In this remote area, there are few things available to purchase. That includes food and materials or supplies of any kind. When goats are plentiful, it might be possible to purchase one to slaughter, but there are times when no one will part with a single goat. Chickens are not commonly available, though occasionally a single chicken can be had for a price. It's possible to buy onions at inflated prices, and sometimes you will see a child in the central village with a few recycled plastic water bottles filled with cooking oil for sale. The bottles standing on a small piece of square cloth, the eight or ten-year-old child, if lucky, is sitting on a plastic chair, and often holding a toddler. Occasionally you might find a man with a table set up in front of his tukul selling batteries and a pot or two, or some other random useful things. Perhaps some iron sheet left over from a finished or abandoned project, timbers, firewood. As the rainy season drags on, most of these entrepreneurs have closed shop, the inventory depleted.
We've had a problem getting firewood. We purchase it daily as it becomes available.There is no firewood shop with a large supply. The last two days there has been no morning tea until after the girls have left for school, and meals have been delayed because we haven't found anyone with firewood to sell. There's been a lot of water already this rainy season, and the water makes it more difficult to retrieve. It's collected in the bush by women and carried to the village by women. Only women do this job. The grasses are often knee high, but some are taller than a man. Recent flooding makes it hard to navigate, and has turned the mosquitos into a plague. The malaria-carrying mosquitos in this area are the tiniest of insects - almost as small as "no-see-ums." They don't make an audible buzzing sound, and you can't feel the bite, so they're treacherous.
As we consider our building plans for our kitchen and dining complex, we are investigating alternative cooking methods that would reduce our reliance on the scarce supply of firewood, and which would give our cooks a way to cook without inhaling smoke all day long. The clinic has a new propane stove that they bought in Juba last February, but there was no propane in Juba, so the propane just arrived three days ago on an AIM Air flight from Nairobi.
We are growing some of our own vegetables and over time expect to grow more food on our compound and on land outside the compound - maize, groundnuts, kudra, kale, tomatoes, cabbage, onions and others. Our supplies, building materials, and bulk food - the rice, the maize and wheat flour, sugar, salt, cooking oil, beans, lentils, milk powder, powdered juices, tomato and chili sauce (believe me, chili sauce really improves a daily diet of beans and rice), and occasional pasta or other foods - all this comes from Bor, the capitol of Jonglei, which is a five-hour drive (about 90 miles) or from Juba, the capitol of South Sudan, which is a nine-hour drive from the village (about 125 miles). Prices are much cheaper in Juba, than in Bor, and much cheaper in Nairobi than in Juba, but we must pay the cost to transport in each of these cases - by air or by land.
For as much as six months of the year, (June through December) the nearby roads that serve Duk Payuel are flooded and impassable by trucks and four-wheel drives. Sometimes a tractor can make it through. There are a couple of tractors in Duk, but currently no one available to drive them.
Anything we don't have we must fly in from Nairobi through AIM Air, the mission group that flies into this remote area. The JDF Lost Boys Clinic is in the same situation, so we often share cargo and passenger space and cost on those flights.
The logistics of getting a plane here for ASAH whether for passengers or for cargo requires tremendous coordination and cooperation between several groups. First I start with Tim or Caroline, the AIM Air schedulers, and Josh Gwinn, the JDF Clinic Manager. The first question if our cargo is light is - are there any AIM planes in the area between this date and that date that ASAH can join? Sometimes there is another group going to Juba or to Bor or some place in the vicinity, and they can make a trip to Duk Payuel to drop off or pick up a passenger. In that case, we pay for the seat and the weight of the cargo.
Now that the ASAH School for Orphan Girls is open with girls and staff living onsite, we have an increased need for regular service. Just now we are trying to lay in a basic supply of foodstuffs to last through December, but we will need to supplement with some fresh foods over the coming months.
Incoming on this trip ASAH chartered the AIM flight. We are generally allowed 1000 kg of passenger and cargo weights on the Caravan, and 400 kg on the C206. It turned out that JDF had some clinic staff that had been on leave who were ready to return, so ASAH hired the Caravan with JDF paying for their seats as we had to leave some cargo behind, though some of that cargo arrived on a JDF charter two weeks later.
I write this now from Lokichoggio, Kenya, at the Hotel California where our ASAH team stayed in 2007 on our stopover between Nairobi and Duk when we made the documentary. The AIM plane that picked me up was an ASAH charter filled with 1000 kg of cargo -- the things left behind on my first flight plus timbers, iron sheet, and beds and mattresses for the four new girls who will be joining us from Patuenoi in mid-July.
On the plane with me was Lillian, the clinic midwife, returning to Kenya, and our two Kenyan mason/maintenance crew who flew as far as Juba. They are going to visit their families in Kenya for a couple of weeks, and then returning to Duk. Our AIM pilot, Brian, a third-generation missionary pilot, will be returning with his family to Sioux Falls, SD, his wife's hometown in September for about four months to raise the money for his salary for the coming year.
Tomorrow morning we're on to Nairobi.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Word by Word
Why do the ASAH girls need our help? Because even though they range in age from 10 to 17, most of them can barely read. The national language in South Sudan is English (with a British accent and usage) and school is taught in the immersion method with all instruction in English.
For the younger kids and those who have not attended school regularly, I imagine it as Leek Sam, Manyok, and Dau have described their experience in refugee camp schools - learning outside, under the trees. The first couple years they hear so many unfamiliar sounds, it's gibberish, but eventually, they begin to understand. So it is here.
The ASAH girls can understand some English, but they have virtually no conversational skills. Comprehending comes first. Speaking is tough because they have little opportunity to practice - no memorized conversations such as I remember from French classes in junior high school and high school. No time in the "lab" to listen to native French speakers repeating conversations and reinforcement with the written word in a book.
The fact that our girls and many girls in the village have not attended school regularly, day after day, year after year has delayed their acquisition of skills. The school day is also much shorter than ours in the US, ending at noon or one so the children can return home for perhaps the only meal of the day. And once they return to their homes. there are no books, no workbooks, no educational programs on television, and no one speaking English in the home, and even if there were, many kids, especially girls, are busy cooking, cleaning, carrying water or firewood, or taking care of younger children.
Students from Woodland Middle School in Duluth, Minnesota learned about our program and decided they wanted to write letters to our ASAH girls, with the hope that the girls would write back. I arrived here with a packet of close to 30 letters, some addressed to individual ASAH girls by name, and some written to the group.
We broke the girls into three groups, and read a few of the letters to the girls. They were excited to receive them, the first letters of their lives. (Although some of our sponsors have also written to the girls). Though the girls have learned the rudiments of letter writing in school, their writing skills are hindered by their limited English vocabulary, and their inability to spell.
Since we have only twelve girls, we had them each write to a group of students. The process began with the teachers writing the names of all the children in the group for our girls to copy. The real labor began as three of our ASAH teachers and myself hovered over the groups to assist them with vocabulary and spelling. Word by word, letter by letter. When they finished, each girl recopied her letter so that I would have a nice, neat copy to bring back to their pen pals in Duluth.
What did they write about? They wrote about the games they like to play here at ASAH - netball and volleyball. They wrote about the local foods they like to eat. They wrote their names, their ages and their classes. Each letter was individually composed. It took about three hours for each of them to complete a few paragraphs.
That's how it begins. Word by word.
For the younger kids and those who have not attended school regularly, I imagine it as Leek Sam, Manyok, and Dau have described their experience in refugee camp schools - learning outside, under the trees. The first couple years they hear so many unfamiliar sounds, it's gibberish, but eventually, they begin to understand. So it is here.
The ASAH girls can understand some English, but they have virtually no conversational skills. Comprehending comes first. Speaking is tough because they have little opportunity to practice - no memorized conversations such as I remember from French classes in junior high school and high school. No time in the "lab" to listen to native French speakers repeating conversations and reinforcement with the written word in a book.
The fact that our girls and many girls in the village have not attended school regularly, day after day, year after year has delayed their acquisition of skills. The school day is also much shorter than ours in the US, ending at noon or one so the children can return home for perhaps the only meal of the day. And once they return to their homes. there are no books, no workbooks, no educational programs on television, and no one speaking English in the home, and even if there were, many kids, especially girls, are busy cooking, cleaning, carrying water or firewood, or taking care of younger children.
Students from Woodland Middle School in Duluth, Minnesota learned about our program and decided they wanted to write letters to our ASAH girls, with the hope that the girls would write back. I arrived here with a packet of close to 30 letters, some addressed to individual ASAH girls by name, and some written to the group.
We broke the girls into three groups, and read a few of the letters to the girls. They were excited to receive them, the first letters of their lives. (Although some of our sponsors have also written to the girls). Though the girls have learned the rudiments of letter writing in school, their writing skills are hindered by their limited English vocabulary, and their inability to spell.
Since we have only twelve girls, we had them each write to a group of students. The process began with the teachers writing the names of all the children in the group for our girls to copy. The real labor began as three of our ASAH teachers and myself hovered over the groups to assist them with vocabulary and spelling. Word by word, letter by letter. When they finished, each girl recopied her letter so that I would have a nice, neat copy to bring back to their pen pals in Duluth.
What did they write about? They wrote about the games they like to play here at ASAH - netball and volleyball. They wrote about the local foods they like to eat. They wrote their names, their ages and their classes. Each letter was individually composed. It took about three hours for each of them to complete a few paragraphs.
That's how it begins. Word by word.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Will the Dog have Kittens for Lunch?
Did that get your attention? A recent blog on nonprofits related that animal shelters and the like have tremendous social networking success and a resulting increase in donations. There is something about the big eyes of a cute baby animal. . . .
In the evening, I often visit New York or Fargo (our two dorm tukuls) and share slideshows of the photos I've taken here with the girls. When I ran out of photos, I searched my hard drive and found a few saved videos and photo PowerPoints.
The first was of a pregnant shelter dog whose pups were adopted out. she was left bereft about the same time a litter of motherless kittens arrived.The news piece was captioned: Will this Dog have Kittens for Lunch? You get the idea. Just as it would delight you to see this lab pull a kitten out of the water dish it had fallen into, carry it to the dog bed and lick it, then curl up to feed the purring group, the ASAH girls were also delighted with the video.
I'd like you to shift your thoughts from the helpless kittens and their adoptive doggy mom to our girls here, who are also orphans, and the new girls from Patuenoi, a neighboring village, who will join them in July.
