure and ease.
One of the men who joined our team for the day was on business in Cairo from Nigeria and heard, by the grace of God, that his childhood friend happened to be held in this prison. Upon their reunion, the tears, joyous tears that wrecked his face darkened and dried as they rolled down that black-as-midnight skin into a prideful finger pointing to the gloomy reality of cold, gray prison bars.
After all these events, starting with my entrance to this country, then culminating in Romania and perusing my life still this is the one thing I’ve learned: serve others before yourself. It suddenly makes sense.
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