Night Safari Travels

I remember when I was a kid seeing advertisements for visiting the Singapore Zoo at night…I think they called it a night-time safari or something else designed to pique the interest of the general public. I remember it, so it must have worked—although I never went to visit, so maybe not. Anyway, I recently had my own unplanned night-time safari, which is mostly the subject of this particular piece of rambling…

Eating mandaazi with McKenzie

After a week of hanging with my boss and his daughter, visiting projects and meeting with important people, we dropped them off in Yei (another town nearer to Uganda) where we wanted to visit a few projects and meet with a few important people before they left. On the way to Yei, we started to break down in a very scenic spot full of tall grass and no mechanics. Everyone sitting in the car heard the horrible screeching noises from the front right tire. The car was pulling over that way when the wheel stopped working. We creaked and slid our way into a more populated area where a man on a motorcycle offered to help (for a small fee). He and the driver proceeded to insist on opening up the rear right wheel to try to fix the brakes there. They were sure it was that wheel because we’d just had the rear brakes fixed, even though everyone in the car, from Mark (who knows about things like brakes and filters and spark plugs) to me (who knows that cars should probably have brakes and filters and spark plugs attached to them somehow), tried to tell them it was the front wheel. They opened up the back wheel anyway, making horrible noises clanging things on the metal casing as they tried to pry it off to get to the brakes. They did succeed in cutting the brake line (I think that is a thing) and losing all our brake fluid (I also think that is a thing). We started driving again, to make the mechanic feel like his hard work was a success, and broke down completely a few miles down the road, conveniently in front of a lady who was making mandaazi (a local donut-type thing). I called the man we were going to see in Yei, and he sent us his Land Cruiser to pick us up. He got a special deal on the Land Cruiser because he was a child soldier for the LRA and someone, maybe the Land Cruiser company or some government trying to make good, was selling them cheaply to former child soldiers. But we were still about 40 miles outside of Yei, so we had to wait about 2 hours. Yes, it takes 2 hours to go 40 miles here. It takes time to decide whether or not to dodge potholes the size of Jacuzzis or just plunge right through them. And 2 hours is the amount of time it took a Land Cruiser at its fastest possible speed of 70km/hr (If you want that in miles, you do the math. Don’t be lazy.). It would never have been possible to go that fast in our old car, even if we had it in peak position. But I will say: it’s just as painful going slowly over a bumpy road as it is going fast.

You can't go over this bridge, so you ford the river.

Anyway, we made it to Yei, visited our places and people, and tried our hardest to get me a seat on an airplane going to Mundri to no avail.  I was a tiny bit disappointed, because while I really like long road trips as a general rule, I was feeling a bit sore and I was concerned that our car wasn’t going to ever be ready for the return drive. But it did get ready—just not until 3:00pm the day we planned to leave. Knowing that the drive was 6 hours at best (and our car was still very far from best), there was no possible way to make it before dark. But we didn’t want to wait because Jeffreys wanted to be back for his youngest son’s birthday (the next day), and that was important since he’d missed his son’s birth (see, Josh Frizzell: it doesn’t just happen to militarians—sometimes it happens to humanitarians too) while traveling to the US to help bring some more work to South Sudan (that visit helped solidify his relationship with Neverthirst).

We hopped in the car at 3:00pmish and off we went. We made it to where we broke down about 3.5 hours later, and I knew it was going to be a long night. There had been some rain in the area, so several streams we’d passed over relatively easily on the way to Yei were much higher. The driver had to go test the depth and current before we could cross. He never drove faster than 40km/hr the whole trip (really, just do the math yourself if you care at all: clearly 40km/hr is really slow).

This photo was on the way there-on the way back this was a river.