They all have stories that would bring tears to your eyes. They have all experienced serious malnutrition. One girl survived when her family was murdered by another tribe. Some lost a parent to war, disease, snakebite, or childbirth. Most orphan girls no say over when or who they marry. A girl might be sold off as a second or third or fourth wife of a man decades her senior in exchange for cattle dowry. The ASAH girls are looking forward to a future of education and marriage of their choice. They will be in a position to change things for their children.
Last week one of our girls, Daruka Ayen, lost her uncle - her guardian, the only fully adult family member. She has a younger brother, and she has an older brother and older sister. Daruka Ayen will be the hope for her family in the future.
Please consider helping these lovely girls with their big eyes, minus the whiskers and floppy ears. ASAH provides all their food, clothing, supplies, educational materials, bed, and bedding, and dedicated teachers, and a matron to look out for them on our secure site.
We need sponsors for the new girls You can find out more on our website, or email us for for information. Or call me when I return to the US after July 4.
In the evening, I often visit New York or Fargo (our two dorm tukuls) and share slideshows of the photos I've taken here with the girls. When I ran out of photos, I searched my hard drive and found a few saved videos and photo PowerPoints.
The first was of a pregnant shelter dog whose pups were adopted out. she was left bereft about the same time a litter of motherless kittens arrived.The news piece was captioned: Will this Dog have Kittens for Lunch? You get the idea. Just as it would delight you to see this lab pull a kitten out of the water dish it had fallen into, carry it to the dog bed and lick it, then curl up to feed the purring group, the ASAH girls were also delighted with the video.
I'd like you to shift your thoughts from the helpless kittens and their adoptive doggy mom to our girls here, who are also orphans, and the new girls from Patuenoi, a neighboring village, who will join them in July.
They all have stories that would bring tears to your eyes. They have all experienced serious malnutrition. One girl survived when her family was murdered by another tribe. Some lost a parent to war, disease, snakebite, or childbirth. Most orphan girls no say over when or who they marry. A girl might be sold off as a second or third or fourth wife of a man decades her senior in exchange for cattle dowry. The ASAH girls are looking forward to a future of education and marriage of their choice. They will be in a position to change things for their children.
Last week one of our girls, Daruka Ayen, lost her uncle - her guardian, the only fully adult family member. She has a younger brother, and she has an older brother and older sister. Daruka Ayen will be the hope for her family in the future.
Please consider helping these lovely girls with their big eyes, minus the whiskers and floppy ears. ASAH provides all their food, clothing, supplies, educational materials, bed, and bedding, and dedicated teachers, and a matron to look out for them on our secure site.
We need sponsors for the new girls You can find out more on our website, or email us for for information. Or call me when I return to the US after July 4.
Monday, June 25, 2012
The Local Fare
It wasn't enough to bring me my own carafe for hot milk tea. Afraid I won't like the local fare, the staff asked the cooks to offer me other choices at dinner until I insisted I would eat what everyone else is eating. I've sampled all food I've been offered, and the only thing I draw the line at is the slimy rotten mudfish, which I experienced at the clinic. I've eaten fresh roasted mudfish which is crispy and palatable, but the stench of that stew-like dish would make the eyes of a lutefisk-lover water.
Two new dishes for me this go-round. Rushuck, a pale green soupy food made with crushed ground nuts (we call them peanuts) and okra from our garden. It's quite tasty. The cooks serve it with ugali, a pasty dish made from maize flour, a little like polenta, but white in color and pastier in texture. I can do without ugali, though I'll eat it if it's the only starch.
Madita, a sweetened porridge made with ground maize and milk, is a delicious treat. Here, they serve it in a cup and we drink the thick breakfast-type treat. We've only had it once. I would definitely have it again.
Several times, we've had kudra, a dark leafy plant we grow on our site. It's cooked with oil, dark green in color and slimy in texture--cooked until it's almost a liquid. Because they thought I might not like it, they made me chicken and rice, but I was happy for the green vegetation in spite of the texture. At home I love kale, chard, spinach, and we have seeds for these plants here, so one day, when our garden is producing year-round, we will have these important nutritional foods here regularly.
Chickens here are the epitome of free range and very flavorful, though I've eaten an old rooster whose meat was as tough as he was in life, ruling his roost.
Though much of our staple food supply comes from Juba or Bor in South Sudan, or Kenya when the roads are flooded, we reserve part of the food budget to buy local meat a couple times a week: antelope or goat. In spite of all the cattle in the village, beef is rare because it's available only when slaughtered for a special occasion. And though villagers who own cattle drink and cook with the fresh milk, at ASAH we serve full fat powdered milk to our girls, served hot with tea and sugar.
Generally meat here is served in a stew. If we had Ugandans or Kenyans cooking, we'd have it roasted, which makes even goat a treat for me.
There's fun food, even here in South Sudan. Ayot, paper bread, is a favorite of our ASAH girls. It's nearly paper-thin, with a spongy texture. Folded many times over into a pocket shape, Ayot is used like similar foods in other African countries to dip into soupy food, sauces, or even to pick up bits of meat.
We have silverware here at ASAH, but Sudanese are accustomed to eating with their fingers, so ayot makes for an enjoyable way to feed themselves. Still, our girls and staff are generally using spoons and forks.
I enjoy nyiny, a dish made with whole beans and whole maize, something like githeri (spelling?) served in Kenya, though the dish here in the village is somewhat plainer. Still, it's a break from plain old beans.
I've ordered fruits and vegetables, biscuits and powdered juices that will arrive on our AIM Air cargo flight the 28th. I won't get a taste as I fly out on that plane to return to Kenya, but I'll be back in a city where these types of I-take-it-for-granted foods will once again be available, and a few days later, I'll be home in the US.
Two new dishes for me this go-round. Rushuck, a pale green soupy food made with crushed ground nuts (we call them peanuts) and okra from our garden. It's quite tasty. The cooks serve it with ugali, a pasty dish made from maize flour, a little like polenta, but white in color and pastier in texture. I can do without ugali, though I'll eat it if it's the only starch.
Madita, a sweetened porridge made with ground maize and milk, is a delicious treat. Here, they serve it in a cup and we drink the thick breakfast-type treat. We've only had it once. I would definitely have it again.
Several times, we've had kudra, a dark leafy plant we grow on our site. It's cooked with oil, dark green in color and slimy in texture--cooked until it's almost a liquid. Because they thought I might not like it, they made me chicken and rice, but I was happy for the green vegetation in spite of the texture. At home I love kale, chard, spinach, and we have seeds for these plants here, so one day, when our garden is producing year-round, we will have these important nutritional foods here regularly.
Chickens here are the epitome of free range and very flavorful, though I've eaten an old rooster whose meat was as tough as he was in life, ruling his roost.
Though much of our staple food supply comes from Juba or Bor in South Sudan, or Kenya when the roads are flooded, we reserve part of the food budget to buy local meat a couple times a week: antelope or goat. In spite of all the cattle in the village, beef is rare because it's available only when slaughtered for a special occasion. And though villagers who own cattle drink and cook with the fresh milk, at ASAH we serve full fat powdered milk to our girls, served hot with tea and sugar.
Generally meat here is served in a stew. If we had Ugandans or Kenyans cooking, we'd have it roasted, which makes even goat a treat for me.
There's fun food, even here in South Sudan. Ayot, paper bread, is a favorite of our ASAH girls. It's nearly paper-thin, with a spongy texture. Folded many times over into a pocket shape, Ayot is used like similar foods in other African countries to dip into soupy food, sauces, or even to pick up bits of meat.
We have silverware here at ASAH, but Sudanese are accustomed to eating with their fingers, so ayot makes for an enjoyable way to feed themselves. Still, our girls and staff are generally using spoons and forks.
I enjoy nyiny, a dish made with whole beans and whole maize, something like githeri (spelling?) served in Kenya, though the dish here in the village is somewhat plainer. Still, it's a break from plain old beans.
I've ordered fruits and vegetables, biscuits and powdered juices that will arrive on our AIM Air cargo flight the 28th. I won't get a taste as I fly out on that plane to return to Kenya, but I'll be back in a city where these types of I-take-it-for-granted foods will once again be available, and a few days later, I'll be home in the US.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Thunder and Lightning - Oh My!
June 24, 2012
It's the rainy season here in Duk Payuel, so it isn't surprising that it's rained during the night a couple times since my arrival June 11. I left the rug on my doorstep the first time, and it was soaked. We had rain once when I was at the JDF Lost Boys Clinic using Internet to communicate with all of you, delaying my return to the ASAH School until it let let up. One other time, I walked back and enjoyed the sprinkle of cool drops.
Just after we finished our lunch, cracks of thunder chased us all into our respective tukuls, except for Toy, who is gathering up the deserted plastic chairs in the yard. Toy works with Zablon, our skilled and personable Kenyan builder/mason/maintenance man. They put up our beautiful and straight fence, built our toilets and showers and our new office/housing building,
The thunder has been roiling and breaking without a drop, then suddenly, as if it had cracked the cloud, the downpour began. I'm assuming there's lighting, but I can't see the sky from inside my tukul, and it would likely not be visible even through our canopied trees during the day. Perhaps at night it lights the sky.
My first week here was beastly hot - not Saudi Arabia hot, but it can reach 100 and was sometimes 90 or more as I willed myself to sleep (my will is not very effective in this respect). This past week has been delightfully cool in the mornings and evenings. The midwesterners reading this will find it funny that Manyok wears a winter coat when I'm comfortable in a t-shirt.
It looks as though I'll be holed up in my Tukul here for awhile.
It's the rainy season here in Duk Payuel, so it isn't surprising that it's rained during the night a couple times since my arrival June 11. I left the rug on my doorstep the first time, and it was soaked. We had rain once when I was at the JDF Lost Boys Clinic using Internet to communicate with all of you, delaying my return to the ASAH School until it let let up. One other time, I walked back and enjoyed the sprinkle of cool drops.
Just after we finished our lunch, cracks of thunder chased us all into our respective tukuls, except for Toy, who is gathering up the deserted plastic chairs in the yard. Toy works with Zablon, our skilled and personable Kenyan builder/mason/maintenance man. They put up our beautiful and straight fence, built our toilets and showers and our new office/housing building,
The thunder has been roiling and breaking without a drop, then suddenly, as if it had cracked the cloud, the downpour began. I'm assuming there's lighting, but I can't see the sky from inside my tukul, and it would likely not be visible even through our canopied trees during the day. Perhaps at night it lights the sky.
