Friday, July 15,
The best news this week is that we've hired a program director for the ASAH Home for Girls. His name is Manyok Phillip Khok. He was born in Duk in 1985, and lost his mother to illness when he was eight. His father was killed when Manyok was a teen. Educated in Uganda, Manyok holds a diploma in Business Administration and returned to Duk some months ago to be closer to extended family. His uncle is a pastor at the church here. He was looking for a job with the county or as a teacher, but jobs are few in this area. Dau John Awuou, our project manager and the head teacher at the local school recommended him for our program.
On Monday, his first day, Manyok began working with us, and with the girls. I'm confident that he understands the need to protect and educate these future community leaders, along with the responsibilities of overseeing staff, managing inventory, and communicating with local administrators, NGOs, and our board in the US. This is an enormous relief for me to be able to leave here, knowing that our project is in capable hands.
Our goal now is to open the ASAH Home for Girls in mid-September. There is a month long school break from August 15 to September 15, and our hope is that the girls will come a few days before school begins to orient to the facility.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
The Republic of South Sudan is officially an independent nation
Saturday, July 9
Gunshots rang through the night air, causing many of the foreign workers to fear for their lives, even getting out of bed to lay on the floor—particularly when two shots rang out on the compound. Apparently, since fireworks aren't available, the locals use what they have—rifles and AK-47s—to celebrate the birth of their nation. Unbelievably, I slept through the shooting, though I was conscious of my daughter getting up and moving around. I have some great earplugs, which are a necessity in this place where there is no silence at any time of day. Roosters crowing, hens cackling, goats bleating, cows mooing, dogs barking, frogs croaking, cicadas buzzing, birds tweeting, and insects of all kind whizzing and ???
As I was waking, earplugs out, the town crier was making his rounds, as he had the night before, calling out plans for the day. As I headed out for a run, the chanting and drumming and droves of people heading toward the village center, caused me to go back to the tent for my still and my video camera, and follow the crowd, sloshing through the water that is beginning to accumulate in low areas, water that will be here for months.
When I arrived, I was enlisted by Paul, one of the clinic nurses, who is also a village elder, to videotape the speeches of the dignitaries and esteemed elders present, including the Paramount Chief. I felt a little embarrassed—dressed in gym shorts and shirt, and unshowered, but apologized, and shot the 30 minutes of tape I had available. Unfortunately, when I got back to check the tape, there was no sound. I tested the mic and found it works only on "zoom" and the "gun" setting recorded no sound at all. Such a shame as I had hoped to deliver them a DVD copy on my next trip. And I had also recorded the women church leaders dancing and singing.
They asked me to return at 1:30, which I did, but the men had retreated due to impending rain. Instead I photographed the women cooking a freshly-slaughtered bull or two or three. Back at the clinic, our cooks were doing the same thing, the bull slaughtered onsite. I walked to IRD where a crowd had gathered to watch the news coverage of the celebrations in Juba. As the rain seemed eminent, they brought the flat screen back indoors, and I jogged back to the clinic with the other staff who had wandered that way. We caught a few sprinkles, but I got inside before it began to pour. Gina had battened up the hatches before my return.
It was a gentler rain and lasted only an hour or so. The rest of the day was cool and comfortable. We enjoyed fresh beef and liver: I avoided the cooked blood. And after dinner, we enjoyed cool (not cold) bottles of Coca Cola, a luxury around here.
Gunshots rang through the night air, causing many of the foreign workers to fear for their lives, even getting out of bed to lay on the floor—particularly when two shots rang out on the compound. Apparently, since fireworks aren't available, the locals use what they have—rifles and AK-47s—to celebrate the birth of their nation. Unbelievably, I slept through the shooting, though I was conscious of my daughter getting up and moving around. I have some great earplugs, which are a necessity in this place where there is no silence at any time of day. Roosters crowing, hens cackling, goats bleating, cows mooing, dogs barking, frogs croaking, cicadas buzzing, birds tweeting, and insects of all kind whizzing and ???
As I was waking, earplugs out, the town crier was making his rounds, as he had the night before, calling out plans for the day. As I headed out for a run, the chanting and drumming and droves of people heading toward the village center, caused me to go back to the tent for my still and my video camera, and follow the crowd, sloshing through the water that is beginning to accumulate in low areas, water that will be here for months.