About half-way through the trip, we stopped to pee (one of the many times I always wish I’d been born a boy), but I couldn’t go into the bushes because it was dark and muddy and possibly dangerous. So I just had to squat down behind the car and hope no other passing motorists came by (they didn’t). Back in the car and on the road again, I was getting tired of the trip until the driver started flashing his lights and swerving. Clearly illuminated in the light, I saw a spotted animal with gleaming yellow eyes. I started screaming, “Oh my gosh, it’s a leopard! It’s a leopard!!” And Jeffreys and the driver started laughing at me for being so excited. When I calmed down enough to see that I had phone signal so I could update my Facebook status accordingly for people who would be impressed and not laugh at me, I realized that the animal we saw was too small for a leopard, so I asked Jeffreys what it was. He said, “It’s a fox.” I scoffed at that because foxes are not spotted, so he conceded that it was a jackal. I decided to name it the Spotted Jackal, and it is probably a new species, which no one has ever seen before, so that will be its official name now. Since my phone doesn’t take good photos at night, and I don’t take good photos in swerving, bumping cars while screaming excitedly, I didn’t get a photo, but I’ve take the time to draw you a picture, which I have posted for your benefit:

Notice the large glowing eyes. They should be yellow, but I don't have any colored pens or markers.

For the rest of the trip, I kept my eyes carefully scanning the road, to make sure that our driver didn’t squish some other probably endangered, possibly never before discovered creature. I was rewarded by seeing some wildcats, a small alligator, and a large puff adder stretched out in the middle of the road (we even avoided squishing that because we care about all God’s creatures—and because it might have punctured our tires). Every time I got excited about seeing something and yelled, “Look, look, what is that?!” The driver laughed hysterically (he was tired to the point of laughing at anything, I think) and Jeffreys patiently said whatever he wanted to, knowing that I would believe him unconditionally.

Clearly that is a wildcat--see how ferocious it looks hiding in the grass?

So the moral of the story is DEFINITELY travel at night to see all the cool animals. Also, be more careful in the future when peeing by the side of the road, knowing that all the cool animals come out at night and might try to take a bite out of your bare butt. And just because your dad is an artist, does not mean you automatically inherit his talent for drawing. 

We did not see the alligator and the snake at the same time, but I didn't want to waste paper.  Notice the driver looks slightly insane. Also, the status of my hair is accurate. When you drive with the windows open, that is what your hair looks like. And I am screaming and pointing and standing up in my seat. It's a pretty good likeness of our car too: some  lines and circles haphazardly strung together.

This Week (Part 2)

 THURSDAY

Off the motorcycle at last! Although, I kind of missed it. We jumped in the car and drove for 4ish hours into the bush. Of course, this was after a crazy frustrating morning when I didn’t have the sticker I needed to put on the hand pump for our donor’s benefit, even though I had spent the previous night and that morning reminding everyone. It was considered ‘not really important’ by everyone except me, and I ended up having to peel off a sticker on another hand pump nearby our compound to use on this far away one. We can hop over to this nearby hand pump and put a new one on whenever we need to. In fact, we’d already done that when they peeled away the first one. We’d gone back, and Repent, while sticking on the new sticker, seriously informed the villagers of the importance of NOT PEELING the sticker off again. So when we went back to peel it off again it made something of a stir.

On Wednesday they were drinking this.

When we arrived at the village, we were greeted by crowds singing and playing the drums and shaking rattles, so excited to have this new hand pump. We made our speeches (I made sure to say, “I don’t have a lot I want to say today” and then proceeded to speak for 2 hours because I pay attention to cultural cues), prayed out prayers, did our ipad interviews, and everyone was very excited. The chief showed me where he would build my house if I would agree to move into their village, and an excited little old lady told me that she would find me a husband (I have heard that before, but so far no one has managed it). They served us lunch of aseeda/ugali (a kind of stiff pudding made of sorghum in this case that feels like eating play dough but is less salty), boiled beef, a mixture of peanut butter and honey, and a paste made of termites. While we were eating, people kept piling more presents into the back of our truck. They brought me branches from a hot pepper plant after I enthused about it, and the old lady match-maker brought me a musical gourd shaker thingy, which I hope didn’t have any other significance. We were planning to leave right after lunch, but I had one more thing I had been wanting to do: archery. I’m always seeing these guys going around with hand-made bows and arrows. They apparently go into the jungle and hunt gazelles with them. I’ve never been offered gazelle meat (that I know of), but I’m sure it would be as good as termite paste. Anyway, I saw Hunger Games one time so I knew I could do it. The first arrow I tried to shoot didn’t even make it out of my crooked left-index finger, which I maimed that time I fell off a mountain in Yemen (if you are interested, I blogged about that some time in early 2011). The second arrow landed at my feet, but by the fourth one, I was a pro, and I shot the arrow straight into the trunk of a nearby tree. After that I started aiming for chickens, which people thought was funny, although a few concerned people who had observed my shooting prowess asked me not to kill any. After the archery lesson, we really did head home, bouncing over the dusty road for several jarring hours.

