dreams without boundaries

I remember the first time I saw my dad downhill ski and my mom ice skate. I remember because I was in middle school and I was amazed – they were good. Really good. As kids, my dad would save his money to get a season ski pass and my mom spent all winter gliding on frozen water. And there I was – a clueless middle schooler – falling down the slopes and wobbling on the ice.

I think most kids grow up knowing what their parents are really good at – the things they have been doing since childhood. But not me. My parents grew up with nine month winters and I grew up with nine month summers. I remember being in elementary school when dad was getting re-certified to SCUBA dive, and mom trying years later. I remember when we bought our boat – learning how to tie proper knots and to care for equipment immersed in salt water. I remember mom being terrified of high seas and open water, but we went anyway.

The lives that we lived as family are incredibly different than my parents’ childhoods. Each country brought new things to be learned – cultures, lands, and hobbies. Wherever we were, we truly lived. I was raised to believe that I could do whatever I wanted to do. Not because I was invincible, but because I could learn and persevere.

This makes my parents sound like wild adventurers. Maybe to some that is exactly what they are, but I really think that they simply chose to live. They like quiet nights at home surrounded by family. They like routine and typically steer clear of things that could lead to ‘legendary stories’. And in choosing to live wherever they have been, I think they have given me an incredible blessing – I cannot fall into the trap of believing that I am too old to learn new things or that I should be excellent, nay perfect, at what I do, at my chosen hobbies. I know that I can try and that I will, most likely, succeed.

And so, while I dream, I am thankful that I have spent my life watching my parents do (not just try) new things, that I have seen them work at relationships and life, and I am thankful they have grown through all of it. Seeing them ski and skate taught me about their pasts, but my childhood taught me how to live. I know I can always learn something, someplace, someone new. Today I am thankful that my dreams do not have boundaries.

origin

When I visited my parents last month, they reintroduced me to karkade, something I had not had since I was a kid in Egypt almost 20 years ago. In other places, karkade would be called hibiscus tea. The iced version of Egypt and Sudan is incredibly refreshing on a hot summer’s day and I highly recommend making some immediately as these days seem to be aspiring to reach 100. The recipe for the karkade was what my mom told me to do and the martini is my own creation based on my appreciation of gin in the summer. Although the martini looks incredibly girly, the taste is not. I hope you enjoy either or both versions!

ingredients

• hibiscus
• 3/4-1 cup sugar
• for martini: gin, diet 7-up or club soda, and lime

karkade iced tea instructions:

• Using a 3 quart saucepan, fill almost full of water. Add in handful (I don’t have large hands) of hibiscus and sugar (more sugar if you like sweet tea). Bring to a full boil. Take off heat and let cool on stove.
• Use a tea strainer to strain out hibiscus.
• Cool in fridge.
• Serve over a lot of ice.

karkade martini instructions:

• Proportions for 1 serving: 1 oz gin, 1-2 oz karkade iced tea, 1 oz diet 7-up or club soda, 2 wedges of lime
• Mix all liquid and one lime wedge in shaker or glass.
• Serve over ice with a lime wedge as garnish.

Yesterday morning, I wanted to shout a few hearty Amens, but was at an Episcopal/Anglican church in Nashville, not in Africa.

“There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” Galatians 3:28

Race. Politics. Gender. Three things that were a problem when Galatians was written, and three things that remain a problem today. But, especially in the church, they should not be. With Christ, there should be no difference. And today, I believe for the first time, I heard this from the pulpit. And I wanted to shout “Amen brother.”

It is easy, even lazy, to codify, categorize, and marginalize people because it builds ‘us’ up and pushes ‘them’ down. It is easy to let culture rule our thought process at home and in the church. Fr. Jerry’s call, the call from Galatians, is to cut ourselves from this old way of thinking and to be transformed. Amen. Yes.

Race and politics. Race – is there really a difference from one race to another? It is color and accents and foods and homes and traditions. How much richer is mankind for this diversity? Politics – not democrat and republican – the wider sense of the word, of the ability to have a say, for your voice to count. That no-one should be told that they are not worthy of having a voice, that they are owned. Amen.

But he did not stop there – he moved on and talked about gender and the church. Fr Jerry pointed specifically at women in the church, and said that there should be no difference between men and women. I nearly stood up for that Amen.

