new country, new blog site

Please check out our new blog, Starts with a Step, for current goings on of the Stricklans abroad. The new, location-neutral title should carry us through any future moves, too. I guess you could say it's the closest thing we have to a permanent address these days. Thanks for reading and I hope to bump into you on our new site!

moving on up...

The Cairene Machine is relocating to colder climes; we're moving to Norway! Updates to follow soon.

Our Return!

Well here we are, back in Cairo! Hamdulilleh, as we would say in Arabic. Connor and I flew back from Denver, although we got to travel business class, so the journey wasn't too arduous. We were pleased that the flight from Frankfurt to Cairo was surprisingly full and with a range of passengers that looked they were heading to Egypt for a variety of reasons. While we were both incredibly eager to get back home and immerse ourselves in life in Cairo again, we were slightly apprehensive about arriving back in a country with a much more sparse police force on the ground and without clarity about which laws are still on the books and functioning. Friends had informed us that Maadi felt surprisingly normal and even more positive than ever before, although there were somewhat higher incidences of petty crime reported.

Connor was disheartened to notice that outside the airport terminal, in the lane usually reserved and strictly enforced for picking people up only, was a parking lot of several cars deep. This caused a huge backup for cars trying to approach. I asked if these were abandoned cars from January, but Connor rightly realized that these were just people who didn't care what the police said, for there were very few officers around anyway, and found it that much more convenient to park right next to the terminal. That scene felt a little ominous to me, I must admit.

The Shell driver took us to Kattameya, where we picked up our car. Besides a fine coating of dust, it was otherwise in the exact same condition as five weeks before. Driving through Maadi, since it was a Friday night, the streets were crowded with merrymakers. Several members of the community had taken it upon themselves to direct traffic (which is usually a job left to the police). I was reminded of my days as an elementary school traffic patrol. Anyway, that level of community activism was wonderful to see. I spotted a group of teens walking arm-in-arm with matching 'January 25' t-shirts. As we approached our flat, we tried to guess how many scooters had permanently taken up residence in our driveway. Our doorman put a chain across the front of the driveway, though, so there was just one restaurant delivery scooter occupying space nearby. One of the security detail that always sits near our house, thankfully still there, quickly moved the motorbike, removed the chain, and welcomed us back. I asked him in Arabic, just to be chatty, if everything was alright in Egypt now. I was sort of getting at the overall ebullient mood of the people, but he interpreted my question as asking about personal safety in Maadi these days. He told me, 'mafeesh mushkila, ya madam' (no problem, ma'am!) and moved aside his jacket so I could see the handgun holstered to his belt. Oh my! I appreciated his attempt to relieve me, but I have to say it only served to increase my anxiety a little.

We did a quick trip over to the apartment of our friends who had been Saqqara's foster parents for the past two weeks. We scooped her up and brought her back to our house. Our friends were out that evening, taking advantage of a 70% discount for a night in the fanciest hotel in Cairo. Saqqara made the transition back to life in her old home smoothly. We were pleased to hear that she was a very good house guest, except for chewing through a laptop cord.

On Saturday afternoon, we attended a Shell security briefing in Kattameya. All requests that the company has made are reasonable and many are simply common sense for keeping safe during unstable times. The one place we are banned from visiting specifically is Tahrir Square. Especially seeing the few times that it spontaneously erupted into violence last week, that rule is understandable to me.

The next day I did some errands around our town. The supermarket clerks were much more smiley than usual as I checked out and a local pharmacist, whom I've never met before, told me 'Welcome back!' Sayyid, our doorman, rang the bell and enveloped both Connor and me in big hugs. He told us he didn't sleep for about 20 days during the part of the revolution when looting was a threat, instead knocking back a bunch of coffees and standing guard with his samurai sword. Nadia, our housekeeper, confirmed that she saw him at all hours when she came to check on the flat. Our place was exactly as we left it, save for one of the glass doors out to the patio is now locked. We have never managed to find the right key in a year and a half so we have no idea how it got locked or how to undo it. It's a mystery!

Egyptian youth have painted a series of murals on a long wall that runs through central Maadi. The messages are really inspiring:


I like this sign especially...

For the past week, we have been getting settled back into our routines in Egypt, as much as we can. I've been to the refugee office where I volunteer a couple of times. The staff is being very flexible and retooling what services it can offer to its clients while the UN has temporarily shut down the resettlement process. The influx of thousands of refugees from Libya into Egypt may further complicate the system. It's a pretty fascinating time to be in the Middle East. Connor's heading into work each day, although the commute feels more harrowing than ever before. He had to take an alternate route home one evening due to a large gathering of protesters on a main north-south road and the next morning drove over lots of broken glass, the remnants of horrible religious violence that occurred on that street on Tuesday night between Muslims and Christians. That incident has been one of the most disappointing events of this whole upheaval. A gathering of women in Tahrir Square to celebrate International Women's Day last week quickly turned ugly and oppressive, with a group of men swarming the square, beating and groping the women and telling them they are not their equals. I overheard a passionate political discussion in the women's carriage on the Metro the other day. So the atmosphere, especially in downtown areas, is certainly still charged. Egypt has a challenging rebuilding process ahead, there is no doubt, but the positivity and community spirit has greatly outweighed the haters so far.

It has been so wonderful to spend time with our Cairo-based friends once again. Most evacuated but were able to return before we were. If and when we move to our next posting, which we anticipate will be early summer, the loss of these great people from our everyday lives will be the hardest part. We are so fortunate to have come to Cairo at this point in our lives and be exposed to so many fascinating, generous, and thoughtful people. It will be hard to find another community quite as outstanding and supportive as the one we have here in Egypt.

