A Visit to the Lubombo and Shiselweni Countryside

November 19, 2007. We started the day at about 7 AM today, as we had to visit several of our project sites in the Lubombo and Shiselweni districts to test electrical resistance among other things at potential sites near wat er sources for drilling bore holes and installing hand pumps to increase accessibility to potable water. Though the main roads in Swaziland are remarkably good, the roads in the rural areas are similar to those in the most rural parts of Sri Lanka- bare, without tar, and very bumpy and dusty. So, we had to give ourselves ample time to reach the most rural of our target areas, visit sites in surrounding areas, and complete water quality and quantity testing.

As we continued southeast, the terrain transformed drastically from lush, green hills to extremely dry, savannah-like flatlands full of dry bush. These are the worst affected areas of the drought disaster that see very little rain. Once the rain clouds reach this area from the West through Mbabane and Ezulwini, there is barely a drizzle that falls over these areas. Due to the arid climate here, that little water quickly evaporates without reaching the soil and roots of flora. This, in turn, lends to very poor crop yields. 60% of Swaziland’s economy relies on agribusiness, but the government has only invested in crops that they believe will generate income from exports rather than what is suitable to the farmlands and can produce food for its own population. These cash crops, like sugar cane, are extremely resource-needy, depleting the soil of its nutrients, eventually rendering the farmland unusable.

We were accompanied by Yael and Zoe from one of our partner organizations, Gone Rural, a Swazi company that engages in trade and business with rural women. Gone Rural and their NGO arm, BoMake (Women) work with roughly 700 women throughout rural Swaziland, transforming them into micro-entrepreneurs. Forming the women into groups by village, every three weeks, Gone Rural meets with each group at their designated meeting tree and the exchange of finished goods for income and raw grass for dried, dyed grass and placement of new orders is conducted. It’s an excellent scheme that empowers women economically and allows for them to be breadwinners and contribute to the wellbeing of their families. It has substantial potential and can easily be replicated elsewhere. IRD is partnering with Gone Rural/BoMake in providing access to potable water to the villages of these women, achieving a more holistic outcome.

While testing at one of the sites, the women of one village dwelling came to see what was going on and were able to give our water technician recommendations for additional testing sites with potentially strong and ample water flow. As we were conversing, something lying outside of one of the women’s huts caught all of our attention- solar panels! It turns out that this woman had used some of her profits from the Gone Rural project to purchase these panels and was able to generate additional income by charging a nominal fee for charging cell phones! This juxtaposition of modernization within underdevelopment mirrors much of Swazi society. While running water and sufficient food are undersupplied luxuries, mobile phones and alternative technologies are readily accessible and the norm.

Swaziland is an anomaly in this sense. With a population of just under a million and a GDP per capita of USD5,200, it is considered to be one of the wealthier African nations. The massive disparity in wealth is not captured in this misleadingly rosy picture, where, in fact, 70% of the population lives below the poverty line- the highest rate in all of Africa! The HIV/AIDS crisis is worth mentioning here. According to an article in this week’s Mail and Guardian, the Swazi people are suffering from a long-term emergency, aggravated by domestic political ineptitude and inaction and the misinformed policies of international organizations. In 1992, the first Swazi HIV prevalence survey found that 3.9% of women attending antenatal clinics were infected. By 2004, this had risen to 42.6%, the highest in the world! 220,000 people, or 19% of the entire population, are infected. If this prevalence were applied to South Africa and the United States, then 9 million South Africans and 56 million Americans would be affected!

The rest of the day was spent identifying additional coordinates and conducting water tests so that our engineers can return to the best sites for drilling. We spent a lot of time with the women and children in the villages, which is the best part of this work. It humanizes and gives hope to what can sometimes be a dire picture.

On the way home, we stopped at Nisala Safaris for an ice cream (and a ginger beer for me!) to cool down. Only in Africa will you stop for an ice cream and leave having seen a croc!

