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.

The Old Old Story Part 2

And so.....

This is sunrise the next day, but pretend it is sunset
to set the mood.

There might have been about 100 of us, trekking through the jungle when gunshots rang out right beside us. We didn’t stop to look if they were firing at us. We all ran for it. I followed Repent, clutching his baby and trying not to lose him in the chaotic crowd splitting off in different directions. Ahead I saw a little boy about 3 years old screaming in terror for his  mother. I turned and asked others if they knew where his mother was, and no one did. Everyone just ran around him while he stood there sobbing. I shifted Halina, grabbed his hand and told him to come with me, “I got you. You’re tough, keep running.” It speaks to his terror of being alone that he took the scary khawaja’s hand.  When we got farther away from the fighting, another lady not carrying a baby took the boy and later that night when we stopped at a compound on the way to our camp, we found people who recognized him and were able to get him back to his family.

By the time we made it to camp, a little clearing with a few raised rocks in it that Repent had known about for some reason, our group had shrunk down to less than 50 and we had run about 4 miles up and down, over rivers, and through a stinging ant bed. The ant bed happened towards the end when it was starting to get dark and we could hear fighting behind us so we were moving fast and not watching our feet. Suddenly we felt stinging biting all over our feet. We took our shoes off and ran, swatting at our legs. But these are ants with little pinchers and they hold on. I didn’t get all of them off until later that night when I was sitting down and able to pull them off. I even found one attached to my shoe the next day.

Men on patrol with bows and arrows

That night we made camp with the help of people’s flashlights—we threw down some sleeping mats and blocked off the path with branches and sticks to make it look like we weren’t back there. Meanwhile groups of young Moru men had organized themselves into patrols—one guy with a gun with several guys with bows and arrows—and they were walking around making sure the refugees hiding in the jungle were OK. The ladies handed out the food and then we ate and went to sleep in a big pile. I slept on a rock and covered up with a piece of cloth that a nice lady named Esther leant me. She walked to her family 30 miles away in another town the next day, but she let me keep the cloth. It was very good to have it because it was freezing that night (not literally) and sleeping on a rock is not comfortable. And I don’t think that I slept much that night either. I mostly lay there, listening to people talk loudly on their cell phones (technology makes it a lot harder for people to hide in the jungle, I think) and the sounds of fighting down in town. I texted people, read ridiculous articles on my phone about how rebel groups hundreds of miles of terrible roads away from us had claimed victory in our town and the boss and I made plans for me to leave the next day.

Waking up and brushing teeth with sticks

I woke up early the next morning, as did everyone, and after a quick drink of water, I said my goodbyes and walked back to town with Repent. At Repent’s house, he packed up a few things, including an old solar panel with a few wires coming off it, which later came in handy to charge his phone battery by tying the wires to the battery with a rubber band.  While we were at his house, the SPLA secretary came by with a patrol group and he told me there was again no way I could get across the river to the airstrip. “The bridge is dangerous, “ he told me, “ And the river is too high to cross anywhere else.”

The road MAF tried
to land on

So I called MAF to let them know, and we started making plans to land on our new road if MAF would give permission. We walked back to our camp to drop off Repent’s solar panel and then we headed towards the road at a town called Janga. Once arriving in Janga, several miles away, we headed to the road to get some specific info about it for MAF—does it slope, are there obstructions on either side, any potholes? Then we had to go get permission from the Commissioner to have a plane land on the road.

On our way to the Commissioner’s house, we ran into Jeffreys and Esther and their families. It was so good to see them, but they had not been as organized as Repent and hadn’t eaten anything in the last 15 hours or so. Jeffreys is diabetic and he was not doing well. Esther’s blind mother was lying on the ground, as she’d hurt herself when she had fallen the day before running to the jungle.  When Vaida and Esther got back with some cassava plants they’d dug up, we all had a little food and Jeffreys perked up right away.

Crossing back over the Mori River to Repent's house

While we were sitting there, MAF called to tell us that they’d been denied permission by their organization to land in the road, thinking that it was too dangerous for their pilots and believing that it would be safer to wait out the fighting until I could get to the airstrip. I was actually kind of relieved to hear this news, as that road was packed with people running from Mundri. Having a plane swoop down and take the last khawaja to safety in the outside world, seemed way too white privilege for me to handle at that moment. Though the reality is that I knew that I’d probably get out soon and that is a direct result of my nationality and privileged position as an INGO worker.

