Have you met our kids?

Pour la traduction en Francais, cliquez ici.

Originally, this blog was started to record our changing perspective of Egypt and keep a record of our lives. In addition, our Buls are young and even though personal anecdotes remain private to the myriad of information on the web, this blog is also for them and I hope that, one day, they can find the time to read about their ‘different’ life abroad.

Indeed, it has been a while that I have wanted to talk about how travelling has affected our children, attempting to escape the Manichean way, but instead, focusing on the main outcomes of our decisions on their very strong personalities. 
This week, being alone with them (because some of us are diving with sharks and manta rays), the timing is perfect.

•   The first impact has to be LOVE.

Our “babies” have been loved and cherished by thousands of people by now: from the strangers on the streets of Turkey and Egypt to the hundreds aunties and aunts all around the world. They have been the target for kisses, pats on the head, generous gifts in the bazaars and chocolates from nearly every Middle Eastern person we have encountered.  That is great for the soul and keeps us afloat, when the storm of guilt for being away overwhelms us. 

Our children, like their parents, miss their family members, and their friends back in Europe/Australia. Not having the kinship around, such as grand-parents, uncles and aunts or cousins, is hard on everybody and is one of the biggest downfalls of our lives. Of course, with a yearly visit, bonds are created but they are fragile and demand much more efforts on each part. 

As for our unit of four, it is an unbreakable thread that has started building in Turkey and keeps on tightening in Egypt. Our Buls, perhaps unlike other children, wake up daily (at 6/7AM!)with only two strongholds named “Issi” and “Maman”, which is beautiful but also means that their level of dependence and therefore our level of independence are interconnected.  

This situation can be dangerous for a couple, who can never act spontaneously and must careful time their outings. 
One way to cope is to allow ourselves time together (thankfully, we have found the best baby sitters on the planets) but also time alone as a remedy and to sustain a decent level of sanity and individuality.
Our children rely on us more than some can fathom, and yet, I wouldn't exchange our situation even if I could.

•    The second hit would be their identity.

 
To some people, your language reflects your identity. That is a very difficult concept in our house, as our children have French, Estonian at home with a passive accented English as background noise. At school and with their international aunties and uncles, they have to communicate in English and as if life hadn't been hard enough, our son is now learning Arabic. However wonderful this may seem, he has to cope with different phonics, the endless amount of French silent letters, the fact that you cannot write Latin letters from the right to the left!

Yet, they are not confused in their speaking and automatically switch once they have identified the language of their interlocutors. It has been pointed out, often, that their accent isn't necessarily “authentic” or “proper” in some languages, which, to a French person speaking English with a “subtle” French accent, holds absolutely no importance. 

 

To the question; “where are you from?”, our son answers “I was born in Istanbul but now, I live in Cairo, it is in Egypt. I liked Istanbul because there was a pool and I like Egypt because of the dinosaur desert (Whale to be precise). I prefer France because they have Walibi (themepark) but I prefer Estonia too because we can pick blue berries there”.

You may think it will be hard for them to see themselves as French or Estonian and you may be right. However, to us, as long as the mother tongues become fluent, perfumed with Turkish and Egyptian sayings, their personalities will hopefully reflect their dual nationalities and their respective traits.

Our children move often, preparing themselves for their fourth house move since their birth, as Tunis awaits. So far, the process of moving has been quite easy and despite comments about Istanbul, it seems our children are happy to have moved here and excited to discover their next house. 

•    The final and most important consequence will be who they become.

They travel every other month, using every possible and reasonable transportation mean you can think of. 

              

They have seen in their tiny lifetime more than we, parents, could dream of at the age of twenty, and that is another thought that helps through the rainy days, when you wonder if you are making the right choices for them. Through travels in Turkey, Egypt and also Europe, they have already an understanding of the unfair scale on which the world stands, facing the rich, clean and somewhat colder air of certain areas, but also the poverty and living conditions that some people have to face daily. Let us hope that it leaves a permanent sense of empathy and compassion in them, that they will desperately need in their lives. 

Understandably, after sand boarding, running around Khufu, played hide and seek in the deserts, diving in the Red Sea and travel every summer to different destinations back in both “homes”, the results is that you have two very active, curious, loud and inquisitive children who ask questions about polytheism, groupers, owning a countless collection of ‘treasures’, aka fossils, found in the deserts they roamed.

