Sudans and Travels and Something About Food

The other day I had an apple and a salad in the same 24 hour period. I was basically Health walking on two legs. So naturally, I had Flaming Cheetos and gummy worms for dinner. Perhaps that is why I was greeted by a “You gained weight in Sudan” comment right off the bat upon arrival in Chad. I would be worried, but less than 2 hours later I got a “You got skinny in Sudan!” I choose to believe the latter statement and I’m trying to nurse myself back to health by eating a package of  soft, chewey Carambars “goûts fruits” because YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME AND I CAN DO WHAT I WANT! But anyway, comments on changes in one’s weight and/or general physical appearance are a given for me when hopping countries. You have not been properly welcomed back if people have not made comments about what you look like now as compared with when you left. It helps keep me humble because usually I'm arriving somewhere after hours of exhausting travel, and there is not much good to say about me.

When I arrived in South Sudan after traveling for 2 days from a country that nearly borders it, I had to jump right into action. I had one day to run from government office to government office getting visas and work permits in order before traveling to Mundri for a couple of days. This involved me getting more passport photos because the ones I already  had were absolutely wrong for the form, so I was informed. And it is every little girl’s dream to have to get her picture taken after 50+ hours without sleep and being asked by a loving friend if she were sick because “you look terrible!” But the photo guys and I had a hilarious time trying to snap my photo with both of my eyes open and focusing on the same object (ideally the camera, but at that point, we were not picky). There was a lot of good-natured laughing, though they probably would have been more professional about the horrible photos if I hadn’t been snickering over each one before trying to compose myself for an appropriately serious passport face. Being sleep-deprived makes everything hilarious. But I made friends, in spite of looking like a meth addict. I would show you the photo, because humor trumps vanity always, but they used them all for the forms. 

The next day, while driving me to the airport for the 1^st of 3 times (bless his beautiful heart) my favorite Pastor James D said, “Juma told me you were so great yesterday—laughing and talking to everyone and making them all into your friends. He said everyone was so surprised and it was the best for getting the work permit.” It was Juma’s first time to see me schmooze government officials, a skill honed over the years on multiple continents. Jackson, who usually does these things with me, knows my moves and he makes sure we stop by and smile at all the right people even if they are not involved in the visa process at all. He is great about remembering all the people I “know” in the office. Juma is going to have his work cut out for him because there were a lot more people at the work permit office, including one guy who I thought was sticking a metal pocket knife into a live electric socket, trying to plug in his phone. I screamed and gave him a moving speech about how he is too young to throw his life away, which impressed him because it was in Arabic and the thing I thought was metal was actually wrapped in plastic or something, making it hypothetically less dangerous. But my concern for his well-being moved him. They took the paperwork even though the scan we printed out turned out Strawberry short-cake pink, not exactly regulation.

Ultimately, it was a very positive Sudans time. I got to go back to Mundri, having last been there during slightly traumatic circumstances. I got to spend time with Repent and his wonderful family and meet the new jungle baby. I got to see many of my favorite EAM guys. I spent a lot of time on the back of a motorcycle—once as a threesome (very painful for even one such as me who is well-endowed in the rear parts). I got to stay in the rooftop apartment in Khartoum and attend a wedding of a distant colleague and sail on the Nile River with one of the oldest clubs in Sudan, founded by Imperialists but maintained by the a group of Sudanese who love their river and their sports. I also did some semi-important work stuff, so all-in-all, it was a successful endeavor. And I appreciate that my life lets me move around and try new things without having to miss my old friends in other places because I still get to see them.

And now please enjoy the following photos and accompanying stories and comments that you may or may not have already seen depending on whether or not you are Facebook friends with me or we whatsapp each other regularly. But this blog is mostly for posterity—probably not mine because, really, those photos were pretty horrifying, but I like these photos and I’m posting them here whether or not I’ve already posted them elsewhere in cyberspace. Enjoy, Posterity.

Bringing cash to people is difficult with
the current exchange rate. This is 700USD.
Transported to our office in a cooking pot for safety reasons.

Last time I saw this street it had been trashed by vandals, but
the time before that it was a bustling market, teeming with people.
Mundri is still waiting and hoping for a return to normalcy.

