Global Reflections

Or at least it was. I didn't actually see the rain. Jeff felt a couple of drops when he was downstairs putting the grocery cart back. I didn't really believe him when he told me (I asked if there had been a bird overhead), even though I had noticed earlier that the sky looked like rain. I figured, hey, I'm in Egypt; it probably isn't rain on the way, just a dust storm (which I have not yet experienced).

Then, just a few minutes ago, Jeff called me over to the window. The courtyard was wet, but not all over, like it is when they wash it. It was dry under the overhangs. We went out onto the walkway, and the railing was wet. But when we stuck our hands out, there was no rain. Jeff pointed out that it actually doesn't rain water here anyway. On those rare occasions when it rains, it rains mud. At least that's what we've been told.

I haven't seen rain since before we left the States, in mid-June. I hadn't even noticed until today.

My friend Lauren emailed me a link to a very interesting newspaper article this morning. Let me summarize:

In June 2007, in Cairo, a 28-year-old boy in a man's body (Sharif Gomaa) pulled his van alongside a 27-year-old woman (Noha Rushdie Saleh), reached out of his window, grabbed her breast, and pulled her toward his van. She pushed him away, falling down in the process. Gomaa then attempted to pull away, but--thank heaven for Cairo traffic--was unable to do so because another driver cut him off. Noha then did the unthinkable: she stood on the hood of Gomaa's vehicle to prevent him from getting away, and she asked passersby for help. They refused her. One woman even told Noha to "look at what [she was] wearing" because she wasn't wearing hijab. Noha was undeterred. She and a friend dragged Gomaa to a nearby police station . . . where the police initially refused to do anything. Eventually Noha herself drove a police officer and Gomaa to the main police station. Finally, over a year later, earlier this week, Gomaa was sentenced to three years in prison with hard labor. It's the first time in Egyptian history that a man has been sentenced for sexual harassment.

My initial reaction: Noha, you are one brave woman, and I respect you very much. Good for you, for not backing down, for demanding justice in a situation where everything about your history must have been telling you that you wouldn't get it. I am impressed.

Sexual harassment is not at all uncommon here in Egypt. Female tourists are advised to wear a wedding band, even if they aren't married, and that helps curb the harassment some, but it doesn't eliminate it. According to the news article, 83% of Egyptian women say that they have been harassed. Only 3% report it, because nothing will be done . . . there isn't even a specific law in Egypt banning sexual harassment. The common response is to blame the victim. She wasn't dressed modestly; she was asking for it. As if men are so weak that they have no control over their actions; a woman wearing loose long sleeves and loose long pants is just so alluring that they can't help themselves. Puh-lease. If you believe that, there's a bridge I'd like to sell you.

And it isn't even always the case that the victims aren't dressed modestly, even according to the Muslim definition. During the Eid (holiday) after Ramadan this year, a mob of around 100 youths attacked female pedestrians, I believe in Mohandiseen, a Cairo neighborhood. More details here and here. The same thing happened during the same Eid in 2006. The attackers ripped at the women's clothes, tearing them off. The women were wearing hijab. One even was wearing niqab, which covers the face as well as the hair. The attackers tried to tear it off. Now I understand why we foreigners are advised not to go out walking during the Eid. I'm not sure why it is that the end of a religious celebration--Ramadan--is marked by this kind of sexual violence, but it's a pattern and therefore should be recognized. On the positive side, this incident also pointed out some improvements in government response. Although no police officers were present when the mob began the attack, the police arrived quickly and put an end to it. Eight people were arrested. They went before a judge earlier this month, but I haven't seen any reports of the outcome.

The harassment usually is not violent like it was in these incidents. I know of one embassy wife who received a hard slap on the behind from some punk on a motorcycle, but most of the harassment is verbal. There will be catcalls or rude suggestions yelled at women. Women have been cautioned not to ever sit in the front of a taxi with the driver--some drivers assume that means you're sexually available, and they get free with their hands. There's also some inappropriate touching on the streets. (I've been told if that ever happens to me, it's perfectly acceptable for me to start yelling and screaming and berating whoever did it, as long as I don't curse or hit them. I'm not sure what my actual response would be; I haven't had to find out.)

