Starting out 2024

This photo has nothing to do with the blog but it is from our visit to Festival Dary,
a Chadian Festival that celebrates Chad. It is a lot of fun if you go on a day where there are no riots.

It’s a new year, and some new year miracles are happening—first, I’m writing this instead of doing some other useless thing. Second, my priority checked bags actually both arrived nearly first off the plane in N’djamena and I got out of the airport before almost anyone else. Manon and Joe were waiting in the car to pick me up. Pika continues to hate car rides unless she knows we are going to buy some goat meat for her dinner. Ziggy was not invited along because she is very mad at Manon for getting another kitten and keeps trying to attack her. Now Zig sleeps with me and stays exclusively in my house. Manon is sad, but those are the consequences for getting a kitten that can walk and chase mice. The consequences of keeping Zig mean she is constantly falling into the dogs’ water bowl and knocking her food all over the kitchen but she is so cute.

Manon's new kitten

Zig is unimpressed by her new neighbor

I’ve already had one visit here in Chad, which I thought was going to be fairly easy and painless. My boss, his son, and 2 new colleagues were coming. Well, the woman colleague’s plane was canceled due to the snow and she couldn’t make it. This was sad to me because I’m almost always the only girl here, and it would have been fun to have another one along. It was also sad because she was bringing me her winter clothes to wear on my trip to Antarctica. Yes—I’m going there next week. 

Excited to eat grilled camel meat

I turn 40 this year, which is an age I always thought was SO OLD as a kid. Probably because when I was a kid, it was en vogue to throw grave yard parties with black balloons and “over the hill” signs for people who turned 40 and we had a lot of those parties for my parents and others of their expat friends. My life did not follow the traditional plan where I am now married with several children who will give my old age purpose and visitors and black balloon parties, but I think I should embrace the things I did end up with—flexibility and freedom to travel. So I have one more continent to visit to “collect them all,” and I’m heading there next week inshallah!

I also get to embrace these 3 things that do not particularly like being embraced.

Anyway, back to this most recent trip…

I picked up the guys and we went to visit projects in Dourbali. Everything went fairly smoothly except that the night we spent in Dourbali we ended up taking a woman to the hospital who was in a minor motorcycle accident. My diagnosis is that she made herself hysterical, but was actually not badly injured at all. It is a good thing I am not a doctor because I have no bedside manner. I let Matt drive her to the hospital because it is the greatest joy of his life to drive in Chad when roads aren’t paved. I ended up driving back to the hospital later that night to pick her up when she was discharged because Matt was already asleep. I got in bed around midnight that night.

BTS of a Matt video in front of a terrible water source.
Good news: a well is being drilled in this village right now!

The next day we visited another village and they insisted on us riding camels and horses into the village as they celebrated. Matt and I rode the horses since we’ve ridden plenty of camels in the past and let the others ride the camels. I’m not a fan of horses much but these ones were fine, except it is awkward to ride astride in a dress. I’m glad to see people happy to have clean water, but I do feel awkward in those types of celebrations. People here get a kick out of it, so I try to have fun with them. 

The presented us with camel milk, which I told Matt to pretend to drink. He did well.
The kid's sign is asking for education for children in the village,
sadly that is not something we do, but I hope that there will be a school in this village someday.

Anyway, all was well. The visit went well. Jeff drove back some of the way until we got to the paved roads and had a great time. I took everyone for pizza back in N’djamena. They’d all done so well eating the Chadian food and enjoying it, so I always reward people with pizza after that trip.

The next day I went to pick up the guys from the hotel to take them to breakfast. Matt and Nathan were there, but Jeff didn’t come. I went inside to find him, knocked on his door and he appeared in his underwear with a miserable look on his face. He had diarrhea and vomiting all night and was still going. I said to rest and I would come back later with meds. Matt, Nathan and I went on to the French bakery for some nice pastries. Then we went to my house to drop off their bags so we could go see the hippos. I called Claire for medical advice, she gave me the names of meds to get and Abiner went off to find the meds. Then I got a call from Jeff. He said, “The police are here and they are wanting to arrest me. I don’t know what to do.” I told him to pass me the phone and had the following conversation:

Me: “The nasara is sick and I left him there to rest. I’m coming back to pay for the rooms. Please leave him alone so he can rest.”

Police: “We know he is sick. We don’t want to cause problems for him, but there is a problem at the hotel. We are arresting everyone. Can you come get him?”

I live 5 minutes away so I hopped in the car and went to get him. 

Probably one of the last times Jeff was smiling in Chad.

