You Don't Belong Where You've Been, and Home is No Longer Home

You don't belong where you've been, and home is no longer home.
This, I think, is the definition of repatriation.

Dictionary.com says:

re·pa·tri·ate

verb (used with object)

1. to bring or send back (a person, especially a prisoner of war, a refugee, etc.) to his or her country or land of citizenship.

2. (of profits or other assets) to send back to one's own country.

I am back in the U.S.  I am grateful every day I am here, and not there.  I have a lot of freedoms that I did not have there.  I won't go into them now, because they will certainly be misconstrued by many.

I am a changed person.  I believe changed for the better.  I see things differently.  I see people differently.  And this is why the U.S. is no longer my home, at least in my heart.

I don't belong there, that is for certain.  I learned many things about myself while living in the Middle Eastern third world country.  I may be a spoiled American, because I found that living without "conveniences", which many Americans consider necessities, put a strain on me.  I found I really do need access to a washing machine for my clothes.  I really do need access to a healthy salad once in a while.  I need to be able to get in a car and drive anywhere I'd like, without checking online for demonstrations in the streets, or criminals running amok after the police opened up the prison.  Traffic was the least of my worries.

I was there during what is called the "Arab Spring" here in America.  There, it was called a Revolution.  Living under a dictator's rule for four months prior to his resignation did not affect me directly, but I was aware of what impact he had on the people.  I also became reticent when it came to discussing politics in any fashion, as the stories of what happened to people speaking against the so-called president were an absolute deterrent.

Every expatriate in that country has their own individual experience, and I believe no two are the same.  I did not live as the rich, nor as the poor.  The rich live as an average American.  Sealed windows, access to imported alcohol, comfortable furniture and the ability to isolate oneself in one's own world.  Able to shut the door to poverty, mass demonstrations, daily struggle of the people.

The poor live unlike the very poorest of Americans.  One cannot imagine unless it is seen with one's own eyes.

I lived somewhere in the middle.  My life was difficult, challenging, frustrating, and peppered with small amounts of joy and at times feeling touched by the simplest of human kindnesses.

People I'd known in America begged me to come back, especially during the revolution.  Yes, it was dangerous.  I learned how to fire handguns quickly and did not hesitate to do so.  I maintained that as long as I was in no more danger than the native people, I would stay.

When I returned to America, the people who begged me to return had no time to visit me, talk or meet for coffee.  Too busy.  Busy busy busy.  American life.  Calendars filled for weeks.  Perhaps we could meet while I multitask and run my errands/get in my workout/see other friends at the same time?  Hmm.  Let me know when you are free, I said.  And that was the last I'd heard from them.

Listening to people complain is especially irritating.  Complaints which could only be first world problems.  If only they'd seen what I'd seen, and if only they experienced once what I'd experienced daily... I think these complaints would change into gratitude for God.

God.

God is spoken of often there.  In daily conversation.  Five times per day, I was reminded of God.  Five times per day set aside to worship and thank our Creator.  People from all walks of life worshiping God, talking about God, his messengers, counting blessings.

I haven't heard much about God in America.  Except when He is doubted, His existence ignored or denied, cursed.  His messengers denied and cursed.

By the way, Allah means God in Arabic.  That's all.  The same, one and only God that Christians and Jews pray to and follow.  It's not an Arab god, Middle Eastern god and certainly not a terrorist god.  Allah=God.  Arabic --> English.

The only real conversations I've had about God since returning have been with the Iraqi ladies who cook at the "Middle Eastern market" and a few people online.  But I mention Him all the time.  It's not a popular topic in the circles I find myself in.

I'm almost as isolated here as I was there.  There are more people around me here, but they are busy keeping busy, have first world complaints, and don't think twice about God.

"Home" is no longer home.  I don't belong where I was, either.  Wherever you go, there you are, so finding a third location is not an answer.  I'm back to square one.  I need to find my people.  I need to find the people who will walk with me on a path which I was set on.  I am sure that when I continue to walk my path, it will intersect with others.  I just wish it would happen a little sooner.

