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Robtel Neajai Pailey
Mt. Sinai and Beyond
On the cusp of sunrise in 2005, I stood at the apex of Mt. Sinai after an excruciating two-hour ascent to the top. Moses' feat in the biblical story is no joke. I huffed, wheezed, and trudged through a path of sometimes gravel, sometimes sand, sometimes granite only to be faced with the challenge of climbing another 700 rock-hewn steps to reach the “promised land.”
The desert wind chilled my face when I finally got there at 4 a.m., and although the musty blanket I had rented warmed me momentarily, I was still numb from the extremity of my endeavor. As I sat there shivering, praying for the sun's rays to put me out of my misery, I couldn't help realizing that my year-long stint in Egypt had been a prolonged version of what I had experienced at Mt. Sinai.
Just as I had been challenged by the daily grind of life in Cairo, trekking Mt. Sinai prodded me to reach into my physical reserves and extract energy I didn't even know existed. Just as I had rediscovered the sheer force of my own humanity through connections with others, I was completely humbled by the impulse of Sinai's beauty—the sky appeared a magenta hue before sunrise only to be followed by specks of pinks, yellows, and oranges.
And just as my natural high wore off amidst the glaring sunlight on the top of the mountain, so too was I coming down from my Cairo euphoria with a slew of experiences to last a lifetime, some phenomenal, others debilitating, and some others an eclectic fusion of both. If this sounds at all cryptic, it's because I've been reconfiguring reality in metaphoric terms a lot lately.
Surreal as it may sound, I celebrated my 23rd birthday in April ‘05 on the back of a camel with the Giza pyramids as a backdrop! I've traipsed through the western desert, and slept in its bosom below a searing full moon. I've seen the devastating effects of displacement after visiting upper Egypt—Luxor, Aswan—only to realize that Egyptians who look like me got the short end of the stick when the Aswan Dam and High Dam were built to generate hydroelectric power.
I was awestruck at the larger-than-life images of Ramses II at the Abu Simble Temple built to honor this progressive pharaoh—the imposing structure would put Mt. Rushmore to shame. I've been shaken by the surge in political radicalism after President Hosni Mubarak “amended” the constitution to include multi-party elections.
In addition to the breakneck speed at which Egypt consumed me, my detour escapades through East Africa—Kenya, Uganda, Tanzania, Ethiopia—were so overwhelmingly eventful, I can only provide short vignettes at the moment.
Kenya introduced me to the troubling nature of game drives. The purpose of a safari is for humans to survey animals in their natural habitat, but when you sit back and observe four white vans encroach on a pride of lions with the passengers snapping away at their cameras, it resembles a firing squad going in for the kill! That's when you realize that the nature reserve is no longer a naturally autonomous place for animals to roam free.
Uganda boasts the source of the White Nile, and the city's capital—Kampala—is absolutely picturesque with its seven hills of lush greenery. Idi Amin's name may be a constant reminder of the potential to go astray in governance, but the people don't seem to allow his past legacy of terror to deter them. Not even the Lord's Resistance Army—a rebel faction waging a war on civilians and the government in the north—ruffles the composure of most Ugandans.
In Tanzania, I listened to testimony at the UN Tribunal for Rwanda and felt like retching the entire time I was in the isolation booth because it jolted my sensibilities. Just as they were discussing one African genocide, another one—namely, Darfur–was taking place without any political will to end the atrocities.
On a less sober note, I caught a glimpse of the bashful Mt. Kilimanjaro on the bus ride from Arusha to Dar es Salaam, and lazed on the island of Zanzibar for a few days.
In Ethiopia, I observed Rastafarian bliss as hundreds of people converged to celebrate Bob Marley's 60th Anniversary in February 2005. I have to admit that I was disconcerted to find out that two of the sponsors were Coca-Cola, a multinational corporation, and the World Bank, which has a record of systemic development projects that have failed the continent time and time again. Talk about irony. I'm sure Marley is still rolling in his grave.
Continuing my nomadic jaunts throughout the continent, I took another stab at intra-continental travel by making the trek to Morocco for a couple of weeks. Although it was north of the Sahara territory, it resembled a different tapestry altogether with its own nuances and idiosyncrasies.
That's what makes globetrotting so enticing! It's the kaleidoscopic lens I have of the world that makes my experience in it that much more worthwhile.
This essay was orginally published in Port of Harlem Magazine.
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