Mount Kilimanjaro - Doing it the Lemosho way - Day _1

Klimbing Cili – Day Minus1

It’s 7 Am and I’m on the scale.. 4 Kgs up the roof and 2 more away from my ideal fit weight.

My knees are quite conscious of the extra blubber they will have to haul up that mountain two days from now. But my stomach is rebelling. In less than 24 hours there won’t be a decent meal in sight for 8 long arduous and ridiculously freezing days. Did I mention the torrential rain?  Yes, it will be a rainy hike up Mount Kili and the weather conditions are going to try their best to go against our will every step of the way.  And here I was worrying about camera chargers and extra battery life! There won’t be a dry moment to snap that perfect shot. Guess Steph and I will have to get very creative taking snap shots inside a 2 x 2 tent for 8  endless days.

But hey, if I stuff myself up with that whole bowl of Avocado, then finish up with some greasy fries, I’ll be much heavier and the wind won’t have it’s way with me afterall!

My friend Isabelle tells me in her village back home, they ask the youngest of  twin siblings to plant a knife in the garden to keep the rain at bay.. Can it work long distance??? Because I need that little boy of hers and 8 sharp knives to travel along!

My friend Salomé has a travel friendlier secret ritual! “Put three eggs in the garden and wish away .. your wishes should be directly to a certain Santa Clara and the rain won’t dare sprinkly your way.. Hmmmm, gotta find a way to carry three raw eggs intact on Lemosho, via Lava tower and the Baranco Wall scramble!

Emilie on the other hand thinks I should absolutely do both, and sprinkle some salt along the way! Afterall, if all else fails, we can end up mucnging on a warm omelette in base camp as we watch the rain wash away the tracks we should have followed!

In the meantime, It’s feeding frenzy till Day 0 hits in a few hours time.. A nose dive in my bed maybe??  And a few trips to my clean comfortable bathrooms just to get my fill! Oh Well,,,,,, It’s gonna be OK!

Do you speak Expenglish?

Two years in South Africa and I already say EEZ It? Yuhh and Shame!

Yoh is when I’m astounded; and Yoh has come out every time I go into a shop and people think I am French!

I have a French accent - he South Africans say..

But the French, despite the flowery compliments know I don’y do their language justice. After all I’m a product of the Egyptian education system and that doesn’t position us well in life in general.

I do however, spend some time everyday in the French-speaking realm and my closest of friends are predominantly French. They speak to me in Frenglish most of the time so yeah, I get it, I picked up the accent and I fused it with some South African English. Add my Egyptian heritage to the mix + 11 years in New York to spice it up and here you have it….

Expenglish!

There is no denying that English is the common language of Expats.  And for the fortunate expats who successfully forge the best of friendships beyond their national compatriots orbits…with Italians, Argentinians, Spanish, Germans, Brazilians … and thanks to the French school, also French; we manage to somehow craft our own special accent.

The Intercontinental spice mix gives it a flavor that is unique to expats around the world. We know it, we like it, and best of all.. We can never go wrong with it.

There is nothing that we can utter that can be classified as grammatically wrong! Because it’s all wrong.. And that makes it soooo right.  It makes it sooooo unique and soooooo us – expats, that our Expenglish becomes an inherent trait of our global identity.

Hello, my name is Laila, I am an expat and I speak Expenglish.. an all-embracing, judgment-free English that allows us to use as many foreign words as we need, gesticulate as far as our arms can extend, and make the weirdest of body movements to fill for the vernacular gaps. If I get what you want to say then you are fluent, regardless of what you actually said! I get it..  Don’t ask me how.

You know why we get it?

It’s simply because it’s the only language in the world that doesn’t carry any cultural baggage. It is not heavily impregnated with nuances and connotations. It doesn’t differentiate between old and young, man and woman, rich and poor, old money and nouveau rich or black and white. All you need is your basic knowledge of the English language, and your rich experience as an expat and you’re speaking.. Expenglish!

Two years in South Africa and I’m not worried about being understood any longer. Speaking it like the locals is no benchmark for positive integration. When I’m asked: where is that foreign accent from? I simply smile and say.. Take your pick, it’s Egyptian, American, South African and French. I’m all of those and still more to come. J

Exit Plan

As years turn to decades and little flags are pinned at least on a dozen places you’ve lived, the needle slowly tilts away from your country of birth and starts swiveling like crazy in all directions.. You’ve now entered the Bermuda triangle on an expat’s life map hanging on the wall.  There’s no destination.. No clear point of exit.. and if you do exit, well, there is no sure inkling as to where you really want to end up.

One early morning, on our way to school, I tell the kids:

-       You know which countries are opening up now?

Three pairs of sleepy eyes look up and they all ask, with little enthusiasm: Which?