Censorship and Intimidation/Arrest

As much as I want to, I am unable to blog about the current events in Egypt.

Things I Miss

Things I Miss in the USA

I miss the crappy Polynesian food that makes you fat and bloated.

I miss walking into a Wal*Mart and knowing that whatever I need (anything at all), I can most likely find there. And if not, I can drive a block to a Target and get it there. At the same time, I am now acutely aware of the consumerism and materialism that pervades daily life in the US. Things like that just aren't important here. But, I miss knowing where to go to get slippers, ponytail holders and cheap but good shoes. I haven't found any of these here.

I miss things that work more often than are broken. Like trusting if I buy something in a store, it's most likely going to work at home. And if not, no problem returning it. Here, you take any electronic out of its box and a clerk will plug it in for you, to make sure it works before buying it.

I miss not caring where something was made, because it'll most likely work for a long time. Here, pricing signs list the country of origin. If it's made in China, expect it to break quickly. I think the China exports to the US are first quality, while we get close to last. A selling point of a scale I bought was that it's made in Germany. Who cares? It actually matters here.

I miss fresh chicken and vegetables that don't go bad in a few days. CONVERSELY, I'm shocked at how US food is loaded with preservatives so it doesn't go bad so soon. That's a real wake up call about the US food supply. Even bread will get moldy if you leave it out of the fridge for two days. No preservatives.

CHINATOWN

I miss having options. Sure, you can find face wash. Pick any of the four brands available. And it's the same four brands no matter where you go.

Oh, how I miss Mexican food. I make it at home when I can find most of the ingredients, but it would be nice to get a reliable fajita at a restaurant. Even the nachos are weird.

I miss washing my clothes normally.

I miss having fairly clean shoes after walking downtown.

Things I Would Miss about Egypt

Feeling safe, no matter where I am.

Being valued as a woman. Or rather, my value isn't based on how much cleavage or ass I show to the general public, in fact, it's the exact opposite.

A man is a man here. He will always offer his seat, carry your bags, speak gently to you, never let you pay for anything, is the proud provider for his family and treats you tenderly, as if you were his sister or mom.

A sense of community that just doesn't exist in the US. People reach out to one another, even strangers. If there's a car crash, several people (strangers) will pull over to help. If there's a physical altercation between two men, a crowd will form, not to watch, but to break it up and keep the peace.

There are many, many common ties between Egyptians, and no matter your social status, you will have things in common, some of which may surprise you.

There is a proud solidarity amongst Egyptians (and any foreigner they've taken under their wing) that is very different than American unity. Personal relationships mean so much more here, and the pride doesn't come from a strong military or personal buying power.

When something tragic happens in the US, the general consensus is what the news tells Americans. When something tragic happens here, we have an innate sense of what REALLY happened.

I'd miss all the cats, and how they have no idea what I'm throwing near them when I give them cat food. I'd miss the kittens, who are getting bigger, that hang out at Gold's Gym.

I'd miss all the specialized shops. There's one store for plastic bags, another for lamps, another for mirrors, or socks.

I'd miss the call to prayer five times daily, that reminds everyone what is most important: GOD.

Life in Egypt

If you're following me in Egypt or are coming to live here, check out the new blog of reviews, Cairo's Hits and Misses.

Getting Ready for THE BIG MOVE

I am packing my belongings to move them to... drumroll


EGYPT!

My departure date is uncertain, as we are waiting for the Egyptian government to issue my work visa. School starts around September 18th, so it should be within a few weeks.

I haven't updated my blog, well really, at all lately. I have a feeling that once I settle in Cairo, I'll be back to blogging. I'll need something to come back to that feels familiar and will also offer a chance to express myself.

