Pictures worth a thousand words

Click HERE to see pictures of me and Jane in Egypt!

Please, Mum

Two more days of Cairo under my belt and I maintain my first impression: clean and green. There's been a definite and successful attempt to make the city presentable. And I haven't seen anyone peeing on the street here! (Some foreign country, possibly France, is trying to push for the creation of public toliets and baths in Egypt. But what a friend pointed out is that the mosques function as such. There's one on every street and it's free and open to the public. I remember a car trip in Malaysia where I had the occassion to learn this, with much relief.)

Back to Cairo.

My first day here I let a tourist tout take me under his wing. The downtown streets are crawling with men who attempt to led you to their papyrus shop or get you to take one of their tours. I haven't actually noticed them as much now (maybe that was part of the cleanup efforts!) But Ayman appeared at my shoulder, full of his lame jokes and play on words that I'm sure he uses over and over and over (though I, too, have my own arsenal of phrases and expressions I use repeatedly). I needed to get a chip for my phone to work here, so I let him lead me around. The first two places didn't have the one I wanted and while we waited for the third store to open, he invited me to his father's perfume shop across the street for some tea. Why not? It was air conditioned and I couldn't turn down a cup of tea. I sat there, looking at the rows and rows of bottles, enduring his attempts at being funny. He asked if I wanted to try some, but when I said no, he didn't pressure me at all. I got the phone chip afterwards. Unfortuantely, when he asked for my number, I couldn't dodge the request by saying I didn't have one!

He never once asked for money. Had this been in Ghana, I wouldn't have let him take me to get the phone chip because most likely he would have only been being helpful in order to get 'dashed.' (Does that sound jaded? Or am I just being realistic?) Here, knowing the system, I knew this wasn't Ayman's angle. I could have done it on my own, but why not let someone else assist? And do that oh so very Tourist in Cairo thing of having tea in a shop. Egyptian hospitality, sa'?

In the last two weeks (Cape Town and Cairo), the only people who have asked for money have been beggars. They didn't do it because I'm white or a foreigner, but because they were asking everyone for money. Sitting at an outdoor cafe in Cape Town, eating a slice of cheesecake, a woman and her young daugther walked by. The girl's eyes got as big as saucers when she saw the cheesecake. She had a Coke in her hand, but it had probably been fished out of a trash can. I felt guilty, ashamed by the comparative extravagence. Which is worse: ordering the cheese cake in the first place or not being able to finish it?

The last night in Cape Town I holed up at a youth hostel; the fam left a day early (strange to be the one seeing Mom off...usually it's the other way around). There were no blankets and I hadn't brought a sleeping bag. It was maybe 10-15 C (50-60 F?) that night and I was freezing! I layered on all the clothes in my pack. 8 shirts, 3 pairs of pants, 2 skirts, and 4 pairs of socks. I used my tiny towel and sarong as blankets, but all that didn't do much good. But here's the thing: it was for only 1 night. I knew this suffering was limited and at least I had a bed under my back and not concrete. What about the girl, wrapped in a blanket, that asked "Mum" for money. The sight of each and every beggar (and even the singing, dancing "rubbish man" who stood at the traffic light collecting garbage from your car for small change) was painful to Mom, so unaccustomed to poverty. (In Iowa City, we get only the occassional war vet standing outside Walmart with a sign: Will Work for Food, Anything Helps.) I felt hardened, used to shaking off the small hands that would grab you on the streets of Accra, the mothers with babies in their arms circling the restaurants in Cambodia, the elaborate stories cooked up by the homeless in New Haven.

A realization that there was nothing triumphant in an ability to look the other way, to ignore, to see through.

Last month, at a Canada Day BBQ in Ghana, we began talking about giving to beggars. I mentioned that in the 6 months I'd been in Ghana, I had not once given money to a beggar (after it came out of my mouth, it felt like a confession). Food, yes. They were surprised. "But you're volunteering, which is your contribution or donation," Kelly offered. That had been my own mental defense along the way. But I think there's more to it than that. The attitude of entitlement that is rampant in Ghana puts me off. Also, if I start to give, I'm afraid I won't be able to stop. What makes one beggar more worthy than another? Yes, I'd be more inclined to give to a handicapped person or a woman with children, than a seemingly able bodied man. But what about all the refugees in Egypt that I know personally. Their names, their histories, their pains. Giving money to a person with a name, rather than just a passing hand, means a loss of anonimity. Expecting appreciation, acknowledgement? The selfish alturist?

I'm reminded of a travel story by a young American woman that I read years ago, before I knew I'd end up in Ghana, called Somebody's Heart is Burning. While volunteering in Ghana, she meets a man traveling on the same boat for a few days. She writes:

Two weeks had passed since the day a devout man with cracked feet and glowing
eyes had asked me for my shoes. I remembered the disappointment I'd felt when
he'd asked. I'd taken him for an angel, and there he was behaving like a human
being. I realized, suddenly, that I'd spent much of my time in African befuddled
by the notion that if a friend asked me for something, it rendered our entire
relationship suspect. But what friendship isn't a balancing act, an
ever-shifting dance of altruism and self-interest? How naïve I'd been, to
imagine that any human exchange could take place in a vacuum, let alone between a person with shoes and a person without.

My reactions to beggars, to poverty, has been something I've been intending to write about for over a year. I guess I haven't done it till now because it's something I'm still struggling with.

Tyler saw some interesting animals.







The only picture of all four of us.

This landscape said one thing to me: giants live here. I don't mean really tall humans, I mean giants, like the BFG (Big Friendly Giant).


Mom thought of Heidi instead. And even yodel-ed a little. And sang the hills are alive with the sound of music.

Our Version of the Garden Gnome

Cheryl's Blog

(from Cheryl)

Hi everyone,

After an incredibly loooooooooooooooooooooooooong flight and jet lag, I'm now ready for action.

I spent two days in San Francisco, treated like a queen. Then we were off to Amsterdam, where we were shown windmills, canals, and the countryside (Tyler wouldn't let me go to the red light district or hash bars!)

Yesterday was Larry's and my 35th anniversary and I received the most beautiful bouquet I've ever seen that even had a card in Larry's handwriting! No one's talking; how'd it happen!? I was treated to dinner overlooking the harbor at a very fancy schmancy restaurant. The food was beautifully presented (we took pictures for you, Jeanne!).

We've walked around the city center, which is clean and seems European. We've driven around Table Mountain, which gave a gorgeous view of Cape Town even with the fog. After we got home, it poured rain (it's winter here, south of the equator!).

Today we took a boat to Robben Island, where Nelson Mandela and other anti-apartheid activists were held. We also saw many penguins! (Here we're about 6000 km from the South Pole and 16,000 km to San Fran!) The boat ride was very rough, but I totally enjoyed it and didn't get seasick since I was standing at the railing, with splashes of Ocean Spray (not CranApple).

Tomorrow we're going to "blow this pop stand" and head outside of Cape Town, along the Garden Route. We're planning to go to the Cape of Good Hope.

Things not seen in Iowa City: a middle-aged man carrying half a loaf of bread on his head; an aloe tree; a rubber tree; seals, penguins, and gazelle-like animals; South African dentist (fixing part of a tooth that fell out); people driving on the other side of the road.

Jill has typed this email and influenced some wording, always for the better.