Subject: Day 1 Aswan: No guide—no meet and assist (first gig without Mohammad or Essam)
Well, this is Egypt after all, so what could I expect. I arrived to no one waiting for me at the tiny airport. Easy to see
after the two tour groups left that I was the only one there--standing alone. I went outside thinking maybe my
"guide" was out there. There were two taxi drivers, but no guide. I waited awhile, then called Essam, who said, "He
has to be there--did you look around?" (yeah, not hard--the place was empty). Eventually, after over a half hour, a
guy dressed in a baggage handler uniform came out and said, "shee-ree bee-renz". I waved--that's me! (Yeah!
Relief!)
He walked up to me and said “you take taxi” (so much for the guide, or the meet and assist at the airport).
I had no idea where my hotel was, nor did I know the area. The guy that called my name argued for awhile with the 2
taxi drivers, arguing over ‘me’ I guess because eventually I was told to “go with him” as he pointed to one of the taxi
drivers. The taxi driver immediately went into the same question game I get every where I go: “How old are you?”,
“Are you married?”, “Do you have children”. But this was in a mix of Arabic and very bad English, so I answered in
my bad Arabic. He gave me a confused look with my “teleta weh hamseen” (53). He thought I didn’t know my
Arabic numbers—he started going over them 20-30-40 in Arabic and with hand gestures showing the numbers (I love
it—but actually, women here age so young, that they look 50 when they are in their late 20’s—so I should not take it
as a compliment—but it’s fun nonetheless).
I now answer that I have 2 boys when I’m asked if I have children. I used to say I am married to an Egyptian (true,
and also solves some problems that tend to happen to me if they think I’m single), and I used to say we have no
children. But this always made people feel ashamed for me. I got tired of feeling kind of embarrassed (like I’m
unable to bear children or something—a big humiliation for women here—so saying I have 2 boys, although not true,
solves the embarrassment). The taxi broke down briefly while going over the old Aswan dam (there was a nice view
anyway). After tinkering with the taxi for a while he got it going. He pulled over twice in town to make phone calls. I
was beginning to feel uncomfortable and kept showing him my hotel name (written in Arabic). He kept nodding that
he knew, but didn’t seem in any hurry to get me there.
He kept asking me to call him and wrote his name and phone number on a piece of paper (I guess it didn't matter that
I was married with 2 sons) and then pulled into a place where he told me, “hotel boat”. Suddenly an enormous
Nubian with a shaved head opened my door while I was struggling to figure out where I was going and what was
happening (I was not aware that I had to take a boat to get to my hotel). The giant bald Nubian looked exactly like an
illustration from a thousand and one nights—you know, the giant genie that comes out of the lamp—no kidding! He
told me, “I am Ahmed—did you give him money?”. I said “not yet”, and the Genie said “good--don’t--come with
me”. I didn’t argue. I grabbed my stuff and followed him to a boat. After we sat for a few moments in total silence he
said, “I over slept. You would have waited another 40 minutes at the airport if I tried to get there, so I called and told
them to send you here”. (Ah, this is my guide and meet & assist person).
He got me to my hotel and checked me in, said he’d wait for me to drop my things and would meet me in the lobby.
When I came to the lobby he walked me to a different boat where he had a long conversation with the driver, then
said to me, “he’ll take care of you”. I started babbling about what I wanted to film, etc., and then stopped myself and
asked “does he speak English?”. The Genie replied “of course”. But turns out the boat driver didn’t. Another case
of trying to communicate with a combo of my bad Arabic and his bad English. After we set sail I again had to play
the question game. Are you married? Do you have children? How old are you?
I must have made the boat driver understand that I did not want tourist stuff, that I wanted to film real people, and
real activities, because he took me on the most fantastic cruise along the Nile. He took me inside narrow little inlets
with tall grass and where I filmed people with cows and goats outside their huts. There were lots of boys fishing,
swimming, or paddling in these small canoe/kayak type boats. I enjoyed it tremendously and took lots of shots. We
then went in more open waters and went by a camel parking lot. That was really fun. I got shots of boys riding fast
and horsing around (or should I say cameling around—it was great).
We went past a quaint village and he said “my village”, so I took shots of it from a distance. Then we pulled up and
docked at another village along the Nile that looked a little touristy from the dock, but I was willing to give it a go. He
started to change his galabeya (right in front of me—but I quickly turned my head when I saw what he was doing).