Not pictured here, but the only books to survive this office massacre
were my Hindi books! I retrieved them with joy, and clearly
God still wants Hindi to be a part of my life.

Especially my friend Cici in green has lost a lot of weight.
That was hard to see, but great to see her smile.

The ladies at the lodge pouring Neverthirst bore hole water
into a clay pot that cools it off for drinking. There were
no bottled waters or any other canned drinks available in Mundri
where they used to be plentiful. Credit to my parents
for raising me in a developing nation with the strength to drink from
a communal cup without getting sick.

My wonderful church family in Mundri. I miss this church so much.
No one can praise Jesus like these people. Still going strong.
Thanks to Lexon for including his finger in this shot.
When I arrived in Mundri, I definitely cried on his shoulder,
making him very uncomfortable. 

A Neverthirst pump that was used non-stop for days during
the fighting, as it was far off the beaten path and many people were hiding here.
Now it need maintenance because hand pumps are only supposed
to serve about 500 people, not 1000+. 

The Okari school was opened, partly because, I believe, the pump (Neverthirst)
is working. It is fun to be a part of this work. It is unexpectedly far-reaching. And
follow Neverthirst on Instagram because I have to post
stuff like this every couple of days and on the other days, Jason posts and he
is actually a good photographer.

Last time I was in Mundri, these trucks were still burning

Everyone waving to Repent. He was so excited to see this photo.
He is well-loved, not just by me.

I considered this pump a failure. I felt like I had allowed myself to
be pushed into accepting this location, though there were some other
water points around.  I told myself that there was a high population
(there was) and that there was a need for water (there was), but I knew that there
were other places in more desperate need of water (there were and are). The drilling team gave me
"the look" when I showed them this place. That "OK, we will do this
because you want us to, but this is not ideal" look. But I felt we were
committed at this point. So we drilled it. And now it is
the ONLY water point still functioning in the area. All
other solar powered taps are not working (solar panels were all stolen) and no other nearby
pumps work. So I think we can credit this "failure" to God, who had
better plans than any of us, and even our failures aren't useless to Him.

I had a great time traveling with the Bishop.
He loves his people and works hard for them. Neither of us
knew that we were on the same flight until two days before.
We'd both planned tentatively and secretly weeks before.
Please pray for his son, who is currently missing in Kampala.
We are praying for his safe return.

I was SO happy to be with Repent and Francis and eating Fanta suckers
and listening to Westlife. In the past, I disdained boybands, but
now I just find them hilarious. And I can listen to anything if it is funny.

PREPARE YOURSELVES. MANY MANY PICTURES OF REPENT'S CUTE KIDS ARE COMING.

Baby Oliver was born in the jungle during the fighting in Karika on 3 January.
I expressed amazement about this to Joy. She said, "Oh I had Tabu (their oldest) in the jungle too."
"What?!" I said. "Yeah," she said, "I was walking home from the market, and I knew I wasn't going to make it home,
so I sent the child walking with me up ahead to get help. And I had the baby there on the ground."
This from the woman whose Moru name mean "Sesame" because her mother had her
while she was out working in the sesame fields. There is no one in the world tougher than a South Sudanese woman.

Oliver

Halina looks afraid, but she is obviously plopped in my lap in this
moment, which she would not do if she didn't love me.
She does.

Just so much cuteness in one family. I love these kids.

Joy made my favorite meal. Here is a photo of my first helping
of blob (aseeda/ugali/posho/whatever) and peanut butter greens.
This is good stuff even though it looks like someone barfed on my plate.

Tabu being the best big sister. She is such an amazing kid.
She helps so much without complaining. At her age,
I would not have lifted a finger unless you could prove to me
that both of my sisters were doing an equal amount of work.
And then I could figure out how to make sure that they were doing the most work.
Tabu is not like me, fortunately for her mother.

I love that they have fun together.

I know this is a terrible blurry photo, but I still love it. Joy looks
like one of the kids, not a mother of 5 here.

One of the family pics, I made them take on Sunday morning.
It is not easy to make everyone smile and look at the camera at the same time.
Notice that Oliver didn't even try. Youngest kids get away with anything.

I think I've convinced you that they are cute, right?

Selfie time.

Halina and twin friends. They don't speak the same language,
but they still have fun.