After a month in Egypt with my dear Ahmed, I came back to NH for a week before heading to Boston to take the strangely exalted CELTA course (Certificate of English Teaching to Adults). For some reason, the CELTA is the most sought after qualification for teaching in the Middle East. I had never heard of it before I started looking into a teaching career in Egypt. The course proved to be, indeed, difficult, in many different ways. Perhaps I'll post more on that later, but I'll say now that if I knew what I would have to endure during the course before doing it, I wouldn't have done it. Certification or not.

Anyway, the school that hired me is run by a corporation which has companies in telecomunnication and construction, and is also active in charity.

Here's a little commercial:

I'm looking forward to meeting my students and all the teachers and administration. I'll have freedom with my lessons, and these kids will have lots of fun as well as be challenged. I can't wait.

Unsuccessful Dinner in Chinatown

I trekked back to Boston tonight after a long day of appealing the denial of my unemployment compensation. I decided to swing through Chinatown to get some dinner. I was there yesterday and got happily lost through all the restaurants, gift shops, aquarium fish stores... I wanted to get lunch but had zero appetite. So tonight was the night.

In 2004, someone I worked with at Fidelity Investments and had lived in China recommended Chau Chow City in Chinatown. He loved dim sum. I'm not into all the pork buns and stuff, but surely they could make some decent American-Chinese food.



I passed several restaurants on my way to Chau Chow, most filled with tourists. A ha! I won't go where the tourists go... I have the inside scoop!

I entered Chau Chow and saw I would be one of three tables full in the whole joint. The other two were Asian groups, one of which I think were employees. Ah well, I was there, might as well order up and see what happens.

It's pretty tough to screw up chicken egg foo yung. I make it at home! I ordered and it was brought out almost immediately... hmm... old foo yung, perhaps? I cut into the Chinese omelet and didn't see any chicken. I looked harder. What is that pink thing? That translucent thing, is that an onion, or...

Raw chicken.

I called the waiter over. "It's not cooked", I said. "Does the chef cook the chicken before adding it to the omelet?" Blank stare. I suddenly felt like I was back in Cairo. Keep the language simple, Beck. "Raw chicken".

"You don't like?"

"Meat is not cooked."

"Want something else from menu?" He rushed to grab a menu.

"Chicken. Pink. Cook longer."

"Ok we cook longer."

The second order took twice as long to come out as the first, so was hopeful. It was definitely cooked longer. Pretty much burnt on the edges. I sliced in and even the egg was cooked longer, so I continued. About halfway through the first omelet, I saw the raw chicken again. I went for the second omelet stacked in the middle, thinking just being sandwiched between two hot omelets would allow more time for internal cooking. It was better, but it still just wasn't tasty and the fear of food poisoning kind of ruined my appetite.

I asked for the bill and got my fortune cookie. The message: "Never give up".
I guess I'll try chicken egg foo yung in Chinatown another time. But I think I'll skip Chau Chow City.

Dates.

I love a good date.

Not the dinner and comedy club date (although I do love those, too), but a date.



I'd seen them before. They looked gross to me. Like an oversized raisin or prune. But while on vacation in Egypt, some were attractively displayed on the dessert buffet table on the cruise ship. I ate dessert with nearly every meal while cruising the Nile. Egyptians make some foods VERY good. Usually, it's Egyptian food. Others are a weak representation of another ethnicity's food. An effort, for sure, but almost never a success.

A date torte, for example, was so impressive I asked Ahmed to get the recipe from the chef. It would be a perfect dessert for our wedding reception, even. It was THAT good. Squares of "chocolate mousse", on the other hand, had an odd taste and texture. No thanks.

So I placed a few dates on my plate. My first time tasting a date, I did not expect the pit in the center. I chewed around the pit and was surprised at how sweet and effin' succulent this ugly fruit was. I ate dates with every meal following.

When I got home, I searched for my new found exotic food. Here, we have California medjool dates. They're pretty wrinkly and sometimes dry. Not what I remembered! I found some Algerian dates at the "middle eastern market" in Manchester, but they weren't as good either, but a decent substitute.

