Sunday, December 18, 2011

The Perfect Storm

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Duk has more than the usual number of AIM Air flights landing here recently. Besides my arrival with Moses and cargo two weeks ago, one flight arrived with medical staff and cargo Tuesday, another one is arriving today with more docs and supplies, and Friday morning we are expecting more ASAH materials, including tiles for the showers and toilets. They'll be beautiful and hygienic compared to the bare concrete in the pit latrines on the clinic compound.

In spite of hardships like this, the JDF Lost Boys Clinic is doing amazing work in Duk Payuel. Hundreds of people have come from all across the county and beyond—blind people holding sticks held by family members leading them to the promise of sight.

These doctors from the Moran Eye Institute have systems in place, though there are difficulties presented working here where there are no surgical facilities or surgically-trained staff assistants. Nevertheless, they have trained the clinic staff to assist in all aspects from screening to documenting, and the machine looks well-oiled to me.

There is a perfect storm causing blindness here—more percentage of blind people than anywhere else in the world. There is an abundance of UV rays from the ever-present blistering sun, there's a lack of antioxidants in the diet. The insects and infections and disease that cause glaucoma, trachoma and river blindness are also factors here. In addition, there is a high level of congenital cataracts here. One 18-month-old girl arrived on an AIM flight. She has cataracts, but the surgeons discovered she has additional causes of blindness that are not correctable. Some patients will return home still blind, some will have limited sight, but many will return to their lives with near-perfect vision. There are some whole families—mother and children, who have regained their eyesight.

Friday, December 16, 2011

Welded

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Maduk is welding the elevation structure for our 5000L water tank. Soon workers will begin digging four – three-meter holes for the legs as the structure will be set into the ground for stability. The structure is huge and will require a good number of people from the community to set upright, carry to the insertion site, and to plant. I think they'll use ropes and trees for leverage. I hope to get this on videotape before I leave.

We've confirmed that the balance of our plumbing and electrical and other materials will arrive on Friday morning—wall and floor tile, outdoor lights, paint, soap dishes, toilet paper holders and so on.

We worked out a temporary agreement with IRD to share fuel costs for running the generator to get our water and power onsite. On Monday in Juba I will meet with IMA staff. IMA will be taking over the IRD site, so we will work out a new arrangement with them.

Late in the afternoon, John Dau (http://johndaufoundation.org/) asked if he could visit our site, and we made the walk. As we approached and he caught sight of the fence, he said, "This is your fence?! This beautiful fence is yours? This huge property is yours?" As we entered, he took a look and he said, "This is beautiful here." I showed him around the staff housing, the storage, and inside the only one of our tukuls that wasn't locked. John pointed out signs of termites, showing me the soile they have already deposited on some of our wood rafters. The solution is to have our security guard check weekly and knock off any soil that appears. We will treat the wood with anti-termite solution when it arrives—we have been waiting for one of the last three flights to bring it.

John was impressed with our toilets and showers and sinks. The clinic has nothing like this. He said to me, "I knew you were working on something here, but I hadn't paid that much attention—this is much more than I expected." And he congratulated us on our progress. Just wait until he sees what 50 educated ASAH girls will accomplish in the future!

Thursday, December 15, 2011

The Blind

Tuesday, December 13

Today was the beginning of a big week for the clinic. AIM Air landed with a group of medical folks from The Moran Eye Center - http://uuhsc.utah.edu/MoranEyeCenter/outreach/international.html - and elsewhere: doctors, nurses, and others involved with the upcoming cataract surgeries that will be performed beginning Thursday. Several more eye surgeons arrive Thursday. Some of the docs brought small camping tents which now dot the clinic compound; others were moved into the clinic staff tents, and these staff moved into the almost-finished block housing nearby. Because the rainy season road conditions have made getting materials here impossible until just recently, ASAH loaned mattresses and other needed items from our storage for the guests. Since my last visit, the clinic has been using two of our tables and a stool as well. I don't know what they'll do when we take them back in January, but the clinic has been a gracious host to me over the many weeks I've spent here in the past year, and I'm glad ASAH can give back.

It's lively here in the compound and the complexion has changed with the number of kuwajas (literally—foreigners, but used to designate us white folks) now present. Many of the clinic staff now spend their off hours at the new housing or on the outskirts of the gathering area, so I miss them at meal times and in the evenings, though the conversation, dotted with snippets of medical stories, reports on the day's screenings, and joke telling, is interesting.

