Time Travel in Old Cairo

Today I've been one of many. Khalid brought me to old Cairo; narrow paved streets where millions of foots have walked for centuries, market stalls with eager salesmen promoting anything from "antiquities" to ornamental water pipes and lamps to scarfs and souvenirs in the shapes of pyramids, Nefertiti and golden beetles. I'm used to be the only one with a camera - I bring it pretty much everywhere and take pictures where no one else sees beauty. I prefer places that are rarely visited by tourists, I don't like hassle and avoid tourist traps as much as I can. But today, as we entered the area of Islamic Cairo, I truly understood that there's a reason why people from all over the world visit this city, and why they gather in these parts. Overlooking the annoying salesmen and false guides, the pretty face of olf Cairo shows herself and shines with glory of long gone days.

The first mosque we entered was the 625 year old Madrassa and Mausoleum of Sultan al-Zahir Barquq and although I embarressly admit that it was the first time I entered a mosque, it was an amazing introduction. Being in very old buildings, be it churches or mosques, almost always takes my breath away. Just knowing how old it is, how many people have been there and the tremendous amount of work it took to build it kinda makes you religious. The architecture and artwork still stands out, more than 600 years later, and I really hope that future generations will have the same opportunity to experience what I did today.

We spent a couple of hours sitting in a busy sheesha place in the middle of the market, listening to arab beats, smoking our pipe and drinking hot mint tea while watching people and inevitabely discussing hardcore subjects like history, science and religion. It's hard not to think along those lines in places like that, and even though we don't always agree about things, discussions like that are always rewarding.

Finding our way out of the maze of narrow streets we encountered the first tourist police to ask about our relationship. Proudly we presented our papers proving that our relationship is fully legal, allowed and that there are no shady reasons behind it. Apparently they're there to protect the tourists - that being me - but I couldn't help but feel a bit disrespected. I'm sure it's a good thing that they keep their eyes open to "protect" poor defenseless foreigners like me from the mighty evil arabs, but it makes me wonder how long we will have to prove that we're for real and that I'm not being used for some financial or stay permit reasons. Anyways, it was bound to happen sooner or later and I guess it's all good to be able to add yet another experience to the list of worldly prejudices and social rules. Once home, we were overjoyed to find out that the elevator to our rooftop apartment on the 14th floor was broken. Yeay.

Cairo: Chaotic Tranquility

7,8 million people in a jungle of concrete, smog, chaos and bustling city life and one of them had the courage, strength and love to bring me all the way from Sweden. I didn't leave my safe haven behind, not exactily, but rather took a break from it to pick up the pieces of my life that have been scattered around the world and at a later time return as a complete person. 

I'm in Cairo; a muddle of dusty streets, fabulous history, shouting people and tempting souqs. And I'm here with Khalid, the man who have seen me for who I truly am when no one else had faith in me. I consider myself to be the luckiest woman on earth right now and I have a strong feeling that I'll continue to feel that way. By chance, I was lucky enough to land in the country of pharaos and white sharks at the same time as his family whom I haven't seen since my days of glory in Sudan. From now on, they're my family too.

Cairo is fascinating, but far from the mystic legends and stories you associate Egypt with. Knowing that I would have enough time in the city, I have yet to experience the grandeur of the pyramids, the labyrinths of Islamic Cairo and the mosques. Instead I've gotten a taste of the everyday life of the Caironians. I can't imagine a furure in this city (or any other large city for that matter), but spending some time here is definitely a positive experience I'll cherish for a very long time. I prefer the personality of villages or small cities, and in a week or two we'll pack our bags, get on a night-bus and head for the Red Sea. I know I can spend a long time there without being bored or wishing to be elsewhere. But really, I'd rather be in chaotic Cairo with Khalid than in a paradise village by the sea without him.

So Long Sweden! Time to Leave the Darkness Behind

There is something very special about the nights before a travel, no matter how old you are. It reminds me of the night before Christmas when I was just a kid, when you were so excited that it felt like your chest would burst and spew out butterflies and laughter. It's almost like that now, because the day after tomorrow, I'm leaving.

I'm nervous and happy and it feels like freedom is finally lurking behind the corner. I can almost see her. What was planned to be a month's visit in Sweden turned out to be 10 months of illness, without any money and my baby cousin got cancer. I'm 29 years old and had to stay with mum, when I wasn't in the hospital. That kinda sucked, but I know that I needed the help and at least it wasn't permanent, plus I got the chance to hang out with my darling sister and brothers. In the end, everything turned out alright. The illness mysteriously disappeared, my cousin got well after months of awful treatments and the money landed in my account just in time for Christmas shopping. And now, with a one-way ticket in my hand, I feel that I can leave that chapter of my life behind.