I returned to Egypt last May, just weeks before my dad passed away. Dates were not in season. Ahmed came to America in July and I asked for one thing, and one thing only. Dates. Dates were not in season. I've gone one year and two months without an Egyptian date. Will I have one next week? And maybe a dinner and comedy show date, too? I hope so!

A Man Worthy of Marriage

Finally, I am with a man who is worthy of marriage.

I've been with nice guys, exciting guys, fun guys, addict guys, asshole guys, guys who liked the idea of me but not the real me, 13 year old boy in a 30 year old body guys, you name it. But in the end, they were all boys. Boys who were unable or unwilling to grow up and become men.

I felt committed to previous guys, but there was always a catch. He's great except that he drinks too much, is addicted to porn, can't verbally express himself, doesn't spend enough time with me, puts me low on his list of priorities, wants me to be someone I'm not... I could go on and on.

My man is the first man I've been with. Before Ahmed, I'd never been with a man who I could unequivocally see as my husband. He is responsible, emotionally expressive, secure with who he is and knows what he offers.

He is also nice, exciting and very fun. He is emotionally mature and supportive, and mentally healthy with no hang ups. He cares for me in a way I've never been cared for before. He breaks down the walls I didn't even know I had, and does it lovingly and patiently.

Ten days after meeting him, I thought of him as my husband. Not a guy who I clicked with and wanted to see where it would go, not a boyfriend, not a guy who fulfilled some of my needs but not all. I thought of him as my husband.

We've been delayed about a year in our journey, but I think it's impeccable timing. We've been able to catch our breath before moving on to the next big step. Actually, it's more like a leap. I'm giving up my apartment in Hooksett for a flat in Cairo. We'll date like we would here until it's time to make it official. I'm fine with it all, because I'm finally with a man who is worth it.

Still Waiting

The house sold. I'm more than ready to go, but now we are waiting on probate court, which will take at least another 30 days. I worked my ass off getting my father's estate in order, but by the time it is finished, it will be nearly a year since his passing.

Probate is a bitch. Even with a specific will and organized documents, being an executor is very hard work and extremely time consuming. When this is all over, my life will begin again. I won't have the full time job of being sole executrix (female version of executor) and I can resume some normalcy - if normalcy means living in the Arab Republic of Egypt. Which for me, it does.

I really can't wait. I can't wait to pack up our sofa and go. My clothes are all ready. Everything else will go in storage or will be given away. It's almost time!

Moving Soon. Not across town... across the globe.

Standing at the top of Cairo Tower, overlooking Cairo. Below is the River Nile.

The house has been listed for 4 days and has been shown twice already. It's priced right and should sell quickly, even in this market. Once I receive the funds, I am off to Egypt, permanently!

The sofa will come, but everything else... eh. Can't bring electronics, unless I want to buy converters for each one. Some things may go in storage, others will be given away or donated.

I'll list some things up for grab when I'm ready to go.

I'm looking forward to the Egyptian lifestyle where everything is delivered and there is always time for cinnamon tea. Oh, and no snow. Thankfully.

TV can be very motivating

Hoarders makes me want to clean my apartment

Half Ton Dad makes me want to eat only celery

What Not to Wear makes me want to go shopping

and Down Home with the Neelys makes me want to cook a feast with Ahmed

Please donate to this very worthy cause

Bagging Rant

Self scan at the grocery store

I don't know about you, but the only reason I use self scan registers at the grocery store is so I can bag my own groceries without offending or weirding out the bagger at a traditional register.

I used to bag groceries while I was a supervisor at a grocery store about 15 years ago. I was trained to bag by an older woman who took pride in her bagging ability and wanted to pass her torch. I willingly accepted.

Since then, it's been few and far between bags that have been bagged properly by the baggers wherever I shop. In fact, when the rare bagger bags my groceries properly and thoughtfully, I always stop to compliment their bagging ability and thank them.

When self scan debuted at Hannaford, I immediately saw the potential. I could not only scan all my groceries, but I could bag them all, too! The first few trips to the store were great. I'm a fast and efficient bagger, so I never delay the next person in line. My groceries arrived home intact, sanitary (no chicken juice or cow blood on my cheese and lettuce) and in easy to carry bags which held their shape with weight evenly distributed.

