by Su Meck
But it wasn’t until March of 1996 that this move became a reality. In fact, it wasn’t until early in January of that year that we even knew that we would be going to Cairo instead of Bangkok.
This move itself was extremely confusing because Jim kept saying that we (the kids and I) had to decide what we wanted to have with us in Cairo and what was going into “storage.” I knew about Ziploc storage bags, but I had never heard the word storage used in the context of moving and I had never had to make these kinds of decisions before with any other move. Was this a money issue? Was “storage” a kind of store where our stuff would be sold to other people and we would never see it again? Or was our stuff going somewhere like the giant church yard sale? How could I possibly decide what possessions I wanted to keep? Jim said we would be in Cairo for three or four years. Exactly how long was that? I still had trouble keeping track of daily schedules. Concepts of years in the future were, and to a certain extent still are, beyond my comprehension. I had difficulty remembering decisions I made, and because of my unpredictability, Jim grew at first frustrated and then later furious with me. Choices had to be made, and time was running short, but his anger just frightened me, and I became even more erratic, impulsive, and useless. In the end, Jim took over and determined what would go with us and what would stay. I was most likely none the wiser.
After a short visit with Jim’s family, we flew out of the airport in Atlanta late one March evening with the thought that we could all sleep on this long flight to Frankfurt, Germany. For some unknown reason the times of these flights have always stuck in my head; nine hours and forty-four minutes to Frankfurt, and then four hours and forty-four minutes from Frankfurt to Cairo. Given the length of the flights, you would think that I would understand that Cairo, Egypt, was very, very far away from Maryland. And yet it never occurred to me exactly how far away we were going. We brought tons of baggage with us, between suitcases, carry-ons, and backpacks filled to overcapacity with toys, books, games, clothing, and snacks for each of us, because we had no idea how long it would take for our household goods to arrive and “get through customs.” I could tell that “getting through customs” was a big deal because of the way Jim always said it, but I had no idea what it really meant, except that whatever it was, “getting through customs” might take a long time.
We were flying “business class” on Lufthansa airlines, which was incredibly exciting for the kids and me. There was lots of legroom, the seats were wide and comfortable, there were several choices of movies or TV shows to watch, or music to listen to, and the flight attendants were especially accommodating, doting on all my children a lot of the time. Benjamin, more than any of the three, took advantage of the flight attendants’ good nature, talking with them incessantly. One attendant brought all my kids puppets of the Lufthansa mascot, which was some kind of bird.
Kassidy has never flown well, and the fact that we were in the “fancier” business class had no effect on her delicate constitution. As soon as we took off she looked at me pleadingly and said, “I don’t like the smell of this airplane.” Those words became the well-known “secret code” for, “I am going to throw up in about thirty seconds.” And she did just that. She threw up all over herself, our seats, the floor, and me. This happened whenever we flew anywhere, every single time we took off or landed, for many years. Needless to say, I got much better at not only packing extra clothes and supplies for both Kassidy and myself, but at recognizing that particular “secret code” and immediately flying into action in an attempt to save our existing outfits, and those of anyone sitting or standing nearby.
We stayed overnight in a hotel attached to the Frankfurt airport. I don’t remember doing this, but Jim assures me we did. I wonder how confused I was, and if I even slept. Early the next morning we boarded the flight that would take us to Cairo. All five of us were tired of traveling, and the kids were all hungry and especially whiny. As Jim slept, Benjamin and Patrick began beating on each other, and no sooner had I separated them than Patrick started teasing Kassidy, which started her whining. And this just continued . . . I can remember having a huge headache during most of this flight and thinking, I am not going to survive! I just want to go home! I guess I didn’t really appreciate that I was, indeed, doing just that: heading home.