Blind people have walked here from as far away as Bor—a four day walk—to be screened for cataract surgery. In most cases, the blind person uses a cane and holds onto a long stick as a sighted person leads them slowly along rutted, dusty, stony paths and roadways, and through the grasslands. One six-year-old girl led her blind grandmother on a two-day walk from their village.

By Wednesday about 170 candidates were scheduled for cataract surgeries, and at least one trachoma patient has already had an operation. The doctors are working in makeshift operating suites. The Lost Boys Clinic is a basic care facility, not a hospital, but this team will make it work. Unfortunately, some patients are turned away because there is no sight to be restored. There are also at least ten children under 14 with cataracts. More patients will arrive over the next few days.

Invited

Monday, December 12

On Sunday, Manyok presented me with a printed invitation to the school's year-end closing ceremony. The invite was for 10 am Monday, so like an American I arrived early, and like an African I watched and waited. Young boys carried school desks from the school to the church for the assembly. The one-piece desks consist of a bench seat and a 10" plank writing area. Designed to seat two or three, the children squeezed together four or five to a desk.

On Sundays, each member of the congregation must bring their own seat, and the church is populated with colorful plastic chairs and large bent tin cans—mostly for seating children. Today the church is more orderly, the benches lined up in neat rows. One of the teachers gestured for the kids to stand and reordered them from class one to seven, right to left and back.

Another teacher ran a cable from an outside power source to hook up a sound system—amp and speakers, music and mic. Chairs had already been set up for the invited guests and teaching staff.

The program was further delayed with an announcement that we were waiting for 91-year-old Gideon, the guest of honor, but when another twenty minutes passed without him, they started up. He arrived soon after.

There was much singing and celebration, and the top ten students in each class were recognized by name and invited to the front of the church. The young primary students received a notebook, a pen, and soap—the soap here comes in long bars, scored to break off into individual bars of soap. I don’t think first graders in the US would prize soap the way they do here. The pen and soap supplies ran out, and the older students received only notebooks and certificates.

Two of our ASAH girls, Achol in class six, and Ayen in class three, were number nine in their respective classes, as was Daniel, the boy who has assisted me with videotaping and other tasks over the last year.

One student was asked to speak to the assembly—Achol, graduate of class six. She took the mic like a pro and, in Dinka, translated for me by Manyok, told the crowd how important it is to let the girls stay in school and not to marry them off when they are too young. She spoke in a strong and confident voice, turning to looking at the assembled students as well as the teachers and invited guests. She said, "If you let us stay in school and get an education, then you will see what we can do for you in the future."

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Undies--Big and Small

Sunday, December 11

After church, the women came to the church office compound where we had set up to distribute panties and pads. I often distribute through the school, but last week was exam week, and now school is out until February. An announcement was made at church, and the crowd that arrived was mostly mothers and smaller children, but very few teenage girls—our target population. We will distribute theirs when school reopens.

The panties distribution can easily deteriorate into a mad grab, so I asked Rhoda, a former teacher who speaks English and works with our program, to line the children up by size and age. Lillian, the clinic midwife, helped me hand them out. The little children came first—both boys and girls and babes in arms left with four pairs of panties each. A few teenage girls showed up, and then came the mothers. Thinking that South Sudan teens resemble American teens, our donors often donate women's sizes. The teens here are very tall, but thin as rails. Still, the underwear is welcomed by adult women, too.

Things started hopping before dinner when John Dau, who started the JDF Foundation Lost Boys Clinic here in Duk, arrived with a group that included Michelle, a filmmaker who will be with him until the end of January, documenting the peace initiative which he is here for, and the cataract surgeries which will begin in a few days when the eye surgeons arrive from the US. Also in the entourage were armed policemen. Nine people in a Land Cruiser plus baggage and weapons. Due to the bad roads, what might have been a five-hour drive took two days from Bor to Duk.

The arrival of special visitors means meat and potatoes along with the traditional beans and rice for dinner. They didn't know, however, that we'd been treated to fried fish at lunch. The fish is mudfish, which I usually disdain as it is stewed and rank—I'm not sure if it's rotten or what, but the whole dining room stinks to high heaven. This fish was fresh and pretty tasty with lots of tiny bones. The initiated were able to peel the flesh back and leave the skeleton behind. I wasn't so skilled.