I get there and the place is crawling with military, police and tons of people. People are carrying out lamps, sheets, food, mini refrigerators, and it is mass chaos. I go inside and find the nice guy from reception and make sure he is not about to be arrested. He assures me he is fine, but the owner of the property and the Chinese renter (it is the Hotel Hong Kong) are having a spat about the rent and the Chadian owner took the Chinese renter to court over it and they were currently there and fighting it out. So everyone has to leave. Not as bad as I had thought, but I guess if you can’t speak the language and stuff is coming out both ends and police bang on your door you would think that is pretty bad. Jean from reception said, “Do you mind if I get your bill to you later? Everything is a bit unorganized right now.” He was not wrong.

I brought Jeff back to my house where Antani had graciously cleaned my room up nicely for him, but he collapsed on my very uncomfortable small sofa instead and insisted he was fine and didn’t want to move. I brought him a pillow, made him take some meds and drink a sprite and then we went off to go see hippos.

Matt and Nathan were excited to see the hippos, but we made the mistake of putting everyone in the same wooden canoe and we nearly sank while paddling to the little island where the hippos were sleeping. They also didn’t want to go closer because hippos are a little scary. Before we made it to the island, Matt kept trying to get us to go back, but the guys refused, probably because turning around would have tipped the boat for sure. Both Matt and Nathan’s shoes were soaked, which I felt bad about because they were flying out later that night, and it isn’t fun to travel with wet squishy shoes. Matt said the hippos were not worth the boat trip, but we got two canoes to pick us up and the trip back to shore was not bad. Nathan said he enjoyed it anyway. Chad weather came through for us and their shoes were dry by the time we walked back to our truck.

See? They didn't sink!

Then we spent some time buying soccer jerseys for Matt’s other kids and finally we got back to my house to check on Jeff. I noticed he was no longer on the couch, so I went into my bedroom where he was sleeping on my bed. I congratulated him for moving to a more comfortable location. (Really the only people who like to sit on my couch are Joe, Pika and Ziguégué). He said, “I think your couch is like a futon or something because it folded up.”

It is not a futon. He just was too big for it and it collapsed. Fortunately Manon has an extra couch in our storage room and she let me take that while Matt tried to find enough straight nails in our nail jar to fix my old one. I like the new couch better anyway, but I need to buy new cushions for it because my ones are too small.

My new couch will look like this once I get cushions that are the right size.

Jeff skipped our late lunch/early dinner too, but perked up for souvenir shopping before heading to the airport. (Dr Claire saves the day for the neverthirst team again. She says, “I always know to keep my phone by me when you have a neverthirst team here.” And Matt says we need to keep her on retainer. Honestly, she has even helped with medical advice when I’ve been in Niger, Ethiopia, and Uganda even.) Their flight was delayed again, but I think everything else has been ok because I’ve not had any other messages from them. I doubt Jeff will ever want to come again to Chad, and now I need to find another go-to hotel, but otherwise it was a mostly successful trip. I’m happy to say that I think Nathan had a good time, so at least we are passing good memories on to the next generation.

Another recent visitor--cute little CODA.
His hands are blurred because he is trying to sign to me.

Now I’m sitting under my fan in my room typing this and feeling very cold as Pika licks my legs for no reason. I am happy that the warm clothes I ordered on Amazon made it to Debbie’s house so that I can have some warm clothes for Antarctica because if I’m cold in these clothes under the fan, I’m not going to be ok hanging with the penguins without some extras.

Pika is unsure of these chili lemon gummy bears, but I love them.
Thanks to my niece and nephews for the Christmas present.

Cops and Blood Donors

At the police station,
contemplating my role
as Police Liasion

I’ve somehow become the official liaison between the western missionary community (of which I’m not actually a member, by the way) and the N’Djamena police department. This comes thanks to our office neighbor, a cop who actually works for their IT department. Yes, our police force has an IT department, though, in the interest of full disclosure, I don’t think he gets to do much as he would like and he’s looking to set up a side business. If you have any website design needs in N’Djamena, he’s your guy. He studied in India, so you know he knows his stuff.

