Lessons on Love in the Land of the Nile
Kate Christmann
Issue date: 9/25/08 Section: Features
If Egypt were a word, it would be “open.”
The sky above the mountains is an endless blue. Beyond the crush of cities hugging the fertile Nile, the desert stretches from horizon to horizon, bare and silent. Wherever you go, you are met with genuine smiles, some sort of food and metaphorically open arms.
When I traveled to this beautiful country for my cross-cultural, I found my eyes and my heart similarly opened.
Previous to our journey, I was a typical college junior; the only country outside the US I had ever visited was Canada (which, in a state halfway surrounded by Canada, hardly counts). The idea of traveling across an ocean, let alone to a place so obviously different as Africa, frankly made me anxious. I boarded a plane in Detroit the night after Christmas with much excitement and trepidation.
Two flights, an eight-hour layover, and one hectic night in Cairo traffic later, I looked out over the early morning smog of the city and thought, this doesn’t seem that different from the US. In time, I would find that I was both right and wrong. Egypt was like the woman we spotted in McDonalds wearing a full black abayya—familiar and human, yet simultaneously new and strange.
Before you ask: yes, we saw the Pyramids. Yes, we saw the Valley of the Kings. No, we didn’t get shot at. But we did find ourselves winding down the Sinai’s dusty roads, watching an indescribable sunset on the Nile, and having deep discussions while wrapped in heavy blankets under a clear desert sky (yes, deserts do get cold).
This isn’t to say, of course, that all of our experiences in Egypt were easy to swallow. The legendary Arab hospitality sometimes collided with the world of tourism, and we learned how to very firmly refuse the persistent hounding of the market vendors and “Lone Ranger”-quoting con men at the Pyramids. In Cairo, we saw the effects of a “democratic” government that does little to care for its poor.
But the experiences that challenged us most were those involving our own culture. In light of a leisurely question-and-answer session at the Arab League, the terse lecture at the American embassy reminded us how concerned we Westerners are with time. The naïveté, rudeness and blatant selfishness of our fellow tourists often led us to jokingly remark, “We’re Americans, we do what we want!” In retrospect, we probably learned more about our own culture through the lens of Egypt than we learned about ourselves.
Lucky for us, though, the lessons we learned went beyond criticism of our worldviews. We learned to respect a people not for their grand history and delicious food, but for their strength of character and community. We learned to lay aside our prejudice in favor of godly love. We learned what it meant to live a life that reflects one’s faith, not vice-versa. And most importantly, as any CCS Egypt student will tell you, we learned to question.
I still remember the smell of the dusty streets and the cramped, noisy bustle of the markets. I still catch myself daydreaming about the sky over the Sinai or craving the homemade Egyptian dishes we ate in Cairo.
The thing I will remember most about my cross-cultural, however, is not where we traveled, but how God used our journey to teach us how to live and love with hearts wide open.
The sky above the mountains is an endless blue. Beyond the crush of cities hugging the fertile Nile, the desert stretches from horizon to horizon, bare and silent. Wherever you go, you are met with genuine smiles, some sort of food and metaphorically open arms.
When I traveled to this beautiful country for my cross-cultural, I found my eyes and my heart similarly opened.
Previous to our journey, I was a typical college junior; the only country outside the US I had ever visited was Canada (which, in a state halfway surrounded by Canada, hardly counts). The idea of traveling across an ocean, let alone to a place so obviously different as Africa, frankly made me anxious. I boarded a plane in Detroit the night after Christmas with much excitement and trepidation.
Two flights, an eight-hour layover, and one hectic night in Cairo traffic later, I looked out over the early morning smog of the city and thought, this doesn’t seem that different from the US. In time, I would find that I was both right and wrong. Egypt was like the woman we spotted in McDonalds wearing a full black abayya—familiar and human, yet simultaneously new and strange.
Before you ask: yes, we saw the Pyramids. Yes, we saw the Valley of the Kings. No, we didn’t get shot at. But we did find ourselves winding down the Sinai’s dusty roads, watching an indescribable sunset on the Nile, and having deep discussions while wrapped in heavy blankets under a clear desert sky (yes, deserts do get cold).
This isn’t to say, of course, that all of our experiences in Egypt were easy to swallow. The legendary Arab hospitality sometimes collided with the world of tourism, and we learned how to very firmly refuse the persistent hounding of the market vendors and “Lone Ranger”-quoting con men at the Pyramids. In Cairo, we saw the effects of a “democratic” government that does little to care for its poor.
But the experiences that challenged us most were those involving our own culture. In light of a leisurely question-and-answer session at the Arab League, the terse lecture at the American embassy reminded us how concerned we Westerners are with time. The naïveté, rudeness and blatant selfishness of our fellow tourists often led us to jokingly remark, “We’re Americans, we do what we want!” In retrospect, we probably learned more about our own culture through the lens of Egypt than we learned about ourselves.
Lucky for us, though, the lessons we learned went beyond criticism of our worldviews. We learned to respect a people not for their grand history and delicious food, but for their strength of character and community. We learned to lay aside our prejudice in favor of godly love. We learned what it meant to live a life that reflects one’s faith, not vice-versa. And most importantly, as any CCS Egypt student will tell you, we learned to question.
I still remember the smell of the dusty streets and the cramped, noisy bustle of the markets. I still catch myself daydreaming about the sky over the Sinai or craving the homemade Egyptian dishes we ate in Cairo.
The thing I will remember most about my cross-cultural, however, is not where we traveled, but how God used our journey to teach us how to live and love with hearts wide open.
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