My honeymoon screeched to a halt when Hannaford decided to place an older man, most likely a retiree who worked part time, at the self scan lanes. I hoped he was security, just making sure everyone was scanning what they put in their carts and ended up in the bags. But no. He was placed to help move people along more efficiently, by stepping in to bag the groceries self scanned.

The first time this happened, I thanked him for his help and gave him a chance to bag my groceries. Not surprisingly, they were bagged in the usual unthoughtful and uneven manner. I rearranged a few things and went on my way.

The next time I shopped, he was standing there again, waiting to jump in and help. This time, I thanked him and expressed that I would prefer bagging my own. He did the hands off motion, looking somewhat offended. Great. Piss off an old man or go home with poorly bagged groceries.

When another store opened down the street and featured self scan, I jumped ship. For a very long time, they left me alone. I could scan and bag completely independently. They didn't even have the annoying weight sensor under the bags like they have at Wal Mart and the express lane at Hannaford. "Please place the item into the bag". I did. "Please place the item into the bag". Uh, it's in the bag. "Please wait for assistance". This is about the moment I start pulling my hair out.

Anyway, my new store allowed me to scan as much as I needed and only interrupted when the bagging area became too full and would ask me to bag some groceries before continuing to scan. Not today. A "helpful" older woman, again, most likely a retiree, was at the end of self scan. I hoped she was just hanging around for the people who obviously shouldn't use self scan - the ones who don't know how to enter produce, can't find bar codes, have never entered a dollar bill into a slot, etc. Nope. She was a bagger.

I thanked her and told her I prefer to bag my own. She continued to bag my groceries. I thanked her again and told her I had it from there. She said she would finish bagging the bag she was working on. I stood and waited for her to finish. Am I not the customer? Am I not entitled to intact eggs, evenly weight distributed bags to carry up three flights of stairs? Am I not paying for these groceries? If the store needs to employ people to assist with a function that was meant to reduce staff, perhaps these people could be trained?

Here are my principles for correctly bagging groceries:

1. It all starts with unloading the cart. All two liter bottles of soda, jars and heavy items go on the belt first, followed by hard boxes and plastic containers. Then all cold items. Produce, then fragile items at the very end, like eggs, bread, pie crusts, etc. If by chance there is a trained bagger at the register, they can plan the bags and load them appropriately.

2. Create structure in the bag. What does this mean? The bag should be able to stand on its own, not collapse onto itself. Prop up the short ends of the bag with boxes. Fill the center with smaller boxes, cans or jars, keeping in mind to evenly distribute the weight between other bags. If there are no boxes, lay cans on their sides along the bottom to create a solid bottom.

3. Don't place jars next to each other. Put a small box or plastic bottle between them to lessen the chance of glass breakage in the car.

4. Produce all goes together. This helps the cashier (or you if you're self scanning) because produce isn't usually scanned but entered by code.

5. COLD and frozen items all in one bag together or in as many bags as needed, but with no non-cold items.

6. Raw meats and processed meats must be separated.

7. Non-food items, such as cleaning products, paper towels, toilet paper, all go together. If the only non-food item is paper napkins, they can go in with food items, but NEVER put cleaning products or cosmetics in with food. Leaks happen.

8. Lastly, when arranging the filled bags in the cart, put the heaviest and non-squishables on the bottom. A perfectly filled bagged means nothing when it's at the bottom of the cart, below a watermelon. Egg and bread bag in the child seat, too (provided there isn't a child already sitting there)!


What are YOUR grocery store pet peeves?

One Egyptian's Perspective

I interviewed Ahmed for my blog in June, then posted it to the wrong blog. Oops! Here's my man's perspective on questions he is frequently asked by tourists. Leave a comment if you have any questions you'd like to ask and I'll post his answer!

Becky:
Ahmed, thanks for opening up your world of travel and tourism to share with us your perspectives on Egypt.