When I arrived, I was enlisted by Paul, one of the clinic nurses, who is also a village elder, to videotape the speeches of the dignitaries and esteemed elders present, including the Paramount Chief. I felt a little embarrassed—dressed in gym shorts and shirt, and unshowered, but apologized, and shot the 30 minutes of tape I had available. Unfortunately, when I got back to check the tape, there was no sound. I tested the mic and found it works only on "zoom" and the "gun" setting recorded no sound at all. Such a shame as I had hoped to deliver them a DVD copy on my next trip. And I had also recorded the women church leaders dancing and singing.
They asked me to return at 1:30, which I did, but the men had retreated due to impending rain. Instead I photographed the women cooking a freshly-slaughtered bull or two or three. Back at the clinic, our cooks were doing the same thing, the bull slaughtered onsite. I walked to IRD where a crowd had gathered to watch the news coverage of the celebrations in Juba. As the rain seemed eminent, they brought the flat screen back indoors, and I jogged back to the clinic with the other staff who had wandered that way. We caught a few sprinkles, but I got inside before it began to pour. Gina had battened up the hatches before my return.
It was a gentler rain and lasted only an hour or so. The rest of the day was cool and comfortable. We enjoyed fresh beef and liver: I avoided the cooked blood. And after dinner, we enjoyed cool (not cold) bottles of Coca Cola, a luxury around here.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Day Three with ASAH Girls
Friday, July 8
Watching the long-legged Dinka girls stroll toward us is like watching waves ebb and flow. Mindful of the heat, their steps are slow, their arms swinging, relaxed and rhythmic. Today we had spectators. Eight orphan girls, all hoping to join the program. I'm excited to get home and share photos and stories with the sponsors we have for some of our initial group—but we still need sponsors. To expand our program, requires additional costs for construction and staff. Your financial contributions will give this community and other neighboring villages an opportunity to watch these young girls develop into educated women with skills that will help their country develop.
I invited the tag-a-long girls to stand around our circle. We don't have enough chairs for them. For today's program we invited Lillian and Latifah, two MEDAIR employees who are working with the clinic on a nutrition program, to give our girls a lesson on health and hygiene. Lillian is Kenyan, and though Latifah is Sudanese, she doesn't speak Dinka, so Abraham Ring, one of the clinic nurses, translated, and made it participatory for the girls, who knew why they keep their hair shaved or very short—to protect from lice, why they washed their hands and faces—to protect from conjunctivitis, and so on.
Each day we share biscuits—and we included the new girls today, which means we can probably expect them again Monday. And we ended the day with Dodge Ball played with multiple balls—soccer and otherwise. Much laughing ensued.
Watching the long-legged Dinka girls stroll toward us is like watching waves ebb and flow. Mindful of the heat, their steps are slow, their arms swinging, relaxed and rhythmic. Today we had spectators. Eight orphan girls, all hoping to join the program. I'm excited to get home and share photos and stories with the sponsors we have for some of our initial group—but we still need sponsors. To expand our program, requires additional costs for construction and staff. Your financial contributions will give this community and other neighboring villages an opportunity to watch these young girls develop into educated women with skills that will help their country develop.
I invited the tag-a-long girls to stand around our circle. We don't have enough chairs for them. For today's program we invited Lillian and Latifah, two MEDAIR employees who are working with the clinic on a nutrition program, to give our girls a lesson on health and hygiene. Lillian is Kenyan, and though Latifah is Sudanese, she doesn't speak Dinka, so Abraham Ring, one of the clinic nurses, translated, and made it participatory for the girls, who knew why they keep their hair shaved or very short—to protect from lice, why they washed their hands and faces—to protect from conjunctivitis, and so on.
Each day we share biscuits—and we included the new girls today, which means we can probably expect them again Monday. And we ended the day with Dodge Ball played with multiple balls—soccer and otherwise. Much laughing ensued.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Day Two with ASAH Girls
Thursday, July 7
We could see our ASAH Girls approaching from afar, all of them dressed in the hot pink ASAH logo t-shirts we gave them. The names of ten of our girls start with A, and only one starts with N: Achol, Akuol, two Ayens, Adau, Akur, Abul, Akon, Aleul, Abuk, and Nyadak.
It was hot, so we held class outside in the shady area in the center of the clinic housing and dining area. The clinic staff doesn't begrudge us the chairs we take from under them. Everyone is supportive and proud that Duk Payuel has a program to help the most vulnerable, the orphan girls.
