Jenyfer Matthews

Living abroad has its benefits. My husband is earning a comparable salary to what he might make if we were in the US, but the benefits are better. The children’s tuition is part of our employment package, we get to travel, and I get to stay home with the children AND we still save money. As an adult, I understand the hidden benefits to the situation. It can sometimes be harder to explain them to the children however.

Both children attend a British curriculum private school and I’d estimate that at least 75% of the children who attend the school have a parent who works for the oil industry. The oil people not only make some serious money, but living in a country like Egypt allows them to really live large besides. They typically have very large homes, big SUVs with drivers, and take every opportunity to travel. One mom I talked to this week said that they had scheduled a trip to Sharm al Sheikh for the scheduled long weekend and then extended their stay a few days when they heard the schools were closing – to the tune of $308/night. That’s about as much as I would want to pay for the entire weekend!

I don’t begrudge them their money or how they choose to spend it. But my children are beginning to notice the disparities. One of my son’s classmates came over for a playdate and made the comment “your house is tiny”. By comparison to his, I guess it is. His kitchen is as large as our kitchen, dining, and living rooms put together. Since I’m the one cleaning our home, I’m not too bothered by it being “tiny”! It’s plenty big enough for us, especially since most of time we are only ever all here at once to sleep

Last Thursday one of my daughter’s classmate had a leaving party at the school grounds. The invitation said to bring a swimsuit and goggles so I assumed it would be a swimming party. It was more like a small carnival. There were two bouncy castles (one small, one large), a bungee jump trampoline, a DJ, a popcorn cart, a bubble show, face painting and henna, and a large slip-n-slide in addition to a videographer, a table full of cup cakes, snacks, and juice. It was a beautiful day, the children had a wonderful time, and it certainly was a nice change of pace from sitting inside doing homework.

Things cost less here than they do in the US or Europe, but I’m sure it still cost a good bit for all of that. Certainly more than I would ever have considered spending on a child’s farewell party. Beyond the cost, I couldn’t help but wonder what that sort of display was going to do for my children’s sense of what is appropriate for parties. I skipped a birthday party for my daughter last June because there were so many scheduled it was ridiculous and each party was more elaborate than the last. *I* felt overwhelmed and totally inadequate so how must my daughter feel when I hang up a few balloons in the yard and invite her friends over to run through a sprinkler?

When my children have questioned why we don’t have a car, why it is that we don’t go to the Red Sea every weekend and why we rarely travel as a family outside of our summer vacations, I have to tell them that we don’t choose to spend our money that way. But I can already see that that answer is going to be less satisfying as they get older and want the same things their friends have. I’m okay with that, but I’m not sure I would want to know their answer to being given the choice between having a laptop for Christmas or having their mother at home to greet them after school and ease their life in so many countless and unseen ways!

Just about the time the weather starts to improve in Cairo and you think you might want to open the windows and let in a little fresh air, the farmers out in the Nile Delta start to burn their rice chaff. The air quality in Cairo is bad on a good day and the smoke that comes from the farmers doesn’t help anything. It leaves the air hazy and acrid. My husband and daughter get congested and my own eyes burn.

I’ve become accustomed to line drying my clothes in my years in the Middle East and in fact prefer it now. When the weather is warm or it’s breezy, things will dry in a matter of a few hours. But it’s not much fun to go out to collect the clothes and find them sprinkled with particles of ash and soot.

Some mornings it is so hazy that it looks like fog. During the day, the smell isn’t as noticeable so I try to pretend it isn’t an issue and open the windows anyway. But the air is still dirty. And with each breeze, every surface in the house is coated with grime. I have to clean our dining table before AND after our evening meals. Our white dishrags turn black with the muck. We won’t talk about the floor – or the bottoms of our feet.

Keeping the windows shut doesn’t help anyway – the windows are so warped and badly sealed that the dust and grime just comes in through the gaps. I washed my off-white sheers this weekend, streaked with black where the dirt blows in through the cracks.

