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Cairo, Egypt. I am here for about ten days to work with my Dominican brothers here and to explore just a bit of this rich culture.

My first impression is quite good. I am used to arriving in airports in the developing world that are a delightful mess. Cairo is that, and it is not that. It is delightful, and a mess, but quite impressive in other ways. The architecture and grand buildings are just astonishing.

I had to negotiate for a cab to take me where I am staying, and that is usually quite a task. People usually expect Americans to pay twice as much for everything. But I was quite surprised when the driver in the airport offered a price of 80 Egyptian Pounds (about $13) right of the start. Exactly what I was supposed to get him down to!

As expected, the trip was “exciting”, with lane markers and traffic regulations being more “suggestions” than “laws.” When we got to the right part of town, we had to stop and ask directions to where we were going, and it is here that I found out how incredibly polite Egyptians are. We pulled over and the driver just waved his hand to call over a boy from a “tele-phone” shop. He came over, but had not heard of the street. So he called another person over, who had not heard of the street. So they all called the owner over, who, of course, had not heard of the street we were looking for and was sure it did not exist.

At this point, I found a telephone number in my luggage, and the driver called up the house to which we were going. Since the driver didn’t really know where he was, the phone had to be passed around the group to figure out how to get from where we were to where we needed to be–just a few more miles.

Of course, streets not really being marked in Cairo, we had to stop three more times for directions before we arrived: “Is it this street or that street?” At one time we asked a bus driver who was fixing his micro-bus full of passengers in the middle of a traffic circle. He seemed not to mind in the least dropping his repairs to answer our questions.

I think I am really going to fall in love with these people.

Here is the courtyard of the Mosaiko Cultural Center, the place where I live and work here in Angola. Sort of boring, but I thought people might like the mundane things as well. Feel free to skip this post.

Notice how clean it is. This is an outdoor courtyard. Above you can see the netting that filters the sunlight so it is not so hot. The cleaning lady comes every day and sweeps and mops. You can see her broom. As in Nepal, brooms don’t have any handles. You have to bend over to sweep. The same goes for the mopping. She just uses rags and bends over the whole time.

The door behind her is to the library. It is small for a library, about 7000 books, but it is a great collection in philosophy, ethics, and social sciences. It is also well used. Even though Mosaiko has no address and is hidden in the back of a bario, the library constantly has researchers. You can find its holdings listed online here, in case you want to stop by.

Next to the library is a small internet cafe, so that people can research on the internet as well. I say “cafe”, but the only food is the water jug you see in the courtyard. But water is free!

See, I told you this one would be boring.

Out here at Kilometer 12, there are no stores, but there are many stands in front of people’s houses selling crackers and drinks. There is also a large market where you can buy anything from cassette tapes to dried fish.

The people in the market are always friendly and ready to answer questions; “Is there anyone around who sells socks?” The people in the top photo stopped us when they saw my camera and asked to have their picture taken, a common event here. People love to have their picture taken here (Why do Americans hate it so much?).

I needed a pair of running shorts, so we headed deep into the market. Marmilliano, one of the brothers seeking to become a Dominican here, knew where the used clothes were. He is the tall on in the middle. The people along the left look like they are selling bars of soap and laundry detergent, and the red tub is full of course ground salt, sold in sandwich bags. In the foreground where you can’t see, they are cooking food. On the left it smells like the public toilets (at least the area that is used for such).

Behind the vendors is the main road past the market. The water is pretty deep. No one dares to drive or walk through it. The land here is alternating sand and clay. Where it is sand, the water filters away and it is dry as a bone. Where it is clay, the water stays for a long time. This water is from a rain four days ago.

Glad I wasn’t here during the rainy season when it rains every afternoon. The brothers tell me that life is rather hard then.

I finally arrived in Angola. It feels strangely like home. Not much has changed in the two years since I have been here, except now it is the end of the rainy season. Hotter and wetter than last time I was here.

Here is what I have been doing all week; wrestling with this satellite dish. I brought new components from Rome to upgrade the speed and reliability. The old equipment is no longer supported. Of course, the new equipment doesn’t work. At all.

I have disassembled and reassembled this “outdoor unit” at least twenty times, and the “indoor unit” at least thirty times. The photo is at the end of the day, as the light fades, and I am trying one more experiment. It failed. What a surprise.

The worst part is calling tech “support.” All I can get form them is “Did you plug it in? Well it must work. Call us when it does.” Thanks.

But all is not lost. Look what I found: We have new kittens! Amazing how much frustration from talking to useless tech support people holding a new-born kitten can erase. Tomorrow is another day.

Tomorrow is the feast of St. Catherine of Siena, famous Dominican preacher and the first woman writer of the Renaissance. In celebration, Yves Beriault and I took the train from Rome up to Siena in the heart of Tuscany.

Here is the Duomo, the cathedral church in Siena. It is full of tourists, but doesn’t fail to impress nonetheless. The cupola in the top of the dome reminded me of Window Rock (see the entry for Easter). It is almost as transcendent. Not bad for something made by humans.

I am in Rome for a few days for a meeting, and had a chance to have wonderful lunch in a beautiful Roman piazza with Bruce WIlliams, an old Dominican friend. It is good to circle back to old friends and familiar places. Better to do this over good food and wine in such a picturesque setting. He and I had lunch in this same place about two years ago, as I was on my way to somewhere (always).

As we dine, I remember my first time in this piazza. It was my first time in Rome as a Dominican. 1997, I think. Another meeting, and lunch plans that had changed because this particular restaurant was closed today. I stood in front of it for a half hour in the pouring rain waiting for Don Goergen to come to tell him. But I didn’t mind. I had been wrestling with God, asking for a sign, or some scrap of insight about a new position I was being asked to take. God was less than forthcoming. I was more than stubborn. I just stood there and waited, in the rain, for God or for Don. Whomever came first, I would let decide the issue for me. Neither came for the longest time, but I wouldn’t let it go. Perhaps a wiser soul would at least moved under the eaves, but I had a bone to pick with God. Finally, when my righteousness abated, and I remembered patience as a virtue, God showed up. For just a second, but that was it took.

Don showed up thirty seconds later, wondering why I was so stupidly and happily standing in the rain. It was rather hard to explain.

I told Bruce the story this other time in this piazza, as we were sharing the twists and turns of our lives. We lingered for hours, as old friends can, talking about everything and nothing.

As we finally left the piazza, it started pouring rain. Of course. As I walked slowly back to Sta. Sabina, I took my hat off and felt the rain, noticed how it brought out the subtle colors of Rome, reveled in the love Bruce and I had shared, and cried at the beautiful life God had given me.

In heaven, I am sure that there are old friends, good food, and rain.