"Pardonner, mais ne jamais oublier"- Forgive, but never forget.

On a Thursday afternoon with gray skies, rain drops, and a brisk February wind, traversing the crowds of tourists past Notre Dame, I found a lovely garden with a sign indicating that I had indeed made it to my final destination, the Mémorial des Martyrs de la Déportation. A woman, who seemed more like a retiree turned volunteer than a guard, informed me of the respect which must be shown upon entering—“Les portables doit-etre discrets…Allez-y.” Cell phone off, proceeding ahead, down the steps I went into a concrete grotto decorated with a triangular black installment. Initially the set up of the memorial lead to disorientation; however, as I turned around prison bars caught my eye. Not knowing what to expect before arriving at the memorial, for a second I thought that the black installment was all the memorial had to offer and voila the prison gates were an alternate sortie, but I was sorely mistaken.

Popping my head in the doorway I was pleasantly (or should I say, unpleasantly) surprised to find myself in what can best be described as a gateway to another world, the world of a deportee. The beauty of the other Parisian memorials and monuments which I have become so accustomed to had met its match, being replaced by a dark, drab and claustrophobic space which rivals the Catacombs for eeriness. The writings on the walls, in sharp form and intensity of message, further mentally dragged me into the world of the deportee. The inscriptions told the story which the rest of the memorial could not do through its physical structure alone—200,000, deportees, swallowed, never to return. The words of poet and deportee Robert Desnos and intellectual lines from Sartre bring the memorial full-circle in setting a mood of despair.

After feeling as if the memorial had sucked all of my Parisian joie de vivre for the day, I was able to have a cathartic moment upon looking at the corridor of 200,000 carefully placed crystals which are lit in commemoration of the deported. And at the end, the famous flame which so often burns at tombs of the Unknown Soldier worldwide has taken on a remarkably new role, burning brightly as the flame of the Unknown Deportee, the flame of those innocent men, women, and children who never returned. And so perfectly planned by its architect and designer, my last impression from inside the memorial was of the caption so popular amongst Holocaust (in this case deportation) memorials, but this time en français—“Pardonner, mais ne jamais oublier.”

Bienvenue à Hillsong Paris

I really loved the Bridge, the church I attended last semester, but I was really struggling to get to church regularly because of the 45 minutes to an hour distance I traveled to get there. So, I decided to attend a new church in Paris which I had heard about. It is a church connected to the Christian group Hillsong United—it is called Hillsong Paris. It was an experience unlike any I have had in Paris. The service is bilingual so there is live translation on stage. Worship songs were half in French, half in English. I think the most bizarre part to me was seeing so many French people with their hands raised in worship in the exact same way I am accustomed to people doing at home worship services. Additionally, the church was packed, filled with young and middle aged French people. It has been said that Europe is the “dark continent” which has turned its back on the church over the past century. From my experiences last semester I really felt that way about many of the people I encountered in Europe and specifically in France. So, it was shocking and exciting to see so many French people excited to praise God. At times I felt like I was back at Crescent Lake Bible Camp, as I could see the high school students jumping and clapping during some of the songs. It is really amazing how the message of the Gospel can transcend boundaries, even cultural boundaries which have been built up over generations. Seeing over 300 people praising God in two languages in the heart of the city where beauty means everything was moving. For a part of the service I forgot where I was, but I was quickly reminded that I am still in France when it came time to leave. “Pardons” and “Excusez-mois” could be heard all around, everyone’s outfits perfectly were styled, and of course goodbye cheek kisses were given rather than American hugs.