He put on a nice clean white one. He walked me through the touristy main street, but it looked fun—Nubian masks
for sale, lots of spices and stuff. They tried to sell me stuff, but Ahmed politely told them I wasn’t interested (I was
happy he wasn’t trying to do the commission thing).
Ahmed knocked on a white washed mud house with a bright blue door (so beautiful), but after quite a
long while he gave up and said, “sleep”. We continued through dirt roads and alleys of quaint mud huts and
small white houses, until we got to a white washed house with a bright pink door (really, really beautiful). It opened
and he gave the guy who answered a big bear hug. “Brother” Ahmed said. (Hmm, what’s up?) In Cairo you can get
taken advantage of easily—everybody has a relative who sells some tourist item and they push their wares pretty
heavily, but my doubts were quelled quickly. I had a great time. The door opened to a tiny open air courtyard which
had a hallway to a bedroom. The brother asked me if I was hungry—Aiwa! (Yes!), he then said, “Nubian o.k?”,
“Yes!” I said, Quais Owie” (very good). Although I had no idea of what Nubian food was—I was game. I was then
escorted to the bedroom. The bedroom had 2 narrow beds against the walls, an oriental rug on a dirt floor in
between, and a t.v. on the floor blaring an American movie I didn’t recognize (subtitled in Arabic). Nothing else was
in the room, and nothing on the beautiful immaculately white washed walls.
Food was brought in, so I moved from the bed to sit cross legged on the floor and they both looked surprised and
said “You Nubian!” I ate with my hands with great gusto, knowing that all Egyptians, Nubian or otherwise, love good
eaters. I recognized molaheya, but didn’t know what else I was eating and didn’t care. One dish was particularly
tastey—although I couldn’t figure out what it was. There was no meat served, so I knew they must be very poor. All
Egyptians love meat and it is a symbol of hospitality, so they serve it if they have it.
Afterwards we had nay-ya-ney-ya (mint tea) and while drinking, the brother rolled a marijuana cigarette and offered it
to me. I said no thanks in Arabic and gestured calmly with my hands to say ‘you guys go ahead’. They looked a little
worried, so I said,“inaharda belayl ana shogle” (tonight I work) and I pointed at the joint and then put my head
sideways on my hand to gesture that the marijuana would make me sleepy. They laughed and nodded.
The wife entered holding a baby a wedding album. The baby was adorable and the wedding photos were the most
beautiful wedding photos I’ve ever seen. The wife had been decorated all over her body with elaborate henna
designs, especially on her hands and arms, feet and calves, and was posed on the floor, laying in her husband’s lap
showing off the henna designs. She had Jasmine petals between each finger and between her toes. The husband
held an enormous whip (symbol of control over the wife). She wore the most beautiful clingy, yet flowing red gown
that flattered and hinted at her nice figure. I oohed and ahhed at every photo. They were very proud of the pictures.
I was getting kind of tired (maybe it was the second-hand pot smoke) and made a social blunder that I normally
wouldn’t do if I was more alert. I told them their baby was beautiful. Eeek! They gave me startled looks. You do not
compliment a baby here, it’s bad luck. It brings on the evil eye. Instead you tell them it’s the ugliest baby you’ve
ever seen. It was obvious I realized my blunder and I tried to smooth things over. They calmed down (stupid
American!). They switched from Arabic and talked for awhile in Nubian while they got high and then Ahmed said,
“yalla shee-ree?” (lets go?). “yallah” I answered. Before we left I was invited to a wedding that was taking place
the next night (Oh Boy !!!!).
We sailed back to the hotel and I got freshened up and ready to meet the Shiek. I waited in the lobby for over an
hour. Turns out the Shiek couldn’t find the hotel (like me, he didn't know he had to take a ferry). The Sheik finally
arrived with two other people, his brother and a driver. None of them spoke English. We got lost 8 times trying to
find the location of the Moulid (a religious festival celebrating the birthday of a saint). After the 5th time stopping to
ask directions I decided to keep track for the fun of it—it was obvious to me that we were going in a circle—and I was
thinking this might be a world record for getting lost and asking directions. We continued circling and I got to see a
lot of interesting back alleys. Finally we varied our pattern and took a turn and drove right into a blocked off street
where a wedding was being set up. We couldn’t get through, although a man we asked directions from pointed
through it saying that the street we wanted was right through the blocked off street on the other side. We sat in the
car quite a long time while the 3 of them contemplated this dilemma (I almost laughed out loud).
