I continue to open my 2007 journal on some of the people in Egypt whom I met and who are very much in my mind during these tumultuous days.

Thurs, 3 May: Back in Cairo from Alexandria, we go to the Mohammed Ali Mosque (1830). This is not ancient Egypt, but it is Egypt. The fact of the matter is Egypt’s current religion is both foreign (having come by invasion from Saudi Arabia) and relatively recent (3rd century A.D.). When compared with Egypt’s native pagan religions and with Judaism and Christianity, there is little comparison of antiquity.

Sitting on a carpet with our shoes left outside, Salah gives his take on Islam. He is carefully polite, respectful of other religions, and non-polemic about his. But he really isn’t very helpful, perhaps for this very reason. His description is mild without being defensive but also somewhat vague although not deceptive. I think: “sanitized Islam.” I would have preferred more forthrightness and even assertiveness, such as what I heard in Turkey.

The chief of our Tourist Police security detail asks me to have a drink with him in a secluded bar, and I order mongo juice. He says my background as an MP officer and intelligence agent enable me to understand his plight. He lives a three-hour bus ride away and stays in a cheap hotel while with us. He is overworked and underpaid. [Now, of course, he is unemployed.] They have weapons training only once a month, and he says nothing about dry-runs of attacks. I have no confidence in their ability to protect us other than by show, which they do well enough.

We attend a talk by Barbara Koma, an American ex-pat (of whom there are 20-30,000) who has lived here for 18 years teaching private voice lessons for only American and British students. The government is extremely bureaucratic and there is much corruption. Literacy is 50 percent. Society is becoming increasingly conservative. The majority of women now cover themselves to some extent. Service is given on a multi-tiered basis. There is little violent crime and the streets are safe. [So it was then; she might now be evacuated.] The people are very friendly and like to talk.

Sat, 5 May: At Abu Simbel we visit the local spice market. The haggling with vendors is terrible here. Ann has a nice chat with an early adolescent boy, and then his younger cousin joins in. I think they are largely occupying her until their uncle can find the pillow cases she wants. We had left before he had returned, but he chases us down and catches us. He says he got them from his storeroom, but I’ll bet he haggled them from a vendor who had what he didn’t.

Sun, 6 May: At the papyrus institute at Kom Ombo, Ann falls into conversation with several young women. All are university graduates in tourism. When I had asked Amin about work opportunities for woman, he pleaded that over half his class were women. But it appears few are hired as tour directors or guides and end up being store clerks like these. Learning Ann is a nurse, she asked my occupation. Rather than saying “pastor,” which I don’t think she would understand, I say “minister.” She becomes excited thinking this means governmental official.

Thurs, 10 May: We opt to visit the Manacare Children’s Center for those with special needs. I talk with two friendly boys in the hallway. Then we go into a classroom with four and five-year-old children. They recite for us. Then into a room where I recognize the activity as occupational therapy. It is, in fact, much like what I had observed in Chicago. They are seeking to stimulate most of the children.

In another room they are giving electrical stimulation to muscles. One crippled boy, perhaps two, is reaching out to touch the director but can’t reach him. I recognize the boy’s need and hold my hand out to him. He takes my hand. After a while, he holds his arms up for me to hold him, which I do. His mother, on whose lap he had been sitting, smiles sweetly. She recognizes someone who cares about her child.

And I still do, but I wonder where he is now and what is happening to him. I wonder how all these who cared for us are living now.