So have you met our Buls?

If you haven’t, you must! They may not strike you as French or Estonian right away, but they are pretty nice kids!

The Dystopian Men

At the start of our contract, we were told that we may be hit by the Spleen Baudelèrien and by the theory of habbits.

At the time, the Spleen was dodged but it has grown on me, which probably explains why it is getting increasingly difficult to write about this country. On one hand, it feels like the outside chaos has contaminated my mind, feeling as though all the drawers in my mind and my emotional wardrobe have been left open, with the sandstorms throwing them all around in my head. On the other hand, the prospect of leaving is getting more and more real, leaving me on a fun emotional rollercoaster ride…

Lately, ANGER has been predominant, especially after a recent walk in Khan El Khalili. I once tried to establish a grading scale to explain how bad a woman will be harassed, depending on her attire but also on her marital status: 

" I also have to point out that there seem to exist different status, which work kind of like a ladder:
5 : Egyptian and conservative married women
4 : Egyptian married women
3 : Egyptian single women
2 : foreign married women with one or several children
1 : foreign married women
0 : foreign single women"

Well, a year and a half later, it is time to update it.

Here, in our glittery, “quiet” and “clean” bubble, harassment is mild – except for my favourite bunch of workers, but even they are now down to a little whistling or today's special which I named "the breeding courtship dance", which I have also learnt to accept. In Khan El khalili, Al Azzar Park and Islamic Cairo,  you don’t see many blond heads, with tight trousers and this time, as you stroll around with your husband “only”, you don’t get the extra point of respect because you bore two children.

So how do they look at you? Most will start by your feet, perhaps because the conservative ladies ( the 5 points worth ladies) wear long galabeyas, which hide their legs… Then, they will work their way up, all the way to your face. Some will painstakingly linger in certain areas, whilst whistling, grinning, and grunting or for the desperate ones, they will bump into you for physical contact. Their last move in this filthy, disgusting and demeaning ritual is a final lock on your eyes with a smile, as if after taking your pride, they could now extract some more of your light through them. The climax of the anger is when all those animals have just been released from Friday's most important lunchtime prayer. They are camouflaged under the flag of piety and respect to their God, and can not seem to respect a fellow human being, who is from the same gender as their own mothers and sisters.

The question is who are those men? Well, they range from the age of 10 to late fifties in my experience. Evidently, we are not talking about men, we are talking about mere shells, filled with lust, oppression, aggressiveness, and misconceptions about relationships with women, and this mix sprinkled with a huge serving of ignorance. 

Despite the occasional enchanting sound coming from the city’s minarets, the beauty of some of the buildings, the peace of the deserts and the Red Sea creatures, there is nothing that can redeem Egypt for some of its male population. 
Having felt it personally is one horrible feeling, but imagine that if we should ever settle here for good, this could happen to my daughter, my blood boils to the point of madness. 

One has to bear in mind, though, that there are a lot of decent, “normal” men in Egypt, such as the young minds I am fortunate to teach, their fathers who have offered more than once to come and give a nasty talk to the workers I cross path with daily. And there are many more...

Happy birthday?!

As an Estonian tradition was suggested to me, four years ago, I started developing a very unhealthy habit of cooking different cakes, monthly for our first boubou, until he turned one. After enduring the stress, this ritual became yearly and doubled once we multiplied once more with our second boubou.

As a parent, I always take pride in making those, not for the general appreciation, but for the Buls reactions - those are priceless and precious - making those anxious months of preparation and mad hours of baking all worth it. 

As a parent, we all strive for the best for our children, even though our definition of best varies, we all strive towards giving them the best start in life. The emotional daily ride that takes us from the best to the worse feelings is part of the rollercoaster and birthdays have an incredible signification. As a mother, my Boubous' birthday remind me of the day they came into this world, the unfathomable shower of emotions that splashed all over me, but it also reminds me of my own mortality and how each of those birthdays is precious. Each must count, because you never know when the three Moirai will cut the thread.

Well, having skillfully dodged a few, we all know that we will end up sitting at another child’s birthday party. From experience, here in Egypt, the first faux-pas would be to arrive on time – please be fashionably late.  Some birthday parties are hosted at home, and some people have the most lavish and capacious villas and yards… As you come in, not knowing whether to be dazzled or judgmental, you will find the yard ahead, it may be punctuated by a swimming pool, fruit trees or more importantly, immense blown up castles, organised for the children, along with a magician and several other games laid out all across the garden. At those Gatsby like parties, there are about 15 people slaving around, who have been temporarily or permanently employed by the family.