Below are pictures we took with a tank that is stationed in Maadi:

Flight from Egypt

I know that our experiences are not the most terrifying or right on the front lines; we have no bumps or bruises from Tahrir Square and we didn’t have to push furniture against the door of our flat to keep out the marauders. But it is an honest account of the progression and escalation of events as they impacted us during the early days of this historic moment in Egyptian, and possibly world, history.

Monday

Monday was an extremely normal day in Cairo. While we were aware that the next day, Police Day, was going to be a public holiday and a day of protests, no one knew just how serious and important the protests would be and for how long they would continue. I had a few appointments with my refugee clients set up at the RLAP (Refugee Legal Aid Project) office, so I headed down there. RLAP’s grounds are about a ten minute walk from Tahrir Square and the Egyptian Museum. I delivered a few winter jackets to one of my clients and reviewed testimony with another woman. There was very little discussion about the upcoming protests, save that everyone was reminded that the office would be closed the next day. I said ‘see you Thursday’ to everyone before I left, since that was the next day I planned to meet with my clients. The Iraqi staff all replied ‘Insha’allah,’ which was nothing out of the ordinary, since they often tack it on when you say something about the future, even something quite routine. Little did we know how true that phrase would ring later in the week.

Tuesday—The 25 January Protest

Connor headed off to work in the morning, since his team was doing a rig review and there were some colleagues who had flown in from The Hague who were eager to work to complete it. I had plans to meet up with a friend around mid-afternoon for a coffee and to catch up, followed by an alumni interview I had scheduled with a student from Cairo who had applied to Columbia. By 2.30 pm, when I headed out to meet my friend, Annie, there was no news of disturbances. Annie and I nervously joked about the expected protests, making the observation that when Syria and Libya seem like some of the most stable countries in the region, that can’t be good. We talked about the current Middle East and Egyptian political landscape for a while, eventually moving on to other subjects. Around 5 pm, I made a brisk walk over to another café, where my interview would take place. As I chatted about essays, books, and soccer with a prospective Columbia undergrad, the rector of our church, Paul-Gordon, walked by our table and stopped to let me know that, as the news was reporting at the time, 50,000 people had gathered in Tahrir Square, they were trying to storm the Parliament building, the police were spraying tear gas into the air, and the government had shut down Twitter. To my surprise, the teenager across from me just gave a little shrug, surprised that the Egyptian people were finally acting on their words. She has an interesting perspective, since she was born and grew up in New York City until the age of eleven, when her parents, Egyptian nationals, decided to move back to Cairo. I was impressed with how easily she took Paul’s alarming news in stride; I admit I was more shaken than she was and had a somewhat hard time focusing on our chat after that point. When we were finished talking, I headed quickly back home and Connor and I tuned into the Al Jazeera English channel. While the protestors had turned out in fairly large numbers downtown, I wasn’t convinced yet that the protests would escalate in the coming days.

Wednesday

Wednesday morning started out typically enough. I had a waxing appointment at a nearby salon, in preparation for our big birthday trip to Bali. As I walked home, I picked up a loaf of bread at a local bakery. People in Maadi were going about daily life as normal. I got in touch with my good friend Sarah, who also was based in Cairo with Shell, and we decided to meet up for a chat, since she had had a stream of visitors since Christmas and we hadn’t had a chance to catch up too much yet. Before I left to go see her, I heard from Connor that he would be working late on the project up in Heliopolis and not to expect him for dinner. The outdoor café, the same place where I conducted my Columbia interview the day before, was busy, but not tense at all. Sarah and I hashed over Tuesday’s events and various other topics when I got a text from Connor saying that due to ‘gatherings,’ he was coming home early. I called him to clarify and he said he had heard from an Egyptian colleague that there were sporadic protests in Nasr City, a town just south of Heliopolis (and in between Maadi and the office). The Maadi-based engineers decided to head home early. Connor drove Dougal, Sarah’s husband, and another driller, Mustafa, home around 3.30 pm. The Shell guys visiting from The Netherlands went back to their hotel in Heliopolis to finish up the project summary. Sarah became worried, since her parents-in-law were visiting Cairo and had taken the subway about four stops north to Coptic Cairo, a walled section of the city that is the historical center of the Christian community in Egypt. While Sarah insisted that they not go any further north than Coptic Cairo, she was afraid that they might decide to go for a wander and end up uncomfortably close to Tahrir Square. She asked Dougal to call them and encourage them to head back to Maadi at that point. We returned to our respective homes, feeling a little uncertain about how long the disruptions would last. I think Connor and I turned on the news again that night, but no significant action was happening downtown that day.

Thursday

On Thursday morning, things seemed mellow enough. Connor went to work and I prepared to head to the RLAP office, where I had two midday appointments scheduled. I had seen the news footage of the destructive protests the day before and it looked like a fair amount of the tire-burning and people running around in unruly packs had taken place very near to the metro stop where I get off. So before heading downtown, I checked in with a good friend, Annie Marie, who also interns there. She told me that RLAP had become too close to the danger the day before and those at work had to retreat further inside the compound (RLAP’s tiny office is located on the grounds of a Lutheran church that provides many services to the local refugee population; being a church, it is secured by a wall and barbed wire). The RLAP team members had to hole up inside St. Andrew’s church until some protestors came to their aid and helped them get out of the area safely. Needless to say, Anne Marie informed me, RLAP was closed on Thursday. This was the first time that the events unfolding were starting to impact my daily life and it was unsettling. I decided to e-mail one of my clients who speaks English and said to him that we would reschedule soon. I honestly thought I’d be back in the office on Sunday (which is the first day of the working week in Egypt). Nadia, our housekeeper, came over in the afternoon as normal. I felt at this point that there might be about four days of disturbances and that would be it. Nadia’s husband was having surgery for kidney stones that very evening, so she was talking to me about the plan for his recovery. Connor came home at the regular time, we had Indian food delivered, and just hunkered down in front of Al Jazeera. I was coming down with what would prove to be a doosy of a cold, so we took it easy. We knew that the next day was potentially a make-or-break one for the movement, since it was the first day off since the initial Tuesday riots and protestors were planning a huge demonstration after Friday prayers (about 2 pm) in central Cairo. Adding to the momentousness of the occasion, the on-again, off-again opposition figure, Mohamed El-Baradei, was returning to Cairo from Europe straightaway so he could participate in the Friday protests. While I took some comfort, whether well-founded I’m not sure, that he was back on the scene, it seemed to signal that a potentially historic day was ahead.