My first week here was beastly hot - not Saudi Arabia hot, but it can reach 100 and was sometimes 90 or more as I willed myself to sleep (my will is not very effective in this respect). This past week has been delightfully cool in the mornings and evenings. The midwesterners reading this will find it funny that Manyok wears a winter coat when I'm comfortable in a t-shirt.
It looks as though I'll be holed up in my Tukul here for awhile.
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Awakening, Nourishment, Privilege, Humilty
At home, my morning routine is up at six, release the cats from the laundry room and traipse downstairs to the fridge for the canned food which they eat in the morning - two different special diets. The canned food is easier on Sniff, the cat with the sensitive tummy, though she tolerates moistened dry food later in the day.
Destiny, my tiny, deaf, aged Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, is usually up by now, and I feed her as well. She's on several medications for a failing heart. Her arthritis meds have diminished her appetite so she's slow to eat.
I make myself a cup of coffee and retrieve the newspaper. I walk the dog. Outside is down six flights from our third-floor condo. I generally carry her (I prefer the stairs to the elevator) because of her creaky joints and labored breath, though sometimes she sets off on her own.
Here in South Sudan, there's less urgency in awakening. No dependent pets, (my husband has that duty alone when I am gone) no early morning appointments. I've showered the night before. My hair is usually a wreck, but my vanity has learned to lower its expectations here.
Now lying on my foam mattress under the pale green mosquito net, I listen to the tweets, buzzes, croaks, bleats and bellows. I do the bed exercises suggested to me after my disc surgery. My husband isn't here, so I won't disturb his slumber. Waking up my spine in the early morning helps me feel stronger and more flexible, and it allows more time with my eyes closed to wake slowly, something to which I am unaccustomed.
What I miss most about my early mornings inhum Fargo is the coffee and a small square or two of dark chocolate and the newspaper. Here tea isn't served until around eight. When school started back up last week, after my horror that first day when the girls left for school without tea, the cooks prepared the hot water in a thermos the night before (as they have done in the past, they just forgot!) and place it in our pink geodesic dome. In the morning the girls prepare their sweetened milk tea or drinking chocolate before school. We have no biscuits left, so the milk tea is all they have in their stomachs, which is more than for many children at the school. I expect biscuits will arrive on the next AIM flight.
I'm spoiled by the ease which has marked my life. The two-hour wait for me is an eternity. On previous trips I've brought protein bars and treats to supplement the beans and rice two-meals-a-day diet here, but I honestly forgot, and the few foods I did bring are in the bags that were left behind in Nairobi. I'd like to say my whining for earlier tea was on behalf of all the staff, but it seems they don't feel the deprivation the way I do. I can skip dinner with no problem, but my coffee and oatmeal are sacrosanct. And LUNCH. By noon. Here lunch is at 1:30, or sometimes two.
There's an issue with getting firewood timely and an issue with the length of time it takes to cook beans and rice and other foods from scratch to feed 20 people.
Two nights ago, just before bed, Martha Achol appeared with a tray. On it was a thermos, a cup and spoon, a cup of sugar, tea bags, a can of powdered milk, and a jar of drinking chocolate. I thanked her but told her no, that I was about to go to bed. She insisted and was so sweet, that so as not to disappoint her, I prepared a small cup of hot milk and said she could take the tray. With hesitation, she picked it up, but then gestured to Manyok, our program director. Laughing, he explained, that the tray was for my own tea in the morning and throughout the day, and they will bring it to me each evening.
Heavens. Now I feel as though I'm a complainer. I don't really want special treatment, but I must admit, the last two mornings, it has been a real joy to make myself a cup of tea shortly after six a.m. And then a second. Today (the 23rd) I had a third which wasn't enough to keep me from getting cranky when our first meal was served at two.
Sometimes they make special food for me as well--chicken or rice instead of ugali. I share the extra and tell Manyok that I can eat what they are eating. I don't love ugali, but I can eat it. It's bland but not horrible. Mudfish is where I dry the line.
Like most Americans reading this, I was raised with more food available than was required, more frequently than I was hungry. Uncountable varieties of many different types of food - meats, legumes, vegetables, starches, seasonings and sweets. And flavors - sweet, sour, salty, bitter and umami, the sense of --- on the tongue.
Our staff and our girls have experienced malnutrition, and some have nearly starved. Some have developed ulcers from the abuse their digestive systems have suffered. They are happy and grateful for any meal that comes their way and eat thankfully and heartily whether it is one meal put in front of them or three (which would be very unusual).
It makes me feel a little small, but I'm glad I haven't had to cope with actual hunger. I'm embarrassed that my lowered blood sugar makes me lethargic and cranky.
Humbled here in Duk Payuel.
Destiny, my tiny, deaf, aged Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, is usually up by now, and I feed her as well. She's on several medications for a failing heart. Her arthritis meds have diminished her appetite so she's slow to eat.
I make myself a cup of coffee and retrieve the newspaper. I walk the dog. Outside is down six flights from our third-floor condo. I generally carry her (I prefer the stairs to the elevator) because of her creaky joints and labored breath, though sometimes she sets off on her own.
Here in South Sudan, there's less urgency in awakening. No dependent pets, (my husband has that duty alone when I am gone) no early morning appointments. I've showered the night before. My hair is usually a wreck, but my vanity has learned to lower its expectations here.
Now lying on my foam mattress under the pale green mosquito net, I listen to the tweets, buzzes, croaks, bleats and bellows. I do the bed exercises suggested to me after my disc surgery. My husband isn't here, so I won't disturb his slumber. Waking up my spine in the early morning helps me feel stronger and more flexible, and it allows more time with my eyes closed to wake slowly, something to which I am unaccustomed.
What I miss most about my early mornings inhum Fargo is the coffee and a small square or two of dark chocolate and the newspaper. Here tea isn't served until around eight. When school started back up last week, after my horror that first day when the girls left for school without tea, the cooks prepared the hot water in a thermos the night before (as they have done in the past, they just forgot!) and place it in our pink geodesic dome. In the morning the girls prepare their sweetened milk tea or drinking chocolate before school. We have no biscuits left, so the milk tea is all they have in their stomachs, which is more than for many children at the school. I expect biscuits will arrive on the next AIM flight.
I'm spoiled by the ease which has marked my life. The two-hour wait for me is an eternity. On previous trips I've brought protein bars and treats to supplement the beans and rice two-meals-a-day diet here, but I honestly forgot, and the few foods I did bring are in the bags that were left behind in Nairobi. I'd like to say my whining for earlier tea was on behalf of all the staff, but it seems they don't feel the deprivation the way I do. I can skip dinner with no problem, but my coffee and oatmeal are sacrosanct. And LUNCH. By noon. Here lunch is at 1:30, or sometimes two.
There's an issue with getting firewood timely and an issue with the length of time it takes to cook beans and rice and other foods from scratch to feed 20 people.
Two nights ago, just before bed, Martha Achol appeared with a tray. On it was a thermos, a cup and spoon, a cup of sugar, tea bags, a can of powdered milk, and a jar of drinking chocolate. I thanked her but told her no, that I was about to go to bed. She insisted and was so sweet, that so as not to disappoint her, I prepared a small cup of hot milk and said she could take the tray. With hesitation, she picked it up, but then gestured to Manyok, our program director. Laughing, he explained, that the tray was for my own tea in the morning and throughout the day, and they will bring it to me each evening.
Heavens. Now I feel as though I'm a complainer. I don't really want special treatment, but I must admit, the last two mornings, it has been a real joy to make myself a cup of tea shortly after six a.m. And then a second. Today (the 23rd) I had a third which wasn't enough to keep me from getting cranky when our first meal was served at two.
Sometimes they make special food for me as well--chicken or rice instead of ugali. I share the extra and tell Manyok that I can eat what they are eating. I don't love ugali, but I can eat it. It's bland but not horrible. Mudfish is where I dry the line.
Like most Americans reading this, I was raised with more food available than was required, more frequently than I was hungry. Uncountable varieties of many different types of food - meats, legumes, vegetables, starches, seasonings and sweets. And flavors - sweet, sour, salty, bitter and umami, the sense of --- on the tongue.
Our staff and our girls have experienced malnutrition, and some have nearly starved. Some have developed ulcers from the abuse their digestive systems have suffered. They are happy and grateful for any meal that comes their way and eat thankfully and heartily whether it is one meal put in front of them or three (which would be very unusual).
It makes me feel a little small, but I'm glad I haven't had to cope with actual hunger. I'm embarrassed that my lowered blood sugar makes me lethargic and cranky.
Humbled here in Duk Payuel.
Friday, June 22, 2012
Seeking Sunrise and Sunset
June 21, 2012
It shouldn't be that hard to see the sun rise and set in a place where the rising happens after six am and the setting happens around seven pm. When I used to stay at the JDF Lost Boys clinic, the rising sun greeted me through my huge tent windows. I used to cover my eyes to stay in that dreamy just-awakened state. Soon the unzipping and zipping of tent doors, the creak and clang of the supply container doors, and the voices of the other early risers announced the day. At dusk, the expansive view to the west offered a gorgeous sunset except when the overcast sky obscured it.
I've been at the ASAH School compound for 11 days, and today was the first time I witnessed either. I've been meaning to rise early enough to catch the rising sun, but my tukul is dark dark dark, and though the light peeks through the two tiny windows, it isn't enough to rouse me, and there is no colorful view to entice me from my bed. I am generally wakeful early mornings, but I haven't been willing to brave the early a.m. mosquitos. Until today.
I jumped up at the first hint of light, grabbed the videocamera, and found I had to walk all the way to our garden to see the sun rise. Our housing area is completely surrounded by trees which makes for lovely shade - a comfortable respite from the often-blazing sun, but it also blocks the view. Today's sunrise was unspectacular for Africa. It can do better. So I'll take another shot tomorrow.
The sunset, however, did not disappoint, though I had to walk to our volleyball court which is near our temporary kitchen, the security guard's tukul, and the gate to see it. Still, that meant viewing through the fence, and I wanted a picturesque "framed by trees" view. Through the gate just ahead to a spot where a couple of palms, one silhouetted in the foreground, one in the middle ground, shaped color around the gorgeous flaming orange ball as it sunk into the horizon.
It shouldn't be that hard to see the sun rise and set in a place where the rising happens after six am and the setting happens around seven pm. When I used to stay at the JDF Lost Boys clinic, the rising sun greeted me through my huge tent windows. I used to cover my eyes to stay in that dreamy just-awakened state. Soon the unzipping and zipping of tent doors, the creak and clang of the supply container doors, and the voices of the other early risers announced the day. At dusk, the expansive view to the west offered a gorgeous sunset except when the overcast sky obscured it.