Ready...

Aim...

Celebrate!

FRIDAY

Repent and I hopped on the motorcycle for a 3-hour ride into the jungle. I feel like 3-4 hour motorcycle trips should have been part of my job description, but since I never really got one, I guess it’s ok. I decided that I would ride astride (like a man-they say in India) to make it easier for Repent. I wore my longest skirt for modesty, and threw all our stuff in my backpack.  Our ride started out great. We even saw a flock of monkeys running into the trees—the first time for me here, and seeing exotic wildlife really makes you feel like you live in Africa. Most of the exotic wildlife here migrated to the Congo during the war, which seems a little ridiculous because it’s not like the Congo has been a bastion of peacefulness. I guess the longest civil war of the 20^th century will do that though. Still I heard on Independence Day that some businessmen in Western Equatoria (where I live, in case you didn’t know) are thinking about starting a nature reserve to bring back the wildlife and bring in some tourists. Take that Masai Mara.

Once we turned off the main road, the riding got a bit tricky.  We kept getting slashed in the face by thorn bushes that jumped out at us like obstacles in a video game. While trying to duck and dodge one of those at the same time, Repent and I wiped out. It was then that I realized the benefit of riding side-saddle. In the past, when I’ve noticed Repent about to go down or run into a tree, I’ve just jumped off, and he’s been able to save himself. But riding astride it is more difficult to get off quickly. Laying on the red dirt road, I thought how nice it was of South Sudan not to have paved most of their roads, as falling on dirt is not so bad. Then I realized that Repent was lifting the bike off of me, and I tried to remember how to move my feet. Repent in long pants and tall boots was totally fine. My legs were all slashed up, and a chunk of my heel was nearly severed from my foot. I stuffed the chunk back in, wiped everything down with an antiseptic alcohol swab in the first aid kit I happened to bring along, and stuck on an inferior American bandaid (from the same kit) since I didn’t have any trusty Hansaplast with me. Naturally, it fell off two minutes into the ride. So far, though, my foot hasn’t turned black or green.

I say it doesn’t count as a wreck if you can get up and keep going, which we did. We made it to the little village that wants to partner with us to build a hand pump. To get there, we had to ride on roads which did not actually appear until you were riding on them and the grass parted beneath the wheels, kind of like that rock bridge thing in one of the Indiana Jones movies. But our outing was successful, the villagers were excited to see us, and they loaded us down with gifts to take back with us on our motorcycle: a sack full of corn, lemons, and pineapples, and a live chicken. These were carefully tied on the back of our bike, which concerned me, as I was sure that the angry chicken, living out his last painful hours on earth was going to try to take another chunk out of my leg on our way back home.