This is the first time I'm travelling somewhere somewhat unprepared. I'm usually very carefully planning everything; know exactily where to stay, where to buy what, what to see and what to expect about the people and culture, what the traffic is like, the climate, taxi costs, everything. But not this time. This time I'm giving in to the excitement of finding it out once I get there, but then of course I already have someone who knows all the things I don't yet know. It feels great to have the freedom and at the same time be able to rely on someone else to take care of all the practicalities.

Most of my friends and family don't even know I'm leaving now. The one-way ticket was booked recently and suddenly the day just arrived. So, for those who want's to say hi before I go, the doors will be open tomorrow afternoon and evening. And if you can't make it tomorrow, then come visit when I live in that paradise town down south! My place will always be open to near and dear ones, wherever I currently am. Hopefully in a month or two, when I've spent some time in the bustling smoggy city, I'll be close to picturesque beaches where I'm sure some of you won't mind come visit!

I'll be back of course. I'll always be back, but this time I'm not sure if it will be in a few months or much longer. I still hope it will be within a year though. Let's see how that goes.

A Madman is Driving my Life

Living my life is like sitting in the back of a car with a madman for a driver. I mostly know my destination, but never how or when I will get there. It's for good and for bad; I've experienced horror rides, thrills that pumped me with adrenaline, slow and boring ones and steady rides without any surprises or flat tires. I would be a fool to say that my life is dull: it's been a thrill - still is actually. Nowadays I'm reluctant of announcing my next "moves", wether it's about education, work, physically moving some place, travelling, anything. People rarely take me seriously, not because I don't go through with my plans, but because it usually seems like they're not leading anywhere. But if you scratch on the surface, dig a little deeper into the meaning of the things I do, then those who knows me will see that I'm really actually going somewhere. Slowly for sure, but still steady.

I'm not just gliding through life without ever thinking of settling down. For me, it just takes a bit longer than for most others. I could have settled down years ago; gotten married, produced a couple of kids, bought a house and have a steady job. But that's not me. Maybe I would have been satisfied for a couple of years, but then what? Roving around may seem to others like wasting time, but I see it as an investment for a more long term happiness. And this thing about settling down... I don't know if there is such a thing in my vocabulary to be honest. I don't see why it's so important to stay in one place for the rest of one's life. No, I want to continue to see the world even after I have a husband and kids. Those things are not obstacles. Surely it takes more planning to travel with a bunch of kids, but it's still possible, even rewarding.

Since I got back to Sweden last March, I've done little. I've been gathering some university points to add to my soonish Bachelor degree and freshening up from a pain in the ass illness that had be basically decked for all spring and summer. It's not until now, when I look back, that I realize how ill I actually was. Thank goodness that part is over. And now it's time to move on, take a huge leap to make up for a few lost months to catch up with my life. Sweden is great, but it's at it's greatest when you're away from it and realize how much about it there is to miss.

Real Life Fairytales

Ingrid Bergman and Humphrey Bogart in "Casablanca

They're all around you; those stories that people frown upon because they seem too good to be true, which in most cases they turn out to be. But sometimes, rarely I agree, people really experience things with a happy ending and sometimes they actually do live happily ever after. I'd like to tell you a short story:

In the beginning of the 1900's, the Swedish countryside looked pretty much like they do in the movies. Out in the west, in a place covered in picturesque yellow fields, lush oak and birch forrests and glimmering streams and lakes a teenage girl named Helga was one day walking uphill with a friend when they passed a small red cottage with white corners and an open window. Through the window, a sweet violin melody streamed. Many years later, Helga explained that she fell in love in that moment.

The man with the violin was called Erik, and in not too long Helga and Erik became a couple. They soon got married and had two children - they lived in that same place in the countryside their whole lives. As the couple grew older, Helga became senile and lost her memory. One thing she did remember and loved was how Erik used to play the violin and sing to her, so until the end he used to sit next to her and play, and when his arms weren't as they used to anymore, he just sang. She remembered the lyrics and sang when she could, then just hummed.

They grew old together - very old. Both of them reached beyond 90 years old and until the end, they sat next to each other in the kitchen sofa, kissing each others cheeks, talking and holding hands. When Helga passed away, Erik sat in front of the chapel crying out loud: "My dear little Helga... My little Helga!" They had then been married for over 70 years.

Whenever I loose fait in love, I think about them; my great grandparents. Now, although my story is very different from theirs, I believe I'm the lead character in another fairytale. We met in a war ridden country in Sudan as a teacher and student, stayed together for a while but was torn apart by circumstances that none of us could influence. For three years, we nearly hated each other, couldn't even be in the same room. But then something happened. Our roads once again met, even though it was completely unlikely, and now that big puzzle is finally filled out with more and more pieces for each day that passes. It's not complete yet, and I doubt if it ever will be, but at least it starts to look like a picture now.