I've been at the ASAH School compound for 11 days, and today was the first time I witnessed either. I've been meaning to rise early enough to catch the rising sun, but my tukul is dark dark dark, and though the light peeks through the two tiny windows, it isn't enough to rouse me, and there is no colorful view to entice me from my bed. I am generally wakeful early mornings, but I haven't been willing to brave the early a.m. mosquitos. Until today.
I jumped up at the first hint of light, grabbed the videocamera, and found I had to walk all the way to our garden to see the sun rise. Our housing area is completely surrounded by trees which makes for lovely shade - a comfortable respite from the often-blazing sun, but it also blocks the view. Today's sunrise was unspectacular for Africa. It can do better. So I'll take another shot tomorrow.
The sunset, however, did not disappoint, though I had to walk to our volleyball court which is near our temporary kitchen, the security guard's tukul, and the gate to see it. Still, that meant viewing through the fence, and I wanted a picturesque "framed by trees" view. Through the gate just ahead to a spot where a couple of palms, one silhouetted in the foreground, one in the middle ground, shaped color around the gorgeous flaming orange ball as it sunk into the horizon.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
I Thought the Bats had Deserted Us
June 19, 2012
In March, after dusk, they swooped in and out of our tukuls, all stealth and speed, eating the bugs before they could get us. It was easy to see they knew what they were doing, their radar never wrong. When I used to stay on the JDF Lost Boys Clinic compound, the bats darted around us as we sat outside the dining room. The wind whistled beneath their wings.
But now, in June, at the ASAH School, the bats aren't so prevalent, though we have plenty of flying bugs for them to eat. Last night, my door open, the light out except for my computer screen, a lone bat visited, like old times. I almost hated to close the door.
I'm beginning to like the cocoon. The net over my bed is a filmy pale green with a pale pink tie. Now that I've figured out how to drape it so I can sit up and read, or type on this IPad which lights the net in an eerie manner, I'm quite comfy.
Catching up on business: our 5000 L water tank which arrived from Uganda a year ago with a large puncture - in the shape of a thumb and forefinger sized "7," was repaired on set up on its platform last fall. The repairs held for a while, then failed. Zablone and his assistant "Toy" (that probably isn't the correct spelling - they're both Kenyan - few Sudanese have skills in plumbing, electrical, building, etc.) have repaired it repeatedly with epoxy and pieces of plastic. They empty the tank. Toy climbs inside, Zablone on the outside.
When I arrived this June, the tank was leaking badly, requiring refilling twice a day instead of every three days with the normal use - twelve girls, five staff, and myself living onsite. They fixed it again. Now we are waiting to see if we can use a loaner - an asset left behind by another NGO. It's final resting place is in dispute, the county government having "seized," though not taken possession of these assets. By rights, they should go to the JDF clinic. If all turns out all right, they'll loan us the tank until we can get a new one after the rainy season, or find a more permanent type of repair.
On the Maintenance To Do list for the compound:
1. Tukul repair: Taking down the lovely fabric lining the walls and ceilings, knocking off the termite soil. Painting the wood with anti-termite solution. Replastering the adobe inside and out where it has been damaged by rain or just plain use. Sometimes it simply falls off in chunks. Replacing the fabric on the walls and ceilings. Touching up the white and blue paint on the outside of the tukuls.
2. Adding a door to the iron sheet storage building that was added to our temporary iron sheet kitchen.
3. Adding a concrete apron around the new two room building, which includes one room for accommodation and one room for the office. Tiling the office floor with the tile leftover from the toilets and showers. Finishing the windows. Staining the mahogany doors.
4. Putting new plumbing parts on some of our fixtures. Some of the parts we installed originally were procured by an "experienced" logistics guy who worked for IRD, the NGO that is now gone. The parts are low quality and aren't holding up well.
5. Continuing to develop our large garden where we are raising greens, ground nuts, maize, watermelon, okra, beans, and other goodies.
6. Our new tailor, just hired, will get our sewing machines running and start teaching the girls to mend, sew, and tailor clothing.
7. Figure a way to keep, Chill, our gazelle, initially raised by Andrew and Miriam Mara, and now devoted to our matron, Daruka, out of the garden. She's particularly fond of the groundnuts (peanuts).
Stuff I've been doing with the girls at night:
1. Showing them ASAH videos on my computer. They love to see themselves.
2. Making and showing slideshows of the pictures I've taken of them since I arrived, of my family, and such. There will be more slideshows to come. I've pictures from all my visits going back to 2007. I've identified some of our girls in those pictures from five years ago, when they were pretty little.
3. Fetching a magnifying makeup mirror so that Martha Ayen could get the bug out of her eye, and being treated to giggles, guffaws, and chortles, as they moved their heads from side to side, and around, drawing the mirror in close and pushing it away. It was a hot potato in their hands and made the trip around the twelve of them five or six times in fifteen minutes.
It rained during the day, and in the evening, I swear the frogs were calling out "Globe Hold," not that that means anything, but it sounded very clear, deep and low but enunciated.
In March, after dusk, they swooped in and out of our tukuls, all stealth and speed, eating the bugs before they could get us. It was easy to see they knew what they were doing, their radar never wrong. When I used to stay on the JDF Lost Boys Clinic compound, the bats darted around us as we sat outside the dining room. The wind whistled beneath their wings.
But now, in June, at the ASAH School, the bats aren't so prevalent, though we have plenty of flying bugs for them to eat. Last night, my door open, the light out except for my computer screen, a lone bat visited, like old times. I almost hated to close the door.
I'm beginning to like the cocoon. The net over my bed is a filmy pale green with a pale pink tie. Now that I've figured out how to drape it so I can sit up and read, or type on this IPad which lights the net in an eerie manner, I'm quite comfy.
Catching up on business: our 5000 L water tank which arrived from Uganda a year ago with a large puncture - in the shape of a thumb and forefinger sized "7," was repaired on set up on its platform last fall. The repairs held for a while, then failed. Zablone and his assistant "Toy" (that probably isn't the correct spelling - they're both Kenyan - few Sudanese have skills in plumbing, electrical, building, etc.) have repaired it repeatedly with epoxy and pieces of plastic. They empty the tank. Toy climbs inside, Zablone on the outside.
When I arrived this June, the tank was leaking badly, requiring refilling twice a day instead of every three days with the normal use - twelve girls, five staff, and myself living onsite. They fixed it again. Now we are waiting to see if we can use a loaner - an asset left behind by another NGO. It's final resting place is in dispute, the county government having "seized," though not taken possession of these assets. By rights, they should go to the JDF clinic. If all turns out all right, they'll loan us the tank until we can get a new one after the rainy season, or find a more permanent type of repair.
On the Maintenance To Do list for the compound:
1. Tukul repair: Taking down the lovely fabric lining the walls and ceilings, knocking off the termite soil. Painting the wood with anti-termite solution. Replastering the adobe inside and out where it has been damaged by rain or just plain use. Sometimes it simply falls off in chunks. Replacing the fabric on the walls and ceilings. Touching up the white and blue paint on the outside of the tukuls.
2. Adding a door to the iron sheet storage building that was added to our temporary iron sheet kitchen.
3. Adding a concrete apron around the new two room building, which includes one room for accommodation and one room for the office. Tiling the office floor with the tile leftover from the toilets and showers. Finishing the windows. Staining the mahogany doors.
4. Putting new plumbing parts on some of our fixtures. Some of the parts we installed originally were procured by an "experienced" logistics guy who worked for IRD, the NGO that is now gone. The parts are low quality and aren't holding up well.
5. Continuing to develop our large garden where we are raising greens, ground nuts, maize, watermelon, okra, beans, and other goodies.
6. Our new tailor, just hired, will get our sewing machines running and start teaching the girls to mend, sew, and tailor clothing.
7. Figure a way to keep, Chill, our gazelle, initially raised by Andrew and Miriam Mara, and now devoted to our matron, Daruka, out of the garden. She's particularly fond of the groundnuts (peanuts).
Stuff I've been doing with the girls at night:
1. Showing them ASAH videos on my computer. They love to see themselves.
2. Making and showing slideshows of the pictures I've taken of them since I arrived, of my family, and such. There will be more slideshows to come. I've pictures from all my visits going back to 2007. I've identified some of our girls in those pictures from five years ago, when they were pretty little.
3. Fetching a magnifying makeup mirror so that Martha Ayen could get the bug out of her eye, and being treated to giggles, guffaws, and chortles, as they moved their heads from side to side, and around, drawing the mirror in close and pushing it away. It was a hot potato in their hands and made the trip around the twelve of them five or six times in fifteen minutes.
It rained during the day, and in the evening, I swear the frogs were calling out "Globe Hold," not that that means anything, but it sounded very clear, deep and low but enunciated.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Day of Rest
Sunday mornings are busy at ASAH. The girls are up early, fussing, and giggling, and singing and getting ready to go to prayers at the Episcopalian Church, the only church in the village. The church is an enormous tukul. Several hundred people can easily fit inside. Massive metal columns hold the tremendous thatched roof that reaches 20' (or more?) at the center.
Congregants bring their own chairs. The girls carried a few with them. Two or more will crowd into one plastic chair, their tiny thin bottoms don't take up much space. Prayers begin at eight and go until 10. I attend sometimes, but usually not for the full service. It's all in Dinka, and even the hymns are unfamiliar in both word and tune. But it's wonderful to experience the fellowship. I'm warmly welcomed, and often led to the front to sit on the platform with the pastors and elders and lay leaders, usually next to Gideon, the oldest member of the village - more than ninety years old now. He's walks with but is healthy. Had more than 40 children with four or five wives. More than 20 survived the war, but a good number did not.
But this was no day of rest for me. Manyok and I had work to do: updating job descriptions, policies and procedures for staff. Though I will be here more than two weeks, the time flies.
When the girls returned it was time for compound cleanup, which Daruka organized at my request. Skinny little Debra Akon, age 12, manned a wheelbarrow and the gaggle of ASAH girls with Daruka leading combed the compound for discarded soap boxes, toilet paper wrappers, old cement bags, random pieces of wire, palm fronds, broken branches, bits of plastic detritus. Four wheelbarrow loads full. The old garbage pit was flooded, so we started a new one, and set the trash ablaze. The air was calm. The flames crackled and the smoke licked the air above.
