Good bye Egypt – مع السلامة

I have tried to draft this entry for a while and it always ends in a blurry screen and too much heartache to continue.

The tone and prose will probably be different, because even if I have experienced Egypt with my soul since August 2013, these last few notes come directly from the strings of my heart…

Misr…

First, THANK YOU for your children: My students.

Before our arrival, I was warned about the misogynic culture and the fact that neither my gender, age, nor my way of dressing will help me gain the respect of my students. 

For the past two years, every single day, I have seen my groups of students and it has been amazing! Some will say it is luck, others that it is hard work…

It had already happened in England, with the high school students and it has happened once again. I can honestly say that I love them and have looked after them the same way as I hope my children will be looked after by their educators.

The Egyptian best feature is definitely humour and care, because they will care for you, as long as you care for them. I am very proud of their achievements and leave with them another chip of my heart, forever. Merci à tous d’avoir été vous! Vous me manquez déjà…

Misr, the next dedication goes for the beloved “Umm” I have met here.

These Egyptian mothers have a lot to fight against daily, because it isn’t easy to be a woman, a mother and a full time worker in Egypt. I have yet to learn of their energy, their generosity, their smiles, their love. They have given me the best hugs I have received in my life, after the ones from my own mother. I will miss you my friends and I strive, daily, to become as dedicated and loving as you are.

Here in Egypt, I met a hell of a bunch of FRIENDS: Egyptian and foreign friends. Some have already left Egypt, others will leave this year or stay here whilst we move on geographically.

I want to thank you for keeping me afloat, as a person, as a teacher, as a mother and as a friend, whether we were behind a cloud of shisha smoke, running, dancing, chatting, laughing or out in the deserts.

Ya Bassem, 50 dives later, I want to thank you and your team, in Dahab, for offering me a place when I could feel safe, cared for and at peace, since those precious moments are rare in my busy life as a maman. I will miss you and recommend to anybody visiting the Gulf of Aqaba “Liquid adventures”: http://liquidadventuresdahab.com/

The final good bye, unsurprisingly goes to buddies Peggy, Autum  and Brandy.

I wish I had met you three earlier in my life…

I love you for allowing me to be how I am and still love me. I have laughed with you so much, and I love you as much as our jokes are sarcastic and inappropriate!

You are three of the most incredible women I have ever met, and this isn’t farewell, just good bye. Please NEVER change and THANK YOU for being you…

Aaaaaand a quick extra for Buddy – Putain… I know you already have a brother and he’s really awesome, but I thank you for becoming a sister to me. One can never mend a broken heart or ever fill in for someone else, but merde, you have filled my heart with much more than I thought I could feel again.

Obviously, Misr….  

Thank you for Ahmed in Samanoud, Mohamed at the blue Hole, Elisabeth in Garbage city… I will defend your name abroad and the name of your people - I will acknowledge your chaos, filth, misguided men and unsafety at times.

Yet, I will fight and defend you, like a balady, about all the beauty you have, in the smiley eyes of your generous people, in your monuments, in your history, in your variety of landscapes and in your climate. One simply does not know Egypt and its traditions unless he or she has experienced them, to have the prejudices grinded down in the sand, and find themselves forever touched by it.

Ana bahpek Misr…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dJ6fIN9MoQw

The straw that broke the camel's back!

Camels: their silhouette, particularly their profile but also their eyes, surrounded by those long eyelashes; also, the way they hold themselves up, their pride, and their quiet strength... I have always been the biggest fan of camels, for as long as I can remember and use to visit the zoo in my French hometown, to regularly see them.

Living next to the Sahara, you see many, of different shapes, ages, breed and body types. Last week end, as four best friends went on a diving safari, we had the pleasure to ride a camel for an hour, crossing both beaches and rocky paths. Those camels were not only carrying our weight, but also the diving equipment we needed to dive in Ras Abu Gallum, including air tanks, BCDs, wetsuits and more.

