A Letter from Cairo
July 21, 1994
Some who receive this may not know that I am in Egypt studying Arabic at the British Council in Cairo. This summer is a chance to see this region, to meet with people here, to pray, to seek Him in earnest, to have an idea of how to prepare for life here should it be important later on.
My arrival in Cairo—after a lively car ride from the airport and an hour of “negotiating” an appropriate room at the Bed-and-Breakfast (my residence for the summer)—was marked by a sense of isolation and a deep feeling that I was foreign matter, unwelcomed. No one was obliged to be my guide; at least for the first week I was basically on my own to figure out things like when and what to eat and for how much, how to “work” with taxi drivers toward a fair fare (as well as to know where I was going), how to clean clothes or use the telephones, where to find fellowship and people willing to pray, how to meet with the people I hoped to meet (I had a few numbers on hand), and so on.
But really, I wasn’t alone; I had not sent myself here. While the prospects were not encouraging, in my heart was a promise, unmoved, that God “who did not spare His own Son, but gave Him up for us all—how will He not also, along with Him, graciously give us all [good] things?” (Romans 8:32), and that He would equip and provide me with all that was needed for His work while I was here. In this knowledge I could not ask more but to please the One who, having seemed to take all from me, gave all of Himself to me.
Imagine 70-year-old women, in long flowing robes, crossing a major thruway, stepping in front of moving cars, barely avoiding being hit, and you have an unexaggerated picture of downtown Cairo.
I found that living in Cairo requires energy. This city is a far cry from the clear, quiet spaciousness of Northfield and Mt. Hermon, Massachusetts. I asked a Western woman in my class, who had been in Cairo the same amount of time I had, what she thought of this place. After a moment of thought she unequivocally replied: “It’s a filthy, noisy city full of rude people.” Unarguably, Cairo is noisy and dusty and the men do gawk unabashedly at women, so this appraisal can certainly predominate in the heart with negligible challenge if it is not carefully and persistently re-examined.
The madness of traffic here would put the most daring New Yorkers to shame. Imagine 70-year-old women, in long flowing robes, crossing a major thruway (similar to one in the U.S.), stepping in front of moving cars, barely avoiding being hit, and you have an unexaggerated picture of downtown Cairo. Honking is literally as frequent as braking or accelerating; people commonly jump on and off moving, sardine-packed buses; near-missing pedestrians is a moment-to-moment phenomenon (though unfortunately the cars do not always miss); if you don’t step in the path of a taxi, 30 feet away and speeding towards you, the driver thinks you’re asking for a ride. In all, where I live is like a public high school corridor between periods, except the students are cars and buses, the babble is honking horns, and it is continuous.
I think the indigenous people find me a curiosity: a Korean foreigner (with a weird haircut) from America for another. But regardless, many certainly view foreigners as more than curiosities. Whenever I emerge from a building, I am accosted by heavily accented English: “Taxi? Taxi? Hello, my friend! What is your name? Where are you from? Yabanese? Chinese? … From America? But your face—Yabanese… oh—Korean! Welcome to Egypt! What would you like to see? Pyramids? Papyrus? Fruit? Come, I show you, I give you good service, have some tea…. No! It is rude to refuse an Egyptian for tea (and after receiving his “help” or drinking tea, you would be heavily pressured to buy from him or pay him.) And some are not as kind as I have just described—if the deluge is not stemmed immediately (hopefully politely as well), it would easily happen several times a day. Certainly, the sometimes-rude advances (not here described) are an opportunity to prove the grace God has given me.
To be sure, many nationals do offer kindness without ulterior motives. One man, uninvited, went 20 minutes out of his way to help me find my destination. Another man, also uninduced, boarded a bus with me, apparently just to ensure I got off at the right stop, and endured a 30-minute bus ride he probably did not intend to take. Neither man accepted money.
In all these dealings, I am reminded that “he who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty” (Psalm 91:1) and am stirred for those who live not in the shadow of our dear Lord, but in the “shadow of death” (Luke 1:79).
Once classes started, there was good news and a little bad news. The good news was that 1) I finally began to learn Arabic; 2) I met an active Christian worker in my class who has lived here for a year; 3) Of the 11 students in the section, six of us were believers. How encouraging that finding was! The bad news was that Arabic turned out to be a much harder language than I’d imagined, and while the others in class already knew the alphabet (no easy task to know) and colloquial Arabic, I was seeing the cryptic script (and hearing the pronunciations) for the first time. (For those who’ve never had a significant exposure, it looks like this, from right to left: ميدان التحرير , where I live—Tahrir Square). The classes have been overwhelming, fun, and funny.
I have had the chance to meet with several believers here, and conversations have been informative in more ways than one. I asked them what the most difficult thing is they’ve faced while here. Their replies have included: learning the language, security, maintaining a walk with the Lord, raising a family. Also, everyone I spoke with (including healthcare providers) seems to agree that the healthcare system here can stand considerable improvement. I hope to meet with some doctors here.
There is some more I’d like to share but will do so later if it is possible. Till we have the opportunity to see each other again, may the Lord find us closely abiding in Him; God Bless You.
Harry Yoon
Harry, Berkeley ’93, will be returning to Yale this fall at the Medical School as a first-year student. He believes that he may become a medical missionary to the Middle East. He spent six weeks in Egypt this summer, and as he explained before his departure: “I cannot in this letter convey all the spiritual background for the trip, except that God began to open my heart to those who had never heard the Gospel—especially in the Middle East—roughly three years ago.”
المزامير117
سبحوا الرب يا كل الامم حمدوه يا كل الشعوب.
لان رحمته قد قويت علينا وامانة الرب الى الدهر. هللويا
Psalm 117
Praise the Lord, all you nations; extol him, all you peoples.
For great is his love toward us, and the faithfulness of the Lord
endures forever. Praise the Lord