Michelle brought a two-person tent donated to her by Marmot, who is a sponsor for her film project. Moses was gracious enough to agree to sleep there, and Michelle moved into my tent. I don't know how she would have managed in that tiny tent. She has a huge amount of film gear. It would certainly have been more difficult for her to manage, and I'm enjoying the female companionship.

Slaughtering the Calf

Friday, December 9, 2011

One obstacle in this remote place is the dearth of skilled local workers. One local has carpentry and welding skills and the equipment to do the work. As the only game in town, he prices his work accordingly. We can bring Kenyan or Ugandan workers from Bor or Juba, but that is costly, too, and with the long rainy season it isn't always possible. Manyok and Dau are learning the art of negotiation. They know what things should cost, and they don't give out the contracts until the price is reasonable. Our most recent negotiation was for welding of the elevation structure for our water tank and the gates for our fence. At this particular time, we have an advantage as the Kenyan plumbers and electricians now working on our site are capable of doing this job as well.

We now have a hand washing sink on the outside wall of our ablution blocks. Not a novel concept—use the toilet and wash your hands right afterwards—but there aren't any sinks at the clinic, for example. The faucet at the clinic is a trek from the latrine through the clinic and from there to the dining compound. The water that spills from this knee-high faucet is drinkable, splashes onto broken concrete and trickles down a shallow mud ditch. From this single outdoor faucet we fill our water bottles, basins to wash clothes, buckets to wash dishes. We also wash the dust from our feet and legs and rinse our toothbrushes.

Earlier in the week, a small cow walking outside our fence managed to climb over a pile of concrete blocks and tumble into the hole dug for our septic tank. One of our crew was working on the ablution block roof, and he got down from the roof, jumped into the hole, and lifted the calf to another worker. Unfortunately, the calf sustained spinal damage of some sort and wasn't able to walk or stand, but remained alive. Someone went to notify the owner and ask him to come and determine what should be done with the cow. He declined, so Manyok and Dau went to visit him. He was angry and verbally abusive but would not offer a resolution. They expected him to send someone to examine the animal. Cows here are not sacred as in India, but they are prized and people will starve before slaughtering them. The idea is to have them and to accumulate more like money in the bank. Of course they breed them, and they use the milk, but beef is saved for celebrations and weddings.

The crew carry the cow to a grassy area and offered water. On Friday, as no one had come on behalf of the owner, they put it out of its misery. It served to feed them all. I can't understand it. If these animals are so loved, how could this calf be left to suffer by the owner? The septic tank was finished and covered. No other animals (or children) will suffer such a fate.

Saturday, December 10, 2011

Harsh Light, Blue Shadows

Thursday, December 8, 2011

I'm pretty adaptable, but heat fatigue and hunger take a toll. I use "hunger" loosely—though I might yearn for a meal here, I have no idea what it would be like to suffer hunger. In this village, I'm surrounded by people who have an intimate relationship with the pain and anguish of malnourishment, the experience of starving, and of watching people they love die for lack of food.

Moses and Daniel and I traveled to the site for a meeting with the guardians and the girls, arranged by Dau and Manyok. The meeting was at nine, so naturally the guardians came at 10:30. Before they arrived, we heard the plane overhead, which caused Dau to head toward the airstrip to organize carriers for our materials, leaving the girls, Manyok, Rhoda, Moses, Daniel and me to set out chairs and greet the guardians.

Materials began to trickle in, but I felt bad about the guardians with nothing to do, though they were less concerned. My Western desire for punctuality and my own personal difficulty of sitting quietly without always having to "do" is continually challenged here. Manyok didn't want to start the program without Dau who had been the one to meet with the guardians when the girls were first chosen before Manyok was hired, but we had planned to serve tea and fruit, so we began preparing that.

Rhoda and Tabitha (pronounced Tabeesa) brought trays with cups of tea while Achol, one of our ASAH girls, worked at slicing two fresh pineapples and apples. Milk tea is a special treat. Though common in Africa, nothing is common in South Sudan for people who have no food, no money, and no place to buy food even if they had money. Their faces lit up, and there was much chatter as they consumed the dripping pineapple, a food they had never tasted before.

