Thursday, December 15, 2011
Duk has more than the usual number of AIM Air flights landing here recently. Besides my arrival with Moses and cargo two weeks ago, one flight arrived with medical staff and cargo Tuesday, another one is arriving today with more docs and supplies, and Friday morning we are expecting more ASAH materials, including tiles for the showers and toilets. They'll be beautiful and hygienic compared to the bare concrete in the pit latrines on the clinic compound.
In spite of hardships like this, the JDF Lost Boys Clinic is doing amazing work in Duk Payuel. Hundreds of people have come from all across the county and beyond—blind people holding sticks held by family members leading them to the promise of sight.
These doctors from the Moran Eye Institute have systems in place, though there are difficulties presented working here where there are no surgical facilities or surgically-trained staff assistants. Nevertheless, they have trained the clinic staff to assist in all aspects from screening to documenting, and the machine looks well-oiled to me.
There is a perfect storm causing blindness here—more percentage of blind people than anywhere else in the world. There is an abundance of UV rays from the ever-present blistering sun, there's a lack of antioxidants in the diet. The insects and infections and disease that cause glaucoma, trachoma and river blindness are also factors here. In addition, there is a high level of congenital cataracts here. One 18-month-old girl arrived on an AIM flight. She has cataracts, but the surgeons discovered she has additional causes of blindness that are not correctable. Some patients will return home still blind, some will have limited sight, but many will return to their lives with near-perfect vision. There are some whole families—mother and children, who have regained their eyesight.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Friday, December 16, 2011
Welded
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Maduk is welding the elevation structure for our 5000L water tank. Soon workers will begin digging four – three-meter holes for the legs as the structure will be set into the ground for stability. The structure is huge and will require a good number of people from the community to set upright, carry to the insertion site, and to plant. I think they'll use ropes and trees for leverage. I hope to get this on videotape before I leave.
We've confirmed that the balance of our plumbing and electrical and other materials will arrive on Friday morning—wall and floor tile, outdoor lights, paint, soap dishes, toilet paper holders and so on.
We worked out a temporary agreement with IRD to share fuel costs for running the generator to get our water and power onsite. On Monday in Juba I will meet with IMA staff. IMA will be taking over the IRD site, so we will work out a new arrangement with them.
Late in the afternoon, John Dau (http://johndaufoundation.org/) asked if he could visit our site, and we made the walk. As we approached and he caught sight of the fence, he said, "This is your fence?! This beautiful fence is yours? This huge property is yours?" As we entered, he took a look and he said, "This is beautiful here." I showed him around the staff housing, the storage, and inside the only one of our tukuls that wasn't locked. John pointed out signs of termites, showing me the soile they have already deposited on some of our wood rafters. The solution is to have our security guard check weekly and knock off any soil that appears. We will treat the wood with anti-termite solution when it arrives—we have been waiting for one of the last three flights to bring it.
John was impressed with our toilets and showers and sinks. The clinic has nothing like this. He said to me, "I knew you were working on something here, but I hadn't paid that much attention—this is much more than I expected." And he congratulated us on our progress. Just wait until he sees what 50 educated ASAH girls will accomplish in the future!
Maduk is welding the elevation structure for our 5000L water tank. Soon workers will begin digging four – three-meter holes for the legs as the structure will be set into the ground for stability. The structure is huge and will require a good number of people from the community to set upright, carry to the insertion site, and to plant. I think they'll use ropes and trees for leverage. I hope to get this on videotape before I leave.
We've confirmed that the balance of our plumbing and electrical and other materials will arrive on Friday morning—wall and floor tile, outdoor lights, paint, soap dishes, toilet paper holders and so on.
We worked out a temporary agreement with IRD to share fuel costs for running the generator to get our water and power onsite. On Monday in Juba I will meet with IMA staff. IMA will be taking over the IRD site, so we will work out a new arrangement with them.