After the ritual hand washing and name exchange, Angie and Gina led the girls through If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands, and Head and shoulders knees and toes, which is guaranteed to generate hysterical laughter as we speed up. The highlight was making beaded bracelets. Angie brought a wonderfully colorful assortment of various shapes of plastic beads, and each girl made herself a bracelet.
We could see our ASAH Girls approaching from afar, all of them dressed in the hot pink ASAH logo t-shirts we gave them. The names of ten of our girls start with A, and only one starts with N: Achol, Akuol, two Ayens, Adau, Akur, Abul, Akon, Aleul, Abuk, and Nyadak.
It was hot, so we held class outside in the shady area in the center of the clinic housing and dining area. The clinic staff doesn't begrudge us the chairs we take from under them. Everyone is supportive and proud that Duk Payuel has a program to help the most vulnerable, the orphan girls.
After the ritual hand washing and name exchange, Angie and Gina led the girls through If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands, and Head and shoulders knees and toes, which is guaranteed to generate hysterical laughter as we speed up. The highlight was making beaded bracelets. Angie brought a wonderfully colorful assortment of various shapes of plastic beads, and each girl made herself a bracelet.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Happy Belated 4th, Happy Birthday Vika!
Tuesday, July 5
Because I am catching up on the blogs for Sunday and Monday and Tuesday on Wednesday, I forgot to mention HAPPY 4th of JULY with my earlier post. Tuesday there were a lot of celebrations in the village. We heard guns popping all day long, which made a lot of people here uneasy.
Wednesday July 6—Happy Birthday to my daughter Vika
Though I will not be with my family in Fargo today, celebrating my daughter Vika's 25th at a Japanese restaurant, I will be with her in spirit. I called her on Skype, but the connection was terrible, and we each managed only a few words.
I had a run/walk early this morning. Running on the dry portions of the road, and stepping off to navigating the clumps of grass when the road was covered with ankle-deep water. Even so, I ended up soaking my tennis shoes. The grass here grows like crazy. In days, grass that reached our calves, is now waist-high in places. In the clinic yard, they hack at the grass with "slashers"—long, flat pieces of metal with a bend about four inches from the rounded tip.
Angie and Gina and I walked to IRD and confirmed that the pickup truck they've hired for the next ten days will be able to bring us sand for concrete blocks for the bathrooms and showers, and retrieve our short poles from the bush so we can finish the last two tukuls. We're still waiting for the plumbing and electrical materials as well. No news on that.
Then we headed into the central village area. This is where yesterday's gunshots must have come from. We passed dozens of men carrying weapons. I've gotten a couple different stories, but the closest I can tell is that they're Nuer tribesmen whose cattle are in Poktop, where they had been taken to graze since there was no water in their area, which I think is near Pajut. Now that it's raining in their home village., they're looking for an escort to get their cattle safely to their village, due to the incidents with Murle that have taken place in the county. UNMIS stopped by in their helicopter again, and it may be they will provide assistance. Anyhow, it's hard to get the full story.
This afternoon, the ten girls who will be in our program arrived at the clinic compound for our first introductory meeting. Gina and Angie prepared lesson plans with name games, songs, some reading, and ending with musical chairs and biscuits for treats. Midway through, an 11th girl arrived. There was a mixup. We'd met her grandmother, but the girl hadn't been confirmed for the program. But we couldn't send her away, so we'll squeeze her in somehow.
There was a lot of smiles and laughter. The ice is broken, and we're getting a feel for their abilities. We plan to have them over every weekday until it's time for us to leave.
Two more orphan girls came by later on. They're on the list. I hope our donors will help us expand this program during the next dry season. The need is great, the community is supportive, and the girls are hungry for the chance to learn.
Because I am catching up on the blogs for Sunday and Monday and Tuesday on Wednesday, I forgot to mention HAPPY 4th of JULY with my earlier post. Tuesday there were a lot of celebrations in the village. We heard guns popping all day long, which made a lot of people here uneasy.
Wednesday July 6—Happy Birthday to my daughter Vika
Though I will not be with my family in Fargo today, celebrating my daughter Vika's 25th at a Japanese restaurant, I will be with her in spirit. I called her on Skype, but the connection was terrible, and we each managed only a few words.
I had a run/walk early this morning. Running on the dry portions of the road, and stepping off to navigating the clumps of grass when the road was covered with ankle-deep water. Even so, I ended up soaking my tennis shoes. The grass here grows like crazy. In days, grass that reached our calves, is now waist-high in places. In the clinic yard, they hack at the grass with "slashers"—long, flat pieces of metal with a bend about four inches from the rounded tip.
