Village visit

(I apologize for the length of this post. Hear me out, if you will.)

Our van stopped amid announcements of “Here we are.” Our arrival had hardly been inconspicuous, but then I guess there was little chance of that. Vans probably don’t normally rumble through the narrow alleys of this village in Upper Egypt (which means anything south of Cairo). There were people surrounding us. Children were peering in the windows, teenagers and adults staring at us with suspicion. As we got out, we were herded quickly through a doorway. As we climbed the three flights of stairs we were greeted by a spread of computer pages taped to the stairwell wall: “WELCOME,” they proclaimed, one letter per page. Another identical sign adorned the wall of the office we entered. Milli and I and our translator were directed to chairs behind a small table, and our hosts took their seats along the walls. A woman quickly brought three glasses and bottles of water. We let them sit untouched for a while as our discussion commenced.

The board members introduced themselves; half were teachers, and one man was a public water official. The chairman launched into a description of the association’s work, which centered on issues of sanitation and the environment. He painted an ugly picture of children walking through piles of refuse on their way to school. We sat around a powerpoint presentation that depicted trash piles heaped upon the main road (before), and then the young volunteers collecting the scraps that remained on otherwise cleaned ground (after). Various people interjected bits into the conversation: the houses rehabilitated, both with fees and gratis; water lines installed; school fees paid.

Our water was joined by coffee and cookies. No one else was drinking anything. It was really a bit embarrassing to be so pampered by people without much expendable income. Two board members apologized for the meager offerings, admitting that they had never before entertained foreign visitors and wished they could have served us a full meal. Their sheepishness was as endearing as it was unwarranted. They even brought out cans of soda, which we insisted on leaving behind until our translator said that would be taken as an insult. So we carried them out the door with us, along with the uneaten cookies.

Milli and I asked if we could take a few pictures, which to our delight led to a walking tour of the village and half a dozen house visits. In each, the woman of the house showed us around and fawned over the water faucet that CEOSS had installed for each of them. The homes betrayed a serious poverty: they all had electricity and TVs, but also dirt floors and few possessions. One woman offered to make us tea (we declined), which she would have made huddled over the bunsen burner on the floor in the corner – the kitchen. We sat on the bed as we talked to the matriarch of another home, because there was only one chair.

But of all this, the most vivid lasting image is of the kids. Once our arrival was announced, there was never a shortage of curious, wide-eyed children straining to have a look at the odd-looking foreigners. Their yelling was so loud it was quite difficult to hear anything else. It seemed impossible that I would be the first white person they had ever seen, but a few people asserted that it was true. On our tour of the village, the men of the association acted as riot police, using bamboo sticks as batons to hold the children back – and even strike them when they got too close! We were shocked and hoped they weren't actually hurting them. Our party would round a corner and enter a brief peacefulness, which lasted until the kids ran around the block and again came streaming through the alleys toward us. There must have been literally a hundred of them. Didn't they have school?

Near the end of our visit, once the kids had settled down a bit, I turned my camera toward a group of them in an attempt to capture a sea of cute faces. Instead, my innocent action sparked a mad scramble for stardom, with everyone climbing on top of each other in search of the lens. A couple men were forced to rush over and impose discipline.

In Uganda I encountered many enamored young fans, and eventually grew to hate my celebrity, but they were never quite so enthusiastic as the Egyptians of this small village.