Late in the afternoon, John Dau (http://johndaufoundation.org/) asked if he could visit our site, and we made the walk. As we approached and he caught sight of the fence, he said, "This is your fence?! This beautiful fence is yours? This huge property is yours?" As we entered, he took a look and he said, "This is beautiful here." I showed him around the staff housing, the storage, and inside the only one of our tukuls that wasn't locked. John pointed out signs of termites, showing me the soile they have already deposited on some of our wood rafters. The solution is to have our security guard check weekly and knock off any soil that appears. We will treat the wood with anti-termite solution when it arrives—we have been waiting for one of the last three flights to bring it.
John was impressed with our toilets and showers and sinks. The clinic has nothing like this. He said to me, "I knew you were working on something here, but I hadn't paid that much attention—this is much more than I expected." And he congratulated us on our progress. Just wait until he sees what 50 educated ASAH girls will accomplish in the future!
Thursday, December 15, 2011
The Blind
Tuesday, December 13
Today was the beginning of a big week for the clinic. AIM Air landed with a group of medical folks from The Moran Eye Center - http://uuhsc.utah.edu/MoranEyeCenter/outreach/international.html - and elsewhere: doctors, nurses, and others involved with the upcoming cataract surgeries that will be performed beginning Thursday. Several more eye surgeons arrive Thursday. Some of the docs brought small camping tents which now dot the clinic compound; others were moved into the clinic staff tents, and these staff moved into the almost-finished block housing nearby. Because the rainy season road conditions have made getting materials here impossible until just recently, ASAH loaned mattresses and other needed items from our storage for the guests. Since my last visit, the clinic has been using two of our tables and a stool as well. I don't know what they'll do when we take them back in January, but the clinic has been a gracious host to me over the many weeks I've spent here in the past year, and I'm glad ASAH can give back.
It's lively here in the compound and the complexion has changed with the number of kuwajas (literally—foreigners, but used to designate us white folks) now present. Many of the clinic staff now spend their off hours at the new housing or on the outskirts of the gathering area, so I miss them at meal times and in the evenings, though the conversation, dotted with snippets of medical stories, reports on the day's screenings, and joke telling, is interesting.
Blind people have walked here from as far away as Bor—a four day walk—to be screened for cataract surgery. In most cases, the blind person uses a cane and holds onto a long stick as a sighted person leads them slowly along rutted, dusty, stony paths and roadways, and through the grasslands. One six-year-old girl led her blind grandmother on a two-day walk from their village.
By Wednesday about 170 candidates were scheduled for cataract surgeries, and at least one trachoma patient has already had an operation. The doctors are working in makeshift operating suites. The Lost Boys Clinic is a basic care facility, not a hospital, but this team will make it work. Unfortunately, some patients are turned away because there is no sight to be restored. There are also at least ten children under 14 with cataracts. More patients will arrive over the next few days.
Today was the beginning of a big week for the clinic. AIM Air landed with a group of medical folks from The Moran Eye Center - http://uuhsc.utah.edu/MoranEyeCenter/outreach/international.html - and elsewhere: doctors, nurses, and others involved with the upcoming cataract surgeries that will be performed beginning Thursday. Several more eye surgeons arrive Thursday. Some of the docs brought small camping tents which now dot the clinic compound; others were moved into the clinic staff tents, and these staff moved into the almost-finished block housing nearby. Because the rainy season road conditions have made getting materials here impossible until just recently, ASAH loaned mattresses and other needed items from our storage for the guests. Since my last visit, the clinic has been using two of our tables and a stool as well. I don't know what they'll do when we take them back in January, but the clinic has been a gracious host to me over the many weeks I've spent here in the past year, and I'm glad ASAH can give back.
It's lively here in the compound and the complexion has changed with the number of kuwajas (literally—foreigners, but used to designate us white folks) now present. Many of the clinic staff now spend their off hours at the new housing or on the outskirts of the gathering area, so I miss them at meal times and in the evenings, though the conversation, dotted with snippets of medical stories, reports on the day's screenings, and joke telling, is interesting.
Blind people have walked here from as far away as Bor—a four day walk—to be screened for cataract surgery. In most cases, the blind person uses a cane and holds onto a long stick as a sighted person leads them slowly along rutted, dusty, stony paths and roadways, and through the grasslands. One six-year-old girl led her blind grandmother on a two-day walk from their village.