Costa Rica, I announce, ignoring their reluctance to engage. It’s a morning ritual and I’m used to it by now. But I know I can always count on Costa Rica to awaken their most treasured memories and loosen up their slumbering tongues.

Suddenly Tarek’s knee jerks..

-       Let’s move there now!

-       Are you sure? Are you already done here?

-       Yes, definitely Yes!

T2 and T3 are silent.. They’re literarily rolling the idea over in their heads.

T2 says he’s not THAAAAT ready to move yet but Yeah, why not!

T3 is just silent..

I’m speechless!!

10 months only into South Africa and my ever-fidgeting T1 is already planning his next move.  He’s happier here than he’s ever been elsewhere. This country was designed with his special passions in mind. Nature, good weather, animals, hikes, loads of road trips and fun adventures. Sure Middle School is tough, but this set-up is the best and the most sheltered he’ll ever have, and he knows it. So why?

I try to nudge a reason out of him, some deep concern he’s reluctant to share, an angst of some sort, a bad experience he’s eager to leave behind. But the truth is much simpler than that… My T1 has grown to be an eternal expat. In his head, he’s a traveler, an explorer and settling down is just a tangle of drama and broken friendships that his frail social skills have yet to learn to navigate.

Leaving is the easiest way to escape our failure to integrate, to establish roots and to belong.  My T1 is a pariah at heart,  and our nomadic lifestyle offers him exactly what he needs, a fresh start whenever loneliness creeps in and reminds him that friendship is a complicated affair.

For a fleeting moment on an early morning school ride, I feel blessed I’m an expat mom.. I spend so much time helping my kids settle in a new environment that I fail to appreciate the best gift I offer them over and over again: An Exit Plan!

the Fourth Breed

When I ask you to give me a Kleenex.. What I really need is a tissue paper.

When I urge you to hand me a Band-Aid.. What I really want is any self-adhesive sterile cover for my wounds.

Think Q Tips, Jet Skis, Tupperware, and Scotch tape… all brand names generically used for all products serving the same purpose.

Now think bigger and profound terms loosely used but actually have deeper meanings that create havoc and induce wars. Think Anti-Semitism, a term Israeli fanatics adopted to point fingers at anyone who dares criticize anything anti Israel and its people.

Now Zoom out even more and think that one word everyone gets itchy when they hear in New York.. That word they told me to watch out for when we moved to South Africa a month ago. A word everyone pretends they are passionately against but can’t concede that we are all guilty of, in one shape or form..

Think Racism!

Living in the US you get bombarded with anti-racism propaganda. Schools work hard to emotionally sensitize kids to be tolerant, accepting and at least in public, non-judgmental!

The thing is, I’ve always had an issue with this culture of tolerance. Acceptance means that YOU DO see a difference, YOU DO feel that people are segregated by color, faith, nationality or social status.

I didn’t want this for my kids! I didn’t want them to see the difference, then learn to curb the urge to point it out.. I didn’t want my kids to be politically correct.. I want them to POLITICALLY BLIND.

And sine I’m neither correct nor blind, this task remains elusive but I’m working on it J

Then we landed South Africa and again, we were told to watch for three distinct breeds here: Africaans aka Whites, Blacks, and colored.

Naturally my kids all wondered and asked: which breed do we belong to then?? Since they caught me clueless, on yet another important subject: their identity, I had to improvise and bring out my deep voice of ‘sagesse’.. You know, that low pitch that only tells them that what I am about to say isn’t just an answer to a simple question, it’s actually a crucial lesson in life!  Any mom would totally get what I’m talking about.

“We actually don’t belong to any of the three categories. We are African by virtue of being Egyptians, but we carry the mixed genes of over three hundred years of colonization.  You can trace them all on the not-so-fine lines on my face.”

I was right.. but then, I was totally wrong!

What I forgot to mention was that we are a very unique and universal breed that belongs to non of the above.

WE ARE THE FOURTH BREED….. We are Expats!

It’s true.. One of the most underrated, almost completely ignored, virtues of being an expat is that you become so unique in your experience that your deep-rooted prejudices suffer some seismic shifts naturally… and you stop seeing the difference.

Every post you live through leaves an imprint on your soul. You see places, you learn languages, you eat food and you hear music. You read books, you explore environments and … you forge friendships.  Then you pack up and you do it again… and again!

You learn to see logic behind actions, circumstances that shape behavior. You adopt bits and pieces and add them to your own character, and you embrace the change in you that only an expat can appreciate, and accept.  Slowly you rise above geographical and mental borders and you break free from the limitations of stereotype.

So it’s not that we are Egyptian and don’t need to subscribe to any local breed we live amongst. We are a global breed that keeps morphing as it roams the earth settling temporary homes.  We open up to difference and we upload some of what we learn.