Much of Africa has been civilized quickly to a modern throw-away culture without the infrastructure and education to deal with the garbage culture now produces. And even when things are used many times in many ways, beyond the life we might give it in the US, it may one day just be left to die on the ground somewhere the little bit of life it has left may take centuries to expire.
I've walked on paths in Kiberra slum in Kenya that are built of trash. People set up shop on ground that has give to it when you walk. Layers upon layers of plastic bags and discarded clothing, paper, food and packaging.
How do we keep that from happening here? We train our girls and staff not to drop things on the ground and to pick up trash they see instead of leaving it for someone else. We help our girls and staff care about the place they live and work and go to school, to have pride in it, to want to show it off to visitors. And they will teach someone else one day.
Monday, June 18, 2012
Mosquito Net 101
I'm self-taught. I've used them in hotels and a guest house in Kenya, in Nairobi, Nakuru and Eldoret, and in hotels in Juba and Bor, South Sudan. and managed the claustrophic nets somehow.
On my first five visits to Duk Payuel - in 2007, 2010, and three visits in 2011, I lived in a tent of one sort or another, which are giant mosquito nets, if they remain zipped. In March, I stayed in my first tukul, adobe thatched roof hut, but it was the dry season, so there was few mosquitos to fear.
Now, this bed is a full-sized four poster--the long posts are almost suitable for a canopy. It was placed with the net hung from the ceiling near what Daruka used as the head of the bed, but I like facing the door, not the rear of the hut, so I switched the pillows.
The first night I thought surely the net must go over the posts, but alas, the net was not nearly long enough for that. I fit it over the first two posts, and then stretched it toward the foot of the bed to tuck it in under the mattress. It wasn't long enough, and the swollen red bumps on my ankles testify to the lack of efficacy of that method. Over the last few days, I've tried various tucking methods, some more effective than others. At the head and the foot the mattress is tight to the frame. Not so for the sides. And then there's the illusion of being trapped. I'm restless at night.
Worse, I'm a nighttime reader, and the only way to escape the mosquitos in the night is to be under the net, but the angle of the net forced me to the bed's center where the lack of support for my back and the inflexibility of my knees and hips made reading in any position but fully supine with bent neck extremely uncomfortable. Not that fully supine with bent neck is my idea of comfort.
I showed Dau this morning and asked if perhaps the net was too small for this bed, and he told me this type of bed needed a boxed net. I've seen them in hotel rooms. They dangle from the ceiling like a loose fixture and the four-cornered shape allows for draping over a large bed with posts. We don't have any nets like that here at ASAH.
I sat on my plastic armchair and pondered the layout. Elected to switch my position so my back now faces the door, the way Daruka had it. But I moved the bed toward the back of the room a foot, enabling the net to hang almost directly over my head. In the process I discovered that termites had been dragging soil in and mounding it around the bottom of one of the poles. I whisked them and their soil into a cloth and shook them outside my door. And then I followed the example of Abul, our ten-year-old. I had observed her methodical tucking method as she prepared her bed the previous night. First I tried to drape it over the posts at the head. No go - but by pulling it tight and tucking it in at the head, I was able to leave enough space so that I can sit up in bed, the netting angled like a ski hill down toward my feet, and I tucked it all around.
Now nestled in naked (it's sizzling here) but for the green filmy draping, the sheet balled at my feet, I turn on my IPad which attracts the bugs tiny enough to slip through the net, and squish them onto the screen, one by one. Content.
On my first five visits to Duk Payuel - in 2007, 2010, and three visits in 2011, I lived in a tent of one sort or another, which are giant mosquito nets, if they remain zipped. In March, I stayed in my first tukul, adobe thatched roof hut, but it was the dry season, so there was few mosquitos to fear.
Now, this bed is a full-sized four poster--the long posts are almost suitable for a canopy. It was placed with the net hung from the ceiling near what Daruka used as the head of the bed, but I like facing the door, not the rear of the hut, so I switched the pillows.
The first night I thought surely the net must go over the posts, but alas, the net was not nearly long enough for that. I fit it over the first two posts, and then stretched it toward the foot of the bed to tuck it in under the mattress. It wasn't long enough, and the swollen red bumps on my ankles testify to the lack of efficacy of that method. Over the last few days, I've tried various tucking methods, some more effective than others. At the head and the foot the mattress is tight to the frame. Not so for the sides. And then there's the illusion of being trapped. I'm restless at night.
Worse, I'm a nighttime reader, and the only way to escape the mosquitos in the night is to be under the net, but the angle of the net forced me to the bed's center where the lack of support for my back and the inflexibility of my knees and hips made reading in any position but fully supine with bent neck extremely uncomfortable. Not that fully supine with bent neck is my idea of comfort.
I showed Dau this morning and asked if perhaps the net was too small for this bed, and he told me this type of bed needed a boxed net. I've seen them in hotel rooms. They dangle from the ceiling like a loose fixture and the four-cornered shape allows for draping over a large bed with posts. We don't have any nets like that here at ASAH.
I sat on my plastic armchair and pondered the layout. Elected to switch my position so my back now faces the door, the way Daruka had it. But I moved the bed toward the back of the room a foot, enabling the net to hang almost directly over my head. In the process I discovered that termites had been dragging soil in and mounding it around the bottom of one of the poles. I whisked them and their soil into a cloth and shook them outside my door. And then I followed the example of Abul, our ten-year-old. I had observed her methodical tucking method as she prepared her bed the previous night. First I tried to drape it over the posts at the head. No go - but by pulling it tight and tucking it in at the head, I was able to leave enough space so that I can sit up in bed, the netting angled like a ski hill down toward my feet, and I tucked it all around.
Now nestled in naked (it's sizzling here) but for the green filmy draping, the sheet balled at my feet, I turn on my IPad which attracts the bugs tiny enough to slip through the net, and squish them onto the screen, one by one. Content.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Did I Mention the Butterflies?
June 16, 2012
It's easy to concentrate on the nasty biters and disregard the butterflies. But they share the airspace here. Those I've seen are small and yellow or white. I'll pay attention and see what else I can see. They're dwarfed the moths, of course, Oh, there I go again. Some of the moths are exquisite.
There's been no rain since my arrival and the paths are beginning to dry. That's not to say they're dry. It is still necessary to roll your pant legs or life your skirts, to pull on the awkward gum boots, which aren't always as tall as the water is deep, or to remove your shoes or sandals and walk barefoot through murky water that conceals the bottom which may be sandy and firm, or marshy swampy gooey silty mud. Sometimes the grasses under the water give firmer footing. Sometimes the ruts dug by desperately stuck vehicles can twist an ankle. A road grater and fill would be a blessing.
I prefer walking Sudanese style barefoot through the water with a long slow gait. In reality, my gait is slowed in the heat in South Sudan, but my steps through the water are methodical, careful, anything but the easy stride of the people around me.
The water ranges from warm to very warm, depending on its depth. As a child, I rarely wore shoes at the lakes, no matter the path, though my routes were never flooded. My grandmother was horrified that my feet and those of my sisters would S-P-R-E-A-D without the confines of a sole and uppers. I never saw her bare feet, but my toes are as wide and spread apart as she had feared.
I like the contact with the earth. The mud squeezing between my toes, my step cautious, feeling for the occasional large snail resting at the bottom of the flooded paths. The first few days when the water was deeper and clearer, I waded through schools of tadpoles. If they didn't swim far enough, they may already have dried up and died in these receding streams. In a day or two, the puddles may have evaporated. If it doesn't rain tomorrow, I will wear the dreaded gumboots as the receding water is not very fresh anymore. We share the paths with cattle and goats.
In November of 2010, I arrived in Duk at the end of a bad rainy season to find the paths and many huts flooded. Just like Fargo, some had been diked. Some dikes failed, or the water came too fast. There are no sandbags here. But this year's flooding is months earlier than usual. It's too early to say how the season will go, but some have already lost crops planted a month ago.
Our own garden plot fed okra and kale and spinach and other good things to our girls for two months until it flooded. And now we have a new, higher garden where the maize is nearly two feet tall, groundnuts have sprouted, and the seeds I brought last week are being planted. The old garden will be planted again in the dry season. It's close to our water source, so we can pamper it, a luxury most in this village do not have.
A note for those who know about our badly leaking water tank. Repairs have been completed. Now the leak is a small trickle instead of a gusher. We'll keep repairing it until we receive the anticipated "loaner" tank. After the rainy season, we'll have to get a new one, if anyone is interested in helping us acquire one. The tanks are expensive and so is the transport.
It's easy to concentrate on the nasty biters and disregard the butterflies. But they share the airspace here. Those I've seen are small and yellow or white. I'll pay attention and see what else I can see. They're dwarfed the moths, of course, Oh, there I go again. Some of the moths are exquisite.
There's been no rain since my arrival and the paths are beginning to dry. That's not to say they're dry. It is still necessary to roll your pant legs or life your skirts, to pull on the awkward gum boots, which aren't always as tall as the water is deep, or to remove your shoes or sandals and walk barefoot through murky water that conceals the bottom which may be sandy and firm, or marshy swampy gooey silty mud. Sometimes the grasses under the water give firmer footing. Sometimes the ruts dug by desperately stuck vehicles can twist an ankle. A road grater and fill would be a blessing.
I prefer walking Sudanese style barefoot through the water with a long slow gait. In reality, my gait is slowed in the heat in South Sudan, but my steps through the water are methodical, careful, anything but the easy stride of the people around me.
The water ranges from warm to very warm, depending on its depth. As a child, I rarely wore shoes at the lakes, no matter the path, though my routes were never flooded. My grandmother was horrified that my feet and those of my sisters would S-P-R-E-A-D without the confines of a sole and uppers. I never saw her bare feet, but my toes are as wide and spread apart as she had feared.
I like the contact with the earth. The mud squeezing between my toes, my step cautious, feeling for the occasional large snail resting at the bottom of the flooded paths. The first few days when the water was deeper and clearer, I waded through schools of tadpoles. If they didn't swim far enough, they may already have dried up and died in these receding streams. In a day or two, the puddles may have evaporated. If it doesn't rain tomorrow, I will wear the dreaded gumboots as the receding water is not very fresh anymore. We share the paths with cattle and goats.
In November of 2010, I arrived in Duk at the end of a bad rainy season to find the paths and many huts flooded. Just like Fargo, some had been diked. Some dikes failed, or the water came too fast. There are no sandbags here. But this year's flooding is months earlier than usual. It's too early to say how the season will go, but some have already lost crops planted a month ago.