I try to not preach in this space and often stay away from what can be touchy subjects. But yesterday I heard truth from the pulpit that refreshed me from the inside and so today I share it. While I stand up against racial divides and stand up for the voiceless (both things I admittedly also often fail at), I am voiceless in the gender divide. I am voiceless because I am a woman who is highly educated, highly motivated, single, and childless. And so, yesterday was also a reminder of what it feels like to have someone stand up for you when you are voiceless. A beautiful reminder for me when I do have a voice and have the opportunity to stand up for another. Yesterday was refreshing and I am thankful. Amen Fr. Jerry, Amen.

You can listen to the sermon here or read my friend’s thoughts on it here.

Sometimes life is predictable, and the rest of the time it brings the unknown. I find that most of my life is found in the unknown – a place filled with adventures and new beginnings around every corner. Last week life served me a pile of lemons. As I write this I sit watching sailboats bob in a harbor with chai in hand, and I cannot help but think that I have done a great job of making lemonade from lemons. And so, while I am turning a corner, here are some of the adventures that I have had – I heartily endorse this region and these places if you are so inclined to make your own adventure.

(Pictures were captured with my small Canon PowerShot SD 1000 that fits into my purse or back pocket – perfect for travel and spontaneous adventures, though less than perfect in doing what I ask of it….)

hiking snohomish county

This trip Heather loaned me Hiking Snohomish County by Ken Wilcox – an excellent, small book filled with hikes and day adventures North of Seattle. One day found me and my brother Matt hiking Boulder River and another day I did a solo hike to Wallace Falls. Both could be longer hikes, but I made them mild 6 and 5 mile hikes without too much elevation change. The scenery on both hikes was stunning and hiking alongside rivers and waterfalls filled my ears and mind with sounds of rushing water. The book has over 100 other hikes – this is a region that could fill weeks of fun!

whidbey island

We decided to take the long way from Arlington to Seattle – we drove North,West, and then South. This took us over Deception Pass, down Whidbey Island and required a ferry crossing from Clinton to Mukilteo. We had the perfect Seattle day that makes people forget about the long, grey winters: 75 degrees, blue skies, and warm sun. With the sun roof open, we drove through incredibly beautiful country, saw the water, and stopped at lookouts along the way. If you take just one trip to this region, make sure that you find yourself on a ferry – there is something magical about taking a car from one piece of land to another, and standing at the front of the ferry is a most spectacular bonus.

ballard

Ballard is North of downtown Seattle and is filled goodness. Somehow all of the pictures I took here were on my iphone, but trust me, a good place to explore. Cute shops, multiple locations to get authentic Pho soup, a most awesome cupcake and coffee shop, a jewelry shop, and an old, beautifully restored, small movie theater. My wallet appreciates that I do not live next to these streets.

small town pacific northwest

There are an impressive number of cute small towns to explore in this region – I explored Arlington and Bellingham. Alrington’s cafe selection is nothing special, but I could not have asked for better breakfast diners – just be sure to split your plate with someone or you will be embarrassed by how much food is thrown away. And, I just happened to be in Arlington during their car show – the best of which was a car that also served as a boat. The smiling old owner happily turned on the propellers for the children (and me) to oh and ah over. As for Bellingham, their old historic district, Fairhaven, is worth your time to visit. Cute shops (Arabella), a fantastic independent bookstore (Village Books), fish & chips sold out of a bus, and a coffee shop overlooking the water with big windows (Woods Coffee)- what more could you possibly ask for? A view of the water? They have that too.

flying a kite

The first day of this trip, I bought a kite that I hoped to fly in a park, a city, or by the ocean – anywhere. But every time I took it out of the car, the wind would suddenly stand still. Until this afternoon. And now I feel justified for having Marry Poppin’s “Let’s Go Fly a Kite” running through my head…

Tuti Island is found where the Blue Nile and the White Nile converge into The Nile. The island was reachable only by ferry which alloted it some protection from modernization or from farmer’s lands being taken for romantic hotel projects. Then, in early 2009, a suspension bridge connected the island with Khartoum providing immediate, unlimited access in either direction. In an effort to document the island before inevitable change occurred, photographers from the region were brought together to document the island. This past Saturday evening was the official launch of the resulting book, Traditional Tuti, and I was honored to be in the audience that celebrated a life, a heritage, and an island.