Friday—28 January 2011

I woke up at 5.30 am, restless and unable to sleep. When I went to check my e-mail, the internet wouldn’t connect. I rebooted both my computer and the router, to no avail. Then I tried to access the internet via my Vodafone mobile phone. Again, no dice. The combination of both sources of internet being down troubled me. I already had the sinking feeling that the Egyptian government knew how high the stakes were for the day’s rally and were trying to quell the rebellion any way they could. I was pretty creeped out that the State had the internet and phone companies so utterly under its thumb. The thought that Verizon would just shut their lines down to bend to Congress’ demands, for instance, was preposterous to me. I read for a while until Connor woke, when I told him of our telecommunications outage. I texted two friends just to check that their internet was down as well. I was surprised not to hear back from them, as I knew they would be up and planning to go to church at 10 am. It took a few more hours to piece together the fact that texting had also come to a halt.

Connor went off to church, but I stayed behind due to my cold. I frosted a cake that I had baked the night before to take over to a friend’s house that evening. I got a call on our landline from a Shell employee who is the designated ‘Safety Warden’ for those expatriate staff who live in Maadi. He just wanted to make sure he had the right number and told me that cell phone service was now down. It was good to hear that there was a company phone tree in place if we needed to receive important information. When Connor returned, he reported back that our minister, Paul-Gordon Chandler, told everyone that he had greeted the guards outside the gates of the church that morning, as usual. This particular morning the guard told Paul triumphantly, ‘Today is Mubarak’s last day.’ Gulp. If this was the sentiment felt by the government’s own police force, then this was no longer looking like a small movement spurred on by ambitious, educated young people via Twitter and Facebook. This protest movement was looking like it had legs. Regardless, plans were still going ahead to have respective ‘Ladies’ Night’ and ‘Poker Night’ with some friends at two different houses in Maadi. We were to host the men’s event. At this point I was camped out most of the time in front of the television. TV was now our only available forum for news.

A Shell colleague and friend, Suman, gave us a call on our landline around lunchtime. He was just checking in on us and mentioned that there were two women from the Shell office in Houston who were visiting and he had advised them to be inside their hotel by the early afternoon. He mentioned that they were staying at the Ramses Hilton, situated along the Nile next to the 6^th October Bridge. Neither of us knew Sarah and Dougal’s landline number, so we couldn’t get in touch with them. Until last week, I kept up our landline mainly to ensure that we would have continued DSL internet. Nadia used it a couple of times a week to order things to the house. I rarely answered it if it rang, since 90% of the time it turned out to be a wrong number and I would have to explain that fact awkwardly in Arabic to the mistaken caller. Suddenly these land lines were taking on a new importance. I figured I would give my parents a call on it later, at a respectable hour on the East Coast. During our conversation, Suman touched on the idea of packing a ‘go bag’ in case we had to evacuate quickly. Suman was an expatriate in New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina, so he has experience with emergency departures. Since this was really only the second day of major conflict, though, I had a hard time thinking that that was a pressing need. Shell’s deputy safety warden for Maadi, however, also called us and mentioned packing some things as a good idea. Connor and I put together a bag each, but didn’t really think we would be using them, at least not anytime soon. I asked Connor hesitantly if cat food went in ‘go bags;’ it was my way of asking if we could bring our beloved cat, Saqqara, along with us if we had to flee. Connor gently explained that, no, cat food didn’t go in evacuation luggage. I immediately burst into tears at the then unthinkable thought that we would have to leave our cat behind.

By 2 pm, Al Jazeera was showing the first footage of protestors gathering along the 6^th October Bridge. Amazingly, the Al Jazeera offices were directly opposite the bridge, next to the Ramses Hilton, so they had a birds-eye view of all the action, safely on an upper floor but close enough to smell the tear gas. They had a camera pointing outside the window all the time. Reports were coming in that El-Baradei had been picked up by State security even before he left the mosque after prayers and was being detained somewhere, unable to participate in the day’s events. I watched the news, riveted, as swarms of people charged police vehicles, seemingly devoid of fear. As the police fired tear gas canisters at the protestors, the other side threw them right back. Footage from street level was showing people overcome by fumes, some with bloody noses, but committed to the dissent no less. At one point, police entered the Al Jazeera English bureau office and it looked like they were being shut down, but they were able to stay on the air. As I watched the folks in the hotel gather on their balconies in disbelief, I thought about how terrified the tourists must be, including the two women whom Suman knew in town, staying at that very hotel. At 3.30, I decided to call my parents. After various attempts, I heard a message through the phone saying that we did not have international dialing services activated. I got a little panicky then, as I knew my parents would be waking up to news that the situation in Cairo was on a knife edge, yet there was literally no way on earth that I could communicate with them and tell them we were safe.