Our own garden plot fed okra and kale and spinach and other good things to our girls for two months until it flooded. And now we have a new, higher garden where the maize is nearly two feet tall, groundnuts have sprouted, and the seeds I brought last week are being planted. The old garden will be planted again in the dry season. It's close to our water source, so we can pamper it, a luxury most in this village do not have.
A note for those who know about our badly leaking water tank. Repairs have been completed. Now the leak is a small trickle instead of a gusher. We'll keep repairing it until we receive the anticipated "loaner" tank. After the rainy season, we'll have to get a new one, if anyone is interested in helping us acquire one. The tanks are expensive and so is the transport.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Welcome to Fargo and New York, South Sudan-Style
June 15, 2012
An awesome day. The girls are becoming bolder. More talkative with me. Starting conversations of a sort. In March, I taught them to say "May I come in?" before entering my tukul because they used to just barge in. Now, with due respect, I hear their little voices - some of them have big voices, I must admit. Some are 6' 2," angular and thin like super-models. But mostly quiet, they say, "Mommy, may I come in?" It seems they are all calling me "Mommy" now.
In March I brought many skeins of yarn and crochet hooks. Daruka, our matron, has taught them to crochet. In the afternoons, they pull chairs in a circle and crochet as a group, each with her own choice of yarn and design. I asked, "What color is this?" They didn't know. But soon we learned red, and green, and yellow and blue. And the chair is blue, the ASAH shirts are pink, but they think them red, so I showed them a pink stool, the pink geodesic dome, and then the red yarn, the red beads on the necklace. I'm not sure if they've gotten it yet.
My nature is to set things down and walk away, mindlessly. I've trained myself to pay attention to where I set something--the mental note--it's on the counter. It's in the bathroom. I'm overstimulated here with so many sights, sounds, people. It's constant greetings and my fumbling of the language--kudwal, chirwon, achine kerach--the greeting words, never sure exactly which one is correct. I lose things in my tukul and often spend minutes searching for something that was just in my hand. I set my water bottle down and when I'm thirsty I have nothing to drink.
I told Daruka, if you see my water bottle. . . . It isn't necessary to look because I have another, but if you see it. . . . Soon I hear, "Mommy, may I come in?" It's Achol Majok, our oldest girl. She has my water bottle. Fourteen-year-old Martha Achol brings me highly-sweetened milk tea in the early afternoon, or a Coke, or a sugary powdered drink. I don't even want them, but I drink them obediently. I'm a water girl. At home, it's black coffee in the morning, and after that it's mostly water, or the raw milk Ron Saeger brings to me every two weeks. I love the milk tea here, since it's all there is. When I stayed at the clinic we had biscuits, but our supply is finished here. And I have no chocolate. Usually I bring some treats for myself and to share, but this time I brought only one large bag of peanut M&Ms. The M&Ms withstand the heat, but they are with the cargo still in Nairobi that won't arrive until after I leave. So I appreciate the morning sugar tea.
The girls were pulling down their mosquito nets for the night just after dinner. I fetched the videocamera. "Girls, may I come in?" "Yes, Mommy." They mugged for the camera and posed in their beds, on their beds, in groups, and singly. They began to say, "I am sleeping in my bed." Though some said, "I my sleeping in my bed." Or they hopped into each other's beds, and began to shout to outdo each other, "Two girls my sleeping in my bed." I corrected them and made them repeat and asked them to talk more quietly, but they couldn't help themselves.
Then we went through a series of "Mommy, welcome to Fargo." They initiated this on their own, then pulled me to the next dorm tukul for "Mommy, welcome to New York." They have named their tukuls, and proudly claim the cities. In their experience of life in the village, the refugee camp, or even Bor or Juba, Fargo or New York would be unimagineable.
I started out of my tukul to take a shower about eight, but a gaggle of girls laughed and giggled in and around the shower block. So I retreated. In a while I heard, "Mommy, may I come in?" It was Achol Majok again. "You may come for bathing now." I hadn't known that they saw me.
Tonight I purposely left my soap in the shower. Daruka gave me my own bar when I arrived. I brought a small bottle of body wash. but each evening there has been soap in our lovely shower. Lovely, aside from the bullfrogs and the various insects. No bats in our shower, though. There was only a tiny sliver of soap, so I opened my box and left the soap on the shelf. Akuol was waiting outside wrapped in a towel. Fifteen minutes later, she said, "Mommy, may I come in?" And she handed me my soap, for which I said, 'Thank you very much. I let her stay a bit and watch me flat iron my curly-in-the-humidity hair and touch it to see how hot it was. And then we practiced some colors. And days of the week, which I wrote for her and gave her to share with her dorm-mates.
An awesome day. The girls are becoming bolder. More talkative with me. Starting conversations of a sort. In March, I taught them to say "May I come in?" before entering my tukul because they used to just barge in. Now, with due respect, I hear their little voices - some of them have big voices, I must admit. Some are 6' 2," angular and thin like super-models. But mostly quiet, they say, "Mommy, may I come in?" It seems they are all calling me "Mommy" now.
In March I brought many skeins of yarn and crochet hooks. Daruka, our matron, has taught them to crochet. In the afternoons, they pull chairs in a circle and crochet as a group, each with her own choice of yarn and design. I asked, "What color is this?" They didn't know. But soon we learned red, and green, and yellow and blue. And the chair is blue, the ASAH shirts are pink, but they think them red, so I showed them a pink stool, the pink geodesic dome, and then the red yarn, the red beads on the necklace. I'm not sure if they've gotten it yet.
My nature is to set things down and walk away, mindlessly. I've trained myself to pay attention to where I set something--the mental note--it's on the counter. It's in the bathroom. I'm overstimulated here with so many sights, sounds, people. It's constant greetings and my fumbling of the language--kudwal, chirwon, achine kerach--the greeting words, never sure exactly which one is correct. I lose things in my tukul and often spend minutes searching for something that was just in my hand. I set my water bottle down and when I'm thirsty I have nothing to drink.
I told Daruka, if you see my water bottle. . . . It isn't necessary to look because I have another, but if you see it. . . . Soon I hear, "Mommy, may I come in?" It's Achol Majok, our oldest girl. She has my water bottle. Fourteen-year-old Martha Achol brings me highly-sweetened milk tea in the early afternoon, or a Coke, or a sugary powdered drink. I don't even want them, but I drink them obediently. I'm a water girl. At home, it's black coffee in the morning, and after that it's mostly water, or the raw milk Ron Saeger brings to me every two weeks. I love the milk tea here, since it's all there is. When I stayed at the clinic we had biscuits, but our supply is finished here. And I have no chocolate. Usually I bring some treats for myself and to share, but this time I brought only one large bag of peanut M&Ms. The M&Ms withstand the heat, but they are with the cargo still in Nairobi that won't arrive until after I leave. So I appreciate the morning sugar tea.
The girls were pulling down their mosquito nets for the night just after dinner. I fetched the videocamera. "Girls, may I come in?" "Yes, Mommy." They mugged for the camera and posed in their beds, on their beds, in groups, and singly. They began to say, "I am sleeping in my bed." Though some said, "I my sleeping in my bed." Or they hopped into each other's beds, and began to shout to outdo each other, "Two girls my sleeping in my bed." I corrected them and made them repeat and asked them to talk more quietly, but they couldn't help themselves.
Then we went through a series of "Mommy, welcome to Fargo." They initiated this on their own, then pulled me to the next dorm tukul for "Mommy, welcome to New York." They have named their tukuls, and proudly claim the cities. In their experience of life in the village, the refugee camp, or even Bor or Juba, Fargo or New York would be unimagineable.
I started out of my tukul to take a shower about eight, but a gaggle of girls laughed and giggled in and around the shower block. So I retreated. In a while I heard, "Mommy, may I come in?" It was Achol Majok again. "You may come for bathing now." I hadn't known that they saw me.
Tonight I purposely left my soap in the shower. Daruka gave me my own bar when I arrived. I brought a small bottle of body wash. but each evening there has been soap in our lovely shower. Lovely, aside from the bullfrogs and the various insects. No bats in our shower, though. There was only a tiny sliver of soap, so I opened my box and left the soap on the shelf. Akuol was waiting outside wrapped in a towel. Fifteen minutes later, she said, "Mommy, may I come in?" And she handed me my soap, for which I said, 'Thank you very much. I let her stay a bit and watch me flat iron my curly-in-the-humidity hair and touch it to see how hot it was. And then we practiced some colors. And days of the week, which I wrote for her and gave her to share with her dorm-mates.
Elections of Chiefs
Wednesday, June 13
As part of the effort to reduce conflict between tribes, the Jonglei state government has called for election of the chiefs. Following results of a census, they determined how many people were in each chief's area. From that information, they consolidated some areas and reduced the number of chiefs and the number of sub chiefs. In the past, chiefs have been born to the spot. The elections are to determine who remains in their post and gave the opportunity for others to run for the position. As far as I'm aware, no women ran.
I probably could have watched the process, but I didn't know about it until it was underway. Each voter stands behind the chief of their choice and they are counted by head. Most elections were decided the first day, but one was carried over for a couple days to allow the constituents time to travel for the vote. Most are satisfied with the result, though there is some grumbling among the losers.
As part of the voting process, a group of women went dancing and singing through the community. As they approached our compound, I was told they would pass us by, but they came toward the fence, and we opened the gate. I stood in the middle with my camera and the women rushed past me on both sides. Leek Sam, one of our teachers, had the video camera, so we captured this.
They formed a circle, running, jumping, carrying long sticks or umbrellas and thrusting them up and down. They chanted and some ululated. Someone encouraged me to join them, so I did. Daruka, our matron, was very impressed, that I, a kawaja, would join in, and the women were thrilled. Then the speeches. The head woman spoke and welcomed me and talked of their happiness about the ASAH School. I thanked them and talked about the importance of educating women and protecting girls from forced marriage which elicited cheers.
Later, I learned from Manyok that this visit was a type of entertainment and the women's group would like a contribution. So ASAH and each primary staff person will contribute. The women will typically use the money for something to benefit a large group of women, or to buy goats or a bull and then share a meal with all who contributed. JDF, the election group, and others also add to the kitty.
Thursday, June 15 Solar panels and batteries. Fred, the clinic electrician and technical guy, showed me around their new solar power system. Four panels, four batteries, and all the breakers and systems required to manage the power. The panels are installed on the roof of their new nutrition center, and they have a small mechanical room for the other components. A full system such as theirs runs about $6800 in Nairobi.