Evacuation Day

Things have quickly escalated since I last wrote. Two nights of loud gunshots and civil unrest. The military came into our neighborhood yesterday even as our neighbors were protecting the streets with large sticks and machetes. Thankfully they kept looters from stealing anything; however, just a few blocks away in the guys’ neighborhood, the military had to set off fire grenades and the boy students were locked in their apartments scared as the building security locked down their building using mattresses and Molotov cocktails. At our apartment we could only sit and wait as we heard pops of gunfire in the distance. We went to sleep more at ease than the night before with our program director staying the night with us. Today we were woken up—evacuation day. It was a surprise because it happened so suddenly; however, at the same time we knew that it was a possibility. We were told to start packing, we would be evacuated shortly. There was no time to worry about anything except fitting all of our things into the suitcases we stuffed in order to get into Egypt. We packed hastily and waited for the boys to hurry. If someone were to watch our group together waiting to evacuate, they would have laughed as we posed for photos on our “magic carpet” and rapped in the lobby of our building. Stress levels escalated when the “evacuation vehicles” arrived. Well, I should really say it was one vehicle, not the plural. One microbus, as in a van, for how many people? For 14 people—didn’t happen. However, they did manage to stack 14 suitcases on the roof of the van and after negotiations and Egyptians chatting back and forth for about one hour. We rolled through the city, roadblock by roadblock; we finally made it to the main road just to be stopped by military roadblocks. The roads were filled with garbage. We finally made it to the airport. Just when we were about to be done with our crazy ride, I was mistaken for an Egyptian woman and asked to open the bus window. Thankfully our resident director assured the military that I was just an American student. Hopefully that was the last time I will be mistaken for an Egyptian. I am sitting in the airport now. We bought the rest of the food here, galaxy chocolate bars and mars candy bars. Happy evacuation day!

Life in an Authoritarian State

Woke up this morning without internet or cell phone service. The ability to communicate within the country and to people outside of the country has been completely cut off all day. It has left us with a feeling of anxiety and paralysis as we wanted to be in contact with at minimum family in the US as well as each other in case of an emergency. Our grocery shopping plans were canceled and we were asked to return to our neighborhood by the police. The city of Alexandria was eerily calm this morning before noon prayers. The riot police trucks were lined up ready for protests to begin; however, there were hardly any people on the streets. We returned to our neighborhood and grabbed some lunch. News came from the resident director that protests had begun and teargas was fired at the protesters. We went back to our apartments and began watching the news. After being in Cairo for over two weeks, it was shocking to see the never-ending barrage of teargas and fires being set every minute. Watching the live shots of protesters attacking the riot police on the 6th of October bridge gave me the feeling that I was watching a sporting event with the commentator giving a play by play description in the background. At one point, my roommates and I clapped when the protesters took over a riot police truck. After resting for about an hour and a half, I woke up to my roommates saying things had gotten crazy. In fact, the city of Cairo looked as if it was closer to Baghdad than to the cosmopolitan city it is. The jewel and gateway to the Middle East had changed overnight. Soon our resident assistant came over to make sure that we were all ok; however, the guy students were missing—caught in the protests. Thankfully we all were able to be reunited at the girls’ apartment. It was nice to be together as a group and watch the overview of the events that had so quickly unfolded during the day. News came that the President would be addressing the nation; however, the protests continued to escalate, and the ruling party’s building was set ablaze in Cairo. Watching the news has been very surreal. Even as our relatives and friends have been worrying about our safety here, so have we been on high security alert. The feelings we have vary so much from excitement for the people of Egypt to feeling that we have lost so much freedom while here—no internet, cell phone service, limited freedom of movement. However, this feeling of lost freedom does not compare to anything that the people of Egypt have experienced and continue to experience. As an American, I cannot explain how valuable my freedom has become to me after living here. Even as America has its problems, we are possibly the freest people in the world. I cannot say that it is America’s responsibility to do anything to bring about the freedom of the Egyptian people; however, it is our responsibility to support people worldwide in their quest to attain freedom. The Egyptians are sick of being slaves to an oppressive system, and today they have showed us that they will no longer be slaves to the system. Buildings are burning, but the Egyptians are standing strong. They remain solidified in their quest to bring change to Egypt, but at the same time are solidified under their pride as Egyptians. The final shot of Cairo I have seen tonight is of the Egyptian people protecting the precious antiquities at the Egyptian Museum from fire and looters—Egyptians hold on to the parts of the past they hold dear as the parts of the past they abhor burn to the ground.