At night, when the air is still and the humidity settles in, the smell of smoke permeates the air – and our apartment. With all the cautions of the hazards of secondary smoke that I’ve heard over the years, I can’t help but wonder what affect this is having on my health and the health of my children.

Still, the good things about living in Egypt still outweigh the bad. It is still pomegranate season – of which I’m taking full advantage. And there are still lovely sights such as this in the neighborhood :

Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe this is called a Silk Tree. Lovely, isn’t it?

My children ask from time to time why it is that we have chosen not to have a car here in Egypt. To say that the driving is crazy is inadequate. I have trouble describing the lawlessness which personifies driving habits of the locals.

I recently found this description of driving in Cairo at the turn of the last century in “The Leisure of an Egyptian Official” by Lord Edward Cecil:

His driving is peculiar. We start off at a gallop before I am well in the cab, and I sit down suddenly. This is painful, but I am used to it. We whirl around the first corner, and miss and old man who is strolling down the road, apparently with the intention of committing suicide, by a fraction of an inch. The driver yells out the whole time various remarks to the other occupants of the street who are getting, or who he thinks may get, in his way. “O my father, mind thy feet. Thy feet, my brother. To thy right, beloved. O son of all that is vile, and father of unmentionable things, where are you going?” They an torrent of abuse which is absolutely unreproducible. The language of he barrack-room in the old days was pure and mild compared with ordinary chaff of the streets here.

All this time we are galloping and missing people and vehicles by the narrowest of margins. It looks like a series of the most unparalleled flukes, but it is really due to the cleverness of the horses, who are as quick on their feet as cats, and just manage to avoid each thing in turn. It is lucky that they are so gifted, because no one keeps the rule of the road; all pedestrians walk in the roadway, usually on the wrong side, and are either engaged in conversation or are so blind as to not be able to see the carriage until it is close upon them. The shouts of the driver have less effect than one might expect from their loudness and substance, because all the other drivers are shouting at the same time.

Replace the horses with automobiles and add in the cacophony of honking and you get the idea. And yet, we are in the minority – just about everyone we know has a car – which, in a city of approximately 20 million (give or take), is part of the problem! Having recently witnessed a police truck hit a passenger car, inspect the damage and then drive away from the scene I am not convinced to change my mind on the matter.

Besides, walking is good for you – so long as you can avoid the drivers….

The men who work at our vegetable stand are so, so nice. They are always very pleasant to deal with and very hospitable. They love to feed me whatever they happen to have around when I drop by.

Now, out of necessity, I am usually quite cautious about where and what I eat here in Cairo. It’s easy enough to eat something that hasn’t been handled properly and then spend the next week running for the bathroom. The child of one of my neighbors has had giardia twice in the last few months. I wash my produce with either a scrub brush and dish soap or give it a long soak in vinegar and water before we consume it. I even wash my eggs in water with a dollop of bleach (you would too if you saw some of the shells! Yuck!)

In spite of all my caution, it is nearly impossible for me to reject the food offered to me by the vegetable guys. Sometimes it’s a cookie or cake that his wife made. Sometimes he shares his breakfast of foul and baladi bread (fava bean mash) On occasion he’ll pick up a piece of whatever fruit is in season to give me a taste, in an effort to make a sale.

Once he cut a plum in half and offered half to me and half to another woman who was in the shop at the same time. I took my half – in spite of having seen him polish the fruit on his galabeya and then cut it with a knife of questionable cleanliness. The other woman refused. She didn’t even take it from him to be nice to hold on to it for discreet disposal later. When she turned her back, the man made a mad face and waved her off with his hand. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings so I ate my half in front of him.

My acceptance of his food makes him happy – but it also encourages him to share more and more. I have survived my encounters with him thus far, but his week he upped the ante. He offered me milk fresh from his cow. He assured me that he had washed his hands and the cow’s udders before he milked it. He poured the remains of the milk – the last he had – into a small glass mug. There was no way for me to take it with me, and no plausible reason sprang to mind for why I couldn’t drink it. So I did.