As darkness fell, there was no sign of relent. Protestors had set several police vehicles ablaze, including one on the bridge that they were trying to overturn into the Nile. Around 5 pm, the government imposed a curfew that would start at 6pm in Cairo, Suez, and Alexandria. This was when I became really alarmed, since I associate mandatory curfews only with places that have lost control of law and order completely. Technically the city of Maadi is under the jurisdiction of Helwan, a ‘county,’ for want of a better term, directly south of the Cairo city limits, so we weren’t sure if the curfew definitely applied to our neighborhood or not. I started to think that even if we did still get together with friends that maybe we shouldn’t split up in two locations. Around this time, our door rang, and Guy, our good friend and one of the major social coordinators for our group of friends from church, was outside, recommending that we all gather at his flat. He was very calm but just trying to be extra careful. His girlfriend, Katherine, was over at his house preparing dinner and some other folks were already congregating as well. Luckily Guy’s place is just around the corner from our house, so I grabbed the cake and we walked briskly. Technically the Cairo curfew had started about 20 minutes earlier, but none of the security guards who are normally posted around our street (which has a hotel on it) or on Guy’s road (which has a residence for US government families) seemed concerned with us being out and about. Even Guy’s doorman said that it didn’t matter since Maadi isn’t under the auspices of Cairo.

Walking into Guy’s house, the mood was mellow, but festive. Several friends who live either in or around downtown were conspicuously absent, however, as they figured it was not the best idea to try to travel around town that evening. I chatted with Emily, whose husband Ben is the assistant rector at our church and coach of the American school’s cross country team. They had actually been in Garden City that afternoon. Garden City is a neighborhood next to downtown where the US, Canadian, and British Embassies are located. Emily, a US Embassy nurse, was operating a makeshift triage center out of someone’s apartment to treat injured protestors. Ben, an avid and gifted photographer, was out on the streets at the same time, taking pictures. He related that he had to beat a hasty retreat into an apartment building at one point to avoid the police. Miraculously, a security officer demanded to know why he had a camera but he was able to explain that he wasn’t a journalist and the man moved on. I’m afraid that wouldn’t happen about a week later, when the regime started cracking down on foreign journalists in earnest.

When we arrived and said how frustrated we were that we couldn’t contact our parents, people told us that two doors down another family from church, a couple with two teenagers, had a phone with international access. We popped over there and they were so generous in letting us put a call in, insisting that we speak as long as we wanted. I quickly communicated to my dad that we were safe and in a large group. Back at Guy’s house, we tucked into a delicious meal and, of course, all sat glued to Al Jazeera. As I mentioned earlier, the atmosphere was cautious but euphoric among our friends; there was a palpable ‘viva la revolucion!’-type vibe. We were all thrilled that the Egyptian people, long oppressed, were finally having their say. Emily and our friend Mel, also a nurse by training, were pointing out how not to treat people who have fainted; we hungrily slurped Katherine’s ‘Revolution Soup’ and indulged in ‘Revolution Cake.’ Mel discussed casually and theoretically what would happen if she and her husband had to decide whether to evacuate, since they hold different citizenships (Australian and American, respectively) and neither one could necessarily piggy back on the other’s government evacuation plan. That conversation felt extremely speculative and not at all a reality we would soon face. It was more just an interesting scenario to ponder. The mood took a sudden turn, however, when Bill, the man at whose house we made the phone calls, said he had just had a call from someone with news from the US Embassy community that a mob was heading into Maadi and the policeman on the streets were authorized to use live ammunition to try to disperse them; the advice was to stay somewhere off ground floor level. Both Guy’s and our apartments are on the ground floor, so Marc and Mel, friends from church and members of the revolution party, quickly suggested we move over to their place, which was just about a 90 second walk from Guy’s home. They live on the fourth floor. As we went out the front door, we could smell the (fortunately, faint) aroma of tear gas and Mel pointed out to me that even the policemen, typically stationed at a particular corner near her building, were in hiding. That was a deeply troubling sign. Connor and I were wishing that we’d left the lights on in our house, if groups were truly heading into town to damage property and who knows what else.

Inside Marc and Mel’s apartment, we began to realize the sober reality that Egypt might never be the same. Katherine immediately called a colleague who receives official US government security information. That woman, who actually lives two floors above Connor and me in the same apartment building, told Katherine that all Embassy and US military families had been directed to stay inside, as the curfew now extended throughout the country and the police were under orders to ‘shoot to kill’ people out on the streets. Later we would learn of and additional report that bands of convicts, having just escaped from the prisons in Maadi, were roaming freely as well. Bill and his family, of international telephone fame, also had a home on the ground floor, so they came over to higher ground and camped out with us for several hours. Again, on went Al Jazeera. We watched as demonstrators torched the nearby headquarters of the NDP, Mubarak’s political party (and conveniently the only one legally allowed to exist in Egypt). We witnessed in horror the initial looting of the Egyptian Museum, full of Egypt’s most prized treasures from the Pharaonic Era. I was blown away that any countrymen would want to destroy these priceless works of art, as the Egyptians are incredibly proud of their history. While a group of protestors saw what was happening and formed a human chain around the entrance in an effort to protect the building, many of the items inside the museum, including some of the artifacts found in King Tut’s tomb, were smashed.

By 1 am, we were all nearing exhaustion, but were trying to stay awake for Mubarak’s ‘big announcement’ he was set to make soon. I thought for sure he would be resigning, as he wouldn’t want to create the same turmoil in Egypt that Tunisia experienced before its president stood down. Mel and Marc, spectacular hosts given that they now had six spur-of-the-moment overnight guests, issued toothbrushes, contact lens solution, towels, and face wash to everyone and within 45 minutes I was tucked in bed. I went off before hearing Mubarak address the nation. As I tossed and turned throughout the night, I wondered if we would wake up to a country under martial law or even no law at all. Between 2 and 3 am, I heard various loud voices and sporadic sprays of gunfire in the distance. I hoped that our house hadn’t been broken into overnight.