It becomes unhealthy when the birthday child tells you that she will not pick up the popcorn she spilled on the floor, because it is her house and her maid is going to do it for her...

As a dutiful mother, and more importantly because I love to play with my Boubou, I am the one that stands besides the castle, watching the children play. Later, more children will come with their mothers (because evidently, daddy is busy working) and there is an additional person with each of them. Those ladies are black African ladies or from the Philippines, they are the children's nannies. Why would one want to see her offspring play with others, bounce with a dashing smile and sit on the grass? It feels much better to sit on a throne at the other end of the garden, struggling with your expensive heels dug in the grass! The nannies, on the other hand, will; as we all know, if you have a Black African nanny, she will do a much better work at carrying a chair for you (if you fancy watching your child for a minute) to the castle than you would yourself. Some skills you simply just don't have...

As you are sitting on the grass, cast away from the glittering ladies, you could meet “Jessie”, who shares her origins between Uganda and Rwanda. A lovely lady, who, like the other nannies, kept a maternal eye on the boy she minds, despite his disgracefully rude attitude towards her. This is my crowd, the one I would choose to sit with, in the midst of opulence, bathing under the sun, on the grass of that very lovely yard.

Despite many self questioning about parenting ability, those days, you truly feel like the mother of the year, sitting by your child (and all the others who will join us because you care about them), playing and chatting with them, as well as laughing and rolling on the floor. Is it worth hiring a whole horde of clowns and entertainment when you will watch it from the distance, through the eyes of another person? I'd rather keep baking!

In the midst of all this, I heard my son say: "I cannot believe there are no balloons filled with water to throw at each other" or “do you think her mummy made that cake for her?”.  Ah, children, they don't know about those non waterproof Gucci bags and the busy schedule of pedicures... And I am so proud of my boy for that!

The game

One of the downfall of expats is the hunting season, a period when your heart oscillates between comfort and wanderlust. Initial contracts being 2 years for teachers, as you land in a new destination and despite all the information splashed at your face, one part of you feels at peace  – the knowledge that you do not have to waltz the international dance, the mad whirling, twirling and pirouetting through burning circles of interviews.

However, as soon as the end of your initial contract looms, the season starts. It feels like a creeping feeling that grows as the days, months pass; like the sword of Damocles. Once the season opens, there are steps to take. One necessary step is to register with various agencies, to be on the “market” and start selling yourself. If you are fortunate, somebody will catch your file on the online myriad and contact you.

Some of us feel very much in control and believe we hold the sword in our hands, assured that you are simply practicing or testing your options. Recent technologies have made this stage very easy and Skype is a wonderful way to first introduce yourself. If this is unsuccessful, you will have to sign up for job fairs. There, awaiting you is the sheer pressure of hundreds of colleagues, all attending in the hope to obtain their dream job. There are some lovely supportive people but the most common feeling is similar to a meat market: you look around, check out what is competing with you and then the Western motto becomes yours: every man for himself! From my past experience, I cannot say that this stage is the most beautiful human connection of a lifetime but it is a necessary step to increase your chances.

I have played the game 3 times now, and the past two times with two children and a trailing spouse. This is often not an advantage on a CV, especially because of the extra tuition fees and visa issues that are entailed by our circumstances. As a mother, you face the fact that it is not only about who you are as an educator, and that your family choices have somehow impeded your professional achievement, despite the fact that both topics are completely disconnected!

A few months ago, I entered the hunting process, sharpening my academic resume and  throwing arrows towards the East. In the meanwhile, riding the emotional and pride roller coaster of an educator on the market with my three precious heavy chains around the hands, Africa called again.

Writing this with tears flooding my eyes, we will leave Khufu, the amazing friends, my incredible students and all the wonders that have filled our heart with love at the end of this year. We are staying on the same continent and unexpectedly will move west, to Tunis, at the Northern tip of Tunisia. You should be careful for what you wish for, because it might happen.

Isn’t it frightening to be able to quantify… Here is to 7 more wonderful months in Egypt…

Come and visit!

"Come and visit!"