I personally have experienced very little harassment. I'm pretty sure I've heard a few rude suggestions or comments, but since my Arabic is very limited, I didn't understand them, which is fine by me. There are some phrases I'd just as soon not learn. I had a cab driver yesterday yell at me out the window, as he pulled off to the side of the road to offer me a ride, "bee-yoo-ti-ful!" I scowled at him and kept walking. Even if I had wanted a ride, I wouldn't have gotten into his taxi. I had another taxi driver the other day who was marginal; in America, he would have been someone who just bungled a pick-up attempt, but here, he was bordering on rude, at the minimum. He kept staring in his mirror and telling me how good and beautiful American women are. So I responded by telling him how good and beautiful and smart and strong Egyptian women are. He said "No, they are not!" I told him he was wrong and got out of the cab. I pretended not to notice when he tried to give me his mobile number so I could call him when I needed a taxi. I just handed him my LE5 through the window and walked away.

So there you have it. Most, if not all, women in Cairo will experience some form of harassment at some point in time. Most of it is verbal; some involves physical touching. In rare cases, there will be violence. It's one of the trade-offs to living in Egypt, a trade-off that shouldn't have to be made, but that remains nonetheless. On the one hand, we Western women get to experience a totally different culture, visit some amazing archeological sites, and meet some incredible people. On the other hand, we have to put up with some offensive and shocking behavior. I would love to know how Egyptian women think about it--the ones who have been harassed, and the ones who haven't. Do most blame the victim, or is that a minority opinion among women? Do they view it as a normal part of life to be accepted, or does it anger them like it does Western women? And what do the majority of Egyptian men think--do they blame the victim or do they recognize that men are responsible for their own behavior? When their wife or daughter is the victim, who do they blame?

There are forces at work within Egypt to enhance women's legal and social standing and to decrease harassment, and progress is being made, as shown by the improved response to this year's Eid violence. Here's hoping the situation continues to improve.

So I mentioned, I think, in a previous post that I signed up to help with the Maadi Women's Guild Christmas Bazaar. I have no experience in anything like this, so I was thinking that I'd play a nice little behind-the-scenes, supporting role. One where I couldn't mess anything up, seeing as how this is the biggest fundraiser of the year, and MWG counts on it for money to give grants to charities (orphanages, leprosy colonies, and medical clinics, among others). I thought I'd ease my way into it, learn a few things, and then maybe, if I had an aptitude, play a bigger role next year.

God had other plans. It turns out that Marge, the MWG president and the person who's in charge of the bazaar, is having a really hard time getting anyone to agree to take a leadership role. She really wanted me to spearhead the raffle and the silent auction. This involves soliciting for donated items from local businesses, deciding what goes into the raffle and what goes into the auction, getting everything set up, setting start prices, getting volunteers to help with set-up and with monitoring the auction--can you believe someone stole a gold cartouche one year?--and probably more that I'm not thinking of right now. Luckily, for some of the donations, I have help: Marge and another lady both have relationships with some businesses that can provide Nile cruises and other large donations, and the lady in charge of the food vendors is going to hit them up for donations. But there's still a lot to be done, and not a lot of time in which to do it.

So--for those of you who are praying people, please pray for me and for this event. And for those of you who may have experience with anything like this--suggestions are welcome. And for those of you who live here in Egypt--please please please please please help me out with this. I need people to solicit donations (I'm really bad at that), put together baskets for the silent auction (I can sort items into different themes but I'm not good at packaging it to look nice . . . and I need someone to donate the containers, too), help me set up the day before the bazaar, and take a turn watching during the auction. I'm hoping for enough day-of volunteers so everyone can take some time to go shop without leaving anything vulnerable.