In 15 years of expatriation, I am still for the most part Egyptian. I mean I speak it, eat it and act it a lot.

But I’m very much a New Yorker.  My new friends here say I speak like one.. I sure act as fast as one. Very much the impatient one and easily frustrated when everything I want is not a quick click away.. Oh how I miss Amazon and Freshdirect.com.

I’m also a very proud Jordanian and if you give me enough time, I might still not say ‘EISH’ or develop a taste for Biltong, but I’m positive I’ll be very much a South African carrying the traits of its three breeds with a typical expat flare.

Ten South African expectations demystified

When I landed ZA a week ago, I brought along two full 20-foot containers, 6 big bags and a mind full of false expectations…

1 1-    South Africans do not all look like Charlize Theron… And here I was worrying about my ego and how it would fit in with this long legged community!

2 2-    South Africa.. being in Africa.. is always warm.  I was warned that winter was short but can get quite cold at night. This is not cold. This is brutal icy frigid chill-blain-inducing weather and I can’t manage to get warm inside my house no matter how bright the sun shines through.

4 3- Africaan has nothing to do with English. I listen to people talk for long minutes before I can catch a word I recognize, usually it ‘s something related to Pizza, Coffee, Thank you or Please.

5 4-    Right is not always right. As a matter of fact it feels quite wrong. I’m getting the hang of it, but I still feel like I’m driving where I should be chilling and chilling where I should be steering.

6 5-    South Africans are extremely (as in.. really extremely) polite to the point that I have to remind my kids to stress on the words THANK YOU and PLEASE every time someone talks to them. Appropriate behavior is highly regarded and a wise one would not hesitate to reprimand my kids should she think she needs to. My presence and their shock would not deter a determined disciplinarian at heart.

6- Sexuality is not in the air, just as expected.. However.. The first thing I had to explain to the boys when I landed Sandton was why men need “Penis Enlargement” and why the ads for it are literally on every street corner around our house, all the way to school.  

7-    South African non-whites are not the only ones roaming the streets for a dime or two. The ratio of white beggars is actually much higher than I thought. They are not as witty or sweet smiling as their peers with darker complexions and they don’t inspire you to reach out as much. But they are there; a stark reminder that poverty is color blind does not discriminate. 

8-    In suburban Sandton, the explosive and colorful African cultural realm I eagerly anticipated is actually hard to find.  Whether it is because the area where I live is predominately white or because the architecture and landscape look more like an English countryside – only fenced in - than an African tribal dwelling remains to be discovered.  The first show we attend here was a Canadian Circus that puts Cirque du Soleil to shame. Tickets were quite affordable and yet.. The packed house was predominately white. That is one aspect of Sandton life I totally intend to fully study and observe.

9 9-    They drill you with talk about theft, house attacks, violence, mugging and every petty and un-petty crime you can fathom. You drive into your new residence and you are surrounded by high walls, topped with sharp edges, topped with electric fences and then some.

But then you take a short walk in the streets. You go for a drive around your new hood and there is a false sense of security that is actually quite seductive. You wonder with this great weather (only in the mornings still), why is it that people don’t walk more.  You look at smiling faces all around: gardeners, garbage collectors, housemaids, and you wonder: why all the fencing and the worrying? They can’t be criminals.. or can they???????

1 10- I don’t know where Disney got his inspiration from when he created DUMBO’s stork. Storks are simply not those gracious birds soaring the skies while dropping bundles of babies on whimsical moms. They’re grey and ugly and God they can make a loud screech, something between a long wail and an angry howl.. One week into the house and we still can’t prevent the knee-jerk reaction to jump out of bed and shield our faces from an unseen inevitable danger every morning when they exercise their tonsils.

I I have to confess that only Walid insists those birds are storks.. I'm beginning to doubt his ornithologist claims!!!!!!

As the days pass and we sit back to enjoy our first weekend at home, I look up at my neighbor’s house and a stork is regally standing there, staring down at me. Strangely enough, I’m in awe.. I’m in Africa and I’m greeted by storks every morning. The weather is slowly warming up but I still hold on to my fleece and my furry boots. The joke about body parts enlargement posters never gets old and the kids still find it particularly funny. I can drive without causing too much mental damage to pedestrians or fellow drivers who happen to cross my way.  I pride myself for being neither white nor Indian nor black or anything in between. For once my lack of characteristic features serves me well and I’m accepted everywhere I go.  I will not learn Africaan but I might enjoy a few Zulu lessons when I get the chance.

It’s good to be in Africa. Despite the many challenges this post brings, it just feels like I’ve made a full circle and I’ve found home. Almost!