The cycle of life.

This has been a week that ranged from the ridiculous to the sublime, with comings and goings, deaths and births: the cycle of life in the cradle of civilization.

Ridiculous:

Last Thursday, my roommate Eunice was preparing to move back to the States. I came home from work at 10:30pm to find her half-dressed with suitcases and bags open all across the floor. Eunice, who came out of the womb with a blackberry, was efficiently and vigorously packing.
I hadn't slept the night before—I don't remember why. Late nights talking with my roommates in front of the a/c are usually to blame. I had just come back from a 13 hour work day. I laid down on my bed and closed my eyes.
Eunice pulled her iPod earbuds out and paused her packing ritual briefly.
"My Egyptian chain-smoking photographer friend knows a Sudanese-American guy who's singing at the Marriot tonight, do you want to go?"
"Eunice, my brain can't even begin to process all of the strange adjectives you just threw at me."
But of course, we go. How could you pass up watching a Sudanese-American singer at the Marriot (which used to be a palace) with an Egyptian chain-smoking photographer? Oh, and a co-worker of ours was going to meet up with us, and did so with a Russian model on each arm. Naturally.
We arrived at the Marriot and scanned the list of events that evening in their various ballrooms. Nothing that looked like a Sudanese-American singer. We call the chain-smoking photographer (who turns out to be an hour away, stuck in traffic—and never actually shows up that evening), who tells us it's in a pub connected to the hotel.
So we go to Harry's pub. We open the door, and try to squint through the smoky haze. We can just barely make out a man with a fro and a synthesizer, who's standing next to another man with a tambourine. This must be it. Only, "concert" would be a misleading term. More like, a one-man karaoke show. Still, he was good. The first hour was mostly an 80s love ballad/Bob Marley mix—the second hour were Arab pop favorites. The Russian models were nice enough. The Guiness was unbelievably good, but a whopping $11 for a can. And that was the cheapest thing on the menu, those Marriot cads. We left sometime around 1:30 in the morning, when a Sudanese woman and plump, white middle aged woman decided to get up and start dancing. They were quickly joined by a dozen or so old men. When the pub became uncomfortably amorous (not helped by the fact that we were sitting next to a table with three likely prostitutes), we decided to walk home. Bizarre, but hey—you've got to live a little.

Sublime: Cairo is hosting a free music festival this month, with outdoor concerts being held every night at Saladin's citadel. The citadel is, in reality, a whole complex of military museums, 19th century ruler Muhammad Ali's mosque, the remnants of Saladin's fortress, and exhibits of the former royal family. It sits on a cliff overlooking the entire city.
My roommates and I went, along with 2 visiting American friends and Muhammad, an Egyptian banker and former host-brother of my friend Kirsten. We smuggled in two cheese pizzas, which was an excellent choice.
We arrived at the Citadel just as the sun was starting to set. The view was breathtaking—smog and dust make for spectacular sunsets, but Cairo is so crowded that it's hard to get a good view of them. Shortly after we arrived, the concert began—it was a ten piece classical, oriental orchestra featuring a few soloists. They were singing the great ballads of 1950s Egypt, and the whole audience was clearly very moved. A man behind was singing along softly in a wistful voice.

Comings:
We're in the midst of greeting new friends to Egypt. Our 3rd roommate, Becca, arrived on the 15th. Our 4th and final roommate, Julianna, arrives on the 20th. Two friends from our study abroad program, Phil and Micah, arrived in Egypt yesterday. Unfortunately for us, they're going to be living near Beni Suef, an hour or so south of Cairo, working for the Mennonite Central Committee. As happy as we are for them and their work, we wish that they were closer! An hour is nothing, though—I'm sure we'll be seeing them often. And then my SPU friends Brittalisa and Emily will be arriving soon, too! I'm always grateful for how much Cairo has started to feel like home, and it has a lot to do with how many old friends are here with me.