Patience is the key to survival here. And time—you’ve got to allow lots of time. Finally we arrived at the Moulid
where I was immediately mobbed by kids. I made it to a bench while the Moulid was being set up. The police
came—I was told “mushkella” (problem). After a big debate and lots of confusion, I was taken upstairs above the
Mosque and kept out of sight for over an hour in a tiny dark room. I was alone most of that time and contemplated
whether I should call Essam or Mohammad. I didn’t know how serious the ‘problem’ was. This trip turned out to be
full of mis-communications and lots of confusion for me. Eventually the Shiek came in and we tried to discuss the
‘problem’, but we couldn't understand each other, so I gave up. He left and then came back later and gave me a set
of prayer beads as a gift (he must have felt bad for cooping me up in the tiny dark room). He kept biting the beads to
show me they were real stones and not plastic. I thanked him profusely. I was eventually escorted down to the
Moulid. The police came again, a total of 4 times. The first 3 to inquire about me. It was obvious the Shiek wasn’t
prepared or qualified to deal with police, he was terrified. I am not a name dropper, too many years in Hollywood
made me have an aversion to people who name drop, but I mentioned the first lady’s name in every phrase I spoke
to get out of the hot spot I felt I was in. It seemed to work. The last group of police who stopped didn’t bother me,
just watched me carefully as I filmed the zikr (religious dance).
Men formed two lines. There seemed to be a leader of sorts in each line that gave a cue as to what the other fellows
in the line were to do next. Suddenly there was a big grunt, then just as suddenly, all of them in the line would do
this big grunt sound in unison to the rhythm. Then suddenly one of them made a sound like he was hocking a big
loogie (a real big one), then just as suddenly all of them started hocking big loogies in unison (it had quite an effect
when done in unison). I was standing on a rickety chair to get a better shot over the heads of the crowd and almost
fell off of the chair at the sound of the first big loogie—I wasn’t sure where it was going to fly. Turns out they weren’t
actually spitting—just sounded like it. What it really was, was a sound
expressing a ‘love from the soul’, from ‘all of the body’, coming out from ‘deep within the body and soul’ (but it
sounded like hocking a big one to me).
I’m pretty blind, its the only thing that upsets me about getting old—my eyesight. I wear my contacts for
distance, which I love and they help me move around with ease, but even with my contacts on I struggle with seeing
from my nose to my outstretched arm. So I wear glasses to see the camera’s LCD screen while filming, but can’t
see the tiny details clearly. So I peek up periodically to make sure of what I’m really seeing. When they started
doing the “hock a loogie” sound, I absolutely had to stop and look at them to see what the heck they were doing. It
was very loud, combined with about 20 guys doing it—well, it had to be seen to believed.
The Zikr lasted for hours, some of the dancers got tired and left the line to sit and watch. The remaining dancers
were very good and I got some great film. The only thing that was slightly disturbing was that one man kept
repeatedly walking around throughout the crowd spraying Raid—and he did it right up close and on me several
times—it was kind of unnerving—I hate bug sprays of any kind, but especially direct inhalation of them. Yuck, the
things I do in the line of duty.
I may make the Zikr sound odd or funny, but it was truly exciting to watch. I moved around a lot to get
different angles, but most of the time I was positioned near a group of older male spectators near one of the lines of
dancers. When it was over one old man said to me “Quais?” (Good?). I broke into a giant smile and said “quais
owie, owie, owie” (very, very,very good). They roared with laughter and one of them mimicked me and said it to the
others, “owie owie owie” and they all laughed again (they don’t use more than one owie here—but I’ve always found
it very effective to do it that way—it always gets a laugh, and, Egyptians love to laugh).
As usual, by the time I left, the people were fascinated by me. I was surrounded by kids who wanted to test their
English and talk to me. “How are you?” and “What’s your name” was shouted over and over. I
shook their little hands and asked them their names—they looked at me like I was Wonder Woman or
something. The Shiek made them go away and then the important males surrounded me (there were no women at
all at this event—not even in the crowd). With hand gestures and Arabic, the Shiek made it clear who was who (sufi
master, sufi teacher, man in charge of the mosque, etc). I’ve gotten good at a make shift Arabic sign language, and
after shaking hands, and thanking them profusely, and endlessly saying “quais owie”, the driver finally said ‘yalla”
and parted the sea of people and led me to the car. As we slowly drove off I gave each and every person at the
window a wave and a ‘masalaama’.