Acclimating to Life in Mbabane

November 17, 2007. I have not yet visited IRD’s newly rented office, 2-3 kilometers outside of Mbabane, and I find out from Elliot that there is no power or Internet, rendering the place dysfunctional and unused for the moment. City Inn’s dial-up Internet is also not working, so I’m frustrated by the inability to access email and the world outside of Mbabane. I have no watch or functional mobile phone as yet, so I never know what time it is and am constantly calling the hotel reception or asking bystanders for the time.

I visited the “mall” today to familiarize myself with the nearest available amenities to the hotel. The mall is an open strip of shops, including a supermarket, post office, banks, and a pharmacy, making most essentials very accessible. In fact, the layout of things here is most similar to the mini malls in the London suburbs and very unlike the artificial strip malls of America. Think of Harrow-on-the-Hill or Croydon. When entering the supermarket, shoppers are required to check in all of their other ‘parcels’ in exchange for a shopping basket with a number on it. Upon completing grocery shopping, parcels will be returned in exchange for the basket. Within 45 minutes, I was able to purchase 2 adaptors, bottled water, snacks, toiletries, and last, and certainly not least, a hairdryer!

Nearly all Swazis speak English, but many will mix their English with Siswati, which is very similar to Zulu. People are impressed when I tell them that I took a semester of Zulu as a sophomore in college, but when it comes down to demonstrating a working knowledge of the language, beyond the word for welcome, Sawubona, I can’t remember anything else for the life of me and rapidly lose their initial interest. The dress, particularly for the women, varies greatly from traditional to modern and conservative to flashy as was demonstrated in Beirut, but obviously on a different scale. On one hand, you have the younger generation wearing more revealing clothing, and on the other, slightly older generations of women donning modern or extremely traditional clothing of the original tribes. There are women even wearing similar dress to the traditional Sri Lankan batik housedresses. Many women wrap their hair in cloth, and infants are tied to their mothers’ backs in cloth sacks or towels.

Later this afternoon, I visited the Mlalwini Natural Reserve with Elliot. The landscape of the countryside is absolutely breathtaking, with lush, green, mountainous terrain covered by various flora and wildlife. There are larger reserves further south of the city that are inhabited by larger animals such as lions and rhinos, which we’ll hopefully visit at some point. On the way home, we drove through Ezulwini, which is the tourism capital of Swaziland. Now, here’s where all of the nice accommodations and resorts are! Note to self…The streets are lined with handicraft stalls and centers. Though Swaziland as a country is by no means resistant to modernization, I’ve been told that it embraces its culture more so than its Christian religion.

Experiences of a Novice Development Worker in Swaziland

November 16, 2007. The airplane is fully packed with passengers, leaving not a single seat open. On one side of me is seated a young, African woman of Ugandan origin but has lived in Swaziland, South Africa, and Botswana. Her mother, it turns out, worked in the humanitarian and development sector in Swaziland and had done the bookkeeping for CANGO, a national consortium of NGOs. Already running through my head is ‘new business development,’ ‘networking,’ and ‘recruitment!’ My, how easily we’re conditioned!!! To my other side is a middle-aged, white, South African couple having a tiff in what I imagine is Afrikaan- a tongue that is so foreign to my ears. I’m quite mesmerized as I take in the differing features of a people and language that I have rarely been exposed to. We have been sitting in the sweltering heat of our airplane for the last 1 1/2 hours, delayed at first by a security issue when one of the passengers had to de-board the plane for interrogations, and then second by a sudden decision to refuel (For an 11 hour flight, I would have thought that the tank had already been filled up!)! The captain’s voice pours through the intercom as he announces that we will take off in another 10 minutes. 20 minutes later, we’re told that 2 of the terminal’s 3 runways have been closed, delaying our take off by another 10 minutes. Nearly 2 hours later, greeted by a loud round of applause from the passengers, we finally take off from—no, not an airport in Africa, but from London Heathrow airport, as we head down to Joburg, where I will then rush to make my connecting flight to Manzini, Swaziland. WE’RE GOING TO AFRICA!!!