The Director's Office

Anyway, Mohamed and I went to see Mohamed at the police station after being called up by someone else, likely also named Mohamed, to identify the thieves who had attacked me in some sort of police line up. I told them that I wouldn’t be able to do this, not being someone who pays attention to details and having no memory of the face of the man that I fought with over my wallet for several minutes in close quarters. (I have other skills though—I can swallow a giant bug while running without stopping or slowing my pace and I can whistle really loudly sometimes if I need to get someone to pay attention to me.) I was asked to tell other robbery victims to come with me, but, as usual, though I passed on the information, no one was available. This is possibly because I always get called in last minute, but possibly also because none of them really care that much. I am not desperate for revenge or anything, but I like both of the Mohameds that I know at the police station. They both have gone out of their way to be helpful and try to improve the security situation here in the city. I appreciate that Mohamed the Director of Public Security has increased police presence in foreigner-frequented areas, as I requested, and that he sent 4 trucks full of cops to Naomi’s house after Claire was attacked there, and I called him about it. It’s a powerful thing to have the phone number of the cops. I mean, they didn’t get her stuff back, but they at least made an effort to act like they cared. And really, sometimes that is all that victims of crime need to feel better about what happened.

New license with correct blood type

 Fortunately, on arriving at the police station, I didn’t have to identify any criminals. I just had to drink some sugary tea and watch a hilarious Sudanese music video of a song praising the end of American sanctions against Sudan, which involved an ode to KFC (which they are hoping will be one of the many Western franchises to come to the country to replace Starbox, Subday, Pizza Hot, My Luckly, and so many other creative rip-offs) and some interesting commentary on American presidential choices. Oh, and also, because this is the world we live in, a shout out to the Kardashians. If you speak Arabic, watch it here (if this link works), and you’re welcome. If you don’t, you can still maybe get some of the humor. If you’ve been exposed in the past to the glorious musical tradition of Sudan (I lived with a Sudanese woman who watched Sudanese music festivals non-stop on TV and then hung out with a Sudanese woman who is in a band as well, so I am very familiar with said glorious tradition), you will be greatly entertained. My cop friend and I also discussed various reasons why Chad is now on the Great American Travel Ban list, which sent me on a dark, twisted multi-lingual research path to see if the theories we discussed were available on any other news media outlets (hint: they were, but not in English). All of this happened while we waited for Mohamed the Director to show up. When he did, we had a nice chat, as always, and he handed me a list of criminal incidents against foreigners and asked if I could identify any of the incidents. He said he would send over photos of the alleged thieves, but he hasn’t yet. Maybe they didn’t need the foreigners to identify them after all. It turns out, we aren’t all that indispensable to the ever-turning wheels of the Chadian Justice System.

Claire testing my blood

But I have recently been helpful to the Medical System as a blood donor. Being the charitable kind person that I am, you might assume that I’ve given blood many times, whenever I see one of those Red Cross trucks hanging around. You would be wrong. First, Americans don’t like to take my blood because of all the crazy places where I live. Second, in the crazy places where I live, I don’t really want to let people stick needles in me. But I trust Claire and her people at the Guinebor Hospital, and we recently tested my blood again to find that I am, in fact, O-, the universal donor. We did this test at Claire’s house while we were hanging out. Some girls paint each other’s nails and have pillow fights while eating cookie dough. We chose to do a home blood test kit because the blood test I had done properly at a lab in the US was not good enough for my mother, who insisted that I couldn’t possibly be O- because she and my dad are O+. I don’t know what happened there, but Claire’s test, which involved stabbing me in the finger multiple times with a safety pin, also came out O-.

O- card!

So Saturday morning, I get a call from Claire asking, in the nicest politest British way (though, according to the Buzzfeed “Are You More British or American” Quiz, Claire was horrified to find out that she is, in fact, more American than British), if I would possibly be able to trouble myself to come to the hospital and give blood to a mother who just had a baby and needs a transfusion and none of her family have the same blood type and she knows it is a huge bother but it would be a wonderful help if maybe I could somehow make it there, and so I did.

Then when I got there, she disapproved of my outfit, wrapped my head in a scarf to cover my scandalous hair and we shuffled off to the lab where they tested my blood again. I really REALLY am O-, Mom. What did you do?! (Whatever it was, it must not have been that bad because I have the Stillman nose, their obsession with frugality, and their crippling competitive spirit.)

She is a long-suffering friend.

