I Did Not Have Much Time for Fun

One evening late last year, my husband, our three teen children and I found ourselves trudging up a mountain of sand in remote Egypt led by a local man named Fahmi. If I hadn’t been there to see it all happen, I might’ve wondered, how did we get here? 

We’d left our home in Santa Fe six months before to embark on a family gap year. My husband and I, both in our 40s, had grown tired of our work-life imbalance. So, after a year of preparation we transitioned our consulting business to fully remote, rented out our house, pulled our kids out of school, and bought a one-way ticket to London. 

We hoped to learn about the world together through deep immersion, while spending oceans of quality time with our kids along the way. We spent the first four months gliding through the towering fjords of Norway, learning about ancient Romans and the Renaissance in Italy, and tasting the flavors of Greece while the Parthenon stood guard above us. 

We travelled to North Africa mainly to explore Egypt’s ancient temples and pyramids. We’d never heard of the remote city of Siwa, but a chance encounter in Luxor prompted us to make the 10-hour trek from Cairo to the crumbling Shali fortress at the city center. 

Our home for the month, rented from an expat family, was a traditional earthen house next to a mosque. We’d walk out our door to find roaming donkeys and barefoot children within the labyrinthine passageways. But as one of Egypt’s least populated towns, Siwa is mostly quiet. 

Located in the Western Desert some 30 miles from the Libyan border, its inhabitants are mainly Berber, indigenous North African peoples who speak Afroasiatic languages and pre-date Arabs. As a result, Siwa culture is quite different from the rest of the country. Most visitors are Egyptians from Cairo, who come looking for the perfect Instagram shot in the area’s massive sand dunes, rather than a local connection. 

Despite staying under the radar as a tourist destination, Siwa features prominently in history. Alexander the Great visited its Oracle of Amun, which is said to have confirmed him as the legitimate Pharaoh of Egypt. We came seeking a simpler reward—the slow joys of rural life. 

When we asked a local family for help getting around, they referred us to Fahmi, a chef and tuk-tuk driver. The next day he came to our Siwa home and whipped up a simple meal of chicken and rice with local ingredients. After a few bites, we were hooked. 

Fahmi became a regular visitor. His quiet, pleasant presence filled the kitchen as he prepared baked fish and chicken, great vats of rice spiced with cinnamon and raisin, vibrant salads of fresh mango and pomegranate seeds, and more. He shared his stories, we shared ours, and we all grew closer over many cups of tea. Our kids even asked to help chop veggies for him – something they almost never did at home. 

So when Fahmi suggested, one morning, that we join him for sunset at one of his favorite outlooks outside town, we hopped aboard. After a bumpy half-hour ride on rutted dirt roads, Fhami led us on our half-mile hike up the mountain. 

The sun was not too far from the horizon, and the gleaming white of his tunic seemed to glow in the golden-hour light. Fahmi pointed out fossilized shells baked into the ground, explaining that this barren place had once been an ancient seabed. My 16-year-old son Kayson stayed next to Fahmi throughout, watching him closely as if in awe. 

We reached the crest to find all of Siwa and the region spread out before us: an endless expanse of sand and salt occasionally interrupted by thick clusters of palm trees, plus a shimmering lake in the distance. “It’s beautiful.” I said, almost to myself. 

We fell silent for a minute. 

“If you squint it almost looks a little like Abiquiu,” said Kayson, reminding us, yet again, of how many places around the world echo the high desert of northern New Mexico. 

We sat in a row, watching the sky change as the sun slipped beneath the horizon: azure blue to bright yellow, mellow orange to fiery red. Somebody asked Fahmi about his life and he told us his dream of opening a little hotel and serving his guests gourmet meals. Sitting on top of that hill, taking in that view, it sounded like an idyllic vision. 

“Fahmi,” Kayson asked as we started our hike down, “what did you do for fun when you were my age? What sort of stuff did you do with friends in your free time?” 

Fahmi picked up a rock and tossed it ahead. “I did not have much time for fun,” he responded. “I’ve been working since I was six years old. At your age I was supporting my mother and siblings because my father was sick. I have been a man since I was young.” 

My son’s back seemed to straighten. “But didn’t you have to go to school?” he asked. 

Fahmi explained that at around 10 years old he stopped school to work full-time in kitchens and as an errand boy to support his family. In Siwa, and much of the region, it’s not uncommon for young boys to skip school to work with their fathers. 

My son nodded. Fahmi continued as the sky turned a dusky purple. As the first stars appeared, we reached the tuk-tuk. Kayson sat next to me as we started the drive back to town. 

“Mom” he said softly. “Do you think all the boys we’ve seen selling in the markets are like Fahmi?” I thought of the little boys, some as young as 7 or 8, manning their own stalls, peddling bread and trinkets. They had expertly handed us our purchases and change, and we’d been thoroughly charmed by their seriousness and commitment to the task. 

Fahmi’s comments put this experience in a different light. “I don’t know,” I told my son. “Maybe.” 

We sat quietly, watching the back of Fahmi’s blue and white headscarf bounce with every rut in the road. When he dropped us at home, he shook our hands and thanked us for joining him. We thanked him for sharing this special place with us, and for sharing his story. 

Inside the salt-mud walls of our Siwa home, my husband went to work in the fireplace as the kids and I settled in next to each other on the small sofa. “Thank you for bringing us here,” Kayson said, leaning his head onto my shoulder. “There’s so much I don’t know.” 

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Santa Fe-based Tiphini and Kris Axtell left behind the demands of the everyday to embark on a year of full-time travel around the world with their three teens. Check out their financial advisory or follow them here.

Tiphini Axtell