'til the next adventure, love, Cheri
Well, this is Egypt after all, so what could I expect. I arrived to no one waiting for me at the tiny airport. Easy to see
after the two tour groups left that I was the only one there--standing alone. I went outside thinking maybe my
"guide" was out there. There were two taxi drivers, but no guide. I waited awhile, then called Essam, who said, "He
has to be there--did you look around?" (yeah, not hard--the place was empty). Eventually, after over a half hour, a
guy dressed in a baggage handler uniform came out and said, "shee-ree bee-renz". I waved--that's me! (Yeah!
Relief!)
He walked up to me and said “you take taxi” (so much for the guide, or the meet and assist at the airport).
I had no idea where my hotel was, nor did I know the area. The guy that called my name argued for awhile with the 2
taxi drivers, arguing over ‘me’ I guess because eventually I was told to “go with him” as he pointed to one of the taxi
drivers. The taxi driver immediately went into the same question game I get every where I go: “How old are you?”,
“Are you married?”, “Do you have children”. But this was in a mix of Arabic and very bad English, so I answered in
my bad Arabic. He gave me a confused look with my “teleta weh hamseen” (53). He thought I didn’t know my
Arabic numbers—he started going over them 20-30-40 in Arabic and with hand gestures showing the numbers (I love
it—but actually, women here age so young, that they look 50 when they are in their late 20’s—so I should not take it
as a compliment—but it’s fun nonetheless).
I now answer that I have 2 boys when I’m asked if I have children. I used to say I am married to an Egyptian (true,
and also solves some problems that tend to happen to me if they think I’m single), and I used to say we have no
children. But this always made people feel ashamed for me. I got tired of feeling kind of embarrassed (like I’m
unable to bear children or something—a big humiliation for women here—so saying I have 2 boys, although not true,
solves the embarrassment). The taxi broke down briefly while going over the old Aswan dam (there was a nice view
anyway). After tinkering with the taxi for a while he got it going. He pulled over twice in town to make phone calls. I
was beginning to feel uncomfortable and kept showing him my hotel name (written in Arabic). He kept nodding that
he knew, but didn’t seem in any hurry to get me there.
He kept asking me to call him and wrote his name and phone number on a piece of paper (I guess it didn't matter that
I was married with 2 sons) and then pulled into a place where he told me, “hotel boat”. Suddenly an enormous
Nubian with a shaved head opened my door while I was struggling to figure out where I was going and what was
happening (I was not aware that I had to take a boat to get to my hotel). The giant bald Nubian looked exactly like an
illustration from a thousand and one nights—you know, the giant genie that comes out of the lamp—no kidding! He
told me, “I am Ahmed—did you give him money?”. I said “not yet”, and the Genie said “good--don’t--come with
me”. I didn’t argue. I grabbed my stuff and followed him to a boat. After we sat for a few moments in total silence he
said, “I over slept. You would have waited another 40 minutes at the airport if I tried to get there, so I called and told
them to send you here”. (Ah, this is my guide and meet & assist person).
He got me to my hotel and checked me in, said he’d wait for me to drop my things and would meet me in the lobby.
When I came to the lobby he walked me to a different boat where he had a long conversation with the driver, then
said to me, “he’ll take care of you”. I started babbling about what I wanted to film, etc., and then stopped myself and
asked “does he speak English?”. The Genie replied “of course”. But turns out the boat driver didn’t. Another case
of trying to communicate with a combo of my bad Arabic and his bad English. After we set sail I again had to play
the question game. Are you married? Do you have children? How old are you?
I must have made the boat driver understand that I did not want tourist stuff, that I wanted to film real people, and
real activities, because he took me on the most fantastic cruise along the Nile. He took me inside narrow little inlets
with tall grass and where I filmed people with cows and goats outside their huts. There were lots of boys fishing,
swimming, or paddling in these small canoe/kayak type boats. I enjoyed it tremendously and took lots of shots. We
then went in more open waters and went by a camel parking lot. That was really fun. I got shots of boys riding fast
and horsing around (or should I say cameling around—it was great).
We went past a quaint village and he said “my village”, so I took shots of it from a distance. Then we pulled up and
docked at another village along the Nile that looked a little touristy from the dock, but I was willing to give it a go. He
started to change his galabeya (right in front of me—but I quickly turned my head when I saw what he was doing).