When we build our kitchen and dining/classroom compound, we will be getting a solar power system along this line. Our program director, Manyok, would like to have it now to reduce our reliance on the generator and diesel fuel, and allow us to run the lights later into the evening so the girls can study or read. It isn't in the cards today, but I hope we can afford it too.
Eventually we will need our own generator as well. We are relying on the generator at the abandoned compound near us. The NGO that was there until April lost their grant and their is no one to take over management of the site, so the government has taken charge of the assets. The assets are supposed to go to JDF clinic, as the NGO's charge was to provide support to them, but they are currently in dispute. A few of those assets have been given to us, but we are unsure whether we will be allowed to keep them or not: a refrigerator and a television.
As I write this, Chill, our gazelle, is nibbling at the gum boots outside my door. When I called his name he looked up and stared me down. When I looked away he resumed, so I called his name again more sharply. He looked up, then urinated right outside my doorway. Returned to the boots. I called his name, he released his little pellets. I found this disrespectful, so when he bent down again to nibble the boots I got up and walked toward the door. He doesn't let me pet him, so he sidled away. He allows only Daruka, our matron, and Abul, our youngest girl to stroke him. With Daruka he acts like she is an antelope and jumps up slamming his chest against her thigh. It's very funny. He's so tiny he couldn't hurt her. She responds by gently boxing the top of his head and he braces to lock antlers.
As part of the effort to reduce conflict between tribes, the Jonglei state government has called for election of the chiefs. Following results of a census, they determined how many people were in each chief's area. From that information, they consolidated some areas and reduced the number of chiefs and the number of sub chiefs. In the past, chiefs have been born to the spot. The elections are to determine who remains in their post and gave the opportunity for others to run for the position. As far as I'm aware, no women ran.
I probably could have watched the process, but I didn't know about it until it was underway. Each voter stands behind the chief of their choice and they are counted by head. Most elections were decided the first day, but one was carried over for a couple days to allow the constituents time to travel for the vote. Most are satisfied with the result, though there is some grumbling among the losers.
As part of the voting process, a group of women went dancing and singing through the community. As they approached our compound, I was told they would pass us by, but they came toward the fence, and we opened the gate. I stood in the middle with my camera and the women rushed past me on both sides. Leek Sam, one of our teachers, had the video camera, so we captured this.
They formed a circle, running, jumping, carrying long sticks or umbrellas and thrusting them up and down. They chanted and some ululated. Someone encouraged me to join them, so I did. Daruka, our matron, was very impressed, that I, a kawaja, would join in, and the women were thrilled. Then the speeches. The head woman spoke and welcomed me and talked of their happiness about the ASAH School. I thanked them and talked about the importance of educating women and protecting girls from forced marriage which elicited cheers.
Later, I learned from Manyok that this visit was a type of entertainment and the women's group would like a contribution. So ASAH and each primary staff person will contribute. The women will typically use the money for something to benefit a large group of women, or to buy goats or a bull and then share a meal with all who contributed. JDF, the election group, and others also add to the kitty.
Thursday, June 15 Solar panels and batteries. Fred, the clinic electrician and technical guy, showed me around their new solar power system. Four panels, four batteries, and all the breakers and systems required to manage the power. The panels are installed on the roof of their new nutrition center, and they have a small mechanical room for the other components. A full system such as theirs runs about $6800 in Nairobi.
When we build our kitchen and dining/classroom compound, we will be getting a solar power system along this line. Our program director, Manyok, would like to have it now to reduce our reliance on the generator and diesel fuel, and allow us to run the lights later into the evening so the girls can study or read. It isn't in the cards today, but I hope we can afford it too.
Eventually we will need our own generator as well. We are relying on the generator at the abandoned compound near us. The NGO that was there until April lost their grant and their is no one to take over management of the site, so the government has taken charge of the assets. The assets are supposed to go to JDF clinic, as the NGO's charge was to provide support to them, but they are currently in dispute. A few of those assets have been given to us, but we are unsure whether we will be allowed to keep them or not: a refrigerator and a television.
As I write this, Chill, our gazelle, is nibbling at the gum boots outside my door. When I called his name he looked up and stared me down. When I looked away he resumed, so I called his name again more sharply. He looked up, then urinated right outside my doorway. Returned to the boots. I called his name, he released his little pellets. I found this disrespectful, so when he bent down again to nibble the boots I got up and walked toward the door. He doesn't let me pet him, so he sidled away. He allows only Daruka, our matron, and Abul, our youngest girl to stroke him. With Daruka he acts like she is an antelope and jumps up slamming his chest against her thigh. It's very funny. He's so tiny he couldn't hurt her. She responds by gently boxing the top of his head and he braces to lock antlers.
Friday, June 15, 2012
Buzzing and Biting
Fireflies, houseflies, tsetse flies, bullfrogs, cicadas, mosquitos, moths, flying ants, tiny gnats, and crickets. Some make a racket, some bite, some dive bomb. I haven't noticed any locusts, so they must be out of season. The hard-bodied locusts land on your shoulder or in your hair with an audible thump, and the first time it happened I thought a bird had landed on my head.
The tsetse flies were congregating on the ceiling of our pink geodesic dome. We use the dome for serving meals, and it houses the fridge donated to us by a local NGO. The fridge doesn't keep things very cold since we only run the generator for two hours in the evening or to pump water to our water tank.
Since our trip last March, the dome has been moved to a different spot and now sits on a concrete foundation. I know about the insects here, so I had brought a spray bottle with pyrethrum for treating camping gear, mosquito nets and the like. The tsetse flies started to drop after a good spraying of the ceiling yesterday afternoon. There were a few hanging around today, so tomorrow we'll give it another shot. The spray also keeps the flies off the curtains of the tukuls, which makes going in and out much more pleasant.
I have a mosquito net over my bed, but I didn't get it tucked in properly yesterday evening. I've had this trouble in hotel rooms, too. They should give lessons in the art of sleeping under a mosquito net. It's a little creepy to sleep inside a net closed all around you. I feel like I'm going to forget and try to get up and become tangled in the netting like a fish.
Now my ankles are marked by mosquito bites--16 bites on one ankle and 14 on the other. Another 10 dotting my arms and legs. One thigh sports an ugly red welt nearly two inches in diameter with a hard raised center. Day two it blisters and pops. It doesn't hurt, it doesn't itch. I can't find anyone who knows what bites like that, but if I find out, I'm going to give that insect a wide berth. I've had bites like this before both in Kenya and Sudan, both times on my wrist. I showed one of the clinic nurses and he said it was an allergic reaction. i told him I was putting on cortisone cream. He said that was the right treatment.
The tsetse flies were congregating on the ceiling of our pink geodesic dome. We use the dome for serving meals, and it houses the fridge donated to us by a local NGO. The fridge doesn't keep things very cold since we only run the generator for two hours in the evening or to pump water to our water tank.
Since our trip last March, the dome has been moved to a different spot and now sits on a concrete foundation. I know about the insects here, so I had brought a spray bottle with pyrethrum for treating camping gear, mosquito nets and the like. The tsetse flies started to drop after a good spraying of the ceiling yesterday afternoon. There were a few hanging around today, so tomorrow we'll give it another shot. The spray also keeps the flies off the curtains of the tukuls, which makes going in and out much more pleasant.
I have a mosquito net over my bed, but I didn't get it tucked in properly yesterday evening. I've had this trouble in hotel rooms, too. They should give lessons in the art of sleeping under a mosquito net. It's a little creepy to sleep inside a net closed all around you. I feel like I'm going to forget and try to get up and become tangled in the netting like a fish.
Now my ankles are marked by mosquito bites--16 bites on one ankle and 14 on the other. Another 10 dotting my arms and legs. One thigh sports an ugly red welt nearly two inches in diameter with a hard raised center. Day two it blisters and pops. It doesn't hurt, it doesn't itch. I can't find anyone who knows what bites like that, but if I find out, I'm going to give that insect a wide berth. I've had bites like this before both in Kenya and Sudan, both times on my wrist. I showed one of the clinic nurses and he said it was an allergic reaction. i told him I was putting on cortisone cream. He said that was the right treatment.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Arrival in Duk - Monday June 11
Up at 4:30 am for 5:30 loading of the van with ten pieces of luggage from the Mayfield container. At AIM Air I learned they already had 900 kg from Jeti's purchases on our behalf - food and some building supplies, beds and mattresses - and I had 276 kg with me. The Caravan can carry 1000 kg, and we also had passengers in addition to me: two clinic staff: Lillian, a midwife, and David, a lab technician. Prioritizing: I decided to leave behind the beds and mattresses.They're heavy and bulky. After referring to my content list. I list the contents for each bag or tote as I pack and indicate priority items. From here it's the pilot's decision. We had to leave a container of oil, a bag of potatoes, and a bag of beans to accommodate the luggage for Lillian and David.
Nate is our pilot, a young guy I've flown with before. It took a long time for customs to clear all our bags. We finally got off the ground about 8. Now at 9:20, we are arriving in Eldoret, Kenya to refuel. Then on to Juba, the capitol, where we must go through immigration for our Visas.
We were not able to pull up as close to the airport in Juba as in the past, but we arrived when no other larger planes were on the ground, so there was no wait at immigration. We caught a ride to the terminal and back with one of the airport crew, then $100 a pop for a single entry Visa to Republic of South Sudan. No multi-entry visas available.
The Lost Boys Clinic staff had reported to me that the airstrip was flooded on Friday, but they were working to drain it. Part of a dike had given way. Though it is the rainy season, this is about two months early for the type of flooding they are experiencing.
The strip was nice and clear for our landing, and there was a huge crowd to greet us. Our girls in their red uniforms stood together waving. Many people assisted in unloading our heavy cargo. Most of my bags were 50 + pounds, and we also had 50 kg bags of beans, potatoes and other foodstuffs. The bigger problem was how to get it all to our site. Even if there was a working vehicle in the village, which there is not, the roads are flooded ankle to knee deep - impassable by car.
If you saw our girls heft these huge bags on their heads, some of them walking without even a hand held to steady the bag, you wouldn't believe it. I've seen it many times, but it always amazes me. And they can carry these heavy loads a great distance. The walk to our site from the airstrip takes about 20 minutes through the water. I didn't even have to carry my backpack as it was spirited off my back and onto Akuol's, one of our ASAH girls.
Nate is our pilot, a young guy I've flown with before. It took a long time for customs to clear all our bags. We finally got off the ground about 8. Now at 9:20, we are arriving in Eldoret, Kenya to refuel. Then on to Juba, the capitol, where we must go through immigration for our Visas.