By Wednesday about 170 candidates were scheduled for cataract surgeries, and at least one trachoma patient has already had an operation. The doctors are working in makeshift operating suites. The Lost Boys Clinic is a basic care facility, not a hospital, but this team will make it work. Unfortunately, some patients are turned away because there is no sight to be restored. There are also at least ten children under 14 with cataracts. More patients will arrive over the next few days.
Invited
Monday, December 12
On Sunday, Manyok presented me with a printed invitation to the school's year-end closing ceremony. The invite was for 10 am Monday, so like an American I arrived early, and like an African I watched and waited. Young boys carried school desks from the school to the church for the assembly. The one-piece desks consist of a bench seat and a 10" plank writing area. Designed to seat two or three, the children squeezed together four or five to a desk.
On Sundays, each member of the congregation must bring their own seat, and the church is populated with colorful plastic chairs and large bent tin cans—mostly for seating children. Today the church is more orderly, the benches lined up in neat rows. One of the teachers gestured for the kids to stand and reordered them from class one to seven, right to left and back.
Another teacher ran a cable from an outside power source to hook up a sound system—amp and speakers, music and mic. Chairs had already been set up for the invited guests and teaching staff.
The program was further delayed with an announcement that we were waiting for 91-year-old Gideon, the guest of honor, but when another twenty minutes passed without him, they started up. He arrived soon after.
There was much singing and celebration, and the top ten students in each class were recognized by name and invited to the front of the church. The young primary students received a notebook, a pen, and soap—the soap here comes in long bars, scored to break off into individual bars of soap. I don’t think first graders in the US would prize soap the way they do here. The pen and soap supplies ran out, and the older students received only notebooks and certificates.
Two of our ASAH girls, Achol in class six, and Ayen in class three, were number nine in their respective classes, as was Daniel, the boy who has assisted me with videotaping and other tasks over the last year.
One student was asked to speak to the assembly—Achol, graduate of class six. She took the mic like a pro and, in Dinka, translated for me by Manyok, told the crowd how important it is to let the girls stay in school and not to marry them off when they are too young. She spoke in a strong and confident voice, turning to looking at the assembled students as well as the teachers and invited guests. She said, "If you let us stay in school and get an education, then you will see what we can do for you in the future."
On Sunday, Manyok presented me with a printed invitation to the school's year-end closing ceremony. The invite was for 10 am Monday, so like an American I arrived early, and like an African I watched and waited. Young boys carried school desks from the school to the church for the assembly. The one-piece desks consist of a bench seat and a 10" plank writing area. Designed to seat two or three, the children squeezed together four or five to a desk.
On Sundays, each member of the congregation must bring their own seat, and the church is populated with colorful plastic chairs and large bent tin cans—mostly for seating children. Today the church is more orderly, the benches lined up in neat rows. One of the teachers gestured for the kids to stand and reordered them from class one to seven, right to left and back.
Another teacher ran a cable from an outside power source to hook up a sound system—amp and speakers, music and mic. Chairs had already been set up for the invited guests and teaching staff.
The program was further delayed with an announcement that we were waiting for 91-year-old Gideon, the guest of honor, but when another twenty minutes passed without him, they started up. He arrived soon after.
There was much singing and celebration, and the top ten students in each class were recognized by name and invited to the front of the church. The young primary students received a notebook, a pen, and soap—the soap here comes in long bars, scored to break off into individual bars of soap. I don’t think first graders in the US would prize soap the way they do here. The pen and soap supplies ran out, and the older students received only notebooks and certificates.
Two of our ASAH girls, Achol in class six, and Ayen in class three, were number nine in their respective classes, as was Daniel, the boy who has assisted me with videotaping and other tasks over the last year.
One student was asked to speak to the assembly—Achol, graduate of class six. She took the mic like a pro and, in Dinka, translated for me by Manyok, told the crowd how important it is to let the girls stay in school and not to marry them off when they are too young. She spoke in a strong and confident voice, turning to looking at the assembled students as well as the teachers and invited guests. She said, "If you let us stay in school and get an education, then you will see what we can do for you in the future."