There was a time when those words were taken up, before their echo ever reached the walls of the room - those were the times of the Ottoman Istanbul. I recall those sparkly, curious and interested eyes inquiring about the life at the gates of the Asian world. Those days were the days of visitors, every trimester and an entire program was prepared around them, including public transports such as the dolmus (mini buses), walks around the city for hours and if you have a baby with you, hundreds of occasional "Mashallah, cok tatlı sana" ('Thank God for making this happen', you are very sweet) as people pinch their cheeks. The language was accessible thanks to the Latin alphabet and readings and conversations were easier to sustain.

4 years of happiness, swimming at will in our compound, overlooking the Black Sea, a sight breathtaking to any visitor.

And then, in the blink of a move, visiting stopped and the lights that had once burnt with panache were extinguished at the sound of the new destination: the dreadful Cairo.

What would we do, if you, my dear friends, would come and visit?

Well, you would have to embrace the cultural impact, because unlike the lovely comfort of Europe, there are several things that will certainly upset you.

Indeed, the roads here and the driving culture are horrendous, all around Egypt. We could sit and argue about it until the end of time, yet there is nothing we can do. So, as you would arrive at Cairo airport, stepping out of the baggage gate, and once you have crossed the innumerous amount of concerned taxi drivers offering you a taxi, you will probably find Ahmed, or Mahmoud, or Ashraf, the drivers we use daily. They will be expecting you at the door with your name on the sign and I trust they will take good care of you until you reach my home, after about an hour (Inshallah) from the airport. On your way back, Cairo will reveal itself to you, with all his sandy coloured buildings and welded wires sticking out - its garbage laying around, where the donkeys share the highways with cars and mini buses and you might catch a glimpse of Khufu, my redeemer. 

Once you arrive, we shall relax and enjoy the tranquil and quiet welcoming party that my Buls will throw you and we will discuss your first impressions.

A good plan would be to visit Giza, as a starting point. After a thirty minutes taxi ride, we could enter the belly of Khufu and descend into several other tombs or stare at the Riddler eyes together. You will like that, it would give you awe, for a few minutes but those are precious. If we are lucky, we will be followed around by a bunch of local children, wearing the most colourful garments and curious to hear your name, eager for you to photograph them with their friends.

The best suggestion is to come for 2 weeks, so that we can organise a 5 days Nile Cruise for you, which would be very enjoyable, since most tourists have deserted Upper Egypt (with the exceptions of the birds, who have nested every temple's wall, singing in unison) and most of them will be empty, for your full appreciation.

And after your visit, why don't we plan a brunch in the desert, near Saqqara, the first pyramid ever built! You may meet Hossam, who has the most amazing smiling wrinkles ever granted to a man's face.

I would insist we visit Mokattam, in other words Garbage city. You will need to prepare yourself to witness another level of living, another mean to an end and welcome the brightest smiles. We would visit the Association of Protection for the Environment, the training areas, the recycling units, the sorting out, the shops where your money supports a group of working ladies, and their education. As we exit the Zabaleen area, it is a sense of satisfaction that will wrap itself around you, for agreeing to leave the comfort of your first world and discovering how things work here in Egypt, in an unpatronising way.

If you wanted to, Dahab and the Rea Sea would also be on our agenda, for you to feel the weightlessness and the quietness that your whole soul can experience under water; I would recommend a sunrise or sunset dive in the Canyon, for you to see another beauty of this country.

Once we have experienced the liquid element, a night in the whale bone desert would be a wonderful addition, to reflect under a sky lit with stars at the incredible signification of our lives on the planet and how little time Chronos has granted us.

But would you like this, my dear friends?

To dwell in garbage to fully appreciate what you have? To be stuck in traffic and fear for your lives during some rides? To be unsure of the possibility of Health care emergency services, as the pace of this country is unknown, even to its own people? To experience the third world inconvenience of power cuts, water shortage and internet complete unreliability? The incredible frustration of not being able to read or make sense of the language? The frequent reminder that you are a foreigner, by the way people lay their eyes on you or try to get to your money?

My friends, how would you have reacted when I saw a little boy's leg being slashed by a rope that was supposed to mark the streets (that are being destroyed and rebuild in front of my compound) and was pulled away violently by a car?

Will you judge us for having agreed to come here and stay, returning to your safe heavens, pitying us?

So, how's life in Cairo? Why don't you come and see for yourself...!