Saturday

Connor and I got up and left around 7.15 am; the curfew had lifted at 7. We spoke with Ben and planned to keep in touch throughout the day. We returned home to see that our house was fine. Still without cell phones or internet, we flipped on trusty Al Jazeera. I was laid low by my cold at this point, so Connor cycled to the pharmacy to get me some decongestants and check on the family of a nearby colleague, as he wasn’t sure if the man was away on a business trip or not. When he got back, he showed me a picture of a burnt-out police truck that he took near the local mall. Meanwhile Sarah had called, as limited cell phone service was back on. She told me that the day before, they had actually driven out to the farthest of the Giza pyramids, since Dougal’s parents were visiting from the UK. As they drove back to Maadi, they encountered several blocked roads earlier than they expected, so they had to take a circuitous route home. As dusk began to set in, the people in the streets turned from helpful towards them to aggressive. Sarah and Dougal have a much-loved Land Rover which they had equipped for long overland trips and then imported to Egypt. It has rubber tread on the hood, a tent on the roof, and a pick axe locked to the side. In short, it looks a bit like a police or army vehicle. Sarah sounded very shaken as she described how people began hurling rocks at them as they drove home. She said it was extremely fortunate that none hit the windows, but the doors still have dents in them that she would show me next time I was over.

Connor and I made lunch and watched the news. At 1 pm, we got a call from the Shell wardens saying that there were reports that Maadi was a target for the looters that evening. Apparently a nearby Wal-Mart-type store, Carrefour, had already been attacked. While Maadi has a broad spectrum of social classes and is home to both Egyptians and foreigners, it is well-known to be an upscale neighborhood and major center for expatriates (who tend to have nice stuff) in Cairo. We had 90 minutes to pack before needing to meet at a pre-determined home in Maadi, at which point all of Shell’s Maadi-based families would drive in convoy out to the gated community of Kattameya. About 80% of Shell’s expatriate staff in Egypt lives in Kattameya, which is an elite neighborhood of mansions about 15 miles outside of Cairo, in what used to be desert. Kattameya is heavily fortified and we would stay with colleagues that night. We quickly swung into action. It is a horrific feeling both to know that you have to leave your home with only what you can carry in one suitcase and with full awareness that your home or its possessions may be destroyed or missing upon your return. What made me grab one necklace and not another, I can’t say; why I packed my ear plugs but not my vitamins, who knows. Do I bring a skirt? Did I gather up enough socks? At this point, I felt inside that we would not simply be driving back to Maadi the next morning. Still, I didn’t gather up everything in sight since the idea of an uncertain return was simply too much to process fully in such a short amount of time. We packed for northern European weather, as we were told that if Shell evacuated us out of the country, it would be to Holland. Saqqara saw us rushing around and got jumpy and playful. It broke my heart that she had no idea that we would soon be leaving her. We left an extra month’s salary on the kitchen counter for Nadia, I filled up additional water and food bowls for Saqqara, and we were out the door. Connor explained to Sayid, our doorman, what was happening (at least to the extent that his Arabic and Sayid’s English allowed for). I wept as I told Sayid ‘khod belak,’ which means ‘take care/be careful.’ He replied with the timeworn Egyptian phrase, ‘mafeesh mushkila,’ which means ‘no problem’ or ‘everything will be alright.’ I desperately want to believe in his words. We drove quickly over to Marc and Mel’s place, where our church friends were planning to spend another night. I couldn’t really hold it together as we handed Emily a key. Everyone has been so brave throughout this whole ordeal and I was wrapped up in hugs and assurances that Saqqara would be fine and we would all be reunited back in Cairo soon.

As the new, 4pm curfew loomed, we finally gathered all Shell folks and sped out of town. Again, the smell of tear gas began wafting through the air and we heard increasing instances of gunshots. We had another family with two young children in the backseat. The kids were blissfully unaware of the potential for danger and happily chattered away, which I found quite comforting. Many cars were trying to head out of Maadi for the night, so we took a back route out to Kattameya. Along the way we passed a series of apartment blocks with all the neighborhood men out front, holding sticks, shovels, or jagged pieces of metal, ready to defend their homes as the police were nowhere to be seen. At first the sight was shocking and frightening, but when I realized what it was about, it was awe-inspiring. It was raw and powerful. It felt like humanity distilled to its very essence.

45 minutes later, we were inside the gates of Kattameya. Shell gathered everyone at a single house to debrief us and assign us homes for the night. Connor called up his boss, who had earlier volunteered to take us in, and we planned to go there. Some people quietly joked that it was the largest gathering of Shell staff ever, trumping the various social events put on throughout the year, and it was a shame that it took an emergency to collect everybody in one place. Just before we dispersed, however, one of the chief organizers informed us that she had just received word that Kattameya itself may become a target of looting or mob action overnight. There were reports that people were trying to burst through the gates. The homes of several prominent members of the Mubarak regime, including that of his son Gamal, were located in Kattameya. The decision was to pack every house to capacity and stay as far away from Gamal’s section of the compound as possible. If people came to the house, we were to ‘make ourselves obvious’ so they would move on to find an empty house. At this point, I was wondering if we hadn’t made a serious mistake in hiking out to Kattameya; indeed, what part of Cairo would be safe that night?

We arrived at Connor’s boss’ home along with another Maadi family. The boss had put his wife and children on a plane to London that morning, but he was not going to leave without the family’s maid. She had lived with them in Malaysia and was part of the family, making the move to Egypt with them. The boss, whom I knew to be an incredibly thoughtful and kind man even before the uprising, had bought her a ticket back to Thailand for that evening but couldn’t take her to the airport because of the curfew. His current hope was that if Shell decided to evacuate from Egypt, he could take her with him on the charter flight, although he would have to arrange an emergency visa for her in advance to be able to exit the airport in Amsterdam. The maid, whose name is Peek, was remarkably serene given the circumstances and even prepared all of us a delicious Thai meal that night. We heard a few bits of news from local Egyptian colleagues who were defending their apartments. It is extremely unsettling to think that some of your coworkers may be airlifted to safety and some will just have to stay and be left to their own fate, just because they happen to be local hires. I think hearing these colleagues’ tales of woe was one of the first times during this situation that I was deeply humbled by the privileges to which I am entitled simply by having been born me. There’s no reason why my life should be easier, or more valuable, or have more advantages than any other human being on earth. As I had these thoughts, my mind quickly turned to my refugee clients, who already are some of the most marginalized people even in the best of times. I knew they would be both terrified and left completely devoid of resources if the troubles in Egypt carried on for any length of time at all. I have received word in the last two days that the UNHCR, the United Nation’s office for refugee services in Cairo, was looted and thousands of asylum seekers throughout Cairo are now left with no access to funds with which to pay their rent, buy food, or refill their medical prescriptions. This group is not being mentioned much in the media coverage, but in many ways their situation is the most crushing and dire of anyone who is left in Egypt.

