A Week in Girga
Trip Start
Mar 19, 2010
1
10
Trip End
Apr 16, 2010
Girga, Sūhāj, Egypt
Thursday, April 1, 2010
To sum up, it was really a huge disappointment. I’m not saying I wouldn’t choose to do it again, because it is after all, the place where my grandma lives and my dad grew up, and I think it was important for Tony and Oliver to see that. We also have wonderful cousins and family living there who were very hospitable to us, and it was nice to see them.
The first time I went to Girga (that I remember), was in 1991. It was a relatively small town with camels and hontours (horse or donkey drawn carriages) throughout the town. The Nile ran through the Eastern side of the town, and across the water is a small village that grows sugar cane – the typical crop in this region of Egypt.
I remember walking to the little shops near my grandma’s house, visiting the gold shops, going to the local church, etc.
This experience was nothing like that. In fact, it was nothing like the month I spent there back in 2005 – just five years ago. It was instead, kind of a nightmare.
The city has grown immensely – maybe fivefold. It is estimated that there are between 1 million and 1.5 million people living there now. The city is busting at the seams. It is FILTHY. Garbage everywhere. Not garbage as in, "oh, I’m near the train station or airport in (insert city/country here)". Garbage as in a dump piles – everywhere. It’s terrible. There are no public garbage cans. Actually, there really aren’t any garbage cans anywhere in Egypt. I carried around dirty diapers and wet wipes in my purse! People would repeatedly tell me to throw them in the street, but the moral fibers of my being wouldn’t allow that.
What’s worse than the garbage in the streets in Girga are the Tuk-Tuks. Girga first started using tuk-tuks back in 2004. They were new on the scene when I showed up in 2005. There were a handful of them – exactly like the ones found all over the world, imported from India. On this visit, we found there were now more than 3,000 tuk-tuks, and they are managed by a young gang of teenage boys. They replaced all of the horns on them with after-market BLARINGLY LOUD horns that sing songs and make every other type of noise. They operate 24/7 and are driven by 13 year old boys. They’re dangerous, loud, and made it impossible to sleep. There was so much noise ALL THE TIME that I couldn’t even think. We popped Tylenol 4 times a day, and couldn’t escape. To make matters worse, the geographic location of Girga (so far South, only about 6.5 hours from the Sudan), makes it HOT. It was about 10 – 15 degrees warmer than Cairo. Ugh.
Lucky for us, the “gas station” for the tuk-tuks was located right next door to our apartment building. It was a nightmare. Two guys wearing turbans would sit outside on a bench, (smoking!), with about 8 huge tanks full of petrol sitting out front. All throughout the night, tuk-tuks would come and go filling up. Girgoweans have tried fighting this, including our family, by making over 50 petitions to the governate to complain. However, the current governor of Girga is very corrupt, and has continually taken baksheesh (bribes) from the tuk-tuk drivers and the gas station attendants to allow them to maintain these practices.
Tony, Oliver and I stayed in my uncle Assem’s old apartment on the top floor of the family’s building, and my mom, dad and Andrew stayed in my uncle Sabre’s apartment on the 2nd floor.
It was fun to watch my grandma in action at home – she was so in her element, and she definitely exudes her role as matriarch of the compound. She’s cute.
Unfortunately, I barely left the apartment building all week. Actually, I only left 4 times – once to visit the grocery store, once to go to church, once to visit cousins in Sohag, and lastly, to go shopping with my mom, aunt and uncle. It was miserable. It was like a war zone out there. To make matters worse, because no foreigner ever goes to Girga, they really stare, hoot, holler, follow you, and throw things, etc., when they see you. It was tough. It was also very sad. Women are completely eliminated from public society in this part of Egypt (and honestly, in all areas of Egypt I’ve been to with the exception of Alexandria and Cairo). Their place is in the home. The stores, restaurants, coffee shops, shisha smoking joints, etc., are ALL men. Everything is just so out of balance. I can’t help but wonder if the chaos and filth you see in public would be minimized if women had more of a place in public society. Would things be more aesthetically pleasing? The four times I went out I was the only woman I saw (with the exception of church). ..Even pregnant women do not leave their homes because it is shameful. Hmm. So, after our shopping outing turned sour (boys chasing my uncles car, banging on the hood, trying to jump on the trunk, etc), I pretty much stayed in the building, drinking tea with my grandma and reading.
On Easter Monday, we had Oliver baptized at Kineesa Al-Malak (the church my dad and I were both baptized in). This is another story in itself, and maybe I’ll blog about it on my regular blog once I process everything. Lately, I’m really annoyed by Christians who have really strong feelings regarding baptism. I’ve gotten an earful lately about how the Bible demands that you can only be baptized as an adult, and how you shouldn’t baptize an infant because of family tradition, or how you should only baptize infants because of X, Y, and Z, etc. etc. I’ve read a lot about in the past few months (especially as I’ve been exploring my own questions and doubts about organized religion), and I just don’t need any more harsh opinions from people. Unfortunately, I received more of them Oliver’s baptism. Without getting too detailed, I will just say that I do not agree with the way in which the Coptic Orthodox church has preserved church tradition. Of course I believe in preserving church traditions, but there are some Copts that have become radically observant of tradition to the exclusion of others. Fanatical. To some in the Coptic church, Oliver is considered an illegitimate child because Tony and I were not married in the Coptic church, and therefore, our marriage is not recognized by God. Obviously, this is laughable, and many people, including Jesus would not think this. But, it made for planning the baptism a bit complicated. My dad had extensive chats with the bishop, and he felt that he was a very open-minded, nice guy. He had no problem with Tony and I being married in a protestant tradition. He also understood that we would not be raising Oliver in the Coptic Orthodox church. I didn’t want to be misleading when choosing to do this, so we were very honest about all of that. The baptism was STEEPED in church tradition – holy oil, brand new baptismal clothes, etc. etc. I’d like to say it was a joyous occasion, but honestly, extremely rigid church traditions stress me out, make me uncomfortable, and take the focus away from what it really should be. I was concerned that Tony would feel excluded during the baptism because he is not baptized Coptic, and therefore couldn’t take communion. I was baptized Coptic, and took communion, and still felt extremely uncomfortable. Oliver also took communion. It was a palaver. I was also pushed away when I tried to comfort and kiss him immediateIy after he was dunked, and he was screaming. Apparently this would remove some of the holy oil, and I was repeatedly told not to kiss him until the next day…
In the Coptic church, men sit on the left side and women on the right. This made me uncomfortable too as I believe church should be a time of family togetherness, and I seriously had anxiety contually looking over at Tony and Oliver on the men’s side of the church, wondering if everything was ok.
Like I said, I’ll write more later since I’m still processing this… I’m looking at his baptism in a very specific way. Mainly, that he was baptized in the name of the Trinity. We made a commitment that we will raise him in the church, and he can choose later if he wants to believe in Christianity and commit to it himself. And lastly, we are honoring family tradition and culture by doing this. My grandma will probably not be alive for much longer, and she was ecstatic on the day of his baptism.
Girga ended the way it began – with an extremely chaotic 8-hour train journey back to Giza. My dad’s cousins all showed up at the train station to help us board. Luckily, his cousin Gamal is friends with the station manager who helped us all get on board…