I'm frustrated taking photos. The sun is bright and harsh, the shadows deep and blue. To shoot the very dark faces of Sudanese, the darkest of Africans, light is essential. But this light is not flattering, it's hot—both in temperature and appearance—and the shadows are deep and dappled as they filter through the trees. Group shots often result in faces that are almost silhouettes.

Dau arrived and the program began. The guardians were introduced. Manyok translated for me as Dau spoke to them in Dinka about our opening date—January 15, and our expectations for the girls—that they be released to our care and allowed to remain until their education is complete, which today means primary school, but we hope to get many of them through secondary school and beyond if funds allow. We will encourage visiting and interaction of the girls with their families and the local community. They will attend the local school during the mornings and church on Sundays, and we will enlist teachers, villagers with talents and skills, and even clinic staff and visitors to share their knowledge with our girls.

After I thanked them for allowing their girls to join us and talked of our desire that they stay in the program and not be forced to marry at puberty, several guardians rose to comment. Each of them reinforced their happiness that the girls would be under our care. They told me they are unable to protect the girls from forced marriage in their households. If a potential groom—even a 50 or 70-year-old man—presents cattle dowry—the girls would be given. With us, they will be safe.

Friday, December 9, 2011

Portage

Wednesday, December 7

Dau and Manyok and I met. They had prepared and printed (using the printer we bought in Juba) spreadsheets detailing the labor costs over the last few months. Some of the labor involved is portage of materials. There are three vehicles in the village, but they can't be driven during the rainy season. The roads and paths between the high ground areas flood and the vehicles get stuck. Thus men, women, and children carry things—on their heads, their shoulders, and their backs.

The most expensive portage was bags of cement carried from storage at the school (inside a classroom and protected from the elements) to our site. It takes about 15 minutes to trek this distance during the dry season, it takes longer to walk through the water, and it is particularly important not to drop the cement in the water. I'm sure few readers could easily lift, let alone carry for a long distance, a bag of this cement. I know because I loaded and unloaded these same bags into and out of a vehicle when we stored them in the first place. Some of the bags were opened and dumped into buckets or sacks and carried by women. A few men were able to carry a bag on their own. It's dirty work.

To bring the sand for building concrete block, three wheelbarrows were each loaded with sand 400 times and pushed to the site and back at a cost of 1 Sudanese pound per wheelbarrow. One Sudanese pound is about 31 cents. And, until my arrival last week with the materials to run water to our site, women carried the necessary water from the well on their heads. Many items on the spreadsheet are listed by the number of "backs" required.

Thursday, December 8, 2011

Feast

Tuesday, December 6

We're on Africa time. Like other hot places I've visited where clocks don't govern the day, I went to find Manyok at the site at 10 am, expecting to meet with him before our feast with the girls scheduled for one o'clock. Manyok was overseeing the workers and Dau was catching up on his end-of-term duties as head teacher. I worked on photos and the blog at IRD, the adjacent NGO site, taking advantage of their electric power and Internet access.

At 12:30, Daniel and I went to the site, but still no Dau or Manyok. The girls started arriving, and I gave them a tour. Much has changed since they visited last July. We interacted as best we could with our limited shared language. By 2, I saw that Tabitha and Rhoda hadn't started cooking the goat and knew this would be a full day affair. I figured I would miss lunch altogether, which isn't an actual hardship in a place where entire families consider themselves lucky to share one small meal in a day, and often have nothing to eat but leaves they've gathered. But it wasn't to be. The cooks had prepared a lunch of goat liver in a stew with carrots and onions for Moses and me. Not used to the heat, Moses had returned to the clinic for a nap, so I was expected to eat alone inside the tukul. Though some of you may not be fond of liver, this meat was quite tasty, and it was a treat to eat meat that wasn't tough, stringy, and accompanied by bone slivers and gristle. I could eat only a small portion, and I asked Daniel to finish it up.

Dau and Manyok arrived with the fruit I brought from Nairobi. We retrieved a knife from Tabitha—a piece of metal with a long pointed triangular blade, fairly blunt edges and a makeshift shaft. Slicing the mangos attracted hundreds of small blue flies. The mangos had been bruised in transit and storage and weren't in perfect shape, but the girls devoured them with gusto. Tabitha is saving the seeds to dry and plant on our site. Likewise, we saved the pineapple tops. The abundance of ripening fruit allowed for an orgy of eating, juice dripping from our fingers and faces. Thank goodness we now have easy access to running water at our site.