We had to make one more stop at another village, already partnering with us, but not yet finished raising their Repair Fund. We had our meeting, made our speeches, and were about to leave, when I heard a car zoom down the road towards us. I knew it was an NGO car, and I thought it was weird, since there aren’t any other NGOs working where we were. It turned in to the field beside us and came to a screeching halt. It was our car. This surprised me because initially, upon requesting the car for our 3 hour journey into the jungle we were told that A) it would not be able to go in the jungle and B) it wasn’t working well even if it could make it and C) we don’t have enough money for fuel. All of these things were running through my mind when Lexon jumps out and runs to me saying, “Are you OK? What’s wrong? I got your text message to come and help you.” I said, “What?” I looked at Repent and he said, “What?” And Lexon repeated himself, and then we asked to see his text message, but he’d deleted it. I wracked my brain to think of anyone else who could have asked Lexon for emergency help, and I was kind of annoyed because I had been really looking forward to riding for 3 more hours with a chicken, just to see how much crazier our day could get. Anyway, since it was there, I got in the car, and Repent threw the bag into the back, along with a very relieved chicken, and we went back on down the road. A few minutes later Lexon found the text message in his deleted items and it said: “Let Amanda take the car. Hakim can drive.” It was from the Bishop in Yei who is drilling wells for us, saying that he would let me take his car to Juba (where I am now in the comfort of electricity and internet) for my visa thing that I had to do on Monday. Lexon thought it was a text from me asking for help. When he told Jeffreys that I needed help, Jeffreys said, “It is for our Sister Amanda. We must do all we can to help.” Lexon told me later that there is a Moru proverb that says, “When someone needs rescuing, don’t ask questions. Just go.” Some of the questions he didn’t ask: “Why is Amanda sending me a text message asking for help from the Bishop’s number?” “Why is Amanda sending me a text message when she is in a part of the jungle that doesn’t have phone signal?” “What is it about this text message that makes me think that Amanda needs rescuing?”

SATURDAY

There’s no rest for the wicked, and that includes the Neverthirst team in Mundri who had to go open a well for another village. Or maybe I should say the Waterthirst team. That was our new name according to the chairman of the Hai Tarawa water committee. As he thanked Waterthirst and all others involved for the new hand pump, it was clear that even though the name Waterthirst gives the impression of the opposite of the meaning that we want to convey, it does roll off the tongue. The well opening was fun, as usual with songs and dancing, free lunch, cute kids. At one point a bunch of kids were crowded around me while I showed them how to play Angry Birds on my phone. They loved it. Thank Micah for having it on my phone—a good time was had by all. Just too bad that I can’t get a photo of the fun while having the fun since my phone is my camera.

So that was my week…as I was driving to Juba today, the same route that I started out walking last Sunday, I thought to myself, “Wow, that seems like a year ago.” Nope. Just a week. Bring on the next one.

This Week (Part 1)

All this week I’ve been thinking, “I should save this story for the blog” or “I need to remember to tell this to my family/friends/Neverthirst people.” I never found time to write about the event before I was hit with another, so I thought I might as well write about the whole week. Besides, this will give interested parties (my mother) a small look into my daily life, which clearly doesn’t stay the same from day to day, but when you finish reading this you will think that you know what it is that I do, even if you will only be half right. For me, every time I think I have figured it out, it changes, so I stopped worrying about it. Still, people will ask, so here you go…

SUNDAY:

There is a village here where we drilled a well for a community that hadn’t finished collecting their Repair Fund. This was due to a small miscommunication between Neverthirst, the drilling team, and our local partners (part of what I’m here to do is minimize those miscommunications—sometimes I do this well, other times…). Currently we have a well in place, but we’ve locked it until the community meets the requirement, otherwise, they won’t have much motivation to meet the requirement. This is important for many reasons, but not important to the flow of the story, so we’ll get back to the point, which is that I wanted to go and talk to the community about the fund again. Our local partner is a pastor who spends several Sundays each month visiting churches in his parish that do not have an ordained pastor to give them communion (the Episcopal church is the dominant one here). Osho is one of those communities, and hearing he was going, I thought I’d tag along and get a chance to speak to everyone in their main meeting place: the church. Lexon anxiously informed me that we’d have to go on foot, as he has no other means of transportation. I assured him that I could keep up. He told me to meet him at his house at 8:30am so that I could have half an hour to rest before we walked another hour to church, which starts between 10:00 and 11:00. I said ok, and planned to arrive at 9:00, not feeling the need to have half an hour’s rest to recover from walking 2ish miles. Turns out, some friends saw me and insisted on taking me to Lexon’s house when I was about half-way there anyway, so I was still early.