I tried to get my husband to share it with me, but he refused, pointing out that one of us had to survive to raise the children. The milk was warm and sweet, like no milk I’ve ever had before. I asked if it had sugar added to it but he said no, straight from the cow. I had no way of knowing whether the fact that it was warm meant that it had been boiled to sterilize it or if it was the cow’s residual body heat I was noting.

I waited a few days to write this just to see if indeed I would survive. So far, so good.

Now, off to clean my balcony now that the rain has stopped. And then to prepare for the party. With six little boys in the house, I have decided it would be prudent to roll up my large Afghan carpet. Since my son requested it to be a “pajama party” I will throw a comforter out on the floor instead and several bed pillows. They won’t be sleeping over but it’s all about the proper ambiance, right?

There are times when I get a little homesick – there are lots of things to miss in America. Right now that mostly centers around shopping because I have to buy a birthday present for my husband and I’m stumped. He’s a hard man to buy for (aren’t they all??) and having a huge overflowing mall at my doorstep would be helpful. I’m going to have to get creative on that. In the meantime I decided to count my blessings instead.

Things I like about Egypt:

<!–[if !supportLists]–>1) <!–[endif]–>Delivery, delivery, delivery – you can get just about anything delivered, including fast food like McDonald’s and KFC (which can be ordered online). I have my groceries delivered every week (no car, no elevator, nuff said). My green grocer comes door to door when he gets in vegetables he knows we like. Last week he brought a bunch of aging bananas to me because he knows I like to make banana bread.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>2) <!–[endif]–>Doctors who make house calls – for the same or less than their office rate.

<!–[if !supportLists]–><!–[endif]–><!–[if !supportLists]–>3) Pomegranates. The seeds are crunchy and sweet. And ahhh, pomegranate juice – tis the season. If you’ve never had it, it’s wonderful stuff. You can make it yourself, but my kitchen always looks like a bloodbath afterwards. An easier option is to buy it from the fresh juice stand at the market. A liter and a half costs about $2.

4) <!–[endif]–>Baladi bread – a local pocket flat bread made with whole grains with a dusting of corn meal on the outside. A bag of 8 pieces costs about $.30. You often see it laying on the hoods and roofs of cars to cool in the local neighborhoods and being delivered in large flat cane baskets balanced on cyclists’ heads. I buy mine at the grocery store but I can’t be sure where it was before it got there (not sure I want to know either!)

<!–[if !supportLists]–>5) <!–[endif]–>Everybody knows you. When you’ve gone in to a shop frequently enough the staff get to know you. I never even have to say where I live anymore to the grocery delivery guys, they just know. People I don’t recognize know where I live! That would bother me in other places but here it’s just the way it is.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>6) <!–[endif]–>Mashrabia screens – the lace of woodwork, so lovely to look at.

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7) <!–[endif]–>The history. Where else could my children get to visit the Red Sea, the library in Alexandria, the Valley of the Kings and the Mediterranean sea in one place? Take school field trips to the Nile River, the great Pyramids, and the Egyptian Museum?

<!–[if !supportLists]–> <!–[endif]–>Sunset Feluca (sailboat) rides. Bring a picnic and take an hour’s sail on the Nile River with a dozen of your closest friends for less than $10 – shared 12 ways.

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9) <!–[endif]–>Strawberry season – long and sweet. Have you ever had fresh strawberry juice? Heaven. (Why are so many of my items food related??)

<!–[if !supportLists]–>10) <!–[endif]–>The generosity of the people. I was once a little short of cash at the vegetable stand and asked if I could pay them when they brought the food since I did have money at home. They not only said yes, but the owner whipped out his money roll and offered to give me a loan so I could complete my shopping!

Hmmm…now I’m hungry. Think I’ll go and have some breakfast. If you have any husband-gift ideas, I’m all ears.

I had a rather eventful morning.

Most days start out the same: I get up, pack school lunches, take the kids to the bus stop and then by 8am I’m on my own until the kids come home from school. I normally come home, have a little breakfast, sit down and check email and then try to write something.

