Vivian wrote this in German on Christmas Eve, on the flight between Cairo and Nairobi. Ameen was a Nubian of Cairo who became our mentor and friend. I have nothing more to add except the translation.
Es ist November und schön warm…
It’s November, pleasant and warm,
vast Cairo wraps us in its arms.
Honk honk! Bye bye! Hello! Welcome!
Baakshish! Your name? Salaam, Salaam!
At five, near morn early first night
In our hotel, not a grand sight.
We wake to something, loud and long,
A voice (or maybe just a song?)
Worried we hug but later told,
those are prayers and very old,
which everyone can see and hear,
five times a day for many years.
Back asleep we go, not for long,
the walls too thin, we hear a throng.
We two through Cairo run and dart,
soon knowing street names all by heart.
Colors, markets, hist’ry, perfume,
poverty, people, not much room.
Veiled women and too friendly men,
Egyptian food and good Ameen.
Off to Luxor and the valleys
Where kings and queens rest with allies.
The train there, Parker is squeezed tight,
while Vivian sleeps most the night.
What a pleasure once we arrive,
Wondrous beauty, all is alive.
Mountains, the palm trees, and the Nile,
we ride our bike for miles and miles.
Bones here, head there, all wrapped threadbare,
mummies in piles, no one to care.
By bus to south we make our way
where Aswan and vast temples lay.
Very fast, but driving left hand,
by taxi through desert and sand.
Hours pass, but not a single soul,
when suddenly … CAMELS, behold!
The temple’s grand but when we’re done,
in desert heat falls the car’s dome.
And on the return: Parker drives,
he grins, feeling happy, alive.
From Aswan back north, on the Nile
in Nubian felucca style.
Near Edfu, vast temples on land
Just rocks with dates, too much to stand.
In Cairo, Parker’s great idea:
We’ll SAIL to Kenya – hip hooray!!
A sailboat to Kenya, ahoy?
But sadly, it’s only a ploy.
To Port Said they make their way,
To find, so sad, no boats today.
Steamship? he asks. Where do they stay?
No, he’s told, find another way.
His new flash, by camel we go,
My answer is no, no, no, no.
Basta I say to all but flight,
To Kenya we’ll go Christmas night.
Now time to spare, off to Sinai,
And on the Red Sea beach to lie.
There we find home with Bedouin,
Meet new people, eat tangerines.
Must shower cold, have no toilet,
sleeping bag serves as our blanket.
Lay in the sun, read, eat and drink,
ride camels, by night fires we think.
So calm, so cheap, time passes fast,
relax and rest, quiet peace at last.
Then farewell, it’s only fitting,
to a monastery, in desert sitting.
Trembling cold we rise at night,
and climb like Moses by starlight.
Monk Georg says, “Here have some tea?”
Monk Michael, “Then, seek truth with me.”
Parker’s sad, Christmas soon to be,
No snow? No friends? No Weihnachts tree?
Vivian’s reply, warm and clear,
We’re together! Christmas is here!
MERRY CHRISTMAS on this wonderful trip. Somewhere between Cairo and Nairobi.
Vivian, Christmas Eve, 1987.