By evening, Connor’s boss announced that Shell had found a plane to charter and the entire Shell expatriate community would be heading to the airport the next morning. I felt immense relief on the one hand, but also heavy guilt that we were abandoning those who were still in Cairo on the other. I connected with a couple of friends on the phone back in Maadi to alert them to Shell’s evacuation plan. I wept a couple of times, briefly, over the life we were leaving behind, the uncertainty of a return, and the deep heartache for me in separating from my cat who has been a loyal companion and a source of immeasurable joy to me since we adopted her from a shelter in Giza a year and a half ago. For someone who adores animals as much as I do, the thought of leaving a pet behind to what may, if things in Egypt continue to deteriorate for a while, be an uncertain destiny is the worst nightmare imaginable. Currently we have a friend checking on her as well as Nadia, but if at some point that friend decides to leave Egypt and Nadia can no longer make the journey to our house to take care of her, or if Saqqara runs out of food and there is no money to buy more for her…well, I just cannot let myself go there at this point. I know that countless other families had to leave behind their four-legged friends as well and I draw some comfort in the knowledge that we all are experiencing the same anguish.

I heard one burst of gunshots as I climbed into bed and had one ear attuned to the door throughout the night. I heard several planes touch down at the airport nearby and a few helicopters patrolling the skies above.

Sunday

We packed our bags and had a tasty ‘Dutch breakfast’—Connor’s boss is from Holland, as are many of the Shell expats-- of brown bread, yogurt, and muesli. Then we headed out into the brilliant sunshine of an Egyptian morning to await an airport departure of 9.30 am. As we stood in the front yard, Connor’s colleague, Bart, who also was Connor’s carpool buddy to work each day, told me that one day I would write a book about all these events and call it ‘Under the Orange Tree’ (which just happened to be where I was standing). I like his sensibility! A beautiful, tubby, well cared for house cat sidled up to us and walked around each member of our group, rubbing against us and purring. It was wearing a collar. I was trying not to think that maybe its owners had left already and just put it outside to fend for itself, as their only available option. I honestly don’t know the situation. Of course I cried some more as I stroked it, for all the animals left behind who do not realize what is happening.

After about an hour of waiting around outside, we got into an SUV with one of Connor’s drilling teammates, his driver, his wife and young son. As we drove from the secure compound, there were tanks everywhere, guarding Kattameya and its surroundings. The little boy twice referred to the army as protecting Kattameya from the protestors, which his mother swiftly corrected: ‘Protecting it from the looters, Sam, the looters.’ I’m sure she never imagined she would have that conversation with her son. The ring road to the airport was pretty clear, but after we entered the airport, we encountered a serious traffic jam. After about an hour and a half of inching our way towards Terminal 1, a Shell guy came up and said we should just get out and walk the rest of the way, since our charter flight was scheduled to depart at 1.30 pm and it was already 11.30 am. First we lined up just outside the door, waiting to go through the initial baggage screening that is part of Cairo’s airport protocol. I did notice tempers flared in some of the Shell wives when an Egyptian man, being Egyptian, tried along with his handlers to cut into our screening line. I was surprised that the women were so hostile so early on in the process towards him, but the situation diffused quickly. A twentysomething guy approached me while I was in line, telling me he was a reporter, and asking me some questions about what my plans were at the airport and where our group was headed. He never gave me a specific name of his publication, though, and he wasn’t taking notes, so I didn’t reveal too much to him.

Once inside Terminal 1, it was so incredibly crowded and hectic. For Connor, trying to squeeze through the masses of people turned out the be the most harrowing and the time that he felt in greatest danger in the whole seven days (due to fear of a stampede). All 175 Shell folks lined up at a charter check-in counter and were issued tickets that didn’t have our names written on them and that said we were heading to Madrid, not Amsterdam. Honestly that was just par for the crazy course that day.

At the airport we were reunited with Sarah, Dougal, and his parents and got to see our Heliopolis friend, Suman, and the Shell families that live in Zamalek, a neighborhood on the island in the Nile that is opposite Tahrir Square. Both that we spoke with said they could smell smoke and hear shots fired, but they had been safe inside their homes. They had been transferred to a hotel in Heliopolis, close to the airport, the night before, just as the Maadi-based families moved out to Kattameya.