Matsapa International Airport near the commercial city of Manzini is comprised of a mere, single runaway that serves as both the take off and landing strip. One passenger jet commutes from MTS to Joburg’s ORT roughly 5 times a day, shuttling passengers back and forth, either to their final destination or to a connecting flight. Luggage is nearly always left behind in one destination or other just as in my case, so upon landing, able to find 0 of the 3 pieces I had checked in at Washington Dulles, I was dismayed by the fact that 1, I would have to return to the airport later that day to pick up the pieces, and 2, that it would be considered lucky if all 3 pieces even managed to make their way to Swaziland unscathed, if not stolen. Elliot, one of the new engineers hired for our OFDA/US Embassy-funded Borehole Rehabilitation program, picked me up from the airport. After 2 full nights spent flying over the Atlantic and then down through Africa, I was disappointed to see Elliot’s list of lodging options that we would have to drive door to door to, to find temporary accommodations. Veki’s Lodge was the first stop- no vacancy, as was the outcome of the Mountainview Inn. As we near the highway, on a small sign protruding over a tiny hill reads, "All sex that leads to hell is unsafe. Your safety is in Jesus.” This is not the first time to see a message of this sort en route from the airport. Throughout the gorgeous, lush, green mountains and hills, reminiscent of the hill country of Sri Lanka’s Nuwaraeliya minus the tea plantations, World Vision and other NGOs had erected signs casting the message of safe sex and promotion of condom usage as a precaution against contracting HIV. The rate of HIV/AIDS among the Swazi population is a horrific 40%! Part of IRD’s program that I will assist managing will also include hygiene promotion and HIV/AIDS awareness.

After our third stop, I asked Elliot to drive me to the most convenient hotel in the city center of Swaziland’s capital, Mbabane, where I could try my luck to find accommodations- at least for the new few nights until more suitable, long-term housing could be identified. I was beginning to feel the frustration and fatigue of a long journey and relatively difficult circumstances upon arrival. The City Inn is probably a 2 star by American standards, but one of the better in Mbabane. There is one room available for 5 nights only, so I grab it without even seeing the room. It’s a simple, basic room, but satisfactory at this point. After using the toilet for the first time since the airplane from London to Joburg, I make my way to the bank to exchange some dollars into the local currency- Emalangeni (1 is lilangeni)- before returning to the airport in hopes of finding my luggage there. Lo and behold, one hour later after a bit of bureaucratic nonsense, Elliot and I make our way back to the City Inn with all 3 pieces! Things are already starting to look up. After a quick Peri Peri chicken meal at the local restaurant, Pablo’s, I decided to have a short bath before hitting the sack. Inconveniently, the large bathroom window happens to be by the curtainless bathtub, so I hang towels as makeshift opaque curtains. So as not to flood the bathroom with the water flowing from the handheld shower head, I squat in the bathtub, India bathroom style, and finish my bath in the dark to avoid creating a silhouette against my “curtains.” It’s Friday, November 16th, and I look forward to my first night’s rest in a bed since Tuesday. Despite a slightly rough and at times intimidating first day, I am immensely grateful and looking forward to taking full advantage of this opportunity to engage in development work in Swaziland. I’m intellectually and vocationally famished and eager to learn, in substance, what sustainable development is and how IRD will execute this in the context of Swaziland’s environment and needs.

Over the next three months, I will assist in establishing IRD’s new presence in Swaziland and starting up our second program, funded by USAID’s Office of Foreign Disaster Assistance (OFDA)- Drought Mitigation through Community Management of Water Harvesting Systems and Conservation Farming in Shiselweni and Lubombo Districts. The program will use a community-based approach to help mitigate the devastating effects of cyclical drought patterns and subsequent reduction in resilience and need for food aid for 6, 880 beneficiaries by: a) increasing water availability for human consumption coupled with hygiene promotion activities, and b) increasing farm yields through runoff farming water harvesting and conservation tillage techniques.

Back in Lebanon

Below are a few entries that I wrote in my journal over the course of the five weeks spent in Lebanon.

July 24, 2007. I’m back in Beyrouth, and it is somehow more surreal than the first time. But, naturally, more familiar, and I feel at ease as if I’d never left the place the first time. I’ve been assigned here for roughly five weeks to contribute to the research and design of a municipal capacity building program to support local economic development.