Angie and Gina and I walked to IRD and confirmed that the pickup truck they've hired for the next ten days will be able to bring us sand for concrete blocks for the bathrooms and showers, and retrieve our short poles from the bush so we can finish the last two tukuls. We're still waiting for the plumbing and electrical materials as well. No news on that.
Then we headed into the central village area. This is where yesterday's gunshots must have come from. We passed dozens of men carrying weapons. I've gotten a couple different stories, but the closest I can tell is that they're Nuer tribesmen whose cattle are in Poktop, where they had been taken to graze since there was no water in their area, which I think is near Pajut. Now that it's raining in their home village., they're looking for an escort to get their cattle safely to their village, due to the incidents with Murle that have taken place in the county. UNMIS stopped by in their helicopter again, and it may be they will provide assistance. Anyhow, it's hard to get the full story.
This afternoon, the ten girls who will be in our program arrived at the clinic compound for our first introductory meeting. Gina and Angie prepared lesson plans with name games, songs, some reading, and ending with musical chairs and biscuits for treats. Midway through, an 11th girl arrived. There was a mixup. We'd met her grandmother, but the girl hadn't been confirmed for the program. But we couldn't send her away, so we'll squeeze her in somehow.
There was a lot of smiles and laughter. The ice is broken, and we're getting a feel for their abilities. We plan to have them over every weekday until it's time for us to leave.
Two more orphan girls came by later on. They're on the list. I hope our donors will help us expand this program during the next dry season. The need is great, the community is supportive, and the girls are hungry for the chance to learn.
Sun, Rain, Airplanes and Orphans
Sunday, July 3
Angie and I carried our own chairs to church. It's a ten-minute walk, and the chairs are plastic. If we don't bring chairs, someone gives theirs up for us, and then they parade us to the front of the church where we sit with the elders facing the congregation. We were able to slip in the back without causing a stir.
It was another 100-degree day without a cloud in the sky, so we spent the afternoon in the shade at the compound. Around five, as it started to cool, Dau showed up to take us to the central area of the village to meet two more guardians and girls for our program. This was the first opportunity I've had on my four trips to Duk, to wander through the maze of family compounds. The families we visited before were in outlying areas, with great distances of grass between them. A rural setting. In the main area of the village, there's a wide road through the center, lined with a few shops and the Duk Payuel Business Group along the road and fences made of heavy thatching material, offering privacy and protection from roaming cattle and goats to the households within.
We had partial luck. At one home both the guardian and the girl were out cultivating their garden. At another, the guardian was gone, though we spoke with the girl and her blind grandmother. We have eight of our ten orphan girls confirmed.
Monday, July 4
Rain, rain, rain. We could feel it in the air when we woke up. After two full-sun days, rain was inevitable this time of year. We battened down the hatches of the tent, learning the best ways to ensure our belongings stayed dry—as long as the wind wasn't too strong. With a strong wind, there's no way to avoid it.
I was worried because my daughter Gina was scheduled to arrive on AIM Air around 1 pm. Joh Deng, the clinic manager, and I walked to the airstrip. He carried an umbrella, and I wore a yellow rain poncho and rolled up my pants. We walked the airstrip—it must be about a kilometer or more in length, trying to determine if WE thought AIM Air could land. The AIM pilots are pretty familiar with this landing strip, unlike MAF who circled and didn't land a week ago. So, though there was standing water in several places, we thought they'd chance it.
We walked back to the clinic. Learned that AIM had left Loki at 11. We got in the JDF car and returned to the strip with Lual, the driver. Walked the entire strip again, as if we could magically dry the water. Meanwhile, the rain has been steady, though not pouring, all morning. As we pondered whether to go back to the clinic or wait, we heard the plane.
Pilot Jerry landed on the sandy but squishy airstrip without a problem, and we welcomed Gina and some medical supplies for the clinic.
Angie and I carried our own chairs to church. It's a ten-minute walk, and the chairs are plastic. If we don't bring chairs, someone gives theirs up for us, and then they parade us to the front of the church where we sit with the elders facing the congregation. We were able to slip in the back without causing a stir.