My first impression of Egypt was that it smelled bad and was dirty. There seemed to be a not-so-thin layer of dirt or dust all over everything, even inside the airport. There was no toilet paper in the bathroom, and Kassidy was not happy about that, so I let her wipe her bottom with my sweatshirt. Patrick refused to even enter the bathroom. There were lots of imposing-looking men with gigantic guns. It was extremely hot, and this was just March. It seemed as though everyone was smoking cigarettes. There were enormous black biting flies that descended on us as soon as we walked outside. Wagdi, Jim’s driver, was just about the nicest human being on the planet, but I thought I was going to die as we drove from the airport to our hotel in Heliopolis because there did not appear to be any traffic laws of any kind in this city.
Everything was so very different; sights, smells, and sounds were like nothing I had ever experienced. It was as if all my senses were being accosted, forced to exist suddenly on some kind of “high-alert status,” which made me very uncomfortable and anxious. But I had been taught that it was better for everyone if I could keep a positive exterior, no matter how exhausted or concerned I was, and so that’s exactly what I did, even as we were all being hurled dangerously through the streets of Cairo in a small black Fiat with no seat belts. Is this what Jim had meant when he said that this move would be an “adventure”? I hoped not.
We arrived at Le Méridien, Heliopolis, where we would live until we could get into a flat, and were immediately treated as if we were an important royal family. Everything was “Yes, Mister Jim, sir,” “Right away, Mr. Jim, sir.” And my kids became almost instantly the darlings of Le Méridien. No sooner had we arrived than Kassidy, with her blond curls and huge blue eyes, thoroughly won over Mustafa, the enormous friendly doorman. And both boys, no matter what mayhem they brought to this fancy five-star hotel (and trust me, they brought plenty!), could do no wrong as far as the staff was concerned, even though we were there for four months. I can remember both boys being ushered back to our room on several occasions by members of the hotel staff. If I sent them to fill the ice bucket, they would end up playing in the elevators, having a great time riding it up and down. Sometimes they would just slip out of our suite and race through the long straight hallways. Or they would find their way down to the enormous fancy lobby, where there was a bakery, some shops and restaurants, and crowds of fascinating people to watch. Did I even realize when they were gone for long stretches of time? And what about the serious trouble they could have—and may well have—gotten themselves into? What about the danger? They could have easily been kidnapped or severely injured as they ran around unattended.
We had two large connected hotel rooms for the five of us and we were given a small refrigerator. Jim would get up and go to work fairly early each morning, and he and Wagdi repeatedly told me never to leave the hotel unless they were with me. I kept the shades drawn, which made the rooms very dark, and the kids and I would sleep until almost noon. When I think back on it now, the four of us just stayed more or less on eastern standard time rather than shifting to local Cairo time, because . . . well . . . we could. When we eventually did wake up, the kids would watch TV while I made breakfast. I can remember making Tang with bottled water, washing apples and grapes with bottled water, eating cereal out of the box with no milk—because the milk was gross—as well as making tuna fish and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The hotel had Star TV, which was a channel with an abundance of the old American TV shows like The Brady Bunch, The Partridge Family, Remington Steele, Lost in Space, H.R. Pufnstuf, The Monkees, Black Beauty, and MacGyver. Every single one of these TV shows was just as new and fresh to me as they were to the kids. I have never watched so much telev
ision, and allowed my children to watch so much, as we did during those first months in Cairo.
After a few hours of TV and food, we would all throw on our bathing suits, slap on sunscreen, and head out to camp at the pool. Benjamin taught Kassidy to swim without her floaties that spring before she turned four. I was afraid of the water, so I certainly couldn’t teach her, but I was always full of encouragement. We had toy Gumby and Pokey figures with us that would sink, and Kassidy would scramble down the stairs of the pool and swim out to “save them.” Patrick changed his name to “Max” soon after arriving in Cairo because “Patrick” sounded similar to an Arabic word meaning “shoes” or “sneakers.” He stayed Max the entire time we lived in Cairo. On the pool deck, we would order strawberry smoothies almost daily. And we played the card games War and Pocahontas and the board game Rummikub Junior. I also attempted to read the Beatrix Potter books aloud, all twenty-four of them, repeatedly, as they were initially the only picture books we had with us.