 We went down to meet with the Commissioner anyway. He was obviously very busy talking to a million people meeting in his compound and answering a billion phone calls, but he was gracious to meet with us, and he updated us on the situation. What most people in Mundri believe happened is that when the police, Executive Director, and Commissioner went up to investigate the death of the soldiers on Friday morning, some Dinka soldiers in our garrison from town, went up and ambushed them, either thinking that they weren’t taking the deaths of the Dinka soldiers seriously enough or because they were looking for an excuse to cause trouble, being annoyed about the Dinka cattle that was forced out or maybe there was some other reason. Whatever it was, when the other half of the garrison, mostly Western Equatorians, heard that a Western Equatorian was killed, they got mad and turned on the Dinka soldiers. So basically the commander of the garrison just lost control of his men. They ran wild across Mundri fighting each other. I also heard that 3 trucks full of soldiers from Rumbek (seriously, if the names are throwing you off, find a map of South Sudan—clearly you have internet access if you are reading this) came down to join in the fray, also being angry about their cattle being kicked out. And possibly disgruntled Moru youth joined in. I heard a lot about “disgruntled Moru youth” from military people I spoke with later. Odds are high that there were a few involved, though I haven’t personally met any.

Repent and a gun-toting patrol man

So the Commissioner had called for help, and the SPLA (look that up too) had sent troops from Maridi and Juba to come help. They were close by the time we spoke with the Commissioner. We went back to the jungle to wait it out. When they arrived we heard machine guns, tanks, lots of fighting for several hours. We stayed put until just after sunset when it started to rain, and we ran for cover at the house of a friend of Repent’s. The women and children stayed in one small house and the men in another. The children spread out on the floor, with mothers around them to calm them if they woke up during the night (they did), and Maria (an older lady) and myself shared the twin bed in the corner.

By Sunday morning, Mark had come across the number of the Brigadier General who had come in from Juba the day before. This was thanks to a friend in high places, and not my father in Indonesia, as Mark’s stressed out sleep deprived brain initially thought. I called the Brig Gen the next day, and he jovially told me that everyone could go home—no problem. I joyfully passed on this news to Repent who calmly said, “OK. That’s nice. Let’s sit down and have some tea, and then we will look into going home.”

I said, “The General said it was OK! Let’s definitely go!”

He handed me a cup of tea and pulled out a chair. I sat down to drink it and plan what I would do when I got home.

One of our treks to various places

While sipping our tea, we noticed a family with all their stuff, walk by heading home. And then 45 minutes later, we saw them coming back.

“What’s the news?” someone called out.

“The patrol men sent us back. They said it’s still dangerous in town and people are looting the marketplace.”

I stopped planning what I would do when I got home. Instead, I went with Repent to have church out under a neighbor’s mango tree with all the other nearby refugees. It was a lovely service, and I was the only one who got sunburnt.

Before his phone went dead-
trekking through the teak

The rest of the day was spent entertaining children, which is what I’d been doing the whole time. The other ladies did not need or want me trying to help out with their efficient system of cooking and cleaning, but the children did like me making origami frogs and birds and paper planes and teaching them how to whistle on a piece of grass and how to play various Korean slapping games. That afternoon we went out to get water from the nearby pond to carry back for bathing. Then we sat around and drank ginger coffee and talked about everything happening in Mundri. By this time my phone was permanently off to save the last 10% of the battery for the call to MAF to tell them I was on the way to the airstrip. They were planning to come early the next day, and I was planning to be escorted there by the military (they offered!), but if I didn’t confirm that I was on my way to the airstrip, they weren’t going to send the plane. So my phone was off, and it was a cloudy rainy day so Repent’s little solar charger wasn’t going to work, and I heard later that there were a few people (Mark, Mom) a bit worried about our lack of communication. But we were fine. Others like Damari’s daughter Nadia were not. She had gone back to her house to find that every single thing she owned was stolen from her compound—her clothes (she had what she was wearing when she fled), her cooking utensils, and even her jerrycans for collecting water.

My friend Siti who also lost everything

“Can she buy those things again?” I asked stupidly.

“How? She has no money. She was crying so much on the phone when she called me,” Damari said. (I gave her some of the money I had with me, but if the market was closed, I knew it wouldn’t mean much.)