It’s already after dark now. A stronger sense of calm permeates the mildly lit streets of Hamra since the July war of 2006, and I notice new developments and restaurants lining the streets to the hotel used by most IRD employees on assignment. The Johnnie Walker ads have long been removed, and the count on the Rafik Hariri billboard stands at 809 tonight.

After entering the lobby of the hotel, its familiarity welcomes a sense of comfort and security. Familiar faces and procedures, though some new, and news of missing faces provide a sense of connection- Samer, the bellboy, finally decided to join his sister in California, despite his very vocal, anti-American fits during our conversations last summer; Nay off to give life in Qatar a try; and Abed, the waiter in the hotel restaurant, has moved onto a new job. I get my room key and am surprised to see that I’ve ended up in the same room that I occupied during my five weeks in Beirut last year.

I immediately turn to the balcony and take in the familiar view, which I have reminisced about many times since last October. In a panic, I take it all in forcefully, in an effort to savor it all as a pre-emptive measure against the shock of a potentially harsh reality. Fortunately, this is real.

July 31, 2007. “It is a country of contradictions—that is what keeps it interesting.” This is how one Lebanese woman describes her motherland. And, so true and poignant this is, and a scene that I caught sight of on my way yesterday to a meeting at one of the ministries was very illustrative of this. Downtown’s beautiful Parisian streets, buildings, and squares are practically desolate, and walking through them reminded me of empty Hollywood lots at Universal Studios. As I crossed over the barricades and checkpoint leading to the Parliament (as no cars are permitted near the site for security reasons), the security guard approached me and said I needed to go to another block, turn right, and proceed another two blocks before I arrived at my destination. As I walk down, I can’t help wondering whether he’s playing the fool with a clearly lost foreigner trying to find her way around the city. As I make the first right, the Ameen mosque towers over me, and its magnificence, magnitude, and beauty take my breath away. As I stare at it in awe, something else catches my eye—from the corner, I realize the entire space before me is densely packed with tents—similar to what I witnessed in August and September 2006 when the displaced were sheltered under similar conditions right in the heart of Beirut. I begin to slightly panic as I walk briskly by the tents down the desolate side road. I can just barely make out faces peering from the shadows through the flaps of the tents. I turn around once to take in the sight before taking the second and final right turn into the ministry building.

I am amazed by the contrast. Newly constructed government buildings and the colossal mosque- the pride of Beyrouth- line the streets and in this random gap among it all are who? Displaced? Refugees? I’m completely baffled. I want to capture the moment on film, but my gut instinct is to keep walking and be satisfied with the mental photo that I’ve managed to capture. Later that day, I ask a woman at the ministry who those people are- “It’s the opposition, since the first of December. They continue to remain there in protest.” I’m shocked. I recall seeing this on the news. And, they’re still here?

As I leave the building and begin the dreaded walk back by the tents, a shiver runs down my spine. I can feel the eyes piercing into the lone, unaccompanied woman walking by. I am witnessing history in the making, and I feel humbled and blessed.

August 2, 2007. There has been no time to write here, which has been a real pity. It amazes me how differently I’m perceiving the country this time around. It is far more liberal than I remember. There again is the juxtaposition of women wearing next to nothing walking alongside their Muslim sisters, covered from head to toe in their abayas and even the occasional burqa.

The young seem to have grown apathetic, probably as a result of fatigue, frustration, and hopelessness from the political divides that torment and burden this country, stalling/stunting any progress politically, socially, or economically—advancements that this country has much potential for. Where does one draw the line between resilience and apathy? Yes, the people on the frontlines are resilient, but what concerns me here, as it does in Sri Lanka and other countries plagued by conflict, is the lack of engagement of youth—of the younger generation. Most in the capital that I spoke to are removed and really apathetic to all that occurs in the rural areas. If it does not concern them, then they are happy to just be able to focus on a life that revolves around the self and its interests.

