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Nothing could have prepared me for my journey to Egypt. The journey would be one of discovery and uncovering what had never been revealed in the history books ordained to me. My high school history books did not include pictures of Egyptians who looked like me and no mention that Egypt was even in Africa nor Israel for that matter. I grew up watching Cleopatra being portrayed by Elizabeth Taylor. It was against this backdrop that the pilgrimage to Egypt and Israel was particularly meaningful. This journey was perhaps more than anything else; a journey to me. (I must preface that at the time of this trip I was studying for a Master of Divinity degree). As the plane made the descent into Cairo, I leaned forward and began to stare out the window. The excitement was building as I was about to take my first steps outside the US. As the plane continued to make its way beneath the mist of billowing clouds, I could not believe I was gazing at The Great Pyramid of Giza, the oldest and largest of the three pyramids and one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. I sat up, my eyes wide with excitement. Could I be dreaming? Was this really real? I could hear so clearly my high school classmate in her southern drawl, saying, “I hope you get to Africa someday.” I had talked about the continent incessantly during my high school years. It had only taken me 30 years to get here. The gentleman who sat next to me must have noticed my fascination with staring at the pyramid from my window seat. “I don’t like Cairo, he said proudly. I live in Paris and I am in Cairo to visit family.” “What is it that you do not like,” I asked? “It is too hot, and there is nothing here,” he said. I carefully dismissed his comments and turned again to my view of the pyramid. I was determined not to let his remarks rob me of this incredible moment. How could he say there was nothing here? As I began to reflect more deeply on his remark, I think I understood what he meant. I grew up in a place that was hot and arid. A place that never allowed me to be all that I could possibly be. Maybe it was some sleight of hand that removed both of us and placed us where we could be afforded new opportunities and recognize who we truly were. A southern wind had picked me up and placed me in Washington, DC. I could not help but feel grateful. A deep-seated feeling of pride and exuberance rushed over me. For the first time in my life, I felt as if I was coming home. Later that evening our group arrived at the hotel and as I stood outside bathing in the warmth of the Egyptian sun, sipping on a hibiscus drink that had been given to us by the hotel staff, I was awestruck and a bit overwhelmed that I was standing in what has been caed the birthplace of civilization. That night, I attended the dinner buffet with the rest of the group, as we talked about graduate school and the encounters we had before the flight to the continent. I had broken my left foot the day before the trip. Another person had gotten stuck in traffic due to a car accident. She literally got out of the car and started walking with her luggage in tow to the airport. She barely made the flight. Most of us knew each other from sitting together in classrooms and spending countless hours in the library reading, researching and writing, engaging in intense debates about God’s existence and the word of God. I listened intently to each story and was amazed by the determination we all had to let nothing stand in the way of taking this journey. We were all eager to be taking this walk through history. The trip by sailboat to the Nubian village was mesmerizing. A group of young boys swam out to meet our catamaran and guided the boat to shore while singing.