He put on a nice clean white one. He walked me through the touristy main street, but it looked fun—Nubian masks
for sale, lots of spices and stuff. They tried to sell me stuff, but Ahmed politely told them I wasn’t interested (I was
happy he wasn’t trying to do the commission thing).
Ahmed knocked on a white washed mud house with a bright blue door (so beautiful), but after quite a
long while he gave up and said, “sleep”. We continued through dirt roads and alleys of quaint mud huts and
small white houses, until we got to a white washed house with a bright pink door (really, really beautiful). It opened
and he gave the guy who answered a big bear hug. “Brother” Ahmed said. (Hmm, what’s up?) In Cairo you can get
taken advantage of easily—everybody has a relative who sells some tourist item and they push their wares pretty
heavily, but my doubts were quelled quickly. I had a great time. The door opened to a tiny open air courtyard which
had a hallway to a bedroom. The brother asked me if I was hungry—Aiwa! (Yes!), he then said, “Nubian o.k?”,
“Yes!” I said, Quais Owie” (very good). Although I had no idea of what Nubian food was—I was game. I was then
escorted to the bedroom. The bedroom had 2 narrow beds against the walls, an oriental rug on a dirt floor in
between, and a t.v. on the floor blaring an American movie I didn’t recognize (subtitled in Arabic). Nothing else was
in the room, and nothing on the beautiful immaculately white washed walls.
Food was brought in, so I moved from the bed to sit cross legged on the floor and they both looked surprised and
said “You Nubian!” I ate with my hands with great gusto, knowing that all Egyptians, Nubian or otherwise, love good
eaters. I recognized molaheya, but didn’t know what else I was eating and didn’t care. One dish was particularly
tastey—although I couldn’t figure out what it was. There was no meat served, so I knew they must be very poor. All
Egyptians love meat and it is a symbol of hospitality, so they serve it if they have it.
Afterwards we had nay-ya-ney-ya (mint tea) and while drinking, the brother rolled a marijuana cigarette and offered it
to me. I said no thanks in Arabic and gestured calmly with my hands to say ‘you guys go ahead’. They looked a little
worried, so I said,“inaharda belayl ana shogle” (tonight I work) and I pointed at the joint and then put my head
sideways on my hand to gesture that the marijuana would make me sleepy. They laughed and nodded.
The wife entered holding a baby a wedding album. The baby was adorable and the wedding photos were the most
beautiful wedding photos I’ve ever seen. The wife had been decorated all over her body with elaborate henna
designs, especially on her hands and arms, feet and calves, and was posed on the floor, laying in her husband’s lap
showing off the henna designs. She had Jasmine petals between each finger and between her toes. The husband
held an enormous whip (symbol of control over the wife). She wore the most beautiful clingy, yet flowing red gown
that flattered and hinted at her nice figure. I oohed and ahhed at every photo. They were very proud of the pictures.
I was getting kind of tired (maybe it was the second-hand pot smoke) and made a social blunder that I normally
wouldn’t do if I was more alert. I told them their baby was beautiful. Eeek! They gave me startled looks. You do not
compliment a baby here, it’s bad luck. It brings on the evil eye. Instead you tell them it’s the ugliest baby you’ve
ever seen. It was obvious I realized my blunder and I tried to smooth things over. They calmed down (stupid
American!). They switched from Arabic and talked for awhile in Nubian while they got high and then Ahmed said,
“yalla shee-ree?” (lets go?). “yallah” I answered. Before we left I was invited to a wedding that was taking place
the next night (Oh Boy !!!!).
We sailed back to the hotel and I got freshened up and ready to meet the Shiek. I waited in the lobby for over an
hour. Turns out the Shiek couldn’t find the hotel (like me, he didn't know he had to take a ferry). The Sheik finally
arrived with two other people, his brother and a driver. None of them spoke English. We got lost 8 times trying to
find the location of the Moulid (a religious festival celebrating the birthday of a saint). After the 5th time stopping to
ask directions I decided to keep track for the fun of it—it was obvious to me that we were going in a circle—and I was
thinking this might be a world record for getting lost and asking directions. We continued circling and I got to see a
lot of interesting back alleys. Finally we varied our pattern and took a turn and drove right into a blocked off street
where a wedding was being set up. We couldn’t get through, although a man we asked directions from pointed
through it saying that the street we wanted was right through the blocked off street on the other side. We sat in the
car quite a long time while the 3 of them contemplated this dilemma (I almost laughed out loud).
