280 needy Egyptian families helped in three hours

“We are in Deir Rifa, a village of 8,000 Christians living at the foot of the Monastery of Saint Theodore the Oriental, where, in the 4th century AD, monks transformed ancient pharaonic tombs into a place of life and prayer.

 

The air is heavy, each step saps energy, breathing is labored, heavy, and uneven. In streets deserted by villagers, a few children in galabeyas, plastic flip-flops or barefoot, wander between brick houses faded by time. Sitting on makeshift seats, old men silently observe the comings and goings of tricycles driven by teenagers or tractors hauling manure. In a shady corner, two donkeys hitched to a cart huddle together.

 

Situated at the mountain’s foot, this village offers us a true breath of fresh air. Used to the suffocating pollution of Cairo, we take deep breaths of Upper Egypt’s air, while admiring the silhouettes of palm trees against the sky, the fields in semi-darkness, and the illuminated crosses of the steeples calling for prayer.

 

Our small team of five volunteers, led by Jeanne de Verdière, volunteer coordinator, and George Shafik, volunteer coordinator in Egypt, has a meeting at 4 PM at the partially constructed Saint Mina Church to prepare 280 food parcels with essential goods.

In the car, windows down, as the verdant oases with fertile crops bordered by swaying palm fronds pass by, the atmosphere is joyful. One after another and in chorus, we sing Dalida’s classics, “Paroles,” “Je suis malade,” and “Le temps des fleurs,” sometimes altering the lyrics due to our imperfect knowledge of these musical pieces.

 

We meet the second team near the church. For now, everything seems calm and deserted. Three soldiers sitting on plastic chairs bask in the sun, watching curiously as this group of foreigners moves erratically from side to side. This commotion is a pleasant break from the tranquility of these completely empty and restful streets. A few meters above us, on rickety scaffolding, two workers hammer away at a smooth slab to give it a rough texture.

 

While waiting to start packing, Jeanne and I decide to explore the area. Red bricks are piled tightly in the middle of one of the streets, next to a heap of sand blocking the road, forcing all vehicles to detour around the obstacle. On the right, a smiling Egyptian driver in a construction truck endlessly pours and spreads tons of earth to level what seems to be the foundation of a future building. Nearby, under the watchful eye of a woman dressed all in black, a helper waters the pile abundantly with a tangled hose like a snake writhing on the ground to escape a predator. To my left, a black dog starts growling. I don’t pay much attention until it becomes threatening. We decide not to persist and turn back.