As the afternoon would wind down, we would head in for a “parade of showers,” get dressed for dinner, and then sit and watch some more TV while we waited for Jim to arrive. When he was late we would all get hungry and snack on the Egyptian version of Cheez-Its, plus fruit and cereal. As soon as Jim returned to our suite, we headed out to have dinner. We would walk past President Mubarak’s palace compound and end up at either Chili’s, Planet Hollywood, or McDonald’s. If we had Wagdi to drive us, we often had him take us all the way to the affluent suburb of Maadi to eat at Arby’s or Pizza Hut. Then it was back to the hotel for more TV and bedtime. We had pretty much this same routine day in and day out for more than four months. There were slight variations during those weekends when Jim did not have to work, which, regrettably, wasn’t too often. But on those days, Jim would have Wagdi drive us to the Tiba Mall in the Cairo district of Nasr City, or the Alpha Market, or to Maadi, where we would begin the search for a flat to live in once our stuff “made it through customs.”
Kassidy and me on a camel our first spring in Cairo
During the last days of May, Jim had to travel to Alexandria for work. And because I was going absolutely stir-crazy living in the hotel by myself with my kids, the four of us went along with him for a change of scenery. We took the train, and during the trip, Benjamin looked out his window and noticed lots of people outside, quite literally living in boxes in the desert between Cairo and Alexandria. But instead of thinking, Oh, those poor people living in boxes in the desert, he said with genuine admiration, “Wow Mom! Look! They really know how to recycle in this country!”
Jim says we celebrated Benjamin’s tenth birthday together that weekend on June 1, 1996, in a beautiful hotel overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. I wish I could remember more about that trip. I wish I could remember what I thought when I saw the Mediterranean Sea for the first time. Unfortunately, the whole trip was probably just more perplexing to me because, other than Benjamin’s birthday festivities, it was basically trading one unfamiliar hotel for another. Jim probably told us we shouldn’t go anywhere, and he most likely worked the whole time.
Kassidy celebrated her fourth birthday back at Le Méridien Hotel in Heliopolis the following month, on July 13. The chef in the fancy French bakery baked her an enormous, and vaguely alarming, Mickey Mouse cake and delivered it to our room. Wagdi bought her a stuffed bear that Kassidy named “Tiba” after the Tiba Mall, halfway between Heliopolis and Maadi. Kassidy probably asked to go to the Tiba Mall that evening. On the roof, or somewhere near the roof, of the mall there were all these kiddie rides, like you might see at an amusement park, but an old amusement park from the 1950s or 1960s. Lots of bright pink and turquoise and exaggerated animal characters. There were also really old bumper cars that smelled weird. I always got really nervous when the kids wanted to ride those rides, because to me they didn’t look at all safe. Isn’t that strange? I didn’t get one bit concerned about them running around in the hotel for hours at a time, where they could have been kidnapped or fallen down an elevator shaft, but I was afraid that they would get hurt on these rides at Tiba Mall. How odd is that?
Finally, in August, after more than four months in Egypt, we were freed from the confines of hotel life. We moved into an enormous flat in Maadi before our stuff actually arrived “from Customs” because we wanted to get the boys acclimated to the area and have them meet some other kids before starting school in September. Maadi is the area in Cairo where most expats lived, mainly because Cairo American College (CAC), the American school for grades K through 12, is located there. Unfortunately, most families were away traveling in August, so there were not too many people around for the boys to meet and play with. But the four of us did spend a lot of time exploring and familiarizing ourselves with the grounds of the school—the playgrounds, the soccer fields, and the Olympic-size swimming pool and diving well. Because there was nothing to really do in the flat until our stuff arrived, we also spent lots of time outside investigating the community of Maadi and discovering things like a grocery store, Goma Degla; the post office; and Road 9, a stretch of shops and restaurants. There were also gorgeous softball fields in Maadi, where I eventually played first base and became one of the league’s top home-run hitters for the expat team the Jewels of the Nile and the all-star team the Cairo Cruisers.