The evening was a taste of Tuti Island. A girl’s group performed a compelling operetta about street children (this is the 8th rendition of the group – the original group are now grandmothers). You could feel the emotion in a man’s singing and playing. The same drum, being played by the same (now old) man for the last 70 years was beat. It is used to warn when the walls are breeched and the island begins to flood as well as to waken people during Ramadan for the first prayers of the day an hour before sunrise. The oldest boy scout, the now leader of boy scouts in Sudan, is also from Tuti Island. And there were so many beautiful, proud, smiling faces. I hope these photos allot you a glimpse of that beautiful evening.

Do you see the warning drum (and the walker)?

The book is Traditional Tuti, and the woman on the right is Tamara Ahmed Mohamed Osman Al Igail, one of the photographers.

Three days is not long at all for any place, much less a first visit to a country – a taste test really. I did not have a license to take photos, so except for what you will see in the next post on Tuti Island, I only have words to share with you. I hope this provides a glimpse of what I saw and experienced in Khartoum.

Arriving. On the plane I was surrounded by Arabic for the first time in nearly a decade. When the doors of the plane opened it was like being hit with the air from a hot, dry oven. Then the air-conditioned bus from the plane to terminal took us past a row of white planes with “UN” painted on their sides. Every bag is x-rayed upon entry to the country – the search is for alcohol. For the first time in my parent’s life, they have drivers – who drive fully armored Land Cruisers and Suburbans. Whenever they can, they walk places.

Ancient roots. In ancient times, Northern Sudan was Upper Egypt… upper because it is the up the Nile, which flows from South to North. Anyway you think about it, ancient Egypt counts as ancient. We went to the museum and saw pottery, jewelry, fresnos, and temples that were 1,000- 4,500 years old. I fully admit to telling dad, “I’ll take one of those.” I was referring to several of the beaded 4,000 plus year-old necklaces on display. They were simple, unique, and elegant. There were three ‘small’ temples on display (size of a house – very small in comparison to what is found in Egypt). They would have been flooded by the building of the Aswan dam, and so they were just up and moved. I have to say I appreciate that they are accessible in Khartoum and not buried under water. I still have not decided if the the graffiti from people carving their names (mostly dated in the 1800‘s – relatively recently travelers) into the stone temples next to hieroglyphs adds to the history or is just sad.

Christianity. My parents are part of a truly international church. In my experience, this is an incredibly rare and awesome thing. Where are you from? Tanzania. Southern Sudan.  Uganda. Philippines. North Sudan. America. Kenya. I know there were others too… but my memory fails me.  Beautiful people and beautiful souls worshipping and growing together. In Khartoum, Islam is the dominant religion. But this was not always so – there was an entire section of the museum dedicated to Christian frescos from 1,000 years ago. We could say that that Islam came in and took over. But, the pastor of this church had a profound statement about this – Christianity failed the Christians as it became increasingly ‘religious’ and filled with tradition. A thought truly worth pondering from this Sudanese pastor.

Dress. The temperatures this season are typically 110-120F during the day and a cool mid-90’s during the night. As I stretched out in bed the first night, I could feel the cement wall was radiating heat into my room. And the women are covered. But, mostly not the full black veils that only show they eyes, simply fully covered. Tight long-sleeved shirts go under blouses and sleeveless shirts to provide modesty and a 4.5 meter piece of fabric is often wrapped around the body and then loosely draped as a scarf over the head and arms to provide modesty. But there is a flare of Africa in these scarves – they are full of rich colors and designs making the women look elegant. But the men look cooler in flowing white dresses and turbans.

Perspective. I consider a sunny day to be great weather – the sun makes me smile and lifts my spirit. But, at this time of year, a sand-filled sky in Khartoum means cooler weather. I watched a haboob, or sand storm, roll in one evening. We were standing on one side of the Nile and there was a white mosque on the other side that stood out perfectly against the brown and red backdrop of the sand. Less than a minute later, it disappeared as the wall of sand swallowed it up. Walking in the haboob later – wind filled with sand – was not fun. But who was I to complain about the rain that came later and the temperatures that lowered by about 15 degrees? ‘Good weather’ is definitely determined by one’s perspective.

To me, Khartoum had a Middle Eastern, or Egyptian flavor, with a bit of East Africa tossed into the mix. It was familiar and new all in one. This was probably facilitated by being with my parents – waffles in the morning, chicken on the grill at night, and conversations on comfy couches. Not a place where I would be excited to live, but not a place where I would refuse to live. I remain intrigued by the culture and curious about recent and ongoing histories that I cannot pretend to understand. Maybe someday I will get another taste of this land and people. But for right now, I remain curled up in my favorite reading chair at home. And it feels good.