World Beginnings

How does a teacher bring literature to life for teenage students? How to help them feel the pain and joy the writer is trying to convey? We, Grade 12's, had just finished the sad and painful poetry of the WWI poets Owen, Sasson, and others. We also studied the poets' lives, and the students were surprised that Owens and Sasson were homosexuals, which led to other discussions about masculinity. The class was shocked at how young they were.   Quite by chance, I learned that Cairo had a war cemetery from WWII, so I visited to see if I could extend the student's understanding of the tragedy of war. I discovered that there were almost 1,800 graves, and they were arranged by the soldiers' date of death. Unlike the United States, other countries buried their dead near where they fell. So there were British, French, German, Australian, Indian, and all countries involved in the war. All major religions were represented as well as men and women. Soon I arranged a field trip, and ...

  Cairo, in 1997, was primitive in so many ways, especially in what we would call grocery stores. It wasn’t until about ten years later that a big European supermarket opened up. While there was a store that had frozen chicken, that was what I was on the hunt for, I could tell the meat had been thawed and refrozen numerous times. Often the dirty sliding casing door was left open for who knows how long, coupled with frequent power cuts, guaranteed to melt everything in any freezer. Asking around, I learned of an area that had fresh chicken, so off I went with my minimal Arabic to buy a fresh bird. When I asked for a fresh chicken, the proud shop owner reached behind the counter, pulling out a live chicken, squawking like crazy. I just nodded my head and, in my terrible Arabic, said I would come back when it was ready, the butcher just grinned at me. Thirty minutes later, I picked up my fresh chicken, holding it gingerly at my side. While crossing the street, I touched it and almost ...

Why do I tidy up my house before the house cleaner comes? Guilt? Embarrassment? I have always thought if I procrastinate about cleaning the cat box or emptying trash cans, why should they face them? Besides, I want them to clean the big stuff, like moving furniture and getting all of the dust bunnies hiding under my bed. Before I realized it, I was remembering Cairo and Whaby. Each school had a secret communication system the maids, nannies, drivers and gardeners utilized.   When new staff arrived in August, candidates would magically appear at our doors. After a long day of new staff orientation, I arrived at my apartment and a lady waiting outside the door;  but when I told her I needed full-time she said she couldn’t,  but she would send her husband to meet me. I questioned her about why her husband would clean my house and care for my pets and she replied with a wry smile “I am his second wife and he needs to work!” The next day there was a very ...

While some saw him as just another Nazit Saman illiterate horse trader, dressed in his simple gallabeya, I knew him better. Lotfy’s Ladies   was to  be the tee shirts  never made . As he shepherded us down  the dusty lane to the desert past the other  stable owners envious looks,  he rode proud. Nimbly jumping off his horse in the middle of the Sahara to fix a broken stirrup, adjust any strap, coax reluctant rider  and horse through pass rocky; rescuing the foolish who drunkenly dared ride at midnight. Lighting a cigarette  with one hand  passing it  while walking in the cool gathering dusk of  the desert. With only the sound of  horses hooves  in the eternal sand. His eyes could see  the soul, knowing what to say. If gay was the mood, he laughed. If pain was etched on the face he consoled. St...

Cairo’s balconies offer peaceful oasis, removed from the chaos of the streets below. Protected in a nest of cool green,  I watch as the micro busses, held together with wire, electrical tape and a prayer, spewing exhaust and waves of workers from a poverty we cannot begin to imagine. Safely hidden, I sip my morning coffee and watch. And they come, sounds of tattered flip-flops and low deep voices waft up. Most in faded gallabeyas, young and old alike. A few young swagger in jeans washed by a mother’s hands in a bucket that she hauled from a community spout. Each carries a plastic bag with a piece baladi bread and some foul for their short lunch under a tree. Hot, sweet tea and cigarettes for sufficing for dessert. No fancy burger or sushi in an air-conditioned cafe. Every day of their life. And yet they laugh. They come to wash our fruit and vegetables that they will only taste if over ripe or spoiled. They are the delivery boys on rickety bikes who hoist ...

Goodbye Bashir Powerful body, built for speed, soul crafted in devotion, you came to save me on a  sunny day. Weary, worn, sick and torn- you saved me- carrying me to  a peace unknown. Free from cancer’s cruel lexicon. Over the debris of life’s hopelessness, with hearts pounding in the heat. We entered magical Narnia’s door, far from diseased reality.  You saved me. In searing heat and evenings cool patiently you waited for me. But it had to end...cruel fate crushed your body, leaving no hope. I could not save you. You went on your last ride without me...alone.  Leaving me only your braided tail- a shoe and and endless pain for what could  never be again. I hold you in my broken heart forever because you set me free, saved  me from pain intractable . What am I to do now? Cairo, April 2010 For Lotfy who spent hours and hours riding with me during t...