It was another 100-degree day without a cloud in the sky, so we spent the afternoon in the shade at the compound. Around five, as it started to cool, Dau showed up to take us to the central area of the village to meet two more guardians and girls for our program. This was the first opportunity I've had on my four trips to Duk, to wander through the maze of family compounds. The families we visited before were in outlying areas, with great distances of grass between them. A rural setting. In the main area of the village, there's a wide road through the center, lined with a few shops and the Duk Payuel Business Group along the road and fences made of heavy thatching material, offering privacy and protection from roaming cattle and goats to the households within.
We had partial luck. At one home both the guardian and the girl were out cultivating their garden. At another, the guardian was gone, though we spoke with the girl and her blind grandmother. We have eight of our ten orphan girls confirmed.
Monday, July 4
Rain, rain, rain. We could feel it in the air when we woke up. After two full-sun days, rain was inevitable this time of year. We battened down the hatches of the tent, learning the best ways to ensure our belongings stayed dry—as long as the wind wasn't too strong. With a strong wind, there's no way to avoid it.
I was worried because my daughter Gina was scheduled to arrive on AIM Air around 1 pm. Joh Deng, the clinic manager, and I walked to the airstrip. He carried an umbrella, and I wore a yellow rain poncho and rolled up my pants. We walked the airstrip—it must be about a kilometer or more in length, trying to determine if WE thought AIM Air could land. The AIM pilots are pretty familiar with this landing strip, unlike MAF who circled and didn't land a week ago. So, though there was standing water in several places, we thought they'd chance it.
We walked back to the clinic. Learned that AIM had left Loki at 11. We got in the JDF car and returned to the strip with Lual, the driver. Walked the entire strip again, as if we could magically dry the water. Meanwhile, the rain has been steady, though not pouring, all morning. As we pondered whether to go back to the clinic or wait, we heard the plane.
Pilot Jerry landed on the sandy but squishy airstrip without a problem, and we welcomed Gina and some medical supplies for the clinic.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
This is what you shall do--Whitman
This is what you shall do
by Walt Whitman
"This is what you shall do; Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body."
"This is what you shall do..." by Walt Whitman, from the preface of Leaves of Grass. Public domain
Happy Independence Day in America.
Celebrate the independence of the Republic of South Sudan on July 9
by Walt Whitman
"This is what you shall do; Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body."
"This is what you shall do..." by Walt Whitman, from the preface of Leaves of Grass. Public domain
Happy Independence Day in America.
Celebrate the independence of the Republic of South Sudan on July 9
Site Progress
Saturday, July 2
Progress on the site. Two of the four mudded tukuls are now plastered with a smooth coat of mud, inside and out. On Facebook I will post photos of the hole dug by the women who did this work. It's about six inches deep and 7 feet in diameter. Dug with small, crude hand shovels and carried to the site in plastic basins to which they add water and smooth across the walls by hand.
The large tukul which will serve as our office and storage is being thatched. This is another laborious and slow job where the long grasses are attached in small bundles and beat into place with a large flat knife-like tool. The result is a roof that can withstand heavy rains and wind without leaking.
That tukul and the smaller one which will house our security guard are still awaiting short poles to strengthen the foundation before the walls can be mudded.
Tabeesa, the matron who lives on our site, but will move within a year when we are ready to expand, has dug up most of the open area and planted sorghum. The crop should be harvested in a couple months when we are ready to open our facility, which is still awaiting materials and running up against the rainy season. We've been fortunate. In two weeks, we've had only two days of rain, and only one severe rain and windstorm.
Progress on the site. Two of the four mudded tukuls are now plastered with a smooth coat of mud, inside and out. On Facebook I will post photos of the hole dug by the women who did this work. It's about six inches deep and 7 feet in diameter. Dug with small, crude hand shovels and carried to the site in plastic basins to which they add water and smooth across the walls by hand.
The large tukul which will serve as our office and storage is being thatched. This is another laborious and slow job where the long grasses are attached in small bundles and beat into place with a large flat knife-like tool. The result is a roof that can withstand heavy rains and wind without leaking.
That tukul and the smaller one which will house our security guard are still awaiting short poles to strengthen the foundation before the walls can be mudded.
Tabeesa, the matron who lives on our site, but will move within a year when we are ready to expand, has dug up most of the open area and planted sorghum. The crop should be harvested in a couple months when we are ready to open our facility, which is still awaiting materials and running up against the rainy season. We've been fortunate. In two weeks, we've had only two days of rain, and only one severe rain and windstorm.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
MAF and UNMIS airlift the wounded men.