Now came the tough part of the airport saga: we had to somehow cross lots of perpendicular lines of airport-goers trying to check into commercial flights in order to reach Passport Control at the other end of the hall. A few intrepid people, including Suman, managed to weave their way through the crowds early in the afternoon and make it to our gate. It took us three tries, actually, and our group of about eleven Shell stragglers finally made it through Passport Control around 5.30 pm. Twice we tried to push through the throngs, but twice the Shell Emergency coordinator called us back, saying it was too dangerous. His plan was to wait until 4pm, when the curfew began again, and the airport would no longer be letting new people through the doors, hence enabling the crowd to thin out a bit. We have no idea how many people who went to the airport that day actually had tickets or were just going to try their luck. I met a Lebanese woman with a stroller who was sitting next to me during one of the several hours of waiting time. She told me that her husband was trying to check into their flight to Beirut, which someone had booked online for them in Lebanon. She had said that they actually parked their car and left all of their luggage inside, as they thought it was so busy in the terminal that any bags would have hindered their progress. I was doubtful of their success, but later on I saw her husband had returned with tickets in hand. At 4 pm, though, those whom the airport security were turning away began getting angry. This happened during our second aborted attempt to get to the passport area. I saw the metal detector shaking and I witnessed at least ten men climb through the active baggage x-ray machines in order to get to the other side. I must admit that when the Emergency Coordinator recalled us that time urgently due to the danger of being trampled, I lost my cool and began storming backwards through the crowd to our previous point. I did not care who I bumped into or how hard. I slammed into one guy’s elbow as I reached our earlier perch and he yelled at me angrily, ‘mish kwayyis,’ or ‘[that was] not nice.’ I shouted back at him, ‘Stop it!’ in English. Now that does not make any sense and it was just all the built up tension and frustration coming out of me. That is definitely the moment that I’m not proud of in this whole ordeal. I was too flustered to even apologize to that man.

Finally in the early evening, our Emergency Coordinator spotted a brief window of opportunity and we headed into the crowd once more. Those of us without children made somewhat of a human barrier around a couple that have two girls, one aged two and the other only about four months old. The dad hoisted his older daughter onto his shoulders and she was having a wonderful time, swinging her arms around wildly from side to side (which I think bought us some extra room, to be honest). It was amusing to hear a very gentle-sounding French engineer directing us, ‘I’m afraid this is not the time to be polite, we’re just going to have to push.’ He also gave us encouraging updates, telling us how close we were to our goal: ‘30 meters and we are there! Okay, now just 20 to go!’ Towards the end of the line, I started getting a little far from Connor and he shouted over to me to ‘follow the tall guy,’ who was also with Shell. Since I’m quite accustomed to doing that, it was great advice. Waiting in the fairly tame passport line, we all agreed that if we got back soon, the Maadi folks would have to have a party. Events unfolded quickly and smoothly after Passport Control. We boarded our plane, which appeared to be from a Spanish company, like any other flight.

Once on the plane, we could breathe somewhat more easily. Guesses were flying around as to how long we would be gone and if we would ever go back. While a few people did not seem at all heartbroken to leave their lives in Egypt, most were anxious for a return to normalcy. The couple with the two little girls actually both work in Cairo, he as a geologist for Shell and the wife as head of the Dutch Cultural Institute. They have lived in Egypt for several years and both of their daughters were born in Cairo. I heard the mother poignantly say that Cairo is home, not Holland (although they are both Dutch) and that she was hoping for a speedy return.

The atmosphere on the plane was pretty jovial. As we took off, the whole group clapped. It was nice having to chat with people from the company whom I’d never seen before. One guy (the ‘tall guy’) was telling Connor and me how great life is in Brunei and it sure did sound good at the time. The airline made a lot of money in alcohol sales during the five hour flight to Amsterdam. When we touched down on Dutch soil, another spontaneous burst of applause rang out through the plane. Shell HR have been very impressive so far in managing our evacuation and all the myriad of questions that accompany it in our post-evac period.

This is where our particular adventure of escape ends. It is not the end of our story, however, or our relationship with Egypt. Connor and I, as I write this, still have three good friends in Egypt and I have several colleagues from my refugee office who are planning to wait out the revolution in Cairo as well. Nadia and her family are faring alright so far. I’ve been calling her every day. She’s taking good care of Saqqara and informing us on how our house and Sayid are doing. Apparently Sayid is armed with a samurai sword to ward off intruders. His family is all in southern Egypt, in the town of Aswan, though, so I would not blame him at all if at some point he decides to go be with them, especially since I assume that all the tenants have left our apartment building (although I don’t know that for sure). Nadia’s husband was released from recovery in the hospital early, since there were no doctors or proper equipment to care for him there. Her children are not attending the protests, as they are sticking close to home and tending to their father. Nadia reports that food is getting quite expensive and cash is scarce.

We’re taking things day by day. I’ve done some sightseeing in little towns near The Hague, but it’s hard to have my heart totally in everything here when my mind constantly races back to the people and the situation in Cairo. We just want the country to stabilize enough that we can return to our homes, confident of our safety, and piece together our lives along with those with whom we went through these trying times. Our sincerest hope is that through all this unrest a better future for Egypt and her people can emerge.

Istanbul, Car-crash-stinople?

As most of our small blog audience already knows, our long weekend jaunt to Istanbul, Turkey, was horribly ruined by a roll-over car crash about 30 minutes after arriving in country. . .

We had planned a four-night trip to Istanbul as a nice way to break up our otherwise fully-Cairene summer. So, we happily booked our cheap Turkish airlines ticket and took the 2 hour flight across the Med. Arriving at the airport we skipped the baggage claim and after a few minutes of searching found the driver holding our name on a sign as our hotel (the May Hotel in Istanbul) promised. Getting in the late-model sedan-van (which seems to be a form factor exclusive to Europe - basically a sedan with sliding doors and a high roof), Kate and I both sat in the back seat. However, as I automatically buckled my seatbelt I found that the clicker of my seatbelt was damaged and wouldn't click. So, as is sometimes a second try here in Cairo taxis, I slid over to the middle seat, dug out the clicker from the fold, and buckled in a bit closer to my wife. About 3 minutes after leaving the airport on a highway, I looked up and saw a car trying to u-turn in front of us. The ensuing 55 mph car crash occurred without brakes being applied, at least one flip, and a point-of-view action sequence curiously similar to those in the movies.

When the motion stopped, we heard our driver groan and lurch from the car and Kate and I looked at each other, at which point I said "This is the worst car accident you've ever been in, right?" And it was. We emerged from the car and the scene unfolded with two people laying unconscious in the grass of the median (our driver and the other driver), a Range Rover on its roof, and two American-Cairenes that were overly focused on getting their luggage out of the

locked trunk and asking helpful bystanders "do you speak English?" (many answered "Yes, and I think you should sit down.") We found two helpful men that spoke English, got our bags out for us, and arranged for us to head to a great Hospital - after asking us if we had international insurance.

