"Goodall" Moments – Reactions

Ron shared my Goodall musings with his co-workers, many of whom were unnamed participants in the aforementioned activities. Apparently the two comments to Ron (following admiration of my keen observational skills and exemplary writing ability – which I deduced from the “Good job!” responses), were:

“Where are you in ‘The Battle for Middle Earth’ game?”

(I feel a strong need to insert the word, “Dude” at the end of that sentence, but I wouldn’t want to misrepresent things.) And:

“She spelled ‘Dúnedain’ wrong.”

(Which was also Ron’s first comment. To which I reply, that yes, I did fail to notice that the misspelling appeared on the e-mail version but is correct on the blogger.com version. I don’t know why, but maybe an, I don’t know, IT guy, could explain why it didn’t transfer. Regardless, I apologize for not noticing that the accent over the “u” was left out of an IMAGINARY word.)

So, after discovering that the muscle used to roll one’s eyes can actually be strained, I say thank you to the IT Department for continuing to add fodder to my ever-growing collection of “Bewildering Male Comments.” Keep it coming guys!

“Goodall” Moments in the IT World

Marrying an IT (information technology) man has exposed me to a whole world that, without the vow of marriage, I would never have ventured into. I realized the full potential of the exposure one evening when we were attending a casual dinner party at a friend’s house. The group was comprised of three couples, with the men working together in IT, plus two other single IT men. After dinner, I found myself sitting on the couch with the other two wives as the five men started to discuss the various hardware/software issues one of them was having. Before long it turned into quite a spectacle, with keyboards and mice appearing, laptops whirring, hard drives buzzing and computer code flying by on the large-screen TV in the living room for all to share and marvel in (or be stuck staring at as you sat on the couch with a wall-sized screen in front of you).

At one point the women stopped talking and instead we watched with great amusement the male interactions playing out in front of us. I realized then and there that I was in a “Goodall” moment. Much like Dr. Jane Goodall must have experienced while watching the chimps of Gombe employ grasses as a tool to access the tasty ants, I was in the rare position of outsider being given access to the inner workings of the mysterious, oft-secluded male communication model, part-number: IT-guy.

So I started taking mental notes. It was interesting to see that despite potential testosterone overload, there was no initial obvious Silverback. Depending on the task at hand, an alpha male, presumably based on his skills, would emerge, while the others would circle around him offering questions, comments and advice. As one issue was resolved and another arose, a different alpha male surfaced, and the roles would morph without any altercations. There were never times when voices or fists were raised, teeth or chests bared, nor even hooting or hollering. Their communication styles were in-sync and harmonious, regardless of whether they were agreeing or disagreeing.

I found this curious as undoubtably this cannot be said of those same men in various conversations with their wives or girlfriends, which, based on personal experience and observation, often result in unexplained periods of deafness, language miscomprehension, narcolepsy and grunting. It was quite exciting to find this hidden trove of ability in my husband and I quickly wondered how I could encourage it when not in the company of an IT crew, or discussing anything related to gigabytes, terabytes or possibly pizza bites. I felt it warranted further research.

A few weeks later, one of the friends from the dinner party came by to help my husband with a computer problem. I saw this as a great opportunity to don my Goodall-hat again and continue my research. I was curious whether less than three IT men in a room would still result in a free flow of communication, or could instead lead to unexplained cases of acute deafness. I perched myself in a comfy chair in the corner of the office, feeling a kinship to Dr. Goodall, but definitely appreciative of my chair versus a tree branch.

As my husband and his friend discussed the software/hardware/update thingie, I found my notes filling up with words like “byte” and “ram” and “boot… kernels… gooeys…” and even “grub.” Despite being able to Google these and learn their meaning, I was feeling that studying the language might not be my best route in. This theory was further supported when I noted the following conversation:

Male 1: “There may have been mounting weirdness.”
Male 2: “I think we need to mount the boot.”

At this point, had I been Dr. Goodall, I think I would have immediately submitted this species for the endangered list, as there was obviously very little chance of perpetuating this species. Then it continued:

Male 1: “I saw on NewEgg they had a one terabyte hard drive.”
Male 2: “For $70! Yeah, I saw it too!”

