A week left in Port Said

Our time in Port Said serving at the Holy Family Shelter and living at the Good Shepard school and convent are coming to an end. We've had so much fun here and have been stretched inexpressibly and have tangible ways to think and pray about this place and the country of Egypt as a whole.

There's an "ABE" mentality that is so rampant here (ABE in Arabic can be translated as something that is wrong or that people highly frown upon here) and for me, the girl who was raised in the Protestant church, it's sometimes hard to listen to people who seemingly have no grace for others and judge people not according to their hearts but according to their deeds. Especially because Mariam and I are in a different culture. Let me explain, an example if you will. We went to church yesterday and Mariam was wearing a cap sleeve shirt and was about to take communion and the priest serving the wine was like, "don't wear that again. I shouldn't even give you the blood of Christ in that shirt." No cleavage people, nothing wrong with the shirt at all. In fact, it's a baggy shirt compared to the skin tight long sleeved crap everyone else is wearing. It seems as though skin tight is fine here, as long as it is long sleeve. SKIN is what people do not want to see here. There are Muslim girls all over the street wearing skin tight stuff so that anyone can define the exact contour of her body, but as soon as one of us puts on a baggy shirt that is short sleeve or skirt that does not come down to our ankles, someone's rebuking us for it.

I guess the priest was right, cause after church in Port Said, we were on the street buying parting gifts for all the girls and we were crossing the street (an adventure on it's own) and I had made it across to a kiosk we were going to buy purses from and heard an "ohh!" from Mariam. Once she gets across she screams in English, "Did you just see what happened?" and I'm like, "No, but you just blew our chance to buy anything from this dude." He heard her yelling in English and therefore was going to hike the price up for us 'foreigners'. She's like, "That man just touched my crotch!!!" Um, yes people-you heard me right. Here we are in the middle of a street in Egypt looking like the freaking Amish, and Mariam still gets groped. It's ridiculous.

Anyway, we've both begun to understand this is not our country, America is and we are foreigners here. As much as I'd love to change things, and hope that women might be allowed to wear suitable clothing for the 100 degree weather outside, it seems that it's impossible for a man to hold in his animal instinct and grab her. It's as if the whole culture (which stems from the overpowering religious laws of Islam) leans to the understanding that people are uncivilized and unless you cover yourself from head to toe, who knows what might happen. The men can't control themselves. Bullshit.

What is unfortunate is that the culture of men being superior to women and women covering up did not always exist in Egypt. In the past 40 or so years Islam has become more widespread and fundamentalist and in order for the Christians here to survive they have had to cope and evolve. We were talking to some of the older girls we work with when they told us this and I realized that survival of the fittest still exists in humanity-for Christians here to survive and live with minimal persecution, they practice several of the cultural things Muslims practice due to their religion. Basically, the only way I know a woman or man is Christian here is if the woman is not wearing a covering over her head and if she or he has a cross tattoo on their wrist. It is their way of proclaiming their faith without speaking while also suffering (from persecution) the same way Christ did as he was nailed to the cross.

The freedom in America I have experienced all my life is something I will remember to thank God for much more. I realize that my cousins have grown up every single day of their lives (because they have never left Egypt) and listened to the Muslim call for prayer 5 times a day for 25 years. Thank you Lord for the freedom to worship you-may I not take it for granted when I return home.

Bazroom Broblems and More Langauge

Here’s why going to the bathroom in Egypt is a royal pain in the ass-literally. Mariam thinks it should be an Olympic event. Agreed. To be able to squat over a toilet while making sure your pants don’t touch the soaking wet floor (don’t ask me why the bathroom floors are always, always wet) then realize there is no toilet paper and you will have to let go of one of your pant legs to reach behind you and turn on the water bidet while still keeping the squat position. It’s pretty much bathroom twister. If you’re lucky, you’ll come out with one wet pant-leg, like me at Pizza Pino in Port Said. Tisoney Illaria (who is hilarious) took us there. When we got back to The Good Shepard school/covenant where we’re staying and they asked where we went, we told them Pizza Pino. For a moment they looked confused and then one said, “oooh, Bizza Bino!” The Arabic language doesn’t have a P. So all P words become B words.

Examples. “That’s not appropriate” turns into “Zat’s not abbrobriate”
“Give me the paper” turns into “Give me za baber.”

