Trading sandals for blue suede shoes

United Airlines flight 9025 leaves Cairo at an ungodly hour; 3:00 am. It lands in Frankfort, Germany five hours later. Dana and I will be on board. Six and one-half hours later, United Airlines fight 8878 departs Frankfort for Denver. This is a ten and one-half hour deal, and Dana and I will be on this one, too. Five and one-half hours later, United Airlines flight 4090, a little shuttle, departs for Memphis. One and one-half hours later, Dana and I will touch down in the land of the Delta Blues, twenty-nine hours after having left Cairo. Ain't gonna be pretty. I understand now why Elvis bought the jet.

I wish I could blame some other idiot on these less-than-ideal flight arrangements. I cannot. The idiot is me; sort of. You see, this series of flights was born one year ago. Dana and I had just found out that my high school (grades 9-12) principal position was transforming into an upper school (grades 6-12) principal position. The change meant that I would be competing for this newy-created job along with the sitting middle school principal. I might be successful in getting the job or I might not. Not being in a place financially to be able to possibly take a year off, Dana and I had to go recruiting for new jobs given that one of us - me - might not be gainfully employed for the upcoming year. So we made arrangements to attend a educational recruitment fair in San Francisco. As fortune would have it, we secured good jobs in Cairo (bless you, Skype) ahead of the fair. 

So we had this flight ticket. We cancelled, and according to airline policy, we had one year to change the ticket into something else. That "something else" started out as a one-stop, round-trip excursion. Then there was a flight cancellation and a reshuffling of tickets. One stop turned into two stops. Then there was a rescheduled flight; and then another. All of a sudden we are facing the 29 hour marathon that I outlined earlier; and that is IF all goes according to schedule.

In some respects, our transitory flight schedule resembles our five months in Egypt. We took jobs expecting certain situations to occur. Some did and some did not. Example .... when we signed our contracts back in February, we signed on for a two-year stint as an assistant principal and as a lower school counselor. That has not changed. But back when we signed our contracts, Mohammed Morsi was still President of Egypt. Morsi had not yet begun to tinker around with the constitution. The protests that avalached as a result of Morsi's actions had yet to transpire. 1500 or so Egyptians souls, forever departed in the wake of the violence that that has been Egyptian politics since, were still very much alive in February. Our school's enrollment last February was a bouyant 1300. It is now 900 including 75, non-fee-paying, faculty children. Dana and I had yet to dodge groups of protestors, hundreds strong. We had yet to hear the chants. We had yet to walk by the tanks. We had yet to be stopped at the checkpoints. We had yet to see the trucks of security forces, the scared faces of the young men about to be deployed, putting themselves in harm's way.

Samples of 'khayameya" in the Khan El Khalili

Like our flight arrangements, there have been surprises, albeit many pleasant ones. We have seen struggling people offer charity and hope to other people struggling even more. We have seen taxi drivers greet us warmly every morning, even though we have never ridden in their cabs. We have experienced the spectacles of Karnak and the Valley of the Kings. We have walked in the steps of St. Antoni and conversed with eccentric Coptic monks. We have purchased a khayameya from a tent-maker in Cairo's Khan El Khalili; a tent-maker who also sells his beautiful pieces in Paducah, Kentucky. We have dipped our toes in the Red Sea. We have visited the City of the Dead, and we have met the recycled goods vendors who live and work in Garbage City. We have dined in the palace of King Farouk. We have sailed the Nile. We have stood atop mountains to see the broad expanse of the Sahara open at our feet. 

But now our feet are weary. Our sandals have become worn and dusty. Our venturing spirits long for the comforts that we know Memphis can provide. Being with family and friends. Walking down Summer and Beale. Eating the best "down-home" cooking in the world. Living among Tigers and Grizzlies. Watching as the mighty Mississippi flows gently down to the Gulf. Longing to be home. 

We are on our way.

Beale Street, Memphis