A Village in Mourning

Before I got to the temple at Medinet Habu this morning, I had a mission: that of finding the office of Dr. Boutros and making an appointment for Denny who doesn't seem to be getting the upper hand on this respiratory/intestinal bug he caught. Dr. Boutros comes highly recommended. Even one of the hotel guest, a French woman who is also a physician, told me he was the man to see. He lives and works in the little village right in front of the temple enclosure. The cab driver who took me there knew him well, saying he is a good doctor, kinda crazy, but a good doctor.

I find the office alright -- his name is painted above the door -- but Mr. Boutros is not there. He usually opens his office at six in the evening, or so I am told...

Meanwhile the little village of Habu is in turmoil. A woman died unexpectedly yesterday. We even heard about it at the hotel. Details are missing but apparently she collapsed quite suddenly, having shown no signs of illness. When we arrive at Habu the place is crowded with people, cars, motorcycles and camels. Everybody came to honor the life of a daughter, sister, mother and wife who was well loved. Men and women dressed in black crowd the dusty road. I stick out like a sore thumb, but fortunately nobody pays me any attention.

Later, after visiting the temple, I come back again to see if by miracle the good doctor would be back already (he is not). The streets are now deserted, except for a lone donkey, too young to be put to work. His coat is thick and fuzzy like a plush toy. He lets me pet him on the head and stroke his furry ears.

We will be back at six this evening.