During that one hour trip, as you get increasingly anxious when stepping near the pointy rocks and the sea on your right hand side, you talk to your camel, beg him to keep on the path; I wish I could say that you pet it, but I was too busy holding on to my life with both hands. However, after a while, as we strolled, it felt incredible; it was relaxing, since the pace was similar to a regular walking pace, but the movements were very soothing.

 

This week end, thanks to friends, I had the opportunity to visit a local camel market here, near Cairo. It is with both apprehension and curiosity that we stepped into the market. As you stare at the blue sky, for once painted with white clouds, a few hundred meters from the gates, are dead camels on the roadside, that have been left to rot under the eyes of Ra. 

As you step into the souk, it is Egypt, in its full blast. There are boys, teenagers and men everywhere, in different coloured galabeyas, coming from namely Sudan and Egypt. Each carry a thick wooden stick, that they will use repeatedly, unnecessarily to perhaps symbolically beat their frustration, oppression and stress out on a camel's body. During the time we spent there, I believe that each of my heartbeat was in unison with the thump of those sticks.

Those camels, there are hundreds all around, have one leg tied up, to prevent them from running away. Along this long stretch there are many camel vendors, and when someone is interested, the auction start, Egyptian style. By the time the dust spirals back to the ground, from the attempts of a camel to run away, men have shouted, argued and agreed on a price. The fate of those camels depends, some will be butchered and eaten, others will serve purpose such as transportation, and else...

From a western point of view, where meat appears in a nice, cling filmed and neat packaging, this may seem rough; however, the truth is that this is also a meat market, and even if we do not beat our industrially farmed chicken or cows with a wooden stick, our treatment towards them is as revolting as this one.

The young boys, teens and men at the market were very interested in our presence. Some of them greeted us and welcomed us, and many of them were very keen on being photographed. Harassment is always lurking in the corners, however one learns to appreciate when it is only in the shape of looks and a couple of words, to which you can respond in Arabic. Some of those men had very gentle eyes, and as always, the Egyptian featured smile, which is always beautiful.

And then a magical thing happened - I found my camel. He was standing amongst others, but he looked so peaceful, in the midst of the dusty chaos surrounding us. I have written in my mind a very optimistic future for him, I would have named him Mohamed to keep up the originality streak.

The most striking feeling, as you exit the market, wiping away the dust, the few inappropriate comments and your western upbringing regarding meat, was that this place is a true depiction of Egypt - messy, dusty, hot, sometimes scary, yet interesting, puzzling and that will make you reflect forever...

Ahmed...

In a village called Samanoud, on the Delta of the Nile, 160 km south from Alexandria, there was a group of travelers, coming originally from Europe and America. On our way to the village, we saw many emblematic portraits and landscapes so specific to Egypt, but a new one was the radish goddess: a lady selling radish in the middle of the streets, as many street sellers do, but she had gathered a bouquet of radish and tucked it on the top of her head, making it her humble vegetable crown.

The reason for our presence in this village is yet another token of the Egyptian hospitality: a wonderful lady and her husband, a great embodiment of the Egyptian family, carrying this country and their children on their shoulders and standing proudly upright, had invited us to their place. A beautiful place, near the family juice factory, where each brick and plants were built and planted thanks to the efforts and hard work of the elder and current family generations; a haven in the middle of a small village, gated by banana trees and weeping willows, trees of my childhood that I hadn’t seen in a long time.

The people who catered for us are at the image of the place they welcomed us to, and "Alhamdulillah" for the magical hands of the two wonderful ladies who prepared a feast for us three times a day. Egyptians people are absolutely wonderful when it comes to honouring their guests by their presence, their homes and the means they use to ensure that you are spending the best possible time you could fathom at that particular moment.

We were fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of the village of Samanoud, on our walk outside of the villa. If you wander the streets of Egypt, whether you are at the pyramids, in Mokattam, in the streets or in the villages, and if you own a camera, one pleasant and recurrent occurrence is the magnetic attraction that you will have on children. They will come and gather around you, and be the best possible models for your photographs.