Luckily we did - Thanks BUPA! and we had two days of top-notch scans and care in the International Hospital of Istanbul. Our private room was very comfortable, and our doctors put us at ease. In the final tally we had five stitches, one broken sternum, one broken rib, one fissure in a vertebrae, exact outlines of where our seatbelts were, and 78,325 aches and pains that were due to fade.

At the point, the blessings were already piling up:

1. I found a seatbelt in the center. I have no idea what my outlook would be otherwise.
2. We were the only people able to stand after the accident
3. There were plenty of helpful people at the crash site
4. We had international insurance
5. We were near a great hospital
6. We retained our luggage, besides a guide book and my glasses that flew off somewhere
7. We had cell phones and a netbook to easily communicate, straight from the ER.

The rest is pretty much a story of lying on our backs in hospitals and hotels recovering.

However, the proprietor at the May Hotel was determined to extend our misfortune as long as we stayed in Istanbul. He claimed that we found the wrong driver, which wasn't his, and made the whole accident a story about how it was our fault, just to demonstrate how far removed the hotel is from liability. After asserting this fact, he insisted on charging us for an extra night since we couldn't check out at the normal time for our evening flight on the last day, needing to use the room to rest in until our arduous journey home. And of course since we needed help to the airport he could arrange that for a healthy fee. So, feeling insulted by a hotel we thought would take care of us, we gave the opportunistic money-grubber what we needed to preserve our health and put this trip behind us, flying home and happily and safely continuing our recovery in Cairo, which is going quite well.

But, in this public forum I'd like to make one last announcement about seatbelts. As well-brought-up Americans it is no question that when a seatbelt is there, we put it on. But, it's very easy to grow complacent when traveling in foreign countries to just accept it and go without when there not available. However, these rare disasters can happen anywhere, and if they do, I'm now further convinced: it's worth it to insist on a seatbelt. In my case it could have been the difference between this being a learning experience and a tragic statistic.

So, I recommend: buckle up.

Bowling in Egypt is Alive and Well

There's always a feeling when embarking on a "luxury" experience here in Egypt of preparing to be delighted while bracing for disappointment.  I say this because so may things exceed expectations, yet so many things miss the mark completely, with little indications about which will be which.  A tex-mex restaurant run by a Texan Mexican-American should be the real deal right?  Wrong.  A bowling alley in a decrepit-looking building in a random part of Maadi will be a dissapointment, right?  Wrong.

I am glad to report that bowling at Bandar bowling alley in Maadi provides a completely satisfying bowling experience for a fun evening.  We went this weekend with a couple of friends and were very pleased with the setup and quality of lanes.  It is situated in Bandar mall along with Fuego, Chili's, and the movie theater.  From the outside I always find it hard to believe Bandar fits all these things, but they're all there and don't tend to disappoint.   The alley has about 15 lanes, darts, airhockey, and foosball.  The prices posted for this month (July 2010) are 15 LE before 6 and 20 LE/game/person after, with various buy 1 or 2 get 1 free deals before 6 on working days.  So, not cheap but about what you'd pay in most places around the world.  Good quality and mandatory shoes are included in that price.  The balls are in much better shape than most alleys I've been to, also, which is a nice bonus.  There were plenty of open lanes, but also many families enjoying a Thursday evening together.  We had a great time getting re-acquainted with the game, and will return soon!

Bandar Mall Maadi, 14 Palestine St, Egypt‎ - 02 25168378‎ - across from On the Run at 216 and Palestine Rd.

yeast we can!

Recently, Connor and I have been on a savory bread-baking kick. A couple of weeks ago, we made two batches of bagels. I found some packets of dry yeast at a local grocery store and bought 'pizza flour,' which I figured was bread flour. Pizza must be one of the main types of leavened bread that Egyptians eat, I'd imagine. Anyway, we made a half-batch of sesame seeders on the first go-round. They didn't quite have the rise we were hoping for, so we went on a quest for new and better yeast, which we found at Mariam Market, probably the 'poshest' of the small grocers around Maadi that carry a lot of imported goods. For our second try, Connor did a half batch of onion and sesame and I tried my hand at cinnamon raisin using 100% whole wheat flour. While mine were tasty but a little gummy and ended up in figure 8 shapes rather than circles, Connor's were spot on, and delicious, too.

A couple of days ago, I came across a recipe for caramelized onion and pear flatbread in The Denver Post Food section. Since we have mounds of quality yeast left in the freezer, I thought I'd give it a whirl. The recipe originally called for sliced pears, gently seared, and gorgonzola on top, but I didn't feel like tracking down a suitable blue cheese substitute and pears are out of season. I did, however, have a guava on hand from our stroll through the outdoor food market with Connor's parents. We, in fact, did not know what it was we were purchasing that day from the fruit vendor; our initial thoughts were of the eggplant variety! Nadia was quick to disabuse me of this notion, explaining that it was called a 'gawafa' in Arabic and considered good for 'working a poopoo.' Nice. Digestion aid aside, after a few days, the guavas were ripening up and giving off a distinctly, well, 'peary' aroma! So I figured what the heck, I'll grill that up instead. I had a wedge with lunch and actually spread some cream cheese on the corners of the bread that were toppings-less. Here was my thinking on that one: in Latin America, guava paste 'n' cream cheese sandwiches are the equivalent to America's peanut butter & jelly. Also, onions and any kind of cheese are a natural fit. It was pretty darn tasty. The guavas did a great job of standing in for their more subtle cousins, never tasting too tropical or overpowering. The flatbread itself has a springy, focaccia-like texture. And I had a fun morning of trying out a new recipe.