Friday, July 1
The first plane to land today was a MAF (Mission Aviation Fellowship) flight dropping off one of the nutrition team members and picking up another. They had been informed about the wounded men, and had prepared the plane by removing all unnecessary seats. Nine of the most seriously injured men were carried by stretchers to the plane and lifted by blankets with great care to avoid jarring the broken limbs.
In the early afternoon, the UNMIS helicopter that surveyed the situation on Thursday returned, and picked up the remaining group of around 20 wounded men. Two elected to stay behind and return to their villages. One very young man who was shot through the side with the bullet exiting the other side, missing all vital organs, felt he was well enough to avoid the hospital. The other had a head wound on the back of his head. Medical personnel here felt he should go to the hospital for tests as the bullet grazed his brain and they feared problems. But they couldn't force him. And I've heard that Bor hospital is not a place to trust that the care will be adequate.
The first plane to land today was a MAF (Mission Aviation Fellowship) flight dropping off one of the nutrition team members and picking up another. They had been informed about the wounded men, and had prepared the plane by removing all unnecessary seats. Nine of the most seriously injured men were carried by stretchers to the plane and lifted by blankets with great care to avoid jarring the broken limbs.
In the early afternoon, the UNMIS helicopter that surveyed the situation on Thursday returned, and picked up the remaining group of around 20 wounded men. Two elected to stay behind and return to their villages. One very young man who was shot through the side with the bullet exiting the other side, missing all vital organs, felt he was well enough to avoid the hospital. The other had a head wound on the back of his head. Medical personnel here felt he should go to the hospital for tests as the bullet grazed his brain and they feared problems. But they couldn't force him. And I've heard that Bor hospital is not a place to trust that the care will be adequate.
UNMIS lands
Thursday, June 30
The UNMIS helicopter that had hovered, touched down, and took off again Tuesday came back and landed today with a cadre of armed soldiers of all nationalities. The guy in charge, Saju, was from India. I'm not a proper journalist, so I don't remember the rank he mentioned when he introduced himself to me, the white woman in the crowd with the camera. He began asking me for the details of the situation. And though I know many of the details, I told him I wasn't the one in charge and directed him to Juma, the head medical officer from the clinic.
I tagged along to the meeting where Juma, the head medical staff from the clinic, and Malou, our construction supervisor, briefed the men on the situation for the injured, who've been suffering for days with only the nursing care the clinic is able to provide. Many need surgery on fractured limbs, have wounds open to the bone, and internal or head injuries. These men were shot when they followed after the Murle to recover their stolen cattle.
In addition, Juma requested security for this area. There is worry as the referendum approaches that there will be more violence in Duk County. The villages where these attacks took place are several hours by car—eight or nine hours "footing," as they say here. The village of Duk has only one police officer.
From there we trekked to the school, where the two classrooms housing the patients are cordoned off with yellow caution tape. The UNMIS soldiers took photos, and then we all walked back to the airstrip and they flew off, promising to talk to their boss, who will talk to the next boss, and so on. We never got an answer as to why they stopped and flew off again on Tuesday, but it must have been a different group, because Saju said this was the first they'd heard about the incidents.
The UNMIS helicopter that had hovered, touched down, and took off again Tuesday came back and landed today with a cadre of armed soldiers of all nationalities. The guy in charge, Saju, was from India. I'm not a proper journalist, so I don't remember the rank he mentioned when he introduced himself to me, the white woman in the crowd with the camera. He began asking me for the details of the situation. And though I know many of the details, I told him I wasn't the one in charge and directed him to Juma, the head medical officer from the clinic.
I tagged along to the meeting where Juma, the head medical staff from the clinic, and Malou, our construction supervisor, briefed the men on the situation for the injured, who've been suffering for days with only the nursing care the clinic is able to provide. Many need surgery on fractured limbs, have wounds open to the bone, and internal or head injuries. These men were shot when they followed after the Murle to recover their stolen cattle.
In addition, Juma requested security for this area. There is worry as the referendum approaches that there will be more violence in Duk County. The villages where these attacks took place are several hours by car—eight or nine hours "footing," as they say here. The village of Duk has only one police officer.