Once you have photographed them, you will be expected to show it to them and each will look, smile and run for yet another one. This has happened several times and I am ashamed to admit that, when it happened the first time after my arrival here, my European fearful and patronizing self thought that they would come to me to request money, but this has never happened, they are just children excited to see their photos.

Since then, when that wave of little bodies fluctuates towards us, it is with a genuine welcoming smile that I let them gather and take their pictures, as all of our traveling companions do. I have seen many children, who I have wanted to snatch out of this life and take home, and I hate our materialistic and judicial system for not allowing me to do so, but until Samanoud, I had not really connected with any of those children.

Perhaps it is the western guilt that generates this feeling of wanting to save everybody in the village; the children do not have a guaranteed education, and most of them will never set foot outside of their village. They will be expected to work very early, gather enough money to marry and will have their own children, with a daily struggle to provide for them as much as they possibly can – these children I see today are the dots that start tracing the infinite traced and carved natural circle of life in the village.

Yet, as sad as it may sound, to a Western, comfortable person whose worries are as pathetically materialist and meaningless on the grand scheme of human tragedies, their lives could be much worse. Out in the village, they play and run around with their friends, a continuous kinesthetic experience that gives them much awareness of the world they live in. They also have enough food and clothing to be comfortable and enjoy the beautiful nature, fields and environment around them. Comparatively, their lives are blessed to the ones living currently in nations torn apart and open by implanted wars, such as Syria or several other nations on this continent.

However, this time was different, because one child planted a seed, in all of us. I wish you could meet Ahmed, who did nothing different and yet left an indelible mark on the canvas of our souls.

Ahmed came along with most of his friends, bearing a huge and typical beautiful smile on both his lips and his eyes. When the traditional photo shoot had started and body language wasn’t sufficient to be understood, he started talking with us in Arabic, which was translated by our friends. Ahmed expressed how happy he was to meet us, and his inquisitive self came to each of us to ask where we were from and other questions; when confused about the geographical location of Austria and France, he was satisfied by the overarching term of Europe and knew about America. He often said that he was having the best day of his life. All this time, he is walking alongside with us, respecting our walk but satisfying his own need for answers.

Once we reached the village, our group looked like as though we were on a school trip with a class, and more children started to gather around us. For the first time, in the past half an hour, some girls appeared amongst the masculine crowd.

My older Bul got a little scared, given the amount of attention and willingness to touch his hair, I tried to explain to him that this is simply sheer and uncontrolled enthusiasm and curiosity, we turned around. On our way back, followed by 25 other children and Ahmed, a couple of men chased them away from us, threatening them with banana branches. Just as we were about to enter the flowery gate, Ahmed and two friends re appeared, after having run around the fields with the simple purpose of saying good bye properly.

He requested individual pictures with each of us and asked whether we would re appear tomorrow. Ahmed, with his curiosity, smiley eyes and kind manners, left us all nostalgic to leave him.

I wouldn’t wish to snatch him away from his family but I wish I could stay here, come back regularly and support his bright little self.

"Attack in Tunis and 21 people (mostly tourists) killed"

Insha Allah, in many years, I will read this heading and have a smile on my face, reflecting on how we felt tonight and how farfetched my imagination can be.

It all started in Istanbul, when a few riots (absolutely harmless) broke out on Taksim Square. They happened for all the right reasons, as the Turkish fist, shaped with men, women and children, rose against another unrealistic, egomaniac and deeply troubled prime minister. That was our first confrontation to riots in the place where we lived.  At that time, unable to go on the square as our first boubou was little, we banged pots and pans, to show our support and respect for the Turkish people who went and fought for their ideas.

In August 2013, as we were zipping up our suitcases the eve of our departure for Cairo, the second revolution broke out and on the day of our arrival, a curfew and state of emergency was instated, along with several travel bans to Egypt. I will never forget the dumbfounded face of the airport worker who was registering our bags, staring at our two babies and asked me quietly: "have you watched the news lately? Do you know what you are doing?"

