Who Are the Students?

Esther's group of elementary level students in classroom

We teach lovely young women in modern jeans

Scarved  in pastels and browns

Alongside those whose hair flow freely

beside nuns in black habits but open faces

And sharp young men who look like they

could be in high school anywhere in the U.S.,

but they are in private classes all over Port Said

this year before entering public schools again next year.

We teach managers, accountants, and logisticians

 who work in companies like CGM,

that keep the ships moving through the canal

to and from ports all over the globe.

One is a cardiologist longing to join family

in Canada, and a filmmaker/artist,

Trying to raise her family here.

Another, holding the second rank

in city government, hopes with

better English, to become the first.

A few are bankers and customer service reps

for phone companies or medical supplies,

or just lost jobs or abandoned the insupportable.

Others are teachers or students from

Port Said University across the canal.

They major in music, or swimming, or logistics,

and are trying to pass their English exams for the

jobs they know will be difficult to find here.

A few are just released from the army,

And some are waiting to enter, hoping for

that one year soldier’s designation, rather

than an officer’s three-year role. After all,

these are not safe times for young men to serve.

All are pilgrims of hope, and I am their student.

The Givers

Last Saturday, I bought some little foil-wrapped Easter chicks of Lindt chocolate and gave them, with cards, to folks who are so kind to us here. I thought it was a small gift for their always graciousness in answering our ignorant questions, interrupting their work in their shop. I was feeling a bit left out of family Easter gatherings as we had no home to go to during the weekend, other than our own, so I tried to think what I could do for someone else. Then Tuesday, I was talking with Ms. S. and asked if she would accept if I invited her to my flat for tea. She said, “Of course”!–if it was on her day off. She arrived with her hands full of several kinds of bread, some coconut pastries, and samples of the smoked fish, salted fish, and sardines that most families ate together on Monday. So much for trying to give something away, I thought!

A view from the balcony where I study with Ms. H.

Today, I met with Ms. H to have another Arabic lesson in the clubhouse by the seashore.  I took with me some fresh apple crisp that I had made this morning—small payment for her always gracious “I’m with you” when I ask if she has time for another lesson, not to speak of her paying a driver to pick me up, tipping the gate keeper, buying me tea with a gorgeous view, etc.  She says her greatest happiness is to give things away and to be with people that she likes being with. She doesn’t know how much she has contributed to MY sense of well-being here. We laugh a lot as I struggle over weird pronunciations and we talk about our lives. As if these gifts were not enough, she presented me today with a lovely little box decorated with traditional Egyptian figures playing musical stringed instruments.

In the evening, as I was trying to open the elevator door, our gatekeeper, who had just

returned from vacation in Upper Egypt, motioned for me to wait. He went into another room and produced from a paper bag some little balls of baked fermented grain balls and a lovely round loaf of flat bread called Al-shamsi, or sun bread, that is a type of sourdough bread made primarily in the villages and rural areas south of here. I had never seen it here. I received that bread as though it were bread from heaven, something quite precious that was made by his wife who lives many hours away, whom he sees only on rare holidays. He is considered a poor man, yet is so generous, many times offering to share things like a few strawberries or other bits of food he may be eating when we pass through the hallway. I occasionally have given him things to eat also, but nothing I consider so precious.

All of these acts of kindness as well as the gifts given by our students—the baby seahorse plucked from the canal wall, dried and varnished, made into a key chain; chocolate Easter bunnies brought all the way from Canada; a home-made chocolate cake, offers for help with travel plans, and other sweet gestures have been downright humbling to me. I hope that if I haven’t mastered Arabic here, at least I will not forget to take with me the lessons on generosity that have been shown us here.

"Smelling the Breeze"

     All of Egypt was celebrating something this past long weekend. First came the Easter services, followed by Sham el-Nessim (explained later).There were all day liturgical services on Friday.  Thursday through Saturday, black draperies with the symbolic Coptic cross were found throughout the churches.

Then on Saturday night from 8:00 to 11:30, Coptic Christians gathered for a mass to end the long lenten season and celebrate the resurrection of Jesus. Here, a procession of all the men and cherubic boys and youth serving at the altar in "our" cathedral make a procession around the church following a picture icon of Jesus on the cross which folks on the sides reached out to touch as it passed. After this service, we were again invited to dine with the bishop, the priests, the nuns and orphans and finally retired at 2:30 a.m.