When I asked a young woman at a ministry, in between business talk, of her opinion on the elections this Sunday, I was a little taken aback, yet not completely surprised by her response that resonated with most Lebanese youth living in the capital. These are precarious times in Lebanon. The recent stream of car bombs amidst political upheaval lends to paranoia and concern among people here. While some say to leave the country before the fifth, others claim that aside from a few skirmishes, things are likely to remain relatively calm. Two assassinated MPs are to be replaced- one from Beirut and the other from Al-Mattan in Mount Lebanon. Both were of the Hariri camp, but popular opinion is that the opposition will snatch these seats. Some expect that all hell will break loose, but I’m confident that will not be a concern until September.

The political landscape is as convoluted and ugly as it is in Sri Lanka in some ways. But, at least once can say that comparatively speaking, there is still some law and order left in this country.

Value Chain Development in Sri Lanka

March 20, 2007. I recently returned from an assessment mission to Sri Lanka to identify effective implementing partners and methods to promote competitiveness of agriculturally based value chains, implement a workforce development strategy, promote a business enabling environment, and ensure that groups located in conflict-affected areas benefit from participation in selected horticulture and dairy sector value chains. We were specifically studying the existing supply of certain horticulture produce and how to enhance its efficiency with the assistance of key market players. I was also later asked to help develop a country strategy for fiscal year 2007 for the country office.

IRD’s country director is a recent hire, and in general, there is still quite some disconnect within the organization, resulting in one country office knowing very little of the entire organization’s work worldwide. Fortunate for us, our staff seemed well aware of potential partners within Sri Lanka that have the necessary experience in working with local cooperatives and producer associations and facilitating micro-enterprise development. This greatly facilitated the necessary information gathering.

I was excited to learn that our most desired local partner is headed by the brother of a very good family friend. Somehow being of Sri Lankan Tamil origin, it’s difficult to always keep professional and personal life separate in this country. The company has an ideal corporate social responsibility policy, emphasizing their desire for the maximum sum of funds to go to rural communities with a maintained focus on the well-being of Sri Lankans. They are striving to facilitate a different cycle of distribution in rural areas where energy foods will reach the poor at affordable prices. They have also developed a program that will hone entrepreneurial and technical skills of rural folk and develop rural supply chains. We took advantage of the opportunity to visit some of their processing and collection points throughout the Gampaha district. We visited a pineapple farmer, a coconut farmer, and a dairy processing plant. I got a brief chance to discuss extending all of these services and supply chains to the Jaffna peninsula and Vanni region of Sri Lanka. I strongly believe that there is much talent and a historic record of a thriving agriculture sector here that has been excluded from this growth. Because the government has largely neglected the region in hopes of indirectly stunting its growth, we should look to the private sector as a better alternative.























During the assessment mission, I got the chance to visit some of our existing programs towards the south of the country. This included a visit to Hambantota to participate in the handing over of the Healthcare Center built by IRD and its local partner to the Ministry of Health and Nutrition, the Kirinda-Bundala sites where we have a Water Improvement program to supply clean water to households and community wells, Galle, where we’ve constructed toilets, a first aid room, and canteen in a local school, and finally Matara, where we have supported an awareness program on the prevention of vector borne diseases and promotion of clean drinking water and public health campaigns.

Exploring Egypt

April 14, 2007. I’ve written loads in my journal during my childhood dream trip to the magnificent historical sites of ancient Egypt along the Nile River. Below are some excerpts with photos from the different places we visited.

The Pyramids and Great Sphinx
Egypt’s children still seek refuge, comfort, solace, and nourishment from the divine Nile River, or as they call her, Nil in Umm Al-Duniya-Mother of the World. It moves me immensely to think of the deep-rooted respect, love, and pride that the Egyptians today continue to retain in their hearts, minds, and souls for their motherland, soil, heritage, and culture. Driving through Giza, passing the zoo and the sphinx statue in the middle of the roundabout, a constant reminder of Egypt’s majestic past, without any warning or time for preparation, the great pyramids of Giza appear. It was one of those sights that takes your breath away as you stare up in awe and disbelief that you’re actually finally here.

