Last Saturday, our family had the unforgettable experience of participating in Egypt’s version of Race for the Cure out by the pyramids on the Giza plateau. The picture above shows the glory of the finish line as we sailed past the Sphinx with the magnificent pyramids behind us. Darren Kennedy, who took all the fantastic pictures that you will see, managed to capture this fleeting shot as we raced by. What a moment. What a day.
What a day indeed. What a thoroughly Cairene event, complete with the usual chaos, crowds, congestion and camaraderie. In the interests of full disclosure, I should tell you that while the background in the above picture is entirely real, the moment being photographed is completely staged. At no point during the ‘race’ were we running along a clear path with smiles on our faces. What you can’t see here are the several kilos of dust in our hair, our state of utter exasperation, and the condition of our lungs after breathing in exhaust fumes for several hours. Intriguing, huh? Exactly what kind of a race was this? The day started off bright and early with the temperatures in the very manageable 80s. The Kennedys had spent the night at our house, partly to babysit for us the night before when Dan and I got to go to a charity dinner, and partly to be able to be ready for the early start to our day. One of Dan’s colleagues, God bless her, had organized the embassy participation, which thankfully included easy sign-up and bus transportation to and from the site. We marshalled the troops, got everyone into their running shoes, and made it to the pick-up point with time to spare. We had to wait a bit on the bus, but it was easy to pass the time with the general excitement that kids seem to have whenever they board a form of transportation that doesn’t involve the usual car and car seat combination.
We eventually took off in a convoy of various sized buses and a security escort and made good time along the Corniche, over the Nile, and into Giza. At one point, I wondered out loud if we should have just skipped the bus thing and taken our own cars to allow for more independence. What on earth was I thinking??? Things started to slow down markedly as we got closer to the pyramids and we ended up creeping at a snail's pace towards the entrance. Our organizer had told us that the bus drivers had instructions to drop us off at the top of the hill closest to the smallest pyramid, which was the start line of the race. Under no circumstances were we to get off the bus before that, no matter what. As we entered the vicinity of the pyramids, there were hordes and hordes of buses jockeying for position to head up the very narrow road to the top of the hill.
As we inched our way forward, we eventually came to a complete halt and the bus driver told us to get off. WHAT? No, no, no, we protested. No way. We’re not supposed to get off here. My sister launched into a stream of commands in Arabic, assuring him that this was NOT the arrangement. Poor guy. It turned out that we did indeed need to get off the bus to go through pyramid security, and he would pick us up on the other side. Off we got and pushed through the security turnstiles. The metal detectors were beeping wildly, but no one stopped to check a single person among the hundreds thronging through. Miraculously, we found our bus again in the melee and started the trek up the hill.
The race ‘course’ was all of 1.5 K, but it took almost an hour to get to the top. Yes, 60 minutes to move slightly more than a mile due to the amount of foot traffic and bus traffic. Along the way, we counted no fewer than four first aid stations, set up no doubt to assist fatigued runners as they made their way down the hill. When we finally arrived at the top, we disembarked into a crowd that was just milling aimlessly about. It was past 10am at this point, the scheduled start time, but nothing was happening. We heard someone over the loudspeakers telling the crowds that the food vouchers were to be used later (we all would need refueling after the grueling run) and that we were waiting for the remainder of the buses to make their way up the road because that same road was also the race course. After all, we couldn’t actually run DOWN the road that the buses were currently chugging UP. Could we?
So we waited. And waited. And waited. We passed the time taking some pictures of various groupings of our family running around in the billowing sand, keeping the glorious pyramids as the backdrop. Every so often, the guy would come back on over the loudspeaker and announce that it would just be a few more minutes, while the stream of buses continued endlessly. As we trotted about, we looked over at one point and saw the crowd surge down the hill. There had been no warning or announcement of any kind that the race had officially begun. Just a stampede of people in a cloud of dust. We conferred together and decided that we would wait for the bulk of the people to go first, then bring up behind. That proved to be a mistake.
As we sauntered over to the start line and began our descent, what had appeared to be an end to the bus traffic suddenly reappeared. Confused, we wondered what was going on, since the race had started. Not only were there buses, but there was also every other kind of vehicle, packed with people who were clearly not part of the race. As we walked (since running was impossible), we were constantly getting honked and/or run off the road by what turned out to be the regular visitors to the pyramids. We found out later that while the Department of Antiquities allowed the race to take place at the site, they refused to make any other accommodations, meaning that the road up to the top remained open to all the regular tourist traffic. And camels too, apparently.