We filled the time until dinner playing games and singing songs. Dau asked me to tell them a story. Goldilocks and the Three Bears came to mind, and I drew on storytelling skills acquired in high-school speech tournaments, and honed telling stories to my children. I remembered that I have this book on my IPad and treated them to that version when I finished. The IPad entertained them for a good hour as they explored the interactive children's books and other kid stuff I've downloaded on that wonderful machine.

Finally dinner was ready, and what a feast it was. Tabitha, Rhoda, and another cook carried the dishes to our table. The girls dished up mounds of rice, goat stew, stewed chicken (also donated by Moses' uncle), and a delicious dish of pasta with goat meat and carrots. I've never seen an American child devour such a large quantity of food at a sitting, but these girls are accustomed to a single meal in a day, which often consists only of sorghum.

Since most of our supplies are in storage, awaiting completion of our compound, we had 11 girls but only six spoons. The adults, including me, used our fingers. Five groups of two girls sat knee to knee and shared spoons—a bite for one, pass the spoon, a bite for the other and so on.

Our meal finished, we brought out the sweaters I brought from Nairobi for chilly evenings, and they went home: their bellies full, their bodies warm. It was dark when we returned to the clinic, but Moses and I took a nighttime walk to the central village to meet with his sister's guardian. I have never ventured off the clinic compound after dark. Though I brought a small torch (flashlight), the bright moonlight was sufficient to light our way.

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Sacrificial goats

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Manyok and Dau bought a goat to celebrate our arrival. The plan was to slaughter it Sunday and invite the girls for a feast. Alas, the clinic has no firewood. Shortly after we received this gift, before we left for church, Moses' uncle Kon stopped by with a goat for us as well. The he-goat and the she-goat are tethered, bleating pitifully, knowing something is up. They have a short respite as we won't be able to slaughter and cook them today.

Daniel and I walked to church before the two-hour service finished. Two hours is a bit long for me since all the preaching and prayers and announcements are in Dinka. The singing and drumming is quite enjoyable, as is watching and listening to the movement of people and children inside the church.

As in any church, when it's over, everyone gathers outside to greet friends. Many people know me now, and their greetings are warm. People call me Deborah Dit, though I didn't t know why. The addition of "Dit" to the name is a sign of respect for elders and for people in responsible positions.

After lunch we started our long walk through the outskirts of the village on our way to Daniel's home to meet his mother. She's in her 50s, but looks older. His father is nearly 70, blind, living in Juba. As often happens when you meet parents of kids that you are helping, I was designated his second mother. From there, we tried to meet Moses' brother, Akol, at his uncle Kon's, but when we arrived we learned Akol had gone to the central town, so we will meet him another day.

Continuing our trek we headed to the site. Walking cross-country through knee-high grass is uncomfortable now that things are drying out. Prickly grasses scratch my legs and tiny thorns end up in my sandals. Daniel, Moses, and Manyok are all wearing trousers and shoes. I'm wearing cargo shorts—not the traditional dress for women, but no one seems to mind. I wear dresses or skirts for church and when meeting with elders. It's too hot for pants.

Juma, the head medical officer at the clinic, came to me in the afternoon pleading on behalf of eight tuberculosis patients—seven women and a little girl, and one man who has lost his fingers to leprosy. They have no food. Their bodies can't utilize the medications if they're starving. He asked if I could help. ASAH has precious food supplies stored here. We had expected our compound to open last summer, but the onset of heavy rains delayed materials and the crew until this trip.

Since our facility doesn't open until January, when it will be possible to travel the roads again, Manyok feels we can part with some beans and rice and powdered milk. We organized a plan with Victor, the clinic pharmacist who oversees supplies at the clinic. It isn't certain that we will be repaid, but the Lost Boys Clinic has applied for renewal of a World Food Programme grant for just this situation, and they expect it to be renewed by year-end. They will repay the beans and rice with WPF lentils and sorghum—not as desirable, but we might be able to trade the sorghum for rice. This is a life and death situation for these patients, and right now, we're the only option.

Let There Be Light

Monday, December 5

Juma greeted me with enthusiasm and thanks for the food supplies at breakfast. He wants a photograph of me with the TB patients. What can a bag of beans and rice, a little salt and sugar do? It will keep people alive so they can benefit from the medications for their TB and Leprosy.