So we set out. We walked through the jungle for an hour or so, fording streams and squelching through mud in patches, but not as much as we would have done if there had been more rain this season. We made it in time for church, which was uneventful except for the presence of the foreigner. After church we had our little meeting, which didn’t seem to make much of an impression, and then we headed on to give communion to sick people who couldn’t make it to church. That took even longer, as we walked around various jungle places to get to their homes, but it was definitely a blessing to everyone involved, including me. There were a few hysterical children, terrified of the foreign devil in their midst who ran off screaming to hide. But that’s not unusual for me.

Walking through the jungle, talking on the phone

Holy Communion

MONDAY:

Repent's finger and me on the path

I hopped on the back of the motorcycle and went to visit another delinquent village that hasn’t raised all their funds and another village where the platform was being fitted. I got my legs and feet slashed up driving through grassy fields on what might have been a road once a long time ago. We made it in, said our piece, made it out, but not without leaving plenty of my flesh behind on sticky jungle plants. I made a mental note to buy boots in the market again, but I have ignored that note so many times since then, always to my regret when I’m back in the jungle the next day.

This is where they are getting their drinking water. That's why they need the bore well!

TUESDAY:

The second anniversary of the country of South Sudan!  A joyous day! I happen to live right across from the football field, which is where all the festivities are held. This is great for me because it was impossible for me to miss any moment, and I really didn’t want to miss any moment. In fact, I left early with a young boy who works here but wants to be a general in the SPLA when he grows up (Sudan People’s Liberation Army—their name from the war which is what they still call their army) so we could watch the soldiers parade in. They paraded so well. I do have some militarian experience, thanks to my bro-in-law Capitan Frizzell, and I’m not sure, but I want to say that while American soldiers are likely better armed, I doubt they are better singers.  Of course, I have never heard them sing while marching in a parade on Independence Day. They might do that in some places, and those guys might be good singers. But would they be cheered by a crowd of ululating women? The soldiers were followed by parades of children from all the local schools who arrived at various times and from various places, at variance to the schedule which they were given (so I was told later). Eventually, everyone made it to the field to start the celebrations: a series of speeches from every important person in the near vicinity, each of whom began their speech with “I don’t have a lot to say” and proceeded to speak for hours and hours, ending with “Well, like I said, I don’t have a lot to say, so thanks and HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY!” To uproarious cheers from people who were dozing off minutes earlier.  Every time I thought I’d just pop on home for a bit and wait for something exciting to happen, something exciting did happen: one of the schools would preform or a group of Somalis would come up and spontaneously dance around waving the South Sudanese flag and the Somali one (ok, I admit, that nearly made me cry. It was so special to see the people here cheer them on and wish them well and welcome them to their celebrations, knowing that they really do not have much to celebrate in Somalia right now). 

Somalis celebrate with South Sudan

After the celebration, I was courteously invited to the Commissioner’s grand party for VIPs only. We had food and listened to a billion more speeches, while I thought about Indonesia and the beautiful way that they celebrate Independence Day—playing games outside, eating crazy snacks, and taking turns trying to climb to the top of a greasy bamboo pole to get the prizes at the top.  Seriously, why are they the only people who know how to celebrate nation-hood? After the “celebration,” I went back and joined in the real fun—communal dancing. Various groups of people danced near the drummers who were playing the beats they liked the best or who came from their particular tribe, and danced the appropriate dance. I had fun until too many drunk guys started noticing the one remaining foreigner, and then I slipped away home to rest and recover from the fun.