Egypt, needless to repeat it, has been very good to us and as the number of days decreases before our departure, I feel increasingly sad and do NOT regret coming in on the 14th of August. Daily, bombs are being diffused around Cairo and friends are being assailed in their cars, but thankfully, we are safe, even if I do not feel as safe as when I walk around in Europe.

It is as though you have to choose between the safety of clouds, rain and cold efficiency or the unsafe, chaotic and poor warmth of the sunshine... 

Tonight, as I bake 52 cupcakes for a pretend birthday party (I shall not even explain how this happened), wiping my face thinking of how much I love this place and its people, "they" killed 19 tourists in Tunis. 

The first blow is from my own mind and a thousand thoughts are spinning around as fast as the blender. WHY THE HELL is this happening in Tunis, our next destination? How does this happen? Am I creating revolution and turmoil? What is wrong with my decisions in life? Am I even thinking of my children?

The second slap is on social network: understandably, our families and friends are concerned and send us their opinions about it. It is understandable, it is very sweet and it is also adding to the worrying / guilt trip I have already set sail on, full speed.

So here it is: I am afraid and I wish I didn't have to live in a place where safety is not granted. I am doubtful about our decisions and whether I am truly the best mother I can be for my family! I am scared to be one of those tourists who died today, but more importantly and as a mother, I fear for my children's safety...

Is 52 cupcakes worth it when I am flying my son and daughter towards such a destination? What was I thinking?

I remember in August, a quote calmed me: "No matter how bad things are, you can always make things worse". So let's just eat those decorated cupcakes and see what happens...

Good night family and concerned friends, we love you too...

Avez-vous rencontré nos enfants?

A L’origine, ce blog a commencé afin de garder un journal de bord de notre perspective sur l’Egypte, au fur et à mesure des mois. Egalement, nos enfants étant jeunes, et malgré le fait que certaines anecdotes restent privées, ce blog est aussi pour eux. J’espère qu’un jour, ils trouveront le temps de le lire et de comprendre leur vie bien différente, à l’étranger.

Effectivement, cela fait un moment que je pense à écrire sur l’impacte de nos voyages sur nos enfants, en évitant la façon manichéenne, mais plutot en focalisant sur les conséquences de nos decisions sur leurs personnalités déjà bien trempées!

Cette semaine, étant seule avec eux (alors que d’autres plongent avec des requins et des raies), c’était le moment idéal de le publier.

•  Le premier impacte sur eux sera l’AMOUR.

Nos “bébés” ont été aimés et gatés par un millier de personnes: des passants Turcs aux Egyptiens que l’on rencontre, en plus de toutes les tatas et tontons avec lesquels nous travaillons!

Ils ont été la cible de bisous, caresses sur la tete, de cadeaux dans les bazaars et de chocolats par la plupart des personnes que nous avons croisées dans cette region du monde!

Ca fait du bien à l’ame et ca nous permet de relativiser, surtout lorsque l’on se sent coupable d’etre loin de chez “nous”, ou du moins de nos pays respectifs.

Nos enfants, tout comme leurs parents, pensent souvent à tous les autres membres de notre famille en Europe et en Australie. Ne pas avoir cette presence, particulièrement les grand-parents, oncles et tantes, n’est pas facile pour eux non plus et c’est l’une des choses les plus éprouvantes dans nos vies. Bien sur, une visite de temps en temps permet de créer des liens, mais ceux-ci sont fragiles et demandent plus d’efforts de chacun, afin de les consolider.

Quant à nous 4, c’est une connection forte et intouchable, qui a commencé en Turquie et a continué de se solidifier en Egypte. Nos Buls, contrairement à d’autres enfants, se réveillent quotidiennement (à 6/7h du matin!) avec deux pilliers, leurs seuls repères, appelés “Issi” et “Maman”; alors oui, c'est beau mais cela signifie aussi que leur niveau dépendance et le notre sont complètement reliés.

Cette situation peut représenter un danger pour un couple, qui doit abandonner la spontanéité, et doit plannifier chaque sortie à la minute!