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Undies--Big and Small
Sunday, December 11
After church, the women came to the church office compound where we had set up to distribute panties and pads. I often distribute through the school, but last week was exam week, and now school is out until February. An announcement was made at church, and the crowd that arrived was mostly mothers and smaller children, but very few teenage girls—our target population. We will distribute theirs when school reopens.
The panties distribution can easily deteriorate into a mad grab, so I asked Rhoda, a former teacher who speaks English and works with our program, to line the children up by size and age. Lillian, the clinic midwife, helped me hand them out. The little children came first—both boys and girls and babes in arms left with four pairs of panties each. A few teenage girls showed up, and then came the mothers. Thinking that South Sudan teens resemble American teens, our donors often donate women's sizes. The teens here are very tall, but thin as rails. Still, the underwear is welcomed by adult women, too.
Things started hopping before dinner when John Dau, who started the JDF Foundation Lost Boys Clinic here in Duk, arrived with a group that included Michelle, a filmmaker who will be with him until the end of January, documenting the peace initiative which he is here for, and the cataract surgeries which will begin in a few days when the eye surgeons arrive from the US. Also in the entourage were armed policemen. Nine people in a Land Cruiser plus baggage and weapons. Due to the bad roads, what might have been a five-hour drive took two days from Bor to Duk.
The arrival of special visitors means meat and potatoes along with the traditional beans and rice for dinner. They didn't know, however, that we'd been treated to fried fish at lunch. The fish is mudfish, which I usually disdain as it is stewed and rank—I'm not sure if it's rotten or what, but the whole dining room stinks to high heaven. This fish was fresh and pretty tasty with lots of tiny bones. The initiated were able to peel the flesh back and leave the skeleton behind. I wasn't so skilled.
Michelle brought a two-person tent donated to her by Marmot, who is a sponsor for her film project. Moses was gracious enough to agree to sleep there, and Michelle moved into my tent. I don't know how she would have managed in that tiny tent. She has a huge amount of film gear. It would certainly have been more difficult for her to manage, and I'm enjoying the female companionship.
After church, the women came to the church office compound where we had set up to distribute panties and pads. I often distribute through the school, but last week was exam week, and now school is out until February. An announcement was made at church, and the crowd that arrived was mostly mothers and smaller children, but very few teenage girls—our target population. We will distribute theirs when school reopens.
The panties distribution can easily deteriorate into a mad grab, so I asked Rhoda, a former teacher who speaks English and works with our program, to line the children up by size and age. Lillian, the clinic midwife, helped me hand them out. The little children came first—both boys and girls and babes in arms left with four pairs of panties each. A few teenage girls showed up, and then came the mothers. Thinking that South Sudan teens resemble American teens, our donors often donate women's sizes. The teens here are very tall, but thin as rails. Still, the underwear is welcomed by adult women, too.
Things started hopping before dinner when John Dau, who started the JDF Foundation Lost Boys Clinic here in Duk, arrived with a group that included Michelle, a filmmaker who will be with him until the end of January, documenting the peace initiative which he is here for, and the cataract surgeries which will begin in a few days when the eye surgeons arrive from the US. Also in the entourage were armed policemen. Nine people in a Land Cruiser plus baggage and weapons. Due to the bad roads, what might have been a five-hour drive took two days from Bor to Duk.
The arrival of special visitors means meat and potatoes along with the traditional beans and rice for dinner. They didn't know, however, that we'd been treated to fried fish at lunch. The fish is mudfish, which I usually disdain as it is stewed and rank—I'm not sure if it's rotten or what, but the whole dining room stinks to high heaven. This fish was fresh and pretty tasty with lots of tiny bones. The initiated were able to peel the flesh back and leave the skeleton behind. I wasn't so skilled.
Michelle brought a two-person tent donated to her by Marmot, who is a sponsor for her film project. Moses was gracious enough to agree to sleep there, and Michelle moved into my tent. I don't know how she would have managed in that tiny tent. She has a huge amount of film gear. It would certainly have been more difficult for her to manage, and I'm enjoying the female companionship.
Slaughtering the Calf
Friday, December 9, 2011
One obstacle in this remote place is the dearth of skilled local workers. One local has carpentry and welding skills and the equipment to do the work. As the only game in town, he prices his work