Over a window of fifty days at this time each year in the Sahara Desert, for any random five days, a sandstorm strikes- the time is called Khamseen. Today is coincidentally one of those days! What an unforgettable, remarkable experience it was. The winds picked up speed as we made our way back from the Great Pyramid (the largest one) to our vehicle. Plastic bags blew up into the air and began dancing against the pyramid, and the sight was mesmerizing and soothing. As we made our way to the second pyramid, the wind had raised the sands to curtain the sun, blocking our view of everything. The shapes of the pyramids could barely be made out through the sand- like fog or a thick mist, but it was a beautiful, captivating sight. And, it was quite an experience as we covered ourselves from head to toe with scarves and shades. Sand was sticking to our skin, planting itself into our scalps.

One cannot enter the pyramids if claustrophobic. Bending at 90 degree angles, we crawled into the dimly lit, narrow passages, making our way into the room of the tomb. It completely felt like a scene out of the Indiana Jones chronicles. It was hot, humid, and sticky. Who would think that in this seemingly impenetrable calm, where the pharaohs has been put to rest so many years ago, that there could be such a violent sandstorm outside of these walls? Suddenly, the dim lights started to flicker, and out they went! We were eventually led out of the pyramid with the assistance of other tourists’ PDA and cell phone lighting.

We made a second attempt to visit the Pyramids and the great Sphinx a few days later, and just with our luck, the second sandstorm of Khamseen decided to strike again. On the final day of our trip, we tried a third time, and we were graced with the mercy of the Gods and were able to get some great photos under the Cairo sun.

The Great Sphinx

The Pyramids and Sphinx in Giza

Giza

Mosque near the Grand Bazaar

Aswan and Nubian Villages
We climb to the top of our felucca at the end of another surreal day in Egypt in Aswan. It’s dark with hardly any other boat afloat the calm waters of the Nile. Muharram and his cousin boat us back to the corniche in front of our hotel near the Aswan train station. After a lovely tour and authentic home-cooked meal in the warmth of Muharram and Omar’s Nubian village further down the Nile.

Just to backtrack, we arrived in Aswan a day earlier and wondered through the souk. We had an interesting interaction with a salesman who had us in his shop for hot, mint tea and proposed to me, asking if I would be willing and interested to consider an Egyptian. I said yes to the latter, but rejected the proposal—not for a mere 500 million camels! We took a felucca out later that day to visit Kitchener’s Island’s botanical gardens. In the evening, we enjoyed a lot of drumming, singing, and dancing to traditional Nubian songs as we made our way to the Nubian village for dinner.

A View from the Nile

Abu Simbel
It’s early- 4:24 am to be exact. We are waiting in a long queue- part of a convoy to Abu Simbel in the darkness of pre-dawn. It’s pristine and calm, and it’s strange to think that just miles from this paradise, where mosques and mausoleums glisten in the moon’s light, that there is a storm of human suffering- West Bank, Gaza, Palestine. The sun has just risen, and we speedily make our way down a road in the desert, similar to that leading the way to Vegas, blasting Arabic music in our vehicle. We question Osama about the requirement to travel in a convoy, and he responds, “Government protocol…for security. I know, it’s useless, but after the terrorist attacks…..” and we continue on.

Abu Simbel is magnificent and breathtaking, and is definitely my favorite site in Egypt. Turning the bend, we approach the colossal, magnificent structures. The kings gaze into the distant sun and Lake Nasser, and the sun, as if a servant to the great kings, dutifully shines on their faces, bringing out a beautiful, golden glow. The story goes that Ramses II, the most famous and important of the pharaohs, whose empire reached the furthest up the Nile to Sudan, was a very proud, narcissistic king. He was the only pharaoh to have statues depicting himself as a god in the temples of Egypt. These temples would additionally have scenes carved into the walls, illustrating him as a conqueror and hero in battles hardly won by him and the Egyptian army. For 16 years, the army fought a battle with the Nubian army. It finally ended in a truce at no one’s gain. The Nubian king then married his daughter off to Ramses II. She was Nefertiti- one of the most beautiful and powerful queens of Egypt. To ensure his reach and command the respect of the Nubians, he erected Abu Simbel and the Temple of Hathor here.

