Giza

We landed just after midnight. The night of the March full moon, the first full moon of spring. Herald of new growth.

   We watched the moon travel across the sky as we too flew to our destination. I hadn’t planned it this way, I just picked the dates that felt right when I was doing the booking.

    It also happened to be Ramadan, something I was likewise unaware of at the time of booking, which turned out to be hugely to our advantage as everywhere was unusually quiet.

   We both looked through the window as we approached Cairo. A warmth was spreading within me. It felt like a soft, golden glow. My heart gently swelled with gratitude.

“I’m back!” I whispered.

  Every so often mum would look up at me, smiling. I knew she felt it too. This pull on the soul to have your feet on this land.

We were met by Khalid, a short sprightly man with round glasses, quiffed grey hair and an electric air, like he’s experiencing mini spurts of high voltage, unseen current.

    He masterfully manoeuvred us through all the checkpoints in the airport, making small talk as we waited in lines, insisting on towing both our bags behind him.

“Is this all you have?” he asked when he first saw the neat, little carry-on bags we both held on to, looking behind us for an array of large suitcases that don’t exist (yet).

“Oh, we travel light,” said my mum with a smile, clinging on to the farcical idea that coming to Egypt, of all places, with only a small carry-on, for over two weeks is a realistic idea, “best way!”

“Yes, best way,” agreed Khalid, “and if you want to make shopping you buy another bag.”

Good point Khalid, good point.

     We stepped outside into the bustle of the airport pick-up point following Khalid, who wove his way through the crowds with well-practised precision and speed, fuelled by his turbo boosts. After our night flight I could do with whatever he is on to get me to my bed.

“Ah, there!” he said, looking back over his shoulder and smiling at us as he indicated a waiting car.

    The door opened and who should step out of it beaming? None other than Mr. Sherif, our prattling guide from the Nov 2023 retreat.

“Mr. Sherif!” I beamed as I approached him, genuinely happy to see him again.

    He talks a lot but he means well and there is something about the way he speaks that I find endlessly fascinating. He is very soft spoken, like some sort of bird. A thin, slightly balding man, he has a unique and unreproducible way of expressing himself.

“Miss Vanessa!” he beams back, and we have a little hug.

“Mr. Sherif, this is my mum, Michelle,” I say indicating her standing beside me.

“Hello!” she says, eyes sparkling, matching our excitement.

    She goes in for a hug too, which he likes. You can’t say no to a mama hug.

“Mrs. Michelle, welcome to Egypt. I am so happy you are here.” He touches his hands to his heart and cocks his head with sincerity.

“When I heard that it was Miss Vanessa we were picking up I was so happy. So happy. I remember her. Yes. She is so kind. So kind. And I say she is very romantic, no? She looks at everything. Yes, it’s true, she does. She walks around and she looks and she feels. She wants to connect. I say, she is very romantic. And now she is back in Egypt so soon! I am very happy.”

   And that was that. The two of them were off talking about Egypt, his family, football, what he eats for breakfast during Ramadan – which is a lot of beans apparently.

“I am surprised at you Mrs. Michelle. You haven’t asked me the most important question yet. Yes, I am very surprised. You haven’t asked me – (dramatic pause) – about why I eat a lot of beans for breakfast!”

   Yes Michelle, I’m very surprised too. Why have you not asked that yet?

    The two of them proceed to discuss the fibrous benefit of beans on a confused and/or sluggish digestive system. I watched the city pass as we wove our way through crazy traffic. Drifting unseen through other people’s worlds.

   During Ramadan life is reversed. In the day, activity is reduced and at night everyone is out and about. Families precariously perched on a single motorbike on their way to a relative’s house for dinner. Carefully balanced goods on a vehicle far too small for the job, being delivered to waiting traders. Horses pulling tourists around in quaint carriages.

    I soaked it all in. Inhaling the essence of the city. It felt so good to be back. So right. No deep welling of emotion. No dramatic falling of pieces into place. Just a peaceful rightness.

The best part of our time in Giza was spent in the Big House. This is the family home of the Awyans, the descendants of Jeda, Abd’el Hakim Awyan, renowned Egyptologist, Khemetologist, Father, Grandfather, wisdom keeper, scholar and I am sure much, much more.

   Each one of his children and in turn their children seem to be cut from a different cloth to the average family. Stone masons, musicians, healers, teachers, researchers, guides all with expanded awareness. It feels like – home.

   Their house, once surrounded by gardens and scattered neighbours, is now crowded out by rising buildings.

   Their once open view to Tefnut (the Sphinx) and the three pyramids behind, has been squeezed to a quarter of what it once was.

   At least it’s the most important quarter, still witnessing and engaging with her majesty. For majestic she is. Small, compared to the pyramids but magnetic in her own right and beauty.

    Entering the terrace on the second floor of the house, Shahira, Hakim’s aunt, eldest daughter of Jeda, is lounging in an armchair facing the setting sun behind the pyramids.  

    She is a woman completely at ease. She knows herself, trusts it, and knows her power. At least that is what I have seen in her the few times I have met her. We all have many sides to us that emerge in different circumstances.