Breakfast at the clinic is even more sparse than it's been on previous visits due to the exhaustion of food supplies. There used to be two or three thermoses on the counter—one with milk, one with hot water, but they have only a single thermos now. There are no morning biscuits.

Occasionally someone remarks to me that our country has hardships and our efforts should be concentrated at home. But if you could see what I have seen, you would understand that the situations are not comparable. We have poor and sick people in the US, but it's uncommon for us to see people stricken with TB, leprosy, malaria, and other treatable or eradicated diseases, and one in five small children aren't dying of malnutrition and other illnesses prior to age five. The JDF Lost Boys Clinic here in Duk performs minor miracles daily, caring for up to 100 patients a day, some of whom walk up to 100 miles for care. Medication alone isn't enough to help them, so the clinic provides basic food to many patients.

Today Reuben, a 19-year-old young man from Patuenoi, walked to Duk Payuel for medication with a fever. He has been looking over my shoulder as I type this in the clinic office. I asked him how large Patuenoi is compared to Duk. He told me that Patuenoi is a village and that Duk Payuel is a town. Moses had also told me that he was surprised by how large Duk was—that it was not a village, but a town. It still looks like a village to me. Duk has a population of about 3000 people spread out a great distance across pockets of high ground, as the lowlands flood during the rainy season. There about 500 of these households, though the population is fluid, people coming and going between villages seasonally and with their cattle. Manyok and Dau tell me that Duk is only a village, but because of the clinic and IRD compound, (and our developing program and site) it looks like a town to many from smaller communities.

My trip to the site today was rewarded by the discovery of light in the tukuls. Long single-tube fluorescent lights are installed in the large tukuls, and smaller energy-saving bulbs in the small ones. Though so far the power is only turned on to the tukul where the crew is sleeping, it was wonderful to see the light.

The she-goat was slaughtered at the clinic this morning—fortunately out of my eyesight--and roasted for lunch. Any kind of meat is a real treat at the clinic, and goat meat is prized by Sudanese. The staff is always pressing me to eat more, but I tried to satisfy them by gnawing the fibrous meat off one bone while chewing with care to avoid bone slivers—a given when the meat is butchered with a hatchet.

Some of our ASAH girls came by in the afternoon as we were preparing the pineapple I brought from Nairobi, so we shared it with them and the clinic staff. None had tasted pineapple before, but more shocking to them was that it was straight from the refrigerator. They could hardly manage to chew as they had never had cold food in their lives.

After dinner one of the cooks lit the enormous trash pile. The resulting bonfire was a treat for us all, the night cool without wind. From my bed in the tent—I'm close enough that it could have presented a problem if it were windy—I enjoyed the crackling of the fire, the flames still burning bright as I went to sleep.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Let There Be Water

Saturday, December 3, 2011

Even before the local villagers finished digging the long trench from IRD's compound to ours, we had water running out of a faucet on our site. A real faucet! That means we don't need laborers to haul water from the well, and Tabitha can cook for the men without hauling water as well. You can imagine what a miracle that is. Today, the doors of the toilet and shower stalls are framed and the roof framework is in place.

Our program director, Manyok, and I went to IRD, the adjacent NGO site to get Maduk the carpenter/welder who has been (slowly) building our fence. Maduk will be welding the elevation structure for our 5000 liter water tank and the pedestrian and vehicle gates, and we needed him to let us know what additional materials are needed to complete the work.

It isn't like you can walk down the street to Ace Hardware. The closest location is Bor: four or five hours by car because of the terrible road conditions, three days by footing if you are walking through flooded land, about a half hour by plane. Right now, though the heavy September flooding has receded, the last leg of the journey to Duk from Bor is still too wet for road travel. We are hoping one of the AIM flights coming to Duk this week can land and then return to Bor to pick up the necessary materials so they will be here when the crew needs them. The coordination of these mission flights is complicated as they must calculate weights, fuel loads, and as there are no lights on these landing fields, there is no flying after dark. AIM doesn't work on the weekends, so it will be Monday before I will hear from them.

Too much sun for me today. When I returned to the clinic I was a bit dehydrated in spite of drinking water. One doesn't have to pee much here because you lose the water sweating.