And everyone take a deep breath; it's going to be a rollercoaster!

Today has been a bit on the busy side, but it's been good. I woke up at 6:30, all on my own with no help from an alarm clock. It's a good thing I woke up a good while before Jeff had to leave for work, because he wanted to eat breakfast at home today. Usually, I'm still in bed when he leaves, and he gets breakfast from the cafeteria once he gets to work. But it isn't entirely that I'm lazy in the mornings--I stopped getting up because Jeff never had time for breakfast; I'd fix it, and he'd have to run out the door without eating it. In fact, he was the one who woke me up (at my request). I stopped getting up when he stopped waking me up. But anyway, I got up and fixed breakfast for both of us, then got myself ready for the day when he left.

And I had to get myself ready for the day, rather than spend my usual lazy hour or so checking email, news, and my favorite blogs, because I had something important to do this morning: go to the October meeting of the Maadi Women's Guild! I've been looking forward to this ever since the September meeting. Not only was I looking forward to the meeting itself, but I was looking forward to the shopping beforehand! I wasn't disappointed, either. I knew three things I was hoping to find: a Christmas gift for my niece, a rug either for our entryway or for the kittens' room (they track litter all over it, so a rug with a good texture should help contain the mess), and the Arabic alphabet/number baby books (for a friend).

So I came in the gate and headed straight for the Recycling Center table--after a slight detour when someone at the welcome table waylaid me to sign in. Drat the delay; the competition is fierce for those bedspreads and rugs! I got to their table, though, and immediately saw the books, but it turns out that the price was higher than my friend had authorized me to pay. So on to the next goal--and there it was, a pretty blue and white rug with the texture I wanted for the kittens. It would look good in the entryway, but if it wasn't big enough (I forgot to measure and am horrible at judging by just looking at it), it still would work perfectly in the kittens' room. I picked it up for a closer look and had just decided to buy it when another woman asked me if she could check its price. I checked the tag and told her that it was only LE20, but that I was buying that one. She offered to arm wrestle me for it. No luck, it was mine! (Insert evil movie laugh here.)

As I chatted with the nice-but-too-late rug shopper, I happened to look up and there, draped across the wall, was the perfect gift for my niece: a white-background blanket/bedspread with traditional "dolls" in a variety of pastel colors, so that no matter how many times she changes her mind about her favorite color, it's likely to be in that blanket. (At five, she's a little old for a baby blanket, but she loved the one I sent her little brother a couple months ago, so her mother and I decided that a "big girl" blanket would be an appropriate Christmas gift.) So, again: there, draped across the wall, was the perfect gift for my niece. But then, right before my horrified eyes, one of the sales attendants pulled it down and handed it to a couple of women. Drats, foiled again! But, wait, they were handing it back . . . there is yet hope. As the other would-be buyers walked away, I approached the sales attendant and asked how much the blanket cost. A bit more than I had planned to spend . . . nuts. However, there is still hope--I spy three more blankets hanging on a rack. First check: the price. Yes, definitely much more reasonable. I am told these are cheaper because they're baby blankets. That's okay, a baby blanket makes a great big-girl throw. But there's a problem . . . three problems, actually. One is almost all baby boy blue. It's very pretty, but it's not a color I've seen my niece get excited over, and . . . well, it just doesn't look like my niece. The other two, I just don't like. It was the shapes on them. Just not pretty. My eye kept going back to the pastel pinks, purples, yellows, greens, and blues now hanging back over the wall. Yes, it's more than I planned to spend. Yes, it's a bit bigger than I intended--I actually had intended on more of a baby blanket size. But it's just so . . . right. So I bought it. Hopefully she'll like it.

With my three major goals accomplished--even with the negative results on the one mission--I just browsed through the rest of the stalls. I found a few more things to buy: some baby puzzles, handmade by handicapped people, for my youngest nephew; a carved wooden train with an engine car, a caboose, and two regular cars for another nephew; and an insulated canvas water bottle carrier with a shoulder strap for me. Then it was time to go in for the meeting.