At this point, the carefree joking and laughter disappeared and it became an exercise in survival. The Kennedy boys decided that they wanted to actually try to run, so they got off the road and started going down the rocky, sandy slope. About one minute in, Sammy bit the dust and it was over for him. By then, our two families had gotten separated by the sea of people, since we (the Wrights) had to stick to the road with the double stroller. We trundled along with our poor children, cheek-by-exhaust-pipe-jowl with all the tour buses, trucks and cars. Most of the crowds seem to take all of this in stride, if the singing, clapping and incessant whistle-blowing were any indication. This was clearly a social moment for everyone else except for us, those crazy Americans who turned up to this event actually expecting to run.
We finally got down the hill and joined up with the Kennedys after several shouted cell phone conversations. My sister had been almost run over by a taxi and was fuming. Sammy was a little teary after his fall, Emma was hot and bothered, and all of us were choked with dust from the vehicular traffic and human stampede we had just endured. Thanks to Darren, we managed to rally for that final glory shot that started this blog entry. We stumbled towards our bus and ended up having to wait almost another hour before we got on the road. At that point, we were just grateful to be out of the din of the crowd, sitting in air-conditioning and chowing down on some snacks. We were all ravenous from the sheer effort of surviving the onslaught. We headed home after we took bets on how long it would actually take our bus to get out of the parking lot. Miraculously, it only took about fifteen minutes and we were on our way.
Once we arrived back at our house, we all collapsed in varying states of exhaustion, desperately needing a cure from the Race for the Cure. Showers, naps, and more food brought us back to life and by the afternoon, we were able to start laughing about the whole thing. Theo managed to get in some stretching too, since riding in that stroller had really taken it out of him.
In spite of the total and utter chaos of the whole thing, seeing the brave survivors in their pink t-shirts, making their way down the hill, gave the whole ordeal a significance that far outweighed the bedlam. in a country where there is no preventive care or routine mammograms, where breasts are certainly taboo in casual conversation, it was pretty amazing to witness the turnout to this event. So, will we do it again next year? Hmmm. I’m not sure. The men are up for it, but I think my sister and I will just take a spa day.
I realize that when I restarted this blog, I mentioned something about posting more frequently. Hah! I think I need to resign myself to being a more sporadic blogger. The problem is that when enough time passes without writing, I get too overwhelmed trying to figure out what exactly to write about or focus on. At the same time, life is most mundane in Small Childrenville, so there often isn’t much to write about that would be interesting to anyone other than me, and perhaps Dan. Who really cares what pureed food Theo is now eating or who Emma is playing with at preschool? (The answer to those questions, lest you be left hanging, is mango and Ameera.)
A couple of weeks ago, Dan and I had climbed into bed with our books to wind down at the end of the day. As usual, Dan tried to read while I interrupted every ten seconds with some conversational tidbit—an unfortunate side effect of not having enough adults to talk to during the day. That particular conversation reflected on the relative ease of our current life 
circumstances, with many of Cairo’s difficulties blunted or cushioned by the perks of working for the US government. As we talked, Dan mused “Really, we’re living Cairo Lite.”
Indeed, we are living Cairo Lite. I first visited Cairo about ten years ago when my sister and her husband were doing their seminary field work at a church in Shubra, one of Cairo’s poorest and most populous neighborhoods. All of my cross-cultural confidence evaporated instantly the second I emerged from the airport and was faced with the hyperbolic nature of the city, the craziness of public transportation and the sheer amount of noise. I was literally numb for the entire ten days I was there. Subsequent visits over the years have chipped away at my culture shock, but being here with the government is a completely different experience. Tucked away in Maadi, living in an apartment complex with reliable maintenance, a back-up generator, filtered water, strong AC, and a play area in the courtyard has meant that life is quite manageable. Yes, the dust and noise and pollution are right there at our doorstep and on our windowsills, but our home is a calm and cool oasis and the rhythms of our life are basically pleasant and regular. So here are some highlights (and lowlights) from our Cairo Lite Life.
In early September, Emma got to accompany her cousins to the Aqua Park (or Aqua Bark, as it is pronounced here) for her first water slides experience. Given that she has managed to work it into conversation EVERY SINGLE DAY since then makes me think it was a fun and memorable experience. Almost every imaginary role play moment since that Saturday weeks ago has involved some mention of the Aqua Bark. We have rigged up many an Aqua Bark slide with mattresses and cushions. In addition to the Bark, we’ve also benefitted from several more trips out to the Kennedy beach house. We always manage to 
make the trek on the hottest days of the summer, when the sand is literally burning the soles of our feet, but last week, we got to enjoy somewhat more temperate weather out there. We look forward to more days like that as the temperatures start to ease off ever so slightly. We’re still hitting the high 90s, but some days are pleasantly 80s-ish.