Six of our 11 girls stopped by to hang around. Since they don't speak English, our relations are a little awkward. I brought a puzzle of Africa—each country on the continent is a separate piece, and the outline of the pieces shows on the puzzle when the pieces are out. This was the first puzzle they had ever seen, and it was interesting watching the girls try to fit round pegs in square holes, something US children are exposed to at young ages. I drew their attention to a couple of pieces, pointing out the angles and shapes and gesturing for them to find that on the puzzle.

After that we shared the universal language—food. I gave them each a banana encouraging them to eat them now, but they insisted on taking them home, probably to share with their families.

Fresh fruits and vegetables are a rarity in the village. There are coconut trees all around and many growing on our site. I'm told the fruit begins to ripen in January and coconuts are available through March. Moses tells me that the British coconut trees were planted by the British. Other fruit trees will grow here, but there aren't any in the village now. We will plant mango trees on our site with the seeds from the mangos I brought to share with our girls and the clinic staff.

Monday, December 5, 2011

Achol

Saturday, December 3, 2011

Members of Moses' extended family came to the clinic in the morning with his lovely sister, Achol, who is 14 and will start class five in January.

Moses' Uncle Kon told us he would be gifting us a goat. Though they have no food except what they can gather or hunt, they won't share in the feast with us. Instead, we will share it with the clinic staff. The goat is borrowed.

There is a tremendous shortage of food in the village. Though I saw flourishing crops of sorghum and maize throughout the village, the rainy season picked up in September, and the crops were drowned out. Since people rely on these crops for their food supply, and the flooded crops also meant flooded roads, there is no way to transport food, and the few local shops have no supplies to sell. People with goats are reluctant to sell them. There are lots of cattle, but cows in Sudan are like money in the bank, parted with only for dowry payments and slaughtered only for celebrations, though families with cows enjoy milk and butter.

Though we can't solve all the hunger problems in this village, I talked with Moses about how we could offer some help to his family. We decided to give them some money to purchase food, which will require a two-hour walk each way to Poktop where the marketplace is accessible by road.

We talked with Dau and Manyok about Moses' sister Achol and learned she is a top student in the school. We are considering her as a candidate for our program. The family wasn't living here when we assessed orphans in March, so she wasn't identified. The criteria we used to select students was to choose girls from each area of Duk Payuel, not unfairly benefitting one chief or family over another. Eligible girls must be able to benefit from the program; we chose a target age of 10 to 15, but the current group ranges from seven to 16; the guardian must be willing to allow the girl to enter our program; and the girl must want to join.

If you're interested in sponsoring Achol or one of our other girls, please email me.

Shivering

December 2, 2011

During the night the temperature dropped to 60 degrees. My bed sheets and fleece camping blanket/sleep sack weren't sufficient to keep me warm. It was so chilly, I woke up and slipped light sweatpants under my sleeping shirt, a sweatshirt on top, socks on my feet, and laid the lightweight cloth wrap I carried on the plane over the blanket along with more clothing items on top. In the morning I requested one of our heavy wool blankets from the store. Moses already had one, so he was toasty warm, but I've never been that cold on any prior visit, even during the rainy season. Most nights a sheet is sufficient. In our busy day we forgot to get the blanket, so I spent another night shivering.

The high point today was the visit to our building site. I couldn't believe the progress. All six tukuls are thatched, skirted with smooth concrete lips around on the outside, and they have concrete floors as well. Most windows are screened but awaiting frames. The office tukul's door is padlocked. Soon all the tukuls will have doors and framed screened windows. The ablution blocks—one toilet and shower for staff and one toilet and shower for the girls—await the roof, doors, toilets, sinks, and water hookup. We will even have toilet paper holders and towel racks—the first in the village.

The fence is up though the gates are temporary, awaiting materials for framing pedestrian gates and a large one for vehicles. One side of the fence is not complete as the floodwaters are just receding, but I think it will be dry enough soon to put in the last fence posts.

The sound of an airplane drew us back to the airstrip. Our AIM Caravan pilot had taken clinic patients to Bor early in the morning, and he returned before noon with our crew—two plumbers and an electrician—and more materials. Again many people and children gathered to carry things to the site, which is much farther from the airstrip than the clinic. Manyok paid the children small amounts for their labor. To carry large heavy bags of calcium, we borrowed a wheelbarrow from the clinic since our wheelbarrows were too heavy to come on our flight.

Tabitha, the church's lay pastor lives on our site, and we arranged for her to cook for the men who brought their own food from Bor. Manyok got mattresses for them to sleep in the newly-built tukuls—our first guests—but they went the night without bedding. I can't imagine how chilly that was for them. They have bedding now.