There was obvious excitement about this mutual find demonstrated by pupil dilation and increased animation. I can only imagine the same would be noted of a similar find of a large teeming anthill in Gombe. The men continued to watch with rapt concentration lines of computer code spinning across the monitor, periodically pointing out bits of particular interest or delight as they continued to discuss “MNT” and “two slash boot.”

As a side note, throughout this interaction, I noted that periodically one or the other would physically point to something on the monitor. I couldn’t help myself and broke scientific-protocol and muttered under my breath that, when I, perhaps, point to a monitor I’m often quickly warned, “Don’t touch it!” before I even get close and yet did not hear any similar warnings between the two of them. My husband explained to me quite simply that the world is divided into “screen touchers” and “non screen touchers,” and that it is assumed within IT circles, that most people are the former. Such elitism was a surprising find among this group.

My research continued over the next several months and then just recently my husband was bemoaning how he hadn’t been able to play his video games lately. “I have to get back to killing the Dúnedain!” he exclaimed. “They are preventing me from being the master of Angmar!” It was at this point, when I found myself staring at this enlarged 8-year-old I’d married, that I decided I’d lost any interest in gaining access to the inner workings of the male communication model. That would require just a little too much insight and I felt our marriage might not be better for it.

Although, I will admit I remain baffled by several things, primarily why my husband can remember where he left off in a battle for Middle-Earth from three months ago, but forgets where we keep paper towels, or can talk at length with his friends about gooeys and grubs, but needs a sandwich first in order for me to have a conversation with him. But maybe it's just best to remain baffled and from now on, instead of trying to unlock the male communication model, I’ll just decide what’s really sandwich-worthy, and what’s not, and I’ll leave the gooey grubs to chimps, gorillas and the befuddling IT guy (a.k.a., my husband).

It was a sad, sad day

We were so close. We were literally one week shy of our one-year-in-Cairo anniversary (April 24th). We had almost made it!!

But apparently fate can be cruel. Oh, so very very cruel. And while out shopping with friends in Maadi this past weekend, Ron, who can’t see a colander when it’s at eye-level in the cupboard, caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye and … well, what can I say? We made it 358 days in Cairo without acquiring any more mudmen. Much as the OSHA incident calendar resorts to “Zero days without an accident” when there’s a chemical spill, we too have to turn back the calendar and say with a heavy heavy heart, “Zero days without a mudman purchase.”

While Ron was gleefully making his purchases, I was busy puttering about in Denialville, refusing to acknowledge and therefore intervene in his transactions. Regardless of my known, and very vocal, dislike of the creepy things, I still overheard phrases like, “Yes, the WHOLE band!” and the proprietor saying, “I have others, do you want to see?” (He saw the word “sucker” in multiple languages on Ron’s forehead.) Ron was very adamant about having them all wrapped carefully, because the last time he bought them and shipped them home, many resorted to their original form of dust, and others lost heads, wagon wheels and other “add-ons.” I was able to convince Ron to discard the most egregiously damaged before we moved, but unfortunately he found great delight in keeping the headless cabbage sellers and rug merchants. They all now live in what we call, “The Village.”

After the deed was done, and Ron was carrying his bag of bundled goodies, I found myself praying for a deluge like that last seen by Noah. But fate was in a loathsome mood and just kept things dry and sunny. And considering these mudmen are made, I’m convinced, of dried dog poo, shaped and painted bright colors, with hideously nightmarish faces, they only thrive in these desert-like conditions.

I’m trying to convince Ron that they would be best displayed in his bathroom where it would be FUN to watch them slowly melt away with the daily steam buildup (and a few buckets of water to move things along). But Ron disagreed and with great care, childlike delight and glee, (and at times a rather crazed glint, as you can see by the photo), he lovingly unwrapped each of the SEVENTEEN he bought and arranged them for my viewing. So now I will inflict them on you as well. Enjoy! And if you are as entranced by them as Ron is, please let me know and I’ll direct you to a secret Ebay auction to be held in the near future.