Une façon de gérer cette situation, c’est de nous donner du temps en couple (Et heureusement, nous avons rencontré les meilleures baby sitters du monde!) mais aussi de s’autoriser des voyages seuls, afin de conserver un peu d’individualité et se régénérer de patience!

•    Le deuxième impacte va à leur identité.

Pour certaines personnes, la langue que l’on parle reflète notre identité. Ce concept est très difficile chez nous, puisque nos enfants parlent le Francais et l’Estonien à la maison, mais sont aussi soumis à de l’Anglais, parlé par leurs parents, comme bruit de fond.

A l’école et avec leur tatas et tontons internationaux, ils communiquent en Anglais, et comme si tout cela n’était pas suffisant, notre fils apprend l’Arabe!

Alors c’est fantastique, cela dit, il doit apprendre tous les sons qui diffèrent d’une langue à l’autre, ainsi qu’à la liste infinie de lettres que l’on écrit mais ne prononce pas en Francais; la chose qui semble la plus difficile en ce moment, c’est de comprendre que l’on n'écrit pas les lettres latines de droite à gauche!

Cependant, ils arrivent à déterminer instantanément quelle est la langue de leurs interlocuteurs et s’adaptent à une vitesse impressionnante. On nous a souvent fait la remarque que leur accent (dans chaque langue) n’est pas exact ou parfait, mais pour une femme Francaise qui parle Anglais avec un accent “certain”, tout cela n’a aucune importance!

A la question “D’ou viens-tu?”, notre fils répond: “je suis né à Istanbul mais j’habite maintenant en Egypte, au Caire. J’aimais Istanbul parce qu’on avait une piscine, mais j’aime l’Eypte car il y a un désert avec des os de dinosaures (Baleines, pour etre précis). Je préfère la France car il y a le parc d’attractions de Walibi, mais je préfère l’Estonie aussi car on peut y cueillir des mures dans la foret!”

Vous pouvez penser que ce sera difficile pour eux, de trouver leurs racines Francaises et Estoniennes, et vous avez peut-etre raison. Pour etre honnête, si leurs langues maternelles sont parlées de façon courante, parfumées de Turc ou d’Arabe Egyptien, je suis convaincue que leurs personnalités reflèteront leurs origines et leurs nationalités.

Nos enfants voyagent beaucoup, bientot prêts pour leur quatrième maison depuis leur naissance, puisque nous partirons bientot pour la Tunisie. Jusqu’à maintenant, et malgré quelques commentaires sur la Turquie, ils se sont adaptés d’une manière remarquable et ont hate de découvrir leur nouvelle maison “avec un jardin”.

•    La dernière conséquence et probablement la plus importante, c’es sur les personnes qu’ils vont devenir.

Ils voyagent mensuellement, à l’aide de tous les moyens de transports que vous pouvez imaginer!

             

Ils ont vu, dans leur courte vie, plus que nous pouvions imaginer lorsque nous avions 20 ans et c’est une autre pensée qui console lorsque l’on se demande si nous avons pris les meilleures décisions pour eux.

A travers leurs voyages en Turquie, en Egypte et en Europe, ils réalisent déjà à quel point notre monde est déséquilibré, en voyant la richesse, la propreté et l’individualisme, mais aussi la pauvreté extrème et les conditions de vie de certaines personnes de leur age mais aussi plus vieux qu’eux.

On ne peut qu’espérer que cela leur laissera un sens de l’empathie et la compassion, dont ils auront tellement besoin en grandissant et vieillissant…

Il va de soi qu’après avoir descendu des dunes de sable en surfant, joué à cache-cache dans les déserts, plongé dans la mer Rouge et voyagé chaque vacance à des endroits différents, vous obtenez deux enfants TRES actifs, curieux et plein de questions sur le polythéisme, les différents types de poissons, et qui possèdent une collection de trésors (fossiles), trouvés lors de leurs aventures.

Alors avez- vous rencontré nos enfants?

Si ce n’est pas le cas, vous devirez! Ils ne vous sembleront peut-etre pas exactement Francais ou Estonien au premier abord, mais ce sont deux enfants qui valent la peine d’être connus!

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!