The latter half of September saw us descend into a bit of an illness tunnel, which contributed to some sleepless nights and general malaise. Poor Emma had it the worst with a sore throat one week, followed by fever and an ear infection and roseola the next week, followed by throwing up the third week. Since Dan and I have been accustomed to never being woken up at night by her, it was a bit of an adjustment to deal with two children during the wee hours of the morning. I managed to pick up a stomach bug myself along the way, and hit the floor in a faint one early morning on the way back from the bathroom. For whatever reason, Dan found this highly amusing. I guess part of what keeps our marriage strong is not taking each other too seriously.
An October highlight was our visit to Jordan to see the grandparents and breathe some clean air. In just a few short hours, we were transported into what felt like a totally different world with just a mere 2 million occupants, as opposed to the usual 20 million to which we have become accustomed. The weather was cool, the air was clear and the food was wonderful. Emma enjoyed painting with Tayta while Theo just rolled around and continued practicing his perpetually surprised expression. We made a few quick forays to some fun spots, like the Citadel and our favorite café, Wild Jordan. We also got to connect with friends who had been crucial to my sanity during the Awful Yemen Year. 
My parents gave us the wonderful gift of some nights of babysitting so that Dan and I were able to get out and be on our own for a few hours. All in all, the four days we were there felt tremendously refreshing, aside from an underlying crankiness from our three-year-old, who went on a bit of a food and sleep strike. 
The highest drama of my days comes from my trips to get Emma from preschool. The morning run is pretty low-key, as most kids are in school by then and people have generally made it to work. The afternoon run is a different story. The world around me basically goes mad between 2 and 3pm, with millions of children being picked up from school on every possible street corner. Just getting down our street can take forever as I wade through a sea of kids and jostle around several buses and twenty cars all stacked at the intersection. The preschool’s side of town is even worse, with narrower streets, more kids and angrier drivers.
A few weeks ago, as I attempted to slalom around several cars and a parked truck, I heard the horrible sound of a scraping along the side of our car, followed by the even worse sound of a deep gouging up behind the passenger side as the taxi cab whose bumper I was crunching popped its trunk lid. I couldn’t bear to see the damage I had caused to our car or the other car so I just kept driving until I arrived at my destination. It was as bad as it sounded and par for the course here in Cairo. At least now our shiny, sleek car isn’t so shiny and sleek any more. I’ve been observing other cars around town and have noticed identical dents and scrapes in similar spots, so am comforted that I am not the only uncoordinated idiot on the roads.
A few days after that, I emerged from the preschool and stepped right into an enormous street brawl among about thirty young guys who had emerged from their schools, apparently ready to rumble. They were going at each with boards and rocks, and unfortunately, the only way out for me was through. So through it I went, leaning on my horn, flashing my lights, and hoping I wouldn’t be adding more gouges from flying debris to my already scarred car.
Two days ago, the afternoon pickup involved skirting around a face-off between a bunch of school boys and the pack of wild dogs that roams around that part of town. That had me pretty nervous, as I am not current on my rabies shots and don’t particularly have it in me to fight off crazy dogs. The boys were trying to provoke the dogs by chasing them and throwing rocks at them, then running away with the dogs snarling in hot pursuit. I ran inside, hoping that by the time I got back out, they would be done. No such luck. And of course, as I tried to hustle Emma into the car with Theo in my arms, she became completely obstinate, wondering why I was forcing her into the car and wanting to see the dogs. Um, no. At least I can say that her preschool helps me to keep it real.
Aside from those blood-pressure raising moments, life is good. The siblings are enjoying each
other, particularly as Theo gets more mobile and more interactive. He is crawling now, after a fashion, with a motion that can only be described as a cross between a breakdance ‘worm’ move and the butterfly stroke. No matter, he is able to make a beeline for any dangling wire or cord within seconds of being put down. I am having to up the ante on my vigilance, so I find myself even more tired now at the end of each day. I am grateful for gradual movement towards consolidating routines together, such as Theo eating some ‘solid’ food at the family’s mealtimes, and now taking baths with Emma given that he can sit up in the tub. This means slightly longer gaps between the many competing family needs so that my time is not quite as fractured in meeting the various demands.
We are looking forward to heading to Sweden next month for a brief visit to Dan’s brother and his family. We can’t wait to see green grass and open spaces, though the viewing hours of such marvels will need to be between 9am and 3pm, given the shorter days. This may be the only time that we wear any of our fall/winter clothes all year.