  

On Sunday, this church held an all-day "fair" with entertainment for youth and a score of adorable children. We discovered some amazing ice-cream that we didn't know existed.

     Finally, the national holiday known as Sham El-Nessim, or "smelling the breezes" came on Monday. This spring celebration began at least 4,500 years ago in the pharonic age and was a celebration of renewal of life and the beginning of the agricultural growing season. To this day, people everywhere fill the parks and beaches with their colored eggs, scallions, smoked and salted fish called "fiseekh".  The tradition of eating this fish comes from the ancient practice of storing and salting fish from the Nile when it flooded and deposited an over abundance of fish on the banks around people's homes before the dams were built. This fish smells and tastes like it was kept for thousands of years claim some of my students who declared I'd go back to the U.S. and never return if I tasted it...hmmm.

Here some folks are setting up their cloth  "tent" for the day in a nearby park that is usually rather empty. I investigated one large circle of people and found a man and his wife and son performing simple magic tricks with a stick, an egg, a funnel with water, and a drum. Bystanders threw a few coins or bills into the center to show their appreciation.

Not a giant croquet set!

These are the frames for the rows of tents that were then set up the next day by the Mediterranean, as you can see below.

Muslim women in long black skirts take to the water along with everyone else. I met one young lady fully covered, dripping from head to toe, who had just come out of the water and stood there shivering, trying to talk English with me. Her younger brother and his friends then repeated the two lines most children try on us: "What's your name? and Welcome to Port Said" or "how old are you?"   It doesn't seem like they ever get much beyond the first day's lesson in English. Their father finally said something to the children and suddenly the boy said to us: "go!"  Don't know what that was all about. Did the parent think they had bugged us long enough, or was there some other reason? One of my students said some Egyptians are afraid of everything and everyone.  So many questions...
      In the far end of the beach, we meet the walking innertubes.  Here and there, horses would gallop past us with young fellows bending into the wind, enjoying the ride.  Some folks were flying kites with bright colors and long streamers.  It was a truly gorgeous 70-degree day to smell the breezes.

Blessing of the Waters*

                                                                                                                                                       

By His Word

he gathered the waters to one source and made boundaries for it;

he weighed the water with his hands

and  made springs into rivers;

he watered the earth by the rising of the rivers.

As the rain comes down and brings forth seed,

So shall His Word be. It shall not return to Him without fruit.

From the temple courts come waters 

that rise until they become a river that heals all

creatures that live in its waters, and they shall not die.

He shall sprinkle clean water

Bless this water unto healing

  A holy water

  A water for the remission of sins

  A water of purification

  A water for the salvation of body, soul, and spirit

  A gift of purity and love for each other.

You who are thirsty, come to the water.

*Yesterday, Thursday of this Coptic Easter week, was the Mass of the blessing of the waters from 8:00 to 12:00. The poem above was arranged from some of the readings pertaining to water. A central part of this service is the blessing of water in a large basin by the presiding bishop or priest, who dips his cross into it. This water is then used to “wash the feet” of the parishioners.  Actually, the men file to the front and have their ankles rubbed with a wet wash cloth and wiped with a towel. Another priest takes a pitcher of the water and uses a brush to apply the water, in the form of the cross, to the foreheads of the women. Someone who knows me happened to sit beside me and made sure I had my application of water!

Why I go to Mass

Why I go to Mass   (a reflection on Good Friday)

“Why do you go,” they ask, “when you do not understand?”

I will tell you why…

Because I see the light falling on the cross rising above my window

Because they read the Word of God

Because I do not understand clearly

Because I want to understand

Because they chant praises in ancient cadences that I can learn

Because the ladies veiled in lace extend gentle hands of peace

Because in their eyes I see the joy or suffering of Jesus

Because we must be like the lovely children they bring in their arms

Because they share with the stranger the bread that is blessed and broken

Because when I do not go they say, “we missed you so much.”

Because I am here for a short time but will carry them always in my heart

Because Jesus is looking at us from the cross, and we bow our hearts together

Waiting for resurrection.

A huge panel from the amazing Cathedral of St. Mark in Port Fuad--just across the canal.

The Cathedral of St. Mark depicts the major stories of the Bible in vivid colors that cover the ceilings
and shine in stained glass windows.