Patience is the key to survival here. And time—you’ve got to allow lots of time. Finally we arrived at the Moulid
where I was immediately mobbed by kids. I made it to a bench while the Moulid was being set up. The police
came—I was told “mushkella” (problem). After a big debate and lots of confusion, I was taken upstairs above the
Mosque and kept out of sight for over an hour in a tiny dark room. I was alone most of that time and contemplated
whether I should call Essam or Mohammad. I didn’t know how serious the ‘problem’ was. This trip turned out to be
full of mis-communications and lots of confusion for me. Eventually the Shiek came in and we tried to discuss the
‘problem’, but we couldn't understand each other, so I gave up. He left and then came back later and gave me a set
of prayer beads as a gift (he must have felt bad for cooping me up in the tiny dark room). He kept biting the beads to
show me they were real stones and not plastic. I thanked him profusely. I was eventually escorted down to the
Moulid. The police came again, a total of 4 times. The first 3 to inquire about me. It was obvious the Shiek wasn’t
prepared or qualified to deal with police, he was terrified. I am not a name dropper, too many years in Hollywood
made me have an aversion to people who name drop, but I mentioned the first lady’s name in every phrase I spoke
to get out of the hot spot I felt I was in. It seemed to work. The last group of police who stopped didn’t bother me,
just watched me carefully as I filmed the zikr (religious dance).
Men formed two lines. There seemed to be a leader of sorts in each line that gave a cue as to what the other fellows
in the line were to do next. Suddenly there was a big grunt, then just as suddenly, all of them in the line would do
this big grunt sound in unison to the rhythm. Then suddenly one of them made a sound like he was hocking a big
loogie (a real big one), then just as suddenly all of them started hocking big loogies in unison (it had quite an effect
when done in unison). I was standing on a rickety chair to get a better shot over the heads of the crowd and almost
fell off of the chair at the sound of the first big loogie—I wasn’t sure where it was going to fly. Turns out they weren’t
actually spitting—just sounded like it. What it really was, was a sound
expressing a ‘love from the soul’, from ‘all of the body’, coming out from ‘deep within the body and soul’ (but it
sounded like hocking a big one to me).
I’m pretty blind, its the only thing that upsets me about getting old—my eyesight. I wear my contacts for
distance, which I love and they help me move around with ease, but even with my contacts on I struggle with seeing
from my nose to my outstretched arm. So I wear glasses to see the camera’s LCD screen while filming, but can’t
see the tiny details clearly. So I peek up periodically to make sure of what I’m really seeing. When they started
doing the “hock a loogie” sound, I absolutely had to stop and look at them to see what the heck they were doing. It
was very loud, combined with about 20 guys doing it—well, it had to be seen to believed.
The Zikr lasted for hours, some of the dancers got tired and left the line to sit and watch. The remaining dancers
were very good and I got some great film. The only thing that was slightly disturbing was that one man kept
repeatedly walking around throughout the crowd spraying Raid—and he did it right up close and on me several
times—it was kind of unnerving—I hate bug sprays of any kind, but especially direct inhalation of them. Yuck, the
things I do in the line of duty.
I may make the Zikr sound odd or funny, but it was truly exciting to watch. I moved around a lot to get
different angles, but most of the time I was positioned near a group of older male spectators near one of the lines of
dancers. When it was over one old man said to me “Quais?” (Good?). I broke into a giant smile and said “quais
owie, owie, owie” (very, very,very good). They roared with laughter and one of them mimicked me and said it to the
others, “owie owie owie” and they all laughed again (they don’t use more than one owie here—but I’ve always found
it very effective to do it that way—it always gets a laugh, and, Egyptians love to laugh).
As usual, by the time I left, the people were fascinated by me. I was surrounded by kids who wanted to test their
English and talk to me. “How are you?” and “What’s your name” was shouted over and over. I
shook their little hands and asked them their names—they looked at me like I was Wonder Woman or
something. The Shiek made them go away and then the important males surrounded me (there were no women at
all at this event—not even in the crowd). With hand gestures and Arabic, the Shiek made it clear who was who (sufi
master, sufi teacher, man in charge of the mosque, etc). I’ve gotten good at a make shift Arabic sign language, and
after shaking hands, and thanking them profusely, and endlessly saying “quais owie”, the driver finally said ‘yalla”
and parted the sea of people and led me to the car. As we slowly drove off I gave each and every person at the
window a wave and a ‘masalaama’.
'til the next adventure, love, Cheri