They also tested me for any blood-transferable diseases (I’m healthy!) and then strapped up my arm and stuck a giant needle in me. I was OK until right near the end when either I announced that I wasn’t feeling good or Claire asked me if I was feeling OK. I don’t have a clear memory because everything started fuzzing out and I was nauseous and spinny-headed. Feeling nauseous is the worst for people who can’t throw up. I can remember throwing up maybe 2 times in the last 25 years. Before that, you’ll have to ask my mom, but she probably doesn’t remember either.  So no one was in danger, but maybe they didn’t know that. I heard Claire saying, “Her hands are freezing!” and I thought that was weird because I couldn’t feel anyone touching my hands. I heard the doctor yelling “Arrête, arrête!” and then someone pointed a fan on me and I realized that I was actually going to pull through. Still, when Claire asked, “Amanda, are you with us?” I said, “No.” Because everyone wants a little drama in their lives sometimes. Fortunately, I got back to normal right before they tried to stick an IV in me. They had the bags out and everything, but I was fine, though one of Claire’s Welsh friends said I was the color of the wall, which was half  blue and half white. I guess neither of those colors is ideal for one’s skin tone.

At any rate, they got 400ml out of me, which was enough for what they needed. Everyone fussed over me for the next hour or so, making me drink coke and lie on the couch and taking my pulse/blood pressure multiple times. I went to visit the blood recipient and her baby, and they were happy. The baby has six fingers on his little hands, so I’m glad I could help his mother so that he grows up with the kind, gentle influence of  mother in his life (who hopefully also knows his correct blood type) and doesn't later feel the need to murder Inigo Montoya’s father or anything like that. He’s very sweet and all the family were there loving on them and a bag of my blood was sitting on the foot of her bed, waiting for the transfusion.

Checking my blood. Guess what? It's O-.

I felt tingly and prickly the rest of the day, but my name is on the list in case of any other blood emergencies (my O- blood is so powerful!), and my new Chadian driver’s license is also ready, with my actual blood type written on it. The old one in my stolen wallet said O+. They must have asked my mom because I’d told them to write O-, but when they called her, she probably said, “Oh bless her heart, she has no idea, ya’ll just write O+” because that is how she talks now that she moved back to Tennessee. Anyway, ya’ll don’t worry about me—unless I get in a car accident chasing down criminals with the police or something because I only know of one other O- donor here and she lives close to the hospital so she gets called in a lot.  And Micaela told me under no circumstances should I give blood again in the next 3 months and also she hinted that maybe I am too delicate to give blood at all, but I think I should have had more than a cup of tea with 3 chocolate biscuits before donating my life’s blood (I got 55% British and 45% American on the quiz, so I’m just going to own it and talk about biscuits and trousers and rubbish bins like the classy person that I am now, thanks to Buzzfeed and the fact that I drink a lot of tea). Cheerio, then, darlings. I’m still alive and replenishing blood to give to others who are less picky than those mad colonists across the pond with their restrictive blood donation regulations. It’s my duty as an O-.

 Photos courtesy of my American friend, la belle Claire:

Prepped for blood-letting

Selfie with the Doc

Selfie before the needle in my arm made it impossible for me to take more selfies

Recovering after telling the Doc that I don't need the IV

Bag of my blood. (I'm "Amada," if you were wondering.)

Proof of my British-ness

Independence Day of Statehood

In the entire history of the country of South Sudan, I have only ever missed one Independence Day Celebration in Mundri, not including the original day of Independence, but only the celebrations on the anniversary. I think that this qualifies me to tell how South Sudanese people in Mundri celebrate their Day of Statehood (an alternate translation of يوم الاستقلال, because it's always good to switch things up once in a while). Of course, you could also say that I’ve only ever celebrated 67% of all celebrations or that I have missed a full 30% of celebrations, but still, in my life as an American, I’m pretty sure my percentage is worse than that. So—behold ME!—an expert. Read and learn, my friends, from my superior knowledge.

Soldiers, school kids, flag=Independence

Here is a brief schedule of events:

1.     Military marches in with great fanfare, songs, and some dancing (Note: these guys sing GOOD, and I would be more patriotic if our military people did more singing and dancing, especially during their morning group-run.)

2.     School children march in with great fanfare, songs, and some dancing.

3.     Some more marching formations happen on the soccer field.

Mundri 2 Primary School girls shake it.

4.     Eventually everyone ends up sitting or standing under the mango trees while people go to the front to speechify.

5.     There is a speech announcing the coming speeches and song and dance numbers.

6.     The person doing the opening prayer is introduced.

7.     Person precedes prayer by small sermon (small means it only last half an hour).

8.     Prayer happens.

9.     National Anthem is sung. Many people do not know it. Hey—it’s a new country!

10.  Announcer comes back and announces next speech/event.

11.  Speech/event happens.

12.  Announcer

13.  Speech/event

14.  Annoucer

     This photo is a HUGE accomplishment
for me: Noha finally let me hold 
him without screaming
in terror at my horrifying whiteness--
An Independence Day Miracle!