We were not able to pull up as close to the airport in Juba as in the past, but we arrived when no other larger planes were on the ground, so there was no wait at immigration. We caught a ride to the terminal and back with one of the airport crew, then $100 a pop for a single entry Visa to Republic of South Sudan. No multi-entry visas available.
The Lost Boys Clinic staff had reported to me that the airstrip was flooded on Friday, but they were working to drain it. Part of a dike had given way. Though it is the rainy season, this is about two months early for the type of flooding they are experiencing.
The strip was nice and clear for our landing, and there was a huge crowd to greet us. Our girls in their red uniforms stood together waving. Many people assisted in unloading our heavy cargo. Most of my bags were 50 + pounds, and we also had 50 kg bags of beans, potatoes and other foodstuffs. The bigger problem was how to get it all to our site. Even if there was a working vehicle in the village, which there is not, the roads are flooded ankle to knee deep - impassable by car.
If you saw our girls heft these huge bags on their heads, some of them walking without even a hand held to steady the bag, you wouldn't believe it. I've seen it many times, but it always amazes me. And they can carry these heavy loads a great distance. The walk to our site from the airstrip takes about 20 minutes through the water. I didn't even have to carry my backpack as it was spirited off my back and onto Akuol's, one of our ASAH girls.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Whirlwind
Saturday June 9
Arrived in Nairobi 6:35 am on Saturday, June 9. Mumias, a driver who first picked me up at AIM Air on my return from Duk in 2010 and has been driving me ever since, picked me up and drove me to Mayfield Guest house, also run by Africa Inland Missions. Nine of ten plastic totes and bags I checked in Fargo made it. The tenth tote arrived Sunday.
I showered and organized my things and then Mumias picked me up and we headed to Nakuru (2 1/2 hour drive) to meet up with Moses and visit the kids in our Kenya program. Moses, the first student who began our program with Joseph Makeer as his sponsor, is now attending college in Eldoret - a two-year civil engineering program. He's our on-the-ground manager, receiving the money we send for tuition and board, clothing, rent and medical care. He pays tuition for ten students at five schools, and reports back to Ron Saeger, our board member in charge of that program, on all expenses and the student's performance in school. He handles medical issues and other matters as well as any parent I've known.
This past year has seen our students suffering from malaria, typhoid, intestinal disorders and ulcers. Most recently, one student has been suffering tremendous pain, breathing problems and so on. This has gone on for months, but he has been regularly misdiagnosed--most recently as appendicitis. Moses finally took John to a teaching hospital in Eldoret where they determined he had a cracked sternum and ribs, an injury suffered playing football (soccer). He was captain of his team and a star player. Rest is recommended, and so he is staying at the apartment in Eldoret and attending a day school temporarily as the regimen at Kabimoi is too strict and won't allow him the recuperation time he needs.
We met up with Moses at Roots Academy. joining the ranks of parents on the monthly visiting day. Five primary students to see here: Sarah, Abraham, James, Simon, and Daniel.
First Daniel appeared from the crowd, a big smile on his face. He looked great--handsome. His skin has cleared from the bumps that had covered it. Moses attributes it to a cream he got for Daniel and Deborah (at Shiner's Girls School - secondary school) who suffered from the same problem.
Sarah waited at the table they had saved. A hug, a shy smile. She introduced me to a girlfriend who was sitting with her. With her was her brother Abraham, who has grown taller.
Moses plays the parental role and brings treats on visiting day. The bananas were smashed in the crush of the matatu ride. There were mangos and a fruit I didn't know. The colorful rigid cake frosting had cracked and slipped off the cake sprinkling the bottom of the package. Soon James appeared, but I didn't see Simon until after we visited the teachers.
First we met Madame Margaret, Daniel's teacher. His performance has improved from 190 to 254 - a tremendous gain after his disappointing first term. He has gone from the bottom student to 2nd to the bottom, so there is still room for improvement. I expect he will succed as his attitude has improved towards school, he is working hard, and he is getting along with all our other students. There is not even an "inch" of a problem, Moses reported.
Sarah is number four in her second grade class. Sarah is fourteen years old and a year ago couldn't read. Now she is the teacher's pet. Abraham is near the top of his class as well. He's at grade level for his age.
James is number four in his class. Simon is near the bottom. Tutoring is not an option for Simon as the class eight regimen has no time available for tutoring.
From Roots we went to Shiners Girls High School, but we were unable to see Deborah as she was taking an exam.
From there we traveled to Pleasant View Academy, which was anything but pleasant, to see Michael. Michael is in a problem of his own making, having left the good public school he was attending, Narok, for this school. He was the only Sudanese at Narok and was unhappy there. Moses had found him another school, but on his own, he chose PV. The school has been a disaster and this year suffered rioting and damage by students rebelling against the decaying infrastructure. It is hard for us in the US to imagine that a school for which you paid tuition, could be so corrupted and insensitive to students and their families.
There are unfinished buildings started four or more years ago. The latrines don't work. The water they use for cooking, drinking, laundry is contaminated. There is no effort put into fixing these things. Enrollment has dropped from 400 to 70. Michael has paid for the full term and is in Form Three. There is little chance of moving him this year. And even for next year, schools do not like to accept new students for Form Four. Yet PV has little chance of opening up again next term. Michael also suffers from ulcers and the school is not giving him the special diet we have paid for.
No chance to visit Kabimoi and see Joseph as it is too far away. Moses had to return to Eldoret for class at his college. John is in Eldoret recovering from his long-misdiagnosed injury--cracked sternum and ribs from football. And attending a day school there until he is well enough to return.
Friday, June 8, 2012
Going with the Flow AKA: Travel Tips
LOVING DELTA
When embarking from Fargo, North Dakota on Delta via Minneapolis and Amsterdam to Nairobi, Kenya for the sixth time in nineteen months with few irregularities, its easy to assume such will always be the case. Especially when the Fargo check-in crew makes tremendous effort on behalf of ASAH and GETTING OUR STUFF there. Apparently from this point, I will have to apply to Customer Service of our many bags of supplies--underwear and sanitary pads to keep girls in two villages in school at puberty plus clothing and supplies for the ASAH School for Orphan Girls, now open in Duk Payuel, my final destination.
TOO MUCH FUEL
Have you ever had a flight delayed because the incoming plane had been overfilled with fuel and had to fly around for an extra hour or so to burn off the load? That's what happened Thursday, June 7 while I sat in the gate area waiting for what I expected to be a non-eventful trip.
REBOOKING
Announcement. Calls to the gate for rebooking. Angry business passengers shouting through the cell lines to the agents on the other end. Deep and heavy sigh for me. At the beginning of a trip I'm all excitement and optimism, but fatigued or anxious, I'm capable of tears and an angry tone myself.
My cell rang and a Delta agent prepared to find another option for me as I would miss my connection in Minneapolis. The option to fly Minneapolis, Detroit, Paris, Nairobi sounded excellent, but the Paris flight was on Kenya airlines, and when I asked about my TEN bags, she said Kenya Air couldn't accommodate them. I needed to stay on Delta/KLM. Some options involved me going home (with all the luggage) and coming back in the morning arriving in Kenya Saturday night, the 9th. This wasn't a great option since my plan was to travel to Nakuru on Saturday to meet up with Moses, one of our Sudanese orphans in the Kenya Kids program. Moses is now in college, and we had plans to attend visiting day at the five primary and secondary schools in Nakuru where the other nine students are enrolled.
THE BEST OF THE TERRIBLE OPTIONS
There are two other Delta flights to Amsterdam--the earlier one was full, the second one would have me missing the connection and put me in Amsterdam for more than 24 hours resulting in having to reclaim and then recheck my bags. In the end I chose to fly to Minneapolis and overnight there. The bags could remain in Delta's custody (involuntary travel change) and I could fly out Friday afternoon on the same flight I was to have taken the day before. This still had me missing visiting day at the schools, but while I was working things out with the agent on the phone, one of the Fargo crew (Kyle and Annie--they're the greatest!) came by and said--what are they doing for you? I gave him the info--he thought he could do better.
As the call concluded, the phone agent told me I had to go back and check-in again for the new ticketing. At check-on, Kyle said he'd gotten me on the 7pm to Amsterdam, which I had been told was full. That turned out to be nearly true--obviously I got a seat, but there would be only a 30 minute window in Amsterdam to go through security and board the flight to Nairobi. Once boarded in the cities, we were delayed 15 minutes, then 30, then 45 though the flight attendant suggested we might make up that time in the air. Which we did. Still, I arrived in Amsterdam just as my Nairobi flight took off.
THE SURE-TO-MISSED MISSED CONNECTION
Rebooked once again, this time leaving at 9 pm Amsterdam time, which is the time I was to have arrived in Nairobi. Now I'll get there at 6:30 Saturday morning which allows me to get to Nakuru to visit the kids, the initial goal.
YOTELING
Though I managed to sleep a few hours on the flight to Amsterdam, I was pretty bone tired upon arrival. And then I saw a sign for Yotel. Tiny pod rooms available by the hour. Four hours for 44 Euros got me room 53, a single comfy bed with clean sheets, down comforter, two pillows, a pull-down table with a fold up camp stool and a tiny shower, sink and toilet area, and an alarm clock to wake me up. Nearly four luxurious hours of laying-flat sleep. Could life be better?
HAND & FOOT PAMPERING
As I write this I'm having a pedicure thinking of the tremendous contrasts in my life, which is mostly privileged. On Monday I will travel to the village of Duk Payuel where I will be sleeping either in a tent or a tukul. It's the rainy season where the temperature can rise to 100 F, or drop to 60. The winds can destroy a tent, life a thatched roof off a hut and pull enormous trees out by the roots. People live a marginal existence where malnutrition borders on starvation for many. I'm not feeling sorry for myself on this journey, but each visit reminds me that life is tenuous for many people on our planet. A pedicure is a luxury, and I'm grateful that my circumstances allow me to participate in the pampering, but my work with ASAH has opened my eyes to existence at its most basic level.
ASAH
School is a luxury for girls. The twelve ASAH girls between the ages of 10 and 17, were all orphaned. The causes are varied. Our selection process includes need, ability, desire to join our program, the guardian's willingness to allow their attendance and agreement to let the girl to finish her education instead of selling her puberty for the cattle dowry.
The girls were selected from across the village so that no single chief (there are several in Duk Payuel) is shown favoritism.
On this trip, we hope to add four additional girls from two neighboring villages. Follow the blog for updates. I promise no more news of pedicures or flight announcements.
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