Goings:
Unfortunately, as we've been welcoming so many friends to Egypt, we've also had to say goodbye: Eunice left literally 15 minutes before Becca arrived. Our airport drop off/pick up was a pretty spectacular display of efficiency. Farek drove us, and didn't disappoint in reminding Becca how great Egyptian hospitality can be—even if it seems bizarre and a bit misplaced at times. We picked Becca up around 4:45am. Kirsten and I hadn't slept at all, but were being carried along just fine by the adrenaline. Farek and I were engrossed in a conversation about the importance of virginity within Egyptian culture, when he suddenly pulled the car over. Remembering that during our first taxi ride with Farek he had also pulled over in order to wake up an old woman to try to show us her apartment, I wasn't so shocked, but was waiting to see what he was up to. He motioned us out of the car. We were apparently in front of a 24 hour juice shop. Even though it was 5am and the streets were empty, some 6 or 7 employees were milling around. Farek ordered all of us Mango juice (I'm sad to report that I still don't like Mangos, though with so much practice, am getting better at gagging it down) and Pomegranate juice for himself. The employees pulled up some plastic chairs for us, and before the sun was up, we were sitting at an outdoor café in Cairo drinking fresh juice. Like I said, the hospitality can be a bit strange at times, but lovely all the same.

Deaths: As I wrote my brief eulogy for Daisy below, I won't repeat it again. My little sister seems to be doing a bit better, but I'm glad I don't have to be home to see the empty water dish. It's always sad to see a thoroughly pleasant phase of life come to an end.

Births: The blessed day finally came. Nope, no brown babies for me—I know some of you have already cautioned me against babysnatching here. Rather, Gigi gave birth this morning to a beautiful baby girl. The saga of Gigi's pregnancy had been growing more complicated by the day. Her blood pressure was dangerously high, her medical bills growing, and her husband increasingly evil. She wasn't due until the end of September. Nevertheless, they were talking about inducing labor at the beginning of September, worried about Gigi's health. She was going in for a new test or ultrasound every week. They monitored her blood pressure almost daily.
Finally, they couldn't wait. They said that they would need to do a C-section, and soon. Unfortunately, a C-section costs $1,000 USD—nearly a year's salary for the family. They called her shithead husband (the one who was beating her and starving her to make her lose the baby (he wanted a boy) and is the cause of her high blood pressure and the baby's poor health) to see if he would pay for the C-section. He said that he didn't care if Gigi or the baby died.
Right. So the family pooled half of the money together somehow, which is the amount that was due before the procedure. The other half is due sometime later. Everyone was scared. The baby was on the 3rd percentile for size and weight, from what they could tell from the ultrasound. Gigi's blood pressure was so high. There was a lot of room for complications.
5 doctors ended up in the operating room with her—a heart specialist, the surgeon, an ob/gyn, an anesthesiologist, and her primary care provider, who's been seeing her through this whole difficult ordeal. I spent the night with the family last night, bringing some gifts for Gigi and the baby. We left the house at 7 this morning. 6 of her family members were with her. Her sister, who's her best friend, wasn't coming however. Why?
Because there's a superstition that if a menstruating woman is near a woman giving birth, that woman won't be able to breastfeed, and poor Sara had her period. Strange! But hey, you just roll with it.
Of course, the husband wasn't coming, though she needs him to sign the birth certificate later. We'll see what happens with that drama. Until then, the baby doesn't have a name—not that they agreed on what to name the baby, either. Gigi decided that she'll put whatever he wants on the birth certificate and then call her baby a different name anyway. Smart lady.
Anyway. At the hospital, everyone was a bit nervous. Her dad was crying. Her mom was praying continually. We sat outside of the operating room for an hour. The heat was making me drowsy, and my head kept dropping. Outside the operating room, there was a row of white shoes, presumably for the surgeons or nurses or whomever. Some of them had blood stains on them. I wish they hadn't been there.
After some time had elapsed—I'm not sure how long—at a very inauspicious moment, a nurse emerged with bundle wrapped in a green blanket. It was Gigi's baby. The baby turned out to be perfectly healthy, weighing in at 4.5 pounds. It was better than anyone had expected, and she wouldn't need an incubator. I had to leave before Gigi was awake from the anesthetics, though she woke up for a few groggy minutes and I spoke to her then. I sat with the baby for 2 hours or more, watching Gigi's mom expertly taking care of it. She was beautiful. If all goes well, Gigi and her baby should be going home tomorrow—thank God, thank God.