I had a good time. I met some new women while waiting for things to get started, and we kidded around about how much of an old-timer I am; I've been here a whole month longer than one of them, who's been here a whole month longer than the other. I chatted with some ladies from my life group and some more from my Captivating (by John and Stasi Eldredge) study, which just started last week. I also chatted with the editor of the Maadi Messenger, who will be using some of my blog entries as magazine articles in coming months. I was amazed at the difference one short month can make! Just last month, I knew only two or three people there, and I was a bit shy about introducing myself. This month, I knew several people and felt no hesitation in introducing myself to more. I even remember two of their names! (Major accomplishment for someone with as bad a memory for names as mine.)

The highlight of the meeting definitely was the African Fashion Show. I had wanted to bring my camera specifically for that, but the battery was too low . . . I'll try to get pictures from a friend and post or link to them later. There was a carpeted runway down the center of the tables, and we were treated to a series of women from different African nations, all wearing traditional clothing of their country. There were women from Sudan, Congo, Liberia, Egypt, Ethiopia, Cameroon, Eritrea, Ghana, Kenya, Nigeria, Uganda, and Zimbabwe. All of the women were beautiful. Some had the stunning good looks of models; others may not have turned your head on the street under ordinary circumstances. But all of them were beautiful today, as they smiled so joyfully at sharing and having others appreciate a little bit of what makes them who they are. That ties in so well with what we've been talking about in the Captivating study . . .

Anyway, I rushed out of the meeting just before it actually ended. I was supposed to be at language class at 11:30 this morning, and the meeting didn't end until maybe 11:45. I had made the conscious decision to be late to class, because MWG is important to me, and because my language teacher hasn't been less than 15 minutes late--usually 20 or 30--since classes started, due to an earlier class in another part of town and bad traffic. So theoretically, I was okay with being late. But you know me . . . I abhor tardiness, especially when I'm the one who's late. I could feel my anxiety about it rising throughout the meeting. Finally I couldn't take it and I had to leave.

I flagged down a taxi pretty quickly and I was on my way . . . only to be chagrined as the driver pulled into a gas station, first promising "only ten minutes," then quickly reducing it to five minutes, then to one, as he saw the impatience on my face. He got the gas he needed, then started the car again . . . or tried to. He pushed the car backward up a slight hill (with me and my huge shopping bag still in it), then hopped in and tried to get it started while it rolled down. Didn't work. He tried again. After the fourth time, I just got out and handed him some money. I had gotten about five feet down the road when another taxi pulled out of the same gas station and picked me up, taking me the rest of the way to class. By this point, my anti-late mode was in full swing. I couldn't stand it! I hopped out of the taxi and headed inside the building--when I heard a familiar voice. I paused and turned . . . to see my teacher hopping out of another taxi behind me. Suddenly all the tension was gone, for me, at least. Even as we walked in together, my teacher apologized profusely for his tardiness. He didn't seem to understand that my own tardiness negated any ill will about his--for this time, at least; he probably was apologizing for the pattern rather than for today specifically. We went in, and I called a classmate, who has taken to staying at work until I call to let her know our teacher has arrived. Then she appears just a few minutes later. We had a good class, and I came home.

After lunch, I did some laundry and some dishes. Then I baked cookies for tonight's life group meeting. We have a couple who have offered to host it each week, and we just bring pot-luck snacks. Last week I took apple pie. Tonight . . . chocolate chip cookies. I started this blog while the first batch baked. Now I'm finishing up and waiting for Jeff to get home . . .

So that's my Tuesday. How has yours been?