The fairytale is now taking me out of the country, to a place where language is used with passion and the sunset paints the sky with fire. I'm going to begin writing the second chapter of this story there, and where it will take us next, I don't know. What I do know, is that there is no turning back this time. It's already written in stone and for once in my life I feel completely at ease, even happy, to be powerless. To not being able to change the course of events this time is bliss, because I know it will take me to where I should have been all along.

My Tribute to a Tiny Hero

The story began in early spring. A mother of three noticed a bump on her youngest son's back. She saw doctors, made tons of phone calls, begging for help. Everyone, including me, said that it was probably nothing, maybe just an enlarged muscle and his crying could just be colic, nothing to worry about. But she didn't give up, she knew something was wrong. When everyone tried to convince her of not to worry, a feeling inside her developed. A couple of months her own father, my grandfather, had passed away in cancer and she got convinced that her newborn too, had some type of cancer. Us near and dear ones became worried, not for the baby, but for her. Her anxiety paralysed us, while it encouraged her to get the help she needed.

One day, the baby's legs went limp. He was constantly crying, couldn't get any rest. At last a doctor sent us to the hospital, where more doctors examined him. Yes, the bump was still there and his legs did in fact not work as should be normal. They said that it could just be an enlarged muscle, something harmless, but they couldn't rule out other reasons. Off we went to Queen Silvia's Children's Hospital in Göteborg, where an MRI was performed. The waiting for the results was painful, to say the least, but it was nothing compared to when the results finally came. Yes, it's a tumour. The baby has Neuroblastoma, cancer.

The following months consisted of cytostatic drugs that put down the baby's immune system and a lot of the family's strength and happiness. Still, no one gave up, because seeing his smile even when he was at his lowest, gave all of us the courage to continue, to do what needed to be done both for him and for his mother and brothers. As sick as he was, he was the source of our will, the one that lead all of us back and forth to hospitals, to take turns in handling the daily tasks, to keep life going even when it was at its darkest.

One autumn day, we were waiting for an answer from the latest MRI; either there would be more cytostatics or there would be a surgery. Either of the options would mean more hard work, more difficult feelings to handle, more struggeling. Then the doctor finally called. The baby didn't need any more treatment - and non surgery either! My first thought was that "shit, so there's nothing more they can do for him? This is it?". But no, what it meant was that he was done. The tumour was no longer a threat to him and the tiny bit that was still tucked in in his back would do him no harm. Eventually it would turn into harmless nerve tissue.

One more thing needed to be taken care of; the CVC, a tube in his chest where he had gotten his treatments through. It was there as an evil memory of a nasty disease that could have resulted in something unimaginable. Then two days ago, we finally got an appointment for the simple surgery that would remove the CVC. All that remains now is a tiny, healing wound in his chest and a plaster. Maybe he will get a small scar, but who cares? The cancer is gone, it will be no more and he will get to live a completely normal childhood, loved by so so many. This baby, and his mother, gave me hope. They proved to me that even when things seems hopeless, everything can still be alright in the end. Sure, the road there can truly suck, it can make you suffer, be in horrible pain and anxiety, but you can get through it.

Jamie, you are my hero; a tiny tiny hero that have accomplished much more than most adults I know of. You will have no memory of what you've (and all of us) have been through, but I hope you will always know how very special you are!

To Think of Nothing

At times I find myself in a state where I appear to think of nothing. Most of the people I've spoken to say that they've never experienced it, so I decided to do some digging to find out if it's possible or not. Let's start with Rene Descartes' idea of "Cogito ergo sum," which means "I think, therefore I am." If we accept that, then it should also be true that if I don't think, then I don't exist, or at least that thinking is fundamental for the human consience to exist. 

In DaMo Qigong, (here simplified) excercises can teach you how to think of nothing. By first focusing your thought of darkness, a void where nothing exists, you return to the time before your birth. Before birth, you could have no conscious thought since you have seen or heard nothing; your mind had not enough "food" to develop thoughts as we know them. Similar experiences can be achieved through meditations practiced around the globe and what's similar between these experiences are that the people who have gone through them still describe to have been in a state of hightened consciousness. How is consciousness possible withouth though?

If you sit/lay down and decide to focus your mind of nothing, then that's exactily what you're thinking of. Nothing is the opposite of something and in order to undo the thought of something in your head, you first have to be aware of the "somethingness", leading to an impossible task since undoing the something actually is a thought process. There is always a stream of consciousness rushing through your head and if you find yourself unaware of the thoughts, then they've been running on a subconsious level. My question, however, is what's really going on in your head when you find yourself in that empty state, i.e when it's not forced or something that you've consciously tried to achieve. I haven't found an answer to this so far, but my guess is that I do, in fact, think of something. A void for example, even though I'm not aware of it until when I "wake up" from the state. Maybe I even return to that time before birth without being aware of it. It's a mystery yet to be solved!