Abu Simbel

Front of Abu Simbel

The Pharoahs of Abu Simbel

Temple of Hathor

Luxor
We rushed to the weekly camel market in Daraw, just fifteen minutes north of Aswan. We arrive in the town, but the camel market is empty, and a boy in a galabayya, pushing his bike along the narrow dirt path in between the houses, shouts, “Mafeesh!” Our driver shouts back, “Mafeesh?...Mafeesh.” It seems there is no market today. We ended sitting on some camels for a few minutes just for the experience, and then moved onto the Temple of Kom Ombo—erected not in honor, but in fear, of the crocodile king.

After Kom Ombo, we part ways with Osama and head off to Edfu with the convoy to see the Temple of Horus. Everyone carries a Kalashnikov here. Sadly, it’s not a shocking sight having just come from Sri Lanka.

Daraw Camels

Temple of Kom Ombo

View from the Inside

Stunning architecture of ancient Egypt

Temple of Horus

Valley of the Kings, Luxor
We are sitting in front of King Tut’s tomb in the renowned Valley of the Kings. This, after a long donkey ride starting at 6:00 this morning over some very high mountains overlooking the Valley of the Workers, Valley of the Kings, and Queen Hatshepsut’s funeral temple. We’re a slip away from death, and are legs tingle. We finally reach a point where the donkeys cannot go on, so we begin the hike down to the Valley of the Kings to meet our guide. There, we also visited the tombs of Ramses III, IV, and the IX.

At sunset, we rented a felucca to enjoy the Nile a bit more before heading back to Cairo the next day. The sun begins to set, and the rays of the sun, beaming in our faces, is balanced by the cool breeze that also serves as the fuel for our felucca—the “Moon River.” We pass by a boy on the banks of the river, giving his camel a bath. It feels like a dream.

Shortly, we arrive at Banana Island, which resembles Kerala or Jaffna, full of mango, plantain, and mandarin trees. Wheat and sugar cane also thrive on this paradise island. We pluck a few plantains to satiate our cravings as we make our way back to Luxor. We concluded the evening with an amazing visit to the Karnak Temple.

On the way to the Valley of the Kings

My Ride

Valley of the Kings

Valley of the Queens, Thebes

Beautiful paintings on the walls of the tombs

Statue at Karnak Temple in Luxor

Another status in Karnak Temple of Luxor

Life on the Nile

Relaxing on the Nile

Mt. Sinai and St. Katherine’s
It’s 3:00 am on a Monday, and I begin this entry in one of the many stone huts that sporadically appear around a bend. The huts are dimly lit with kerosene lamps, and one or two Bedouin Arabs have made homes for themselves on the great Mount Sinai. I can’t explain in words the beauty of this sight and experience. As we made our way to St. Katherine’s from the Suez Canal, we must have passed at least a dozen checkpoints. As I peered from my window into the dark desert night sky, I couldn’t help gasping because of the shocking beauty of the colossal, rocky mountains, glistening under the incredibly bright moon. It is very cold, and we’ve hardly prepared amply for the eight kilometers up and another eight kilometers down Mount Sinai.

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We just finished the hike up and down Mt Sinai and are now sitting in front of St. Katherine’s, waiting for the church to be opened. The hike was pretty challenging for me, and it was horribly cold and windy at the top, but the sights were absolutely breathtaking and the ambience so surreal. The climb was surprisingly dangerous, always being steps away from possibly plummeting to one’s death. Occasional encouragement could be derived from the Nigerians’ singing of their folk songs and the occasional stops at Mohammad’s friend’s coffee huts, which often did provide “light at the end of the tunnel” of darkness in every sense of the cliché. Sunrise at the top of the mountain was incredible! As the sun began to rise, bright, thick hues of golden orange and fire red broke through from behind a range of mountain peaks, appearing in the sky like ink splattered on a canvas from an exploding brush. It was unforgettable.

Sunrise from Mt. Sinai

Making its Way Up

Stunning Sunrise

View from Mt. Sinai

View of St. Katherine's as we descend

Me and Mohammad, our guide, taking a break

St. Katherine's