Snuffle the Air

Happy Sham El Nessim! I know, has it been a year already? I’m not sure I’m even properly prepared. Let’s see… shoes, proper clothing for outdoors (meaning no holes), door leading to outside, air, stinky salted fish and onions. Yup, I’m prepared!

In actuality, this is our first opportunity to celebrate the annual “Sham El Nessim” holiday, which literally translates to “Smell the breeze.” It’s an Egyptian holiday held on the Monday following the Coptic Easter. During this day, Egyptians grab their family, neighbors and friends and head out to the parks and gardens or any exposed piece of green grass, plunk down, and enjoy the Spring breezes whilst partaking in the traditional foods of lettuce, onions (green and/or white), dyed eggs and smelly salted fish (i.e., sardines, mackerel, anchovies).

Interestingly, this may be the only national holiday here that is not Islamic or war-victory related. In fact, it dates back to Pharaonic times, when they gave offerings to the Gods to bless the upcoming harvest and was carried through to the Coptic times, which predate Islam. Today, even though it has a Coptic history, it’s celebrated by all Egyptians regardless of faith.

There is a wee bit of controversy surrounding the whole salted fish bit, though. There are a few online articles expounding on this, “Fiseekh is at the centre of things: Grey Mullet is caught, piled high in containers, and left out until distended. When sufficient evidence of its putrification is available, salt is added and the fish are left to pickle for a few more months. And voilà, the fish that Egyptians are willing to literally die for is made. It is no wonder that tens meet their death every year during Sham Al-Nessim -- usually as a result of botulism contracted from the smelly culprits. This year [date not specified], the authorities impounded approximately 38 tonnes of spoiled fish and arrested nine Cairo shop-keepers for selling bad fish.” Lovely. Apparently some folk dismiss the botulism concerns, while others opt for the less-fear-inducing can of tuna. I say drop both, go vegetarian!

I asked both my language teacher and her cousin (whom I do the weekly “language swap” with) if there was a certain time of day this happened or when I need to go out to see everyone. “Stay inside,” my teacher said. “There are too many people. It’s a good day to watch movies.”

So it appears that the holiday is having a modernization backlash. But, considering the weather currently is beautiful (a few really warm days creep in here and there, but for the most part it’s still Spring and gorgeous), there’s no work today, and there are 16-20 million people out enjoying the breezes, she’s probably right.

Our on-scene reporter Roland McGillicutty (a.k.a. Wheaties boy) has been giving all-too-frequent updates on the activities of local Egyptians out our back window. His latest report: “Folks, we are LIVE here on Sham el-Nassim!! This is very exciting. We are live here from Zamalek, and we are going to tell you all about the steady flow of Egyptians walking along 26th of July Street, on this, Egypt’s secular spring holiday. Can you just smell that spring breeze? Can you? Breathe in, DEEP! Ah! Oh! (cough, cough, ack!). Lookee here now, we have four young Egyptian men walking at a leisurely pace along the road. That’s right four men on 26th of July. They appear to be talking to each other. Very leisurely, very much on holiday! They are strolling along. They might be heading to a park, or they might be heading to a bridge to while away the time. Their faces are relaxed, utterly relaxed, as they walk along, arms swinging. What’s this now, folks – look, it’s little Johnny, coming along behind them. He’s going to join his friends for a bit of merry making on Sham el-Nassim, right here in the heart of downtown Cairo. And what’s this, another elderly gentleman is coming along behind them, skullcap perched on his head, shirt out of his pants, going the other direction, very relaxed, very relaxed! He’s taking deep breaths, taking in that spring air (cough, cough, ack!). And what do we have here now, folks? It’s a couple calmly pushing a baby carriage down the street, that’s right a baby carriage. They’re walking, strolling right along pushing the baby, very calm and well behaved baby, just stretching her little fingers, breathing in that spring Cairo air! (cough, cough, ack!).”

So, we may just opt to enjoy our air snuffle day from the comfort of our couch, partaking in a marathon of “Battlestar Galactica, Season 4,” with periodic updates from Roland McGillicutty, unless I can convince him otherwise. Happy Sham El Nessim!

