Falling in love with those brown eyes

   I never thought preschoolers could be such heart stealers. But they are and they do it so well. Took me completely by surprise. I have never been a baby-crazy person. I have always been indifferent to having kids of my own. I always thought kids are fun, but mostly fun because at the end of the day, they go home with someone else and become their problem.

   But after just three months in an Egyptian nursery, all that has changed. I have become that person who constantly posts pictures and statuses to social network, cooing about how cute my students are. I'm worse than that obnoxious parent who always goos and gaws over their first child, because I got ten all at once! Ten walking, talking, prepackaged with hilarious antics children. My friends regret asking me how work is, because I have to gush about all the adorable things Moustafa and Marawan and Hala did that day. How did this happen?
   And everyday it happens over again. I walk in to class and get ambushed by happy three-year olds shouting, "Miss Liza! Miss Liza!" They may have stolen my heart but at least they keep it warm and happy for me.

Fareda walks up to me and goes through the usual routine. "Miss, miss! Mama gaya imta?" (When is mommy coming?) I got tired of making excuses a long time ago, so I look down at her seriously and respond, "four hours." "Four howers?" She asks with her baby voice, looking back up at me. "Yes, mama is coming in four hours." "Okay," she responds happily, as if that answer makes everything okay. She goes back to drinking her apple juice, making her brown eyes cross as she looks curiously at the straw in front of her.

Moustafa spends five minutes telling me about his mom's reaction when he is being naughty. He tries to impersonate her face, which looks like a face you might make while eating lemons with a click at the end. He's such a talker, and I'm sure that's not exactly the face his mom makes when she is mad at him for running around too much and breaking everything (according to his story), but his three-year old impression of it is hilarious. And the way he squeezes his little brown eyes shut to look angry.

Yassin goofs off at the breakfast table, playing with his cousin Marawan. The two are absolutely inseparable. Everything one does, the other has to do. But they are good friends to each other, and as much trouble as they sometimes cause, who can be angry with happy little boys who just have too much energy? Yassin's elbow knocks over his water bottle, spilling half of it onto the floor. I breath in and out slowly, because this isn't the first time. But his startled, innocent brown eyes remind me it was just an accident, and it was only water, and he's just too cute.

Malak sits quietly at the table where she is coloring next to the other children. She never fights over colors like the others, but rather patiently waits her turn, and sweetly asks me to sharpen pencils when they need it. Every time I come near she says, "bussy miss, aamalty eh?" (Look what I made!") And proudly shows me her colorful scribbles. "Good job, Malak! I love the green!" I'll reaffirm her, and she just smiles happily with her perfect brown eyes, and goes back to her professional three-year old scribbling.

My first Arab wedding

   

   I went to my first Arab wedding. Finally. I've seen my share of wedding processions drive honking by, and heard the celebrations go into all hours of the night. Seen the brides in their gorgeous dresses get pictures taken in the park. Heard the fireworks. And more fireworks. But I never had enough guts to crash one and see what all the fuss was about.  

   But a friend of a friend got married a few weeks ago, so a group of us put on our best going-out clothes and drove up to Alexandria. Late, naturally.

   We still made it to the hotel's reception just before the wedding party. They had quite the entrance. First at the staircase they were welcomed by a band playing traditional music, surrounded by guests taking pictures and videos with their phones. Honestly, the guests didn't need to bother because there were four camera men taping the whole scene from different angles, and everything was being streamed onto flat screen TVs in the reception hall.

   Then at the main doors they were announced to the crowd by a DJ, flashing lights, upbeat music, and a dancing troupe of men with poles lit on fire. It was intense to say the least.

   That was the theme of the whole night. Intense. Disco music. DJ. Flashing lights. Swirling cameras, zooming in and out, in and out. It was an interesting contrast to the very elegant and fancy décor of the hall. Beautiful table clothes, place settings, decorations, flowers, the works. The cake had five layers to it, and the cameras spent five minutes swirling around it, zooming in and out, in and out. It was a beautiful cake but I was a little dizzy by the end of it.

   After the bride and the groom were introduced, the dancing began. First, a slow dance for the newlywed couple. Then, the tempo sped up. All the men surrounded the groom and all the ladies surrounded the bride. Clapping, and laughing, and spinning. It took some pressure to get my friends and I to join. Let's be real, I love dancing and am not afraid of much, but it was so devastatingly obvious that we didn't know anyone. And we were so, so white. There was no way to blend in. At first I stood politely at the edge of the group, clapping and smiling politely, because I didn't know what the heck I was doing. But then some aunt pulled me into the circle with the bride, forcing me to join the group. I smiled and danced as best as I could, trying to gauge the bride's reaction to my random appearance at her wedding. She was graceful and welcoming, as I expected.

   I tried to look happy and not completely overwhelmed whenever one of the four camera men zoomed in on me, so that when the newlyweds watched their very expensive wedding video down the road, at least I would look like a fun wedding crasher. But I still predicted everyone the next day to stop and wonder, “who were those random white girls?”

   We followed along with the group for the dancing that lasted for the next hour. I was really confused because in America, dancing follows the food. So as the hour dragged on, I started to get hungry, and I started to worry that maybe at this part of an Arab wedding, there was no food. I tried to be rational. Arab culture feeds you all the time. You take a forty-five minute flight on an Arab airline, they feed you. And I remembered there being silverware on the table, so rationally food must be in the schedule at some point.

   It was. After the dancing, the doors were opened to the buffet room. After seeing the amount of food being served, I understood why the dancing happened first. No one would have been able to move if the order was reversed. It was a good strategy.

   As people left, the bride and groom sat on their platform to receive their congratulations and have pictures taken with the guests. We stood in line for our turn, I gave one more big smile for the camera, and left my first Arab wedding. Now I know what all the fuss is about.