Singing soldiers

WEDNESDAY

Most people were still resting and recovering from the fun, so I used the day to catch up on email and charge my computer up the hill at the fancy foreigners’ compound where they have electricity and internet. When I came back I practiced driving the motorcycle around the yard, and discovered that it is way heavier than I thought it would be. It also took me a while to find the catch between the clutch and the break, which reminded me of my driving lessons as a teenager in Indonesia. My dad had the brilliant idea to drop me off at a driving school in Indonesia where the instructor always told me to “main koepling” (the Dutch/Indonesian word for ‘clutch’), and I amused myself by watching other “experienced” drivers stop dead in the middle of the road to stare in the window of the latihan car (student car) at the foreign kid. After I drove around a while, I realized that my hands were cramping. Squeezing the brake felt like using one of those grip-strengthening things that my cousin used for golf or baseball or croquet or something and always left lying around my grandparents’ house. The reason for this might be that when I asked Repent about changing gears, he solemnly informed me that you always squeeze the brake when switching gears. I said, “You mean the clutch” and pointed to it. He said, “No, the brake” and pointed to it. This may also explain our slightly jerky rides. It also impressed on me the importance of becoming jungle-motorcycle-riding-ready for our future safety.

Rainbow!

The chicken that laid eggs in our kitchen

   

Vehicles

It's a great view from this windshield, right?

This last Sunday, we took one of the cars from the drilling team that is here, complete with very cracked windshield and American-side steering wheel. I’m back to left-side steering wheels here in South Sudan, so it made me feel all twisted around, like when you sit at the wrong place at the dinner table. It reminded me of the Barbie car one of my friends in Indonesia had that had been sent to her from the US. She ended up pulling off the steering wheel because it was on the ‘wrong’ side (for us), and it was distracting to our play. Still, I always remember that twisty feeling whenever I saw the hole on the ‘wrong’ side of the car where the steering wheel used to be. Since those days, I’ve been in various countries where they drive on the American side (Syria) and others where drive on the other side (the UK), and still others where there is a suggested side to drive on, based on the location of the steering wheel, but mostly people are encouraged to decide for themselves where they want to drive (India).

                                        

He's trying to fix the car...it turns out there was something wrong with the filter (whatever that is)

Almost every time I’ve been in the car with the drilling team, we’ve ended up having to push. Either we’re trying to jump start the car or we are stuck in a gooey pile of mud.  I know about getting stuck in snow from grad school in PA. I once backed into a snowdrift in my driveway because all I knew about snow I’d learned from cartoons.  After trying to make a giant snowball for the bottom of a snowman by rolling a handful of snow down a hill, I realized that cartoons weren’t a reliable source of information. So I figured that whole ‘getting stuck in a snow drift thing’ was also false. I discovered it wasn’t, but the local mailman helped dig me out and then asked me out. It was a nice meet-cute, but he lost me at the beginning of the date when he started talking about aliens and spray painting designs on cars. Anyway, I know a thing or two about getting out of muck, and thankfully, so did the drilling team because they don’t have mailmen here.

I thought it was the battery: that looks bad, right?

Usually, I’m not even in a car. I’m riding side-saddle on the back of Repent’s motorcycle. Mark thinks it may not be the best for our mutual reputations for this type of transportation to continue. He wants to get me my own motorcycle.  I’m OK with this because, while as a general rule, I don’t prefer to be the one in charge of the motorized vehicle, it’s not like there is much traffic here or cows for me to run into. I just have to learn how to slide through mud holes and ride across rivers and dodge craters. Repent is also a fan of this idea because every few minutes we have to stop and let me walk anyway because of the condition of the paths/rivers we are trying to navigate.

If I do get my own motorcycle, Repent and I will form a motorcycle gang and take over the jungle. Also, at some point, it is inevitable that I will fall over in the middle of the river and Spencer and Mark will insist that they knew this would happen, and it’s because I’m a girl, and I don’t know how to drive. 

Author's note: I just read this again, and I realize that I'm wrong about which side of the car is the American side for the steering wheel...I think. The green car with the cracked windshield has a steering wheel on the right side of the car and the white car has the steering wheel on the left side of the car.

I help push sometimes

                             
So far, here in SSudan, I've not noticed a standard side of the car for a steering wheel, so I think I'm just permanently confused. Which side of the car is the steering wheel on in the US? Now do you see why I hate driving? I am never quite sure I'm driving on the correct side of the road. It's better for everyone if I stay off the road--riding a motorcycle through the jungle is OK though.