Follow the Water Buffalo

One weekend we decided to take Mom to the pyramids at Saqqara and Dashur. So, we packed a lunch, grabbed our friend Ben, and the four of us set out on Saturday. Besides, you just can’t have more fun around Cairo than on a driving trip!

Living in Egypt and visiting the pyramids can be equivalent to living in D.C. and visiting the Air and Space Museum or living in Orlando and checking in on Mickey and gang every time you have houseguests. It can get a little tedious. I mean, let’s be honest, the pyramids are spectacular, however they haven’t changed a lot in the last 4,000+ years, and your first 15 photos of a pyramid, tend to look a lot like your next 15 photos, and the 15 after that (or, if you’re me and a photo-nut, make that 85 photos). So the question becomes, how do you keep a visit to a 4,000-year-old stone structure fresh and new? One way is to follow Mr. Frost’s advice and take the road less traveled (albeit shared with donkeys, delivery trucks, slews of water buffalo and the occasional camel) and take a venture out to the Saqqara and Dashur pyramids.

I cannot stress enough the importance of enjoying the “journey” here in Cairo. Whether we’re speaking metaphorically, or realistically, half of the fun of anythere here is merely getting there. So we took the Ring Road out and grabbed the “Sakkara” exit and started on our drive along the canal (one of many off-shoots from the Nile). Along the way we played versions of “Identify That” in the canal to pass the time (no identifiable bodies this time, though Mom was admittedly not looking for them). We also saw piles of burning trash, irrigation pumps pouring putrid water into the surrounding fields growing cabbages, cauliflower and such, small stands selling fruit and veg alongside the road (I do wonder who their primary clientele is), bunches of carpet factories and “schools”, huge trucks laden with bricks or sugar cane or swaying grasses, water buffalo seemingly out for a morning stroll and donkeys galore.











At one point we came upon two little boys, about 8-10 years old, driving along in a motorcycle-truck contraption. As we passed them, Ron rolled down the window and asked them if they had a license. They replied but I’m not sure what was said, but there were a lot of laughs.


We decided to hit Dashur first, which was farthest away, so we passed the sign for Saqqara (also spelled, Sakkara) and continued on as the road got a little more rural (meaning more carts and tractors, ambling water buffalo and low-flying shuttle busses, but on a 1½ lane road). At one intersection we saw a sign for “Seniphro Dahshour” off to the right. We knew to look for it as last time we flew past (it’s not necessarily designed to be helpful) and had to ask for directions.

Along a road lined with palm trees, lush fields and slumbering sheep and goats, we came to the gate. Here we were approached by the guards and twice now we have been asked where we’re from and where we’re going afterwards. Our first visit we were kindly told, “You visit, then you leave.” Fair enough. This time Ron, having apparently eaten several helpings of Wheaties that morning, told the guards that we were next going to Saqqara, then off to Giza, then some shopping at CarreFour and maybe a jaunt to Alfa Market. Luckily they appreciated his sense of humor, didn’t shoot us, and we were allowed entry.

Dashur is a very different site than both Saqqara and Giza, mainly due to its remoteness. It’s also surrounded by an Egyptian military base, so while we didn’t have to deal with the din of other tourists, we were serenaded by the sounds of practice-time at the shooting range. But I’m sure it’s perfectly safe.

Dashur is made up of essentially three pyramids. The Red Pyramid, which you come to first, and the Bent Pyramid, which you drive a little farther to, were built by Sneferu, who reigned around 2613 BC and was the father of Khufu, who built the pyramids at Giza.







As happened the last time we were here, the ever-helpful police on camels tried to “guide” us around, but Ron was assertive enough to dissuade them (you definitely need to assert strongly your desire to explore alone). However we did take a moment to enjoy them stalking Ben, who had to make the same assertion. Luckily a few other tourists arrived, so the “guides” moved over to them.