Ahmed:
You're welcome... but bear my bitter sarcasm.

Becky:
Why are you bitter?

Ahmed:
I'm not. My sarcasm is.

Becky:
Ok, let's get started then.

Ahmed:
Sure thing, Miss Bean.

Becky:
As a tour director, you must field lots of questions from travelers.

Ahmed:
I do... some are valid.

Becky:
What is the strangest question you've heard?

Ahmed:
Well, there are a bunch actually. Here are a few of my all time favourites:

Q. How many months do Egyptian women & Arab women in general stay pregnant for?
A: They don't get pregnant. They lay eggs.

Becky:
You actually received that question?

Ahmed:
She actually believed my answer.

Becky:
Where was she from?

Ahmed:
USA. She was pissed off big time next day because she found out that women here give birth. She felt, and I quote, "offended".

Becky:
What's another strange question you've received?

Ahmed:
What is the name of the "unknown soldier" at the Alexandria KIA memorial? How did the ancient Egyptians know that Jesus Christ would be born in 2300 years?

Becky:
Great. People have also asked you, "Why are there people standing on the streets? What are they waiting for?"

Ahmed:
Oh yeah... that's a very frequent question, especially from the USA. My answer always differs.

Becky:
What is the real answer?

Ahmed:
The real answer is... Go ask them. Here are a few insights: Waiting for transportation, waiting in the shade instead of queuing up on a scorching hot tarmac to buy something, or at a governmental office, maybe hanging out till somebody meets them, or simply they could be shop owners stretching their legs.

Becky:
Another question you are asked is, "Why do men kiss and hold hands?"

Ahmed:
Yeah... it is a Mediterranean thing. They kiss in Paris, Rome, Greece, Spain.
I guess they are not homophobes here. Men are comfortable with their masculinity.

Becky:
When I was there with you, I noticed two men walking arm in arm. I assumed they were very comfortable with their homosexuality.

Ahmed:
No harm in kissing cheek to cheek or hold hands like a groom walks a bride down the isle, in the same style of locking arms. I think in Arab culture, there is nothing sexual about holding hands... it is friendship, human connection and comradery.

Becky:
"Why do women wear veils covering the hair? Do men force them to do this?"

Ahmed:
Women wear veils as a matter of choice. It starts with the tribes of Arabia... thousands of years ago, measuring their wealth based on cattle head, gold and how many slaves they own of both genders. Men were for labor. Women for sexual use. So every night women would be raped, until the prophet came along and established that all "man" is equal before the eyes of G (God), regardless of skin tone, social background or ethnic origin. It was equal to today someone asking everybody to give up their materialistic wealth, so of course they mocked him and gave him a hard time.

One of the things that distinguished mistresses from slaves was the dress code. Women in bondage were either topless, nude or barely covered, whereas noble woman covered up in long gowns and scarfs. It was the order of G that all women be dignified the same, so all women were given the right to dress up the same and cover the same, based on all men equal before the Almighty's eyes.

If it is the word of G that a woman be covered, NO MAN can uncover her against her will. In modern day some women choose to cover. Some feel safe not covering up.
It's personal choice in 96% of the places where Islam is the prevailing religious practice. But some non Arab countries... deeply steeped in other forms of binding religious practices, like Afghanistan or Iran or Pakistan or Malaysia... force women to wear the veil by the force of law or society, which takes women right back to bondage. Because now they are dressing in a code against their will.

Becky:
Why do women in small villages wear black?

Ahmed:
Conservative societies get very self conscious. Any color than black would reveal the figure in a bright country like Egypt, especially from a distance in an open field. So black conceals the figure of a woman... same idea. She has the right to not be revealed against her will.

Becky:
Are there any other questions that foreigners ask that you feel need real answers?

Ahmed:
Yes. Unfinished buildings are not finished because the people that live there are obviously poor. Driving rules are not there as there are more pressing issues than regulating traffic, when the population is big and the governmental offices are over loaded.