I had never had a hard time finding work in health clubs before, and I thought that there would be dozens of gyms needing instructors in Cairo just like in Maryland. But there weren’t. I don’t exactly know how I found out about Samia Aluba’s Creative Dance and Fitness. Maybe it was something that Wagdi told us about, or maybe the real estate people who were showing us available flats in Maadi, or someone at Cairo American College when we registered the boys for school, I honestly don’t know. I also don’t recall any kind of interview or audition process with Samia, although I’m sure there was some sort of official hiring procedure. I do think that I started teaching classes there in the evenings before we moved to Maadi, while we were still living in the hotel. Jim recalls that Wagdi would drive all five of us to Maadi, and I would teach a class while he and Wagdi took the kids to play or swim at Cairo American College.
Creative Dance and Fitness was a very different sort of club from the ones I knew. A lot of the equipment was unfamiliar, people wore unusual workout attire and shoes, some of the music was strange to my ears, and the safety, education, and training techniques were different to me. It was a very small club overall, but the aerobics studio was quite large and airy, with huge windows along the whole back wall. I loved teaching classes in that room! And I loved working for Samia. She was the most amazing person, well educated and well spoken, beautiful, smart, kind, and in fabulous shape. Because her studio was in Maadi, nearly everyone spoke English, but there were some distinctive customs that I had to learn. For example, we instructors were never allowed to set up our own steps; there were paid “boys” for that. And the same went for other equipment as well, whether it was mats, weights, or straps. Some of my aerobics music was deemed “inappropriate,” and Samia very gently explained to me that she did not want her members to be offended by provocative lyrics. To be honest, I had never really listened to many of the lyrics on my pre-made aerobics tapes. I mostly only paid attention to the speed and the beat of the music. The same went for what I wore. There were a few women who regularly took classes in long loose garments. Their arms, legs, and bodies were, for the most part, fully covered. Samia warmly (but firmly) suggested to me early on that I wear T-shirts over my tiny jog bras when I taught. Obviously not everyone who belonged to this studio was Egyptian or even Muslim. And certainly not all of the Egyptian Muslims who showed up to take my classes would have been offended by my music or dress, but Samia kept a certain standard, and she was enormously respected for that.
I had not been teaching at Samia’s club for too long when I approached her and asked if I might be able to put together some kind of training program for the other instructors. (After all, I had been teaching
for all of five or six years, so I was obviously an expert.) After learning to teach aerobics in the litigious society that was suburban Washington, D.C., I was hyperaware of the many “contraindicated aspects of exercise” that should never be done in any group setting. When I noticed many movements were being done “improperly” (to my mind) in other classes in Samia’s studio, I think it drove me a little bit crazy. I had been always told in no uncertain terms that there were “proper” and “correct” and “acceptable” ways of warming up, stretching, and teaching various movements in order to avoid injury. It had been all but beaten into me while teaching at previous gyms that anything that deviated from the correct ways was not only wrong but also downright harmful. And let’s not forget that I was (am) a total rule follower, with a definite right way and a definite wrong way to do stuff.
Surprisingly, Samia agreed to let me set up a little training program for her instructors. She also suggested that any other members who were interested in learning more specifically about safety, and more generally about other teaching techniques, were welcome to attend. Little did I realize then the rabbit hole I was headed down. Not all of Samia’s instructors were on board with this little in-house training of mine, but enough people were that I considered it a success. I ended up using my copy of the ACE (American Council on Exercise) manual to teach from because there were lots of pictures that I understood. This way I thought I could easily explain to people the “whys” and “why not’s” of group exercise. Several attendees of this program approached me and Samia afterward, and asked about the manual I had used and where they could buy their own copies. I explained about ACE, and that the books were only sent to people who were interested in becoming ACE-certified aerobics instructors.