From there we trekked to the school, where the two classrooms housing the patients are cordoned off with yellow caution tape. The UNMIS soldiers took photos, and then we all walked back to the airstrip and they flew off, promising to talk to their boss, who will talk to the next boss, and so on. We never got an answer as to why they stopped and flew off again on Tuesday, but it must have been a different group, because Saju said this was the first they'd heard about the incidents.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Gunshot Victims and Helicopters
WEDNESDAY
Dodging puddles and mud and a pack of dogs on the airstrip, Angie and Kristine, a nutrition worker with Medair, and I had an enjoyable run in the cool air, which lasted all day. We're all praying it stays dry so that materials for ASAH and for JDF clinic will get through. One transport truck full of aggregate got stuck on the road on the way here from Bor. That truck is also supposed to get sand for us and retrieve our short poles from the bush.
Worse, there's a group of gunshot victims holed up in the school. Apparently there have been two attacks in Duk County in Pajut and in Pagalong. One on June 16 where the village was attacked by Murle tribesmen armed with automatic rifles; two women killed, eight children kidnapped, and other wounded victims. The second group who are now here, were injured the 22nd and brought to the Lost Boys Clinic on Sunday night. Yesterday, a UN helicopter, which we all thought was coming to pick them up, touched down on the landing strip and lifted off again. No one knows why. The strip was a little wet in places, but the soil is sandy here—and it's a helicopter. Maybe they didn't want to get their boots dirty.
Anyhow, the clinic isn't staffed or equipped to care for injuries like this. There are wounds of all kinds including fractures—many requiring surgery. All the nurses here can provide are painkillers, wound dressings and makeshift splints of cardboard. The men are laying on pieces of cloth on the concrete floor of two classrooms. I think there are 26 of them, and 17 are seriously injured. No one came for them today, either.
Angie and I went to the school to observe a couple of classes. The teachers here were receptive to her visiting. She will meet with them another day to offer some feedback and share some teaching methods. Few teachers have had more than introductory courses in teaching.
After school, Dau came by and we went over the list of orphans to determine which girls we would visit today. We selected four and set about tramping across paths both wet and dry and steering clear of thorn bush fences as we entered the yards. One of the girls was away fetching wood, but we spoke to her guardian, who is unsure whether she will let the girl come. In some cases, the girl provides needed labor for an elderly widow who might have a hard time getting along without her.
At three others we met the girls, but the guardian was away planting or cultivating. Our plan is to make home visits to all ten homes, then to invite the girls and guardians to meet with us at the school or the clinic compound, since our location is not yet ready for visitors.
Dodging puddles and mud and a pack of dogs on the airstrip, Angie and Kristine, a nutrition worker with Medair, and I had an enjoyable run in the cool air, which lasted all day. We're all praying it stays dry so that materials for ASAH and for JDF clinic will get through. One transport truck full of aggregate got stuck on the road on the way here from Bor. That truck is also supposed to get sand for us and retrieve our short poles from the bush.
Worse, there's a group of gunshot victims holed up in the school. Apparently there have been two attacks in Duk County in Pajut and in Pagalong. One on June 16 where the village was attacked by Murle tribesmen armed with automatic rifles; two women killed, eight children kidnapped, and other wounded victims. The second group who are now here, were injured the 22nd and brought to the Lost Boys Clinic on Sunday night. Yesterday, a UN helicopter, which we all thought was coming to pick them up, touched down on the landing strip and lifted off again. No one knows why. The strip was a little wet in places, but the soil is sandy here—and it's a helicopter. Maybe they didn't want to get their boots dirty.
Anyhow, the clinic isn't staffed or equipped to care for injuries like this. There are wounds of all kinds including fractures—many requiring surgery. All the nurses here can provide are painkillers, wound dressings and makeshift splints of cardboard. The men are laying on pieces of cloth on the concrete floor of two classrooms. I think there are 26 of them, and 17 are seriously injured. No one came for them today, either.
Angie and I went to the school to observe a couple of classes. The teachers here were receptive to her visiting. She will meet with them another day to offer some feedback and share some teaching methods. Few teachers have had more than introductory courses in teaching.
After school, Dau came by and we went over the list of orphans to determine which girls we would visit today. We selected four and set about tramping across paths both wet and dry and steering clear of thorn bush fences as we entered the yards. One of the girls was away fetching wood, but we spoke to her guardian, who is unsure whether she will let the girl come. In some cases, the girl provides needed labor for an elderly widow who might have a hard time getting along without her.
At three others we met the girls, but the guardian was away planting or cultivating. Our plan is to make home visits to all ten homes, then to invite the girls and guardians to meet with us at the school or the clinic compound, since our location is not yet ready for visitors.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)