The Red Pyramid can be entered, however based on others’ claims of stuffy, claustrophobic conditions resulting in an empty chamber, we have opted to skip it. But we did thoroughly wander. Mom took to examining it up close and spotted a beautiful large dragonfly and finding such delight in seeing any wildlife in Cairo, I dutifully took the requisite 12 photos. Then Ron had another Wheaties-induced moment and insisted on us performing a Foxtrot in front of the pyramid, which Mom happily documented.


From here, we traveled over to the Bent Pyramid, which is reached by car on a bone-jarring, suspension-testing ride through the desert. The theories surrounding the change in angle half-way up the sides vary greatly, so suffice it to say, no one really knows why it’s “bent.” But due to its steep angle, much of the original limestone facing remains intact, which cannot be said for the others.



Mom found great glee in sifting through the loose rocks, finding smooth colorful ones that somehow made it into our car (and are currently nestled in our outdoor plant). We did have to stop her from performing her own excavations though.

The third pyramid in this grouping, the Black Pyramid, built around 1800 BC, is seen in the distance and appears to be a nubble on a rubble pile (not necessarily the guide-book description). We thought about testing the 4-wheel-drive capabilities of our Jeep and going to check it out, but figured it might result in a camel-police chase and despite the “bloggability” of that, we opted to just appreciate it from a distance. (The two dark specks in the photo below are actually Ron and Ben, I promise.)

From here, we took the canal road back towards Saqqara. One thing immediately apparent when you arrive at the gate here is the dramatic delineation between the green fertile fields of palm and the sudden stark desert. Plus the guards don’t try to run you off.

We stopped first to get a ticket for Mom, though in hindsight we didn’t need to. As “Dips” the rest of us get in free (whee!). Ron, feeling a Wheaties-surge again, tried to tell the ticket man that Mom was a very important person, and secretary to Hillary Clinton. The man didn’t buy it, so we bought a ticket. On arriving at the entrance to the Step Pyramid, a man approached us and asked for our tickets. We dutifully showed him our Dip cards but Mom had left her ticket in the car. He said that was fine, and then attempted to sell us a tour – he was a guide, not even a ticket taker!

The complex at Saqqara covers four miles and is older than Giza (though it doesn’t have a view of a KFC, like at Giza) and its centerpiece, the Step Pyramid, is said to be the oldest known stone structure on Earth (a rather nice claim to fame). It was built for King Djoser, who reigned around 2635 BC, and was designed by Imhotep who was later deified and is believed to be the first engineer, physician and architect recorded in history.




There are 16 pyramids in various forms of rubble, plus tombs and temples strewn throughout Saqqara. It has fantastic views and several interesting finds, including the Tomb of Teti (~2290 BC) which is one of only a few tombs that visitors can crawl into down a crouch-inducing tunnel that opens into three rooms with original hieroglyphs adorning the walls. Apparently Teti’s name is written using two half-circles and a feather-like icon, which can be seen all over. One room also houses an enormous basalt sarcophagus whose inhabitant could have gazed upwards at the stars adorning the ceiling. While it might not measure against our current feelings of “home,” it is astounding to find yourself standing exactly where others stood over 4,500 years ago. Then reality returned and we resumed the crouch position and crab-walked back up the tunnel to daylight.




We also explored the Tomb of Mereruka, who was Teti’s son-in-law, which has an impressive array of 33 rooms decorated in stone carvings, some from floor to ceiling, and many with their original colors.


Opting to use the lavatories back at the entrance instead of these by the car park (not sure what vaccinations may be required), we drove back and also checked out the Imhotep Museum, newly opened in 2006 (thanks to the French). As museums go, and in particular Egyptian ones, this is a really well-displayed and well-labeled collection of artifacts from all over Saqqara.

Last, but by far least, was the drive home; replete with physics-bending vehicles, adventurous fisherman on the canal, canal banks held up by trash, cabbages the size of Golden Retrievers and glimpses at true life outside of Cairo. Oh, and I guess I could mention the fruit seller who used an impromptu method for washing off his strawberries by spraying them with a mouthful of water. Ben promptly announced his refusal to ever buy local produce again, and as of two months later has remained true to his claim. Life in Cairo, where the adventure (and possibility of contracting TB) never ends.