   She ushers me into a chair next to her, with a little grin and says, “come and take in our lady in all her splendour.”

   And so, I did. I sank into the chair and let myself just absorb. I felt no need to fill the silence with words or with action. All I needed was to be still and absorb. Look at her. Look at the light. Look at the fading sun. Feel into each one. Feel into the moment. Absorb. Observe. Be.

    I don’t know how long I sat there but suddenly someone came out to announce breakfast was ready, breaking me out of my reverie. Singing could be heard wafting up from downstairs, along with delicious smells of roasted meat.

     Shahira rushed off to join in, beckoning me to follow. I joined up with mum at the bottom of the stairs and we watched as they sang. It was a lively song that had the whole family clapping along, singing, laughing and teasing each other. What fun to come together as such a large family, celebrating, joking, being together.

    Over twenty people were gathered in the room. Two low tables had been set out with various cushions and low seats gathered around them. While the chef brought up tray after tray of delicious food, each time to a wave of vocal admiration and gratitude for his efforts by the eagerly waiting family.

   We spent a good portion of our time in Giza over at the Big House or in their shop below. Talking, playing drums, smoking, drinking tea that was lowered to the shop from the window above in a basket tied to a rope.

    There was an ease between us, a feeling of familiarity, of comfort. At least, that’s what I felt. I felt very comfortable and happy to move slowly through our introduction to Egypt, to feel at home.

    And mum seemed very comfortable. She’s a people person. A born chatterer. She loves to meet people and exchange stories. Her eyes bright with excitement. Her fiery, Latina, Aries side flaring up when she gets onto topics of injustice in the world.

   She shares far too much information (with everyone), a total over-sharer. But it’s her way of connecting with people and I really appreciate that in her. At least, I came to appreciate it in her during this trip.

    Although visiting the pyramids is exciting, even with all the chaos that was happening that day, and Saqarra is interesting, with the added benefit of being a welcome moment of calm away from the mayhem of Giza, our best moments in Cairo were with the family. Sitting in silence. Swapping stories. Playing the drums. Eating. Watching the stars over the shadowed pyramids.

   The night after visiting the King’s chamber Mum and I were sitting on the roof terrace of our hotel which looks out over the monuments. We were talking about our day while being attentively served by Ahmed, the very young waiter who seems to work long hours, as he was there at breakfast, when mum suddenly stopped talking. She pulled a funny, inquisitive, slightly freaked out face and touched her fingers to her throat.

“Do you notice something different about my voice?”

“I did wonder because it does sound lower, more mellow somehow.”

“Yes, I was just thinking to myself that I sound lower and that something feels different. Vanessa, how weird!”

“It’s the pyramid’s activation of your throat. Even though we were rushed in there, you did manage to hum and found a resonance.”

“Oh my goodness, something really does feel different. What is this place? What has happened to me?!” she exclaimed laughing, her eyes wide in disbelief.

“You know your voice sounds almost mature. Maybe you are leaving the little girl role behind and stepping into your maturity?” I suggested. After all, she had been talking about this very thing earlier that day.

“This is so weird - I have to go and tell your dad!”

After only a few days in Giza we were ready to begin our adventure, having made promises to return soon. We both wanted to spend more time with Shahira learning the healing technique she shares.

   Being a remote oasis out near the Libyan border it is a very, very, long way from Cairo to Siwa. We needed coffee. At breakfast, Ahmed, as he unnecessarily but very attentively helped me at the coffee machine, asked how old I was.

“42” I replied.

“42! Wow! That’s old!” he exclaimed, eyes wide in shock (that part felt mildly nice).

He paused as if considering this sudden shift in his world. But after only a moment’s contemplation he added with a smile, “I like old!”

Cringe.

“How old are you?” I asked, laughing.

“18”

And he gave me the puppy dog eyes.

Oh dear. Siwa here we come.

The most interesting thing that happened during the trip over the Great Sand Sea was our endless need to pee in questionable rest-stop bathrooms along the way. Corina had an excuse being 7.5 months pregnant but mum and I had none. We just needed to pee literally all the time.

    Poor Hakim. The entire trip we were forever having to stop for a pee break. Not just on this part of the trip but our entire trip. Pee at the entrance to the temple. Pee inside. Pee outside. Pee when back at hotel. Like basically peeing all the time. And at times, wild pees in between where no suitable outlets were available.

   I don’t know what was going on with our bladders while we were there but for sure we were processing something through our water ways.

    In truth, water was woven all the way through this trip. Her presence, in so many forms, always there. The Nile, Abydos, Tefnut and - Siwa. Mysterious Siwa.

The birthplace of seas. The primordial source of life. The lost garden of Eden.

    That last one is in my imagination only, I have no proof of this, it’s just what it feels like. It feels like the garden of Eden. I know the feeling doesn’t remotely correspond with the reality before your eyes but I can’t deny the feeling or the knowing to trust it.

    Water ministered to us the whole journey, along with the land and stars, reflecting back to us the truth of who we are.

…to walk amongst the spirit beings of this place as family.