Today I participated in the Baby Wash program for the first time. Once a week, a group of English-speaking ladies meets at the Community Services Association (CSA) in Maadi, a suburb of Cairo, Egypt. From there, the group takes a trip over to Giza, just across the Nile and north a little, to volunteer at a community center type of ministry. This center houses a medical clinic, a program to educate street children in a trade so they can earn a living, and the baby wash. Although the English speakers only go once a week, the ministry is not neglected. Each day of the week has a different group at the baby wash—I know an Italian group goes one day, but I’m not sure who fills in the other three days.

The baby wash is the fundraiser for this ministry. The mothers who bring their children pay a very nominal fee, I think just LE1 or 2. The groups who go provide the bulk of the financial support. We pay roughly 2000USD per year. The money, at least for our group, is donated by a church back in the United States whose congregation wants to help these babies, their mothers, and the others who benefit from the center.

At the baby wash, mothers bring in their babies to be weighed, washed, and screened for obvious medical difficulties. It’s a four-week program with weekly visits, and the children receive a gift each time. During the first visit, they receive a pair of pants, a t-shirt, and a cloth diaper that the volunteers never actually put on the baby because we don't know how--we use disposable diapers on them. A photograph also is taken of the baby and mother during this first visit; it is given to the mothers during the second visit. For many of these women, this will be the only picture they ever have of themselves with their beloved child—some women participate in the program exclusively because they want this picture. During the second visit, participants also receive an adorable little gallabeya, another pair of pants, and a pair of socks. During the third visit, they receive a thick sweater, matching pants, and a hat. During the fourth and final visit, they receive a baby blanket. All of the items are purchased from local women who make the items out of soft Egyptian cotton. In this way, the ministry helps the working poor of the community, not just those who benefit directly from the center’s services.

While the babies are bathed, a couple of things happen simultaneously. New mothers who may not know how to bathe their babies learn by observation, and the babies are given a good once-over to make certain that any obvious medical problems are addressed. Babies can be sent over to the clinic if necessary, but it's more common for the women to be given supplies, such as diaper rash cream or a moisturizing lotion or oil, and to be told how to use them to care for their babies' routine needs.

This morning, six expat women met at CSA to take the trip over. Two of us were "in training" to bathe the babies. Neither of us had ever bathed a baby! Two were regular volunteers--one actually is in charge of coordinating the program for our group. One had been to the baby wash once before and is a mother herself. The final volunteer was a baby wash regular, but she was going this time to be trained in the administrative role of weighing the babies and keeping the records, which would be her responsibility while the usual coordinator was traveling over the next month.

At the clinic, we set up in a good-sized room that obviously was designed for the program. There were three sinks, each with a baby tub and ample counter space, and a couple of tables. Cushy pads rested on the counters, to lay the babies on while drying them. Baby wash, shampoo, lotion, and oil were stored in a locked cabinet and were distributed quickly to each station. A baby scale was on one table, and the second quickly became filled with the baby garments and diapers that were taken from the storage room next door.

Before any mothers or babies came in, my trainer showed me how to clean the tub in between each baby. Then we filled the tub with warm water--constantly adjusting the water flow, because the hot water kept cutting in and out--and set up the towels and washcloth that we'd need for our first "client." One of the other more experienced women did the same with our other newbie in training at the sink beside us. The remaining two women made sure all the supplies were ready, set up the scale, and got out the records that they keep on each child.

When the first baby came in, she was stripped off and weighed, then handed off to the pair beside us. The second one was ours. My mentor and I had agreed that I would watch her take care of the first one, then she would supervise me taking care of the second, and then I'd be ready to be on my own. So I watched as my trainer bathed the baby and washed her hair, explaining all the while what she was doing. Then she pulled the baby out of the tub and wrapped her up in a towel, dried her off, checked for diaper rash, and put her diaper and new clothes on. Easy enough. While she brushed the baby's hair and helped with the picture, I cleaned out and refilled the tub for the next one.