15.  Speech/event

16.  Repeat steps 11-15 until you are just about to go home because-hey! home is right behind you anyway…and then convince yourself that you should stick it out because you are one of the only (or in fact the only) shiny white person there whose absence might possibly be noticed.

17.  Maintain a look of interest and concentration on your face as you gaze upon the passionate speecher, even if you are trying to plan out how you will go eat lunch with your friend AND make brownies in the coal oven to give to another friend AND make it to the dance party later).

18.  After an hour of words that you no longer have the brain willpower to pay attention to (which doesn’t matter since your face froze into a look of concentrated contemplation about 2 hours ago and will stay like that for another 45 minutes at least), concluding with “So I don’t really have much to say, so I’ll stop here,” everyone BREAKS FOR LUNCH!

19.  Go to lunch with friends.

20.  Free time until 4:00 when the DANCE PARTY STARTS

21.  From 4:00-sunset (approximately 7:30) groups form according to tribe/clan all over the soccer field where people dance their own style or jump from group to group dancing them all (I prefer to dance them all). The Moru group is the biggest (of course) and consequently the hardest to break into. Also, be aware: many drunk men and lots of knives and bows and arrows and stuff to watch out for. Favorite instruments: cow horn trumpets and cow hide drums.

Cow horns and drums, and the guy bending over is
playing the drums, but when he got kicked out
of the band for being drunk, he pulled that knife, attached
to him by the blue rope, and the police had to come to
escort him away from the area.

The sun got in my way for this shot, but also there
was so much dust being kicked up from the dancers
that you can't get a clear shot anyway.

My friends who invited me to lunch have a pet deer
that they found in the jungle and adopted.

In the back right-hand side you can see one of our
2 riot police that were there "just in case."
This is a lazy sneaky photo I took from my seat,
so it is bad, but the point is:
Mundri has riot police, ya'll!

So, the dance party is fun. It feels very “African,” which is a description that I hesitate to use because Africa is a continent made up of a surprising number of unique cultures and communities. I say surprising because I think it is to people who are still under the impression that Africa is a country. But in this case, having a dance party to celebrate Day of Statehood fits the stereotype of singing, dancing Africans. And the Moru people from all the clans and tribes know how to shake it. And one small white girl knows how to make a fool of herself without shame by joining in.

Here is where I uploaded a video 2x on the odds that at least one of them will work. It's still a long shot, but let's see what happens...

And now I must, I MUST say something else. There is no one in the world who knows how to really celebrate Independence Day like the Indonesian people. Yes, I’m sure it’s fun to cook out on the grill and eat til you’re sick, but really, that’s what Americans do at all of their holiday parties (I’m not saying I’m not OK with that, I’m just saying it’s not very creative). Indonesians plan their parties by neighborhood. Everyone gathers on the nearest badminton court or whatever open space you can find if you are on the most populated island in the world (i.e. Java, home to 100,000,000+ people, same size and shape as TN which is home to a mere 5,000,000 people—for reference). There one and all play ridiculous games designed to make everyone look like an idiot. The chubby lady who owns the local warung (small shop) wins the sack race. The RT (elected village leader) is the fastest at eating his krupuk off the string hanging from the clothesline with his hands tied behind his back. All the men and boys join in to climb the greasy bamboo pole to rip down the prices and throw them into the adoring crowd at the bottom. And of course, children run around eating too much candy and having the best time of their lives, which is the goal of children everywhere on every holiday. I’ve been in many countries and seen many Day of Statehood celebrations, but none of them have anything on Indonesia. I really think that Indonesians should travel around the world and do workshops on the proper way to celebrate Independence. It’s the least they can do for less advanced nations.

Dirgahayu Indonesia!

Below are a bunch of photos I got off the internet as examples of Indonesia's Awesome Celebrations because it has been a long time since I've been there for one.

The prizes are at the top!

Can only get there through team work.

And determination

And I have never been at a celebration that had a bike on the top,
so this must be a fancy neighborhood.

Eat krupuk off a string!

And now, more proof that Indonesia is the greatest country on the face of the earth with some original photos taken by people I actually know (my parents, 2 of my 5 blog readers):

We have fire engines that look like this!

And check out this cute foto of my dad
hanging out with friends by a cool tree.
Indonesia=Awesome
My Dad=Awesome

Wait, sorry, this just in… Indonesia and South Sudan are exactly the same:

Except Indonesia kind of enforces those helmet laws…

In conclusion, Everywhere is Awesome. I love Everywhere. Everywhere is my favorite.