Not today.

Today, while waiting at the bus stop with my kids (which was late arriving), I witnessed a minor car accident involving a neighbor in my building and a local. My neighbor was attempting to make a left turn on to our street. The local was also trying to make left turn – local style: he pulled into the oncoming lane of traffic and started his turn from there, into what would have been the middle/right side of the street onto which he was turning.

Fortunately, the damage to either car was minimal but there was lots of confusion since none of us was bilingual. I put my kids on their bus, which arrived moments after, and went down to our building to find someone to interpret. After about fifteen minutes it was agreed just to let the matter go and each driver would take care of his own car. Since my neighbor only had a scrape and the other driver wasn’t even the owner of the car he crunched, I think my neighbor got the better end of the deal.

On the way back to my own place, I ran into a South African woman who was out walking her dog. She inquired about the accident and then announced that she was pretty sure that a bus driver who was parked on our road had just propositioned her. It seemed an unlikely thing to happen during the school rush at 8am, but what do I know? I don’t speak Arabic either. And it certainly worked as a conversation starter.

We got to talking and she invited me up to her (magnificent) apartment for a cup of tea. She gave me the grand tour and it turned out that we have quite a bit in common. We practically talked over each other for a little over an hour and I left with a standing invitation to come over anytime and the offer of a ride to a bigger grocery store I don’t often visit since I don’t have a car.

And just think, if the kids’ bus hadn’t been late I would have gone home sooner and maybe missed the chance to make a new friend.

Does it sound odd, the speed with which we bonded? I’m a friendly, chatty sort of person and have never had trouble making friends. I admit her openness – normally only found in Americans on airplanes – took me aback just a bit. But I think that when you’re living in a community of people who come and go so quickly, that you learn the art of making friends quickly. Who has time to be coy when either of you may be gone in a year?

My only reservations about this friendship at present revolve around the fact that having such a pleasant distraction so close by may cut into my productive time that much more…

Only 13 more school days to go – 13 more quiet mornings – and my inner voice is stubbornly silent. Figures, huh? I did some research for the next little bit of my story over the weekend so now I’m just letting it…simmer.

In the meantime, I had an interesting email over the weekend from another romance author who also lives in Egypt. She’s the editor for a local expat magazine and would like to run an interview with me in their October issue – perfect timing for the release of my next book ONE CRAZY SUMMER. I’m both thrilled and excited but now comes the hard part.

Answering the questions in a way that actually makes ME sound witty and INTERESTING. I was working on it this morning and it’s not as easy as it might seem. (I know, hard to believe, isn’t it?) There’s a reason I don’t write paranormal/fantasy/sci-fi. My feet are firmly planted on the ground and even wrapped in the cloak of my alter ego, it’s still just me. I haven’t created a whole separate fully-developed super-persona – it’s just me with a different name. And it’s still difficult to find ways to sing my own praises without feeling like a jerk.

But “just” writing a great story isn’t enough – you have to find ways to connect with potential readers. Why should they read your book when there are so many others out there to choose from? How can you make yourself stand out in the proverbial crowd? Maybe they see an interview published in a magazine and think “Wow! What a (witty / intelligent / insightful / dull / moronic) person this is! I should (never ever) read their book!”

It’s a lot of pressure.

If I tell someone that I live in Cairo and write romance novels their first reaction might be “Oh! How interesting!” But really, dig a little deeper and my life is pretty average and normal. I get up in the morning and dash through making breakfast and packing lunches for the kids. I do my own grocery shopping and cooking, laundry, housework – in short all the usual dull details of regular life. Jackie Collins I am not.

Even the Cairo angle might even seem less interesting when presented to a group of people who themselves have also lived abroad for many years – and in many cases in more exotic locales yet.

I’ll have to give it some thought – it’s not every day that such an opportunity falls in my lap. Hmmm… I suppose I could lie…em…I mean accentuate the positives. I am a writer after all….