| I embraced my new life and business in Egypt, creating and exporting arts, crafts, and homeware. Most days found me wandering around the back streets of the souks (bazaars) searching for new products. I bought a car and drove out to remote areas where alabaster was quarried, clay pots were thrown, and where used glass was crushed, melted and re-blown into original new shapes. While on the lookout for new items to export, I made many lifelong friends among the humble artisans who worked behind the scenes. Combined with my continuous visits to ancient sites, I knew I’d made the right decision to leave Australia and move to the country that had called me back home. I created about one hundred new products each year, almost always modifying and reinventing the original items to suit a western market. Several buyers from around the world would visit each year to make their selection. They’d typically purchase a sample order of about twenty items and then place a firm order of about six of those, usually in the thousands. My largest single order comprised twenty-four 40ft containers filled with clay pots on fashionable wrought iron stands. During this time, the Sudanese civil war escalated, and a tide of refugees continually crossed the border into Egypt. All desperate for jobs, shelter, and new beginnings, they found it difficult to find any of these. Egypt had an open-door policy despite the refugees being primarily Christian from the south of the country. Long queues of asylum seekers circled every embassy in Cairo. I thought I could help by employing refugees to produce goods to add to my range and sought funding from the Australian Embassy to set up a workshop. They were keen to invest in local employment rather than visas. The Sudanese congregated at a local church that provided meals and a place to gather, so I shared my proposal with the pastor and asked him to provide space to set up the project. He gave me a spacious annex and introduced me to candidates that showed an interest and talent in producing handicrafts. I didn’t have time to run a craft project so called a friend in Australia. Emma, a young girl who frequented my African galleries in Australia and came on one of my safaris, needed this project as much as the project needed her. Despite private clinics, years of counselling and devoted parents, Emma battled with severe anorexia nervosa. Although a risk, I convinced myself this was the therapy she needed to change her behaviour. Emma agreed to my proposal before I’d finished explaining it and, despite her parents’ justifiable fears, agreed to meet me in Cairo by the end of the month. And so, ‘Tukal Crafts’ came into being.Emma and a team of Sudanese people produced an original range of crafts that stunned us all. They set up a screen-printing workshop, printed their own fabric with Emma’s creative designs, and produced a spectacular range of vests, cushions, bags, towels, and clothing. I never added the crafts to my export business, as everything sold out as soon as it hit the shelves. Tukal Crafts saved many people during the three years Emma managed it, herself included. Many people migrated to the church to volunteer their time and expertise. At one meeting I held with the church staff, a young man with long, blond hair walked in. He was an hour late to the meeting that no one had invited him to but stole the room with his fresh ideas, sharp observations, and soft British accent. I wasn’t at all interested in him, but when he invited me for coffee after the meeting I said, ‘yes’. We’ve been together ever since. Douglas is the proof I never needed that confirmed, for me at least, old souls find each other. While our relationship was exciting and new, it was also comfortable and old, as if we’d known each other forever. I believe we had. Douglas is my perfect balance. He is the calm to my turbulent frustrations, the soothing honey in my wild thistle tea. He can defuse me in a nanosecond, always with laughter. He is my everything. I know we’ve been together before and will find each other again, and again, and again. Douglas, a chartered accountant on holiday, planned to travel from Cairo to Kenya. When he heard the church needed help with their financial model for the refugee programme, he delayed his trip and volunteered his time and knowledge. After meeting me, he abandoned his trip altogether. Instead, he took a local job and stayed. While Douglas and I were happy in Egypt, his company wanted to expand, so moved us to Poland and then Russia. Not ready to break ties with Egypt, I operated my business for a further seven years, returning twice a year to create new stock for my clients. Only one year after the iron curtain lifted, we moved to Moscow. International companies poured into new Russia to take advantage of this unique opportunity. They wanted to drive their corporate flag into one of the largest countries in the world and offered attractive packages for the right candidates. I had never lived in a seriously cold climate and knew little about winter. In fact, I had only seen snow four times in my life and one of those was from an aeroplane. My fondest experience of snow was a freak snowfall near my childhood home. I was about ten years old. Instead of packing us into the car to go to the snow, my father packed us into the car and headed for the airfield. While my friends were stuck in traffic jams, my younger sister and I buckle up in the back of a twin-engine Cessna piloted by my father. He flew us over the mountain covered in sparkling white powder and I totally owned ‘Show and Tell’ at school the next day. We landed in Moscow on New Year’s Eve. With no sensible shoes, a lightweight coat, and a few scarves bought solely for colour, not warmth, I thought I would die. My Scottish husband seemed to have a suitcase full of sensible, warm clothes. I don’t know how he materialised that while I only had cotton dresses and sandals and not a single pair of boots. But Douglas also materialised a bottle of champagne and two crystal glasses. He draped one of his sensible coats around my shoulders and we climbed out of our hotel window onto a narrow ledge. Together, we celebrated our new life in Russia as gentle snowflakes chilled our champagne. And that was just the beginning. Thank you for joining me on this journey. I’ll send snippets of my memoir each month. Check out my books while you’re here. Verona |
Calling Egypt Home