That night I let the kids watch Despicable Me on the ipad because I didn’t need that battery, and they thought it was great until it started raining and we all ran inside and went to bed.

The next morning Repent and I got up and walked through thigh-high wet grass to the Commissioner’s house where I had arranged to meet the Brig Gen to drive to the airstrip. We got to his house, but he wasn’t there because he’d stayed in town with the military men. There was a group of young men with bows and arrows and guns keeping an eye out. After we had sat for a while and I used some precious battery power to call the General (“Oh yeah, right. I’ll come now), the men came and told us they thought we should leave because it wasn’t safe there anymore. I never found out if anything happened there, but we left quickly, walking down the main road towards town. Repent whispered to me, “Don’t call anyone while we are walking here. People are watching us.” We walked fast and silently towards town. Just as we got to the main road, we saw the General’s car coming towards us. We hopped in, and as we drove and I called MAF to tell them I was on the way, I looked out the window to see the damage to Mundri. The doors of almost every store in the market were ripped off and trash covered the ground where looters had chugged soda and eaten cookies and thrown down the wrappers before carrying the rest off with them.

Neverthirst pump being used by IDPs

Even though I’d thought I was going straight to the airstrip and had informed MAF of that, the driver took me to the Commissioner’s office because I had to talk to him and the Brig Gen and the Commander. We discussed the events of the last few days, speculated on the perpetrators (“Out of control soldiers,” suggested me. “Disgruntled Moru youth,” said the Commander. ), and he told  me how he was ambushed in Lui on his way to Mundri and had to fight his way through. After a quick photo, we finally went to the airstrip escorted by the Red Berets, the most elite force in the SPLA. I felt important. They lined up on either side of the airstrip until the plane landed, picked me up, and I left.

While it was not easy to leave Mundri in an uncertain state, it was the right thing to do, as food and other resources were scare, and I was one of the few people who could actually leave. Also, Repent was going to split his focus on to me from the millions of other people he was responsible for, no matter what I said. He was responsible for his children, his sister’s kids, his brother’s kids, and his cousin had dropped his kids off at Repent’s while he was his father’s funeral in another town. We had a lot of kids with us.

Red beret

People leaving home with their most
important belongings

It seems unfair that I can just hop countries to shop in places where I can buy what I need. Even though I only got out with the clothes on my back and a bag full of electronics, I was able to buy some clothes in Uganda to get me by and many kind and generous people in the US helped me buy lots of other stuff I “needed” for American life once I got back to the US. My friends who lost everything won’t be able to do that, even though the market is slowly opening again.

I love that even though I’ve barely had my new passport a year, the lady in Qatar who checked it said, “Wow. You have used this a lot!” But I hate that I have used it to leave behind people I love in a tough situation.

I am glad that I had the opportunity to be with friends sleeping on rocks and brushing my teeth with sticks and sharing a communal water cup, but I’m also glad to be sleeping by myself in a comfortable bed, having my own toothbrush, and taking hot showers in my sister’s house. I love my nieces and nephews, but I miss my friends in South Sudan too. I’m also glad that whenever I call, I hear that things are improving there, but I know there is a long way to go, and I won’t be useful there for quite some time.

Commissioner James, unwashed white girl,
Brig. Gen Mobil and Commander Okout

My friends haven’t lost hope. They are ready to get things back to normal. They are working hard in their gardens and on their homes. It is not easy, but they are resilient. Still, I hope that one day recovering from war won’t be second nature to them because they won’t be having to constantly recover from war. I want to see development and good things happen in Mundri. Maybe I won’t be a part of that. Maybe I will. They don’t really need me. None of the people I was with lost hope. They trusted the Lord to help them, and they never doubted His sovereignty over everything. And they helped each other and took care of the lonely foreigner and if you want to help them, check out Neverthirst’s website.

This has been very long and not very funny, but if you read it, I guess you wanted to know the story. Thanks to those who called and emailed and posted on Facebook. I appreciate the thoughts and prayers and I hope that even though I’m out now for the time being, you won’t forget about the people of Mundri.

 And now some photos of me entertaining children:

Braiding my very dirty hair

Check-in call time and photo session

Korean slapping games in South Sudan

This photo is from the iPad.
See--I didn't only waste my phone battery!

Movie night