The next one also was a little girl. After she was weighed, she was placed in my arms. I have to admit, I took my time getting over to the tub. It was so nice just to hold such a tiny, precious baby! But then we were at the tub, and I had to put her down (of course while continuing to support her little head and keep it out of the water). It was easier than expected to bathe her. I've been in the room before when my sister or sister-in-law were bathing their little ones, but until today, I was never the one who actually bathed the child. I always assumed it would take a master of coordination to support the baby's head while also bathing the baby, washing her hair, and rinsing everything off. Nope. It was easy. I bet it would have been different had she decided to fight me, but all my babies today were easy. When I was finished, I pulled her out of the tub and laid her down on a clean towel spread out over the cushion. Her mother, who had been standing beside me the whole time, started drying her off before I even got my hands off her. So I had help from then on out. Apparently this is normal. Some mothers stand back and let you do your thing; others want to help.

When we were finished with that baby, I was pronounced ready to do it on my own. However, our other newbie also was ready to do it on her own, and there were only three sinks. So the two experienced ladies each had a sink to themselves, and we novices shared. My companion washed the first one, then I dried and clothed her. We swapped roles for the second baby, then swapped again for the third and final baby of the day. I noticed while my partner bathed Ramadan that he had severe diaper rash. When she pulled him out of the tub, I tried to be very gentle as I dried him off. Luckily, he was a happy baby, just lying there grinning up at me. One of the other ladies brought me some diaper rash cream, which I smeared on everywhere he seemed red and irritated. The poor baby--his rash was extensive. Everywhere his diaper covered, even halfway up his back and down his little legs where the diaper didn't even go, was red. I learned later that the rash was so bad because his mother didn't realize how often his diaper needed to be changed; she was a first-time mother, and even the more experienced mothers here often don't change the diapers enough because diapers are expensive, and there isn't enough money to buy more than absolutely required. Ramadan was in the same diaper for a whole day and night. We gave the mom some diaper rash cream, and the woman who works at the clinic full-time—the only one of us who speaks fluent Arabic—told her how and when to apply it.

I think we bathed eleven or so babies total this morning. There were the two while I was training, the two that the other training pair did during the same time, three that we novices bathed, and then I'm assuming another two each for the other volunteers. There may have been more, though; we novices probably were slower than the others.

I've been told that I'll be able to go to the Baby Wash around once a month. They can use only a limited number of volunteers, because there are only three sinks, so not everyone goes each time. But I'm looking forward to going again.

One of the other women also told me about the volunteering that she does a few times a week at Mother Teresa's in Mokkatum. The nuns run an orphanage and a daycare so that impoverished parents can work, and volunteers come in to help care for the babies. There also is a special needs room, where handicapped children are cared for. I'm going to see about going up there at least once or twice to see if that's a place where I can get involved in helping out.

It's really heartbreaking, when you think about all the needs. You don't really see a lot of it in Maadi, other than a few beggars and street children selling tissue paper for a pound a pack, but there is immense need in Egypt. In a previous post, I talked a little about Garbage City, or Mokkatum. And then there are the street children. It makes me want to get involved wherever I can. Updates as events warrant.


9 February 2009 Update:

Since I originally wrote this post, I have been back to the baby wash three or four times. I have seen many babies who are well cared for and a few others whose mothers do the best they can. In each case where more appropriate care is needed, the mothers have been very receptive to instruction, and the results are apparent on the baby’s next visit.

Unfortunately, little Ramadan’s case of diaper rash is not the worst I have seen. Just last week, I saw a little boy whose diaper rash was so severe that his skin looked raw and wrinkled, as if he had been burned. He also had sores on his face. His mother was very concerned about his condition and had been doing all she knew to alleviate his discomfort. This child went from the baby wash directly to the doctor’s office in the same building, where the mother was given instructions about his care and a medical ointment to use on his sores. I look forward to hearing that he is much better on future visits, although I can’t be sure that I’ll see him again. Each baby comes in only for four visits, and I do not always get to see them more than once.

I also had the opportunity to visit Mother Teresa’s recently. I intend to begin going there regularly. You can read about my first visit here.