Reunion

December 1, 2011 Cont'd

We had alerted Dau, the head teacher, and Manyok, our program director, that Moses had siblings in the area. Dau knew of the family. I thought they were in a neighboring village, but while I was busy greeting old friends, meeting new ones, and watching as our cargo was transported here and there, Moses was spirited off by Daniel, the 15-year-old boy who has assisted me on all my trips here. Daniel helps with videotaping, finding me people when I need them, and keeping my camera batteries and computer charged. What neither Moses nor I knew is that the younger brother and sister he didn't know—they were born after he was separated from the family—is that they now live here in Duk. Neither of these children were identified as orphans on our list because they were living in Poktop when we assessed the families.

I missed the reunion. His brother, Akol, is 11 in class three and his sister, Achol, is 14 in class five. He tells me there was excitement and tears, but I don't have a photo or a snippet of videotape to share. Moses has agreed to record his feelings about this reunion and to share his impressions of the village.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Traveling on AIM Air

December 1, 2011

Moses and I arrived at Wilson Airport in Nairobi at 6:30 am. Outside we met our favorite pilot, Jon Hildebrandt, and his family. Jef Foss and I stayed in their guest house last spring because we couldn't catch a flight to Nairobi that day.

His wife and two children would be flying with us, but Jon had to fly commercially as our cargo was heavy. Including passengers, we're allowed 1000 kg on the caravan. Our heaviest item, a 3' diameter spool of underground cable was too heavy for AIM's scale. To accommodate our cargo without leaving too much behind the plane loaded only enough fuel to get to Eldoret. We landed, refueled enough to get to Loki, landed, and went through immigration AGAIN even though we hadn't left the country, THEN we flew to Juba. Now that the country is independent, all the flights have to go through immigration instead of landing directly in villages. So we stopped again, had the visas stamped, and then we flew to Duk Payuel.

The poor pilot wasn't done. He had to fly to Pieri to refuel for the morning. Then he returned to the village and stayed with all of us at the clinic. In the early morning he took several sick passengers to the hospital in Bor, picked up our electrician, two plumbers and additional materials, flew back to Duk to drop them off and then on to the rest of his day: the life of an AIM Air mission pilot.

We were greeted as usual by an entourage of children, villagers, clinic staff, and now our ASAH girls were waiting, too, wearing their hot pink t-shirts.

There are three vehicles in the village. None are in working order, so our bigger girls carried duffle bags on their heads—each weighing 50 to 60 pounds. The smaller girls carried other items on their heads. Boys typically carry things on their backs or shoulders, though a few of them did the head carry. It took many people to bring our cargo to our storage at the school, the clinic and the site, walking in hot afternoon sun, for 15 to 30 minutes with heavy loads.

Saturday, December 3, 2011

Kenya--November 26-November 30

Ron Saeger spent nearly a month in Kenya with our nine Kenyan students—Moses, John, Joseph, Michael, James, Simon, Abraham, Deborah, and Sarah. They go to six different schools in Nakuru, Kenya. There is much to do when a school year ends, and Ron took care of them with much help from Moses, who just finished Form 4 and is now a high school graduate.

All the kids did well in school—James is top of his class, competing against Kenyan native students; Deborah was fourth in her first year of secondary school. New to our program and fresh from Kakuma Refugee camp schools, which are very inadequate, she had completed only two terms of the previous year in grade eight. We suggested she repeat because though she improved greatly over the two terms, her final test scores weren't high. The scores determine what type of high school she can attend. She refused and told us she could do it. Shiners High School, a sister school to Roots Academy, her primary school, accepted her and she proved us wrong. We're happy to be wrong.

I arrived in Kenya on November 26 and met them Ron and the kids at Mayfield Guest House, owned by AIM Air. James was absent--he chose a Scouting trip over Nairobi The guests here are all missionaries or other humanitarian workers. The dormitory-style housing is simple, the food served family-style. On every stay we meet interesting people doing good work in South Sudan and Kenya.

Except for Moses, none of our students had been to Nairobi before, That didn't stop the older boys from taking off to explore on their own. With them, we visited a baby elephant orphanage and a giraffe center, and on a day when I was away, Ron treated them to their first movie in a theater. They saw "Happy Feet."