Breakfast time of rice and tea (that is white rice on a white plate)

Repent doing Daddy duty while Mommy goes to get water
from the pump.

She can hold two of her siblings at one time.
And look at her arm muscles--she is 10 and could probably beat you
at arm-wrestling. Carry heavy water jugs on your head everyday builds muscles.

Playing in the "yard/living room area"

Brother secrets while little sis sits on your back.

I have a tiny klepto tendency to take airplane blankets. I have a collection.
I'm glad this one, at least, is being used well, though it is not one of mine.

Pre-teen girls know selfies.

Sweet mommy and baby

Nursing the baby while cooking cabbage on a clay stove=
multitasking South Sudan stylz

Before our trip to KK. No, we did not have helmets.
No, we did not go fast enough to have been risking much.

I walked across this river behind Repent.
(No helmet needed)

This is what I looked like after arriving in KK.
The red is either sunburn or dirt, we will never know.

It's always easy to recognize this bag coming off the
baggage claim these days...

And when your MAF pilot is twitchy about turbulence and
decides to fly low over the Nile to avoid it=best flight ever.

Wedding in Khartoum! I was invited because one time I talked
to the bride on the phone. I was unprepared with appropriate clothes,
so I painted my nails and wore jeans and my tallest shoes--the best I could
do on short notice. Also, I would like to point out, the if you were to
attend a normal wedding in Khartoum, you  might think, as Denis (our Ugandan
Finance Manager) does, that Sudanese people did not inherit the stereotypical
African dance skills. And really wedding dancing (snapping and bobbing) is quite boring compared to what I saw
in Syria and Lebanon in the women's only parties--which also happen to be a good time for
single women ready to settle down to find a potential mother-in-law who likes their
looks and dance skills. So yeah, those parties got EXCITING and sometimes inappropriate for
little prudish old maids like myself.  But I happen to know thanks to Zuhoor's wedding (she is pictured here
in yellow, appropriately pregnant two years later) that Sudanese have skills too. Remember the sword dance?
And the there was the midnight ladies-only party where Zuhoor really got to bust some moves, dancing
the traditional sexy (very sexy) pre-consummation dances where the dancing new wife is the only
thing the new husband can look at, but all the other women feel perfectly fine judging her hair, clothes, and
skills. If other men were invited, they would only be thinking inappropriate thoughts, but other women are perfectly
qualified to pass judgment, because no one can judge a woman like another woman. It's a universal truth. And
we will all be in Madeline Albright's special place in hell together then. So if you go to a Sudanese wedding
remember that they are actually way better dancers than it may appear.

Denis tried to grab the baby at the wedding, but I took her back
because Denis has his own cute baby girl, and I don't have any. So
it's only fair. See how nicely we both fell asleep to the melodious strains
of Bryan Adams? Everything I do...

Paul took me sailing! He joined the sailing club. 

I am a natural. Here is us sailing. I was very worried that
we would tip over because I had my phone with me. If I hadn't,
I probably would have tried to tip us over. But Paul is a Bostonian
who spent his summers on Cape Cod and he probably could have stopped me.
But we did get in the junky boat, so we didn't get to go on the race because
we were fixing the sail and bailing out the water.

Kitchener's boat, complete with satellite!
It really is his boat, the one he used to push the Mahdi out of Khartoum,
after Gordon Pasha was killed. It has sat here for more than a century.

Cooking class with Denis. Who do you think is the teacher?
ME. I can cook, you jerks. He wanted to learn how to make
pizza to surprise his wife. I told him I could teach him an easy way
that won't taste as good as Almaz's (Paul's wife who made us Eritrean/Sudanese/American pizza),
but it would be way easier. (Cooking, for me, is about convenience)
He was a model pupil.

And I taught him to make brownies, but that is a skill that
every married man should have. It was REALLY hard to get him
brave enough to lick the spoon (maybe because I'd previously
tricked him into eating raw cocoa powder?) but here is proof that
he did. I mean, I told him that this was THE MOST IMPORTANT PART
of baking brownies, and really, the only reason I ever do.
He mastered the art quickly. He's a genius.

In conclusion, here is Patris's adorable daughter.
I love when my friends' kids aren't afraid of me.