It’s long been part of the Mitchell family lore: once upon a time, my dad was offered 30 camels in exchange for my mother. He refused the offer. I mean, camels don’t take to air travel as well as you might think, so the whole deal was doomed from the start.
Here: some context.
Back in the 80s, Mother and Daddy took multiple trips to the Holy Land. Their travels often included a few days in Egypt where they participated in the usual touristy things: sphinx, museum, pyramids, and so on.
Years later, I took a trip to Egypt as well. It was 2008 and I went with Gardner-Webb Divinity School. We started in Egypt and later traveled to Israel. The people in Israel were palpably tense. Sure, they had good reason; but still, I felt the pulse of anxiety from the moment I stepped off the bus. Egypt was totally different.
Y’all! I loved Egypt. Those are seriously my people. One experience there typifies the rest. I was loaded with luggage, headed to my hotel room. Getting off the elevator, I inadvertently bumped into an Egyptian hotel worker headed in the same direction. Flustered and embarrassed, I apologized profusely. “Oh! I’m so sorry,” I told the man, stumbling out of the way. He placed a hand over his heart, saying earnestly and with impeccable manners, “But, madam, it was my pleasure.” I may have swooned a little bit.
Dr. B stops by
But back to Mother and her camels.
My Dad is experiencing heart problems and I am in town to support my parents as they navigate the logistics of a hospital stay. I was in the room when the attending internist came by to check on Daddy. He introduced himself and when I tried to repeat his name, he said, “Just call me Dr. B.” Initially, Dr. B made the mistake so many make. He directed his questions to me, the youngest Mitchell in the room. Mother responded in my place, answering his questions with the kind of precise detail that could make Google jealous. He was clearly impressed as it dawned on him, “This is not your average octogenarian!
I was trying to place his accent and ethnicity. I’m usually pretty good at it, but I was stumped. “Your accent,” I said. “I can’t tell where you are from.”
Dr. B smiled and said, “You’ll never guess!”
“Oh, so not Pakistan?” I asked.
“Nope. That’s what everyone says–Pakistan or India. Neither one. Not even that part of the world.”
Egyptian connection
“Hmmm. Okay this is a tough one.” I couldn’t detect any Pacific Islander in his accent or features. There was no Saudi or Iranian vibe either. While I was thinking, he tossed out a clue.
“Think pyramids.”
“Egyptian!” I said, excited. “I love Egypt!”
I told him my elevator story and he laughed, nodding a kind of “that tracks” response. Then mother told him hers ending with the punch line, “And so the guy offered Harold 30 camels for me.”
“Humph!” Dr. B scoffed. “I would have offered 50!”
And that, my friends, is how Egyptians won humaning.