Language Bloopers

On day two, Mariam and I are walking on the streets of Port Said with Tisoney Hailpeace and I nicely try to tell Hailpeace, “If my clothing is not conservative enough, please let me know.” The Arabic word for clothing is libs. I accidentally added one more vowel to the word changed it from clothing into underwear. At that, Mariam busts out laughing and I’m confused. Then Mariam explains to me that I told a nun, if my underwear isn’t conservative enough please tell me. It’s fine, we all have slip ups. Some are Freudian and some are not. I still think the Egyptian Sunday School teacher (who is now a priest) with a heavy Arabic accent that tried to teach a lesson to 13 year olds about gentiles-which he unforgettably called genitals the whole lesson-wins on language trip ups.

Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world and I love the younger girls we are playing with here. There are only six of them and they are like a little family helping one another. We’ve had water balloon fights, went bobbing for coke bottles (yes, coke bottles) had a watermelon contest-who can eat their piece the fastest, while spitting the seeds into a cup and then who can spit the seeds the fastest. Everyday with the older and younger girls we do exercise, mainly yoga but I implemented some kickboxing with the younger ones and they had such a good time with it that I might try it with the older girls tonight. Jesus loves those older girls too.

God give me the strength and patience to love the older girls unconditionally like you do. They are so harsh and mean with each other. There’s one girl that’s overweight and they call her a cow and tell her she’s going to die and other harsh words that hurt my heart to hear. Every time Mariam and I talk to them about it and tell them that they are hurting her feelings and not encouraging her, they say-we’re joking around, she knows we’re kidding. Bull-crap people. There’s no way the girl is gonna lose weight if you keep calling her a fat ass. She’ll just gain more because food is probably her comfort, and when she’s hurting that’s what she turns to. They don’t get it here. There’s a woman who helps run the house called Aziz who we’re having trouble with cause she puts all this crap in the girls minds. She’s the one who tells the obese girl that she is going to die because she doesn’t listen. Idiot. Mariam fights with her a lot. God bless Mariam’s Arabic. I’m really being humbled here, not getting to talk but always listening. I realize how much I like to give my opinion in America and dominate conversations because of it. Not here. I find myself understanding what everyone is saying, but if I try to put in my two cents, I disrupt the flow of the conversation because my Arabic sentences don’t make sense. Especially in deep conversations, or spiritual ones. I don’t know any spiritual words in Arabic. Wait, I take that back. Farah is joy.

What Am I doing in Egypt?

I’ve been here a week and I freaking love this place. We got here and were greeted by Sister (Tisoney in Arabic-I’ll use these words interchangeably but the one thing to know is that these nuns are not the kind that hang out in the convent all day, they serve the community) Hailpeace. Hailpeace showed us around and put us in a wing of the convent where we have our own kitchen, room with coveted air conditioning and refrigerator stocked with foods, and our own bathroom. Score.

We’re staying in a small city close to the Suez Canal called Port Fouad. It’s just a ferry ride across to larger Port Said and the two cities seem somehow connected or interchangeable. So the weather here is beautiful. Because we are on the beach there’s a light breeze and it makes the weather beautiful and sunny.

We’ve ventured to Port Said a few times and been to the beach. Once just to hang out with one of the Tisonys (Batoole is her name) and speak in English with her (which is absolutely fine with me because my Arabic is apparently horrible and only now when I’m forced to use it if I want to talk to people do I realize how much I blow. Tisoney Batoole prefers I speak in English, in her broken English she explains, I understand your English better than Arabic. Fine Tisoney. Side note, I think we’re here for the Tisonys. Sure, we’re here to play with encourage and build up all of the girls (old and young, mentally handicapped and elderly) but we’re only here for 3 weeks. More than that, I know these women are working so hard, and I think and hope we are bringing them some new joy and fresh ideas and encouragement. They are all freaking awesome. Sweetest little ladies ever, but all hilarious and full of fire. Example.. We’re giving English class to the nuns and one of the Nuns is answering one of our questions correctly-another Nun, Tisoney Illaria says, “what’s this? Studying behind our backs? I’ll kill you.” Baller that woman. I remember her name cause Illaria is hilarious. It kinda rhymes if you change the s at the end of hilarious into an a.

“What the crap have you been doing over there Sarah?” you ask. A lot, dude, a lot. Here’s what an average day here looks like. Wake up at 6:15 am and get ready church at 6:45. After church we eat and then we’re off to play with the little girls (8-15) from 10-12. Then at noon we go hang out with the mentally disabled-there are 3 girls and they are all hilarious each one with an awesome personality. I could hang out with these ladies all day long, seriously. Then twice a week we have tea with the elderly (men and women) who also live in the shelter we serve at. Then we go back to our place (the Good Shepherd School and convent) and eat something and hang out a bit then head back to the Shelter and hang out with the older girls for 2 hours each night. We've gotten to spend time with a lot of people and I'm not gonna lie-by the end of the night around 10, I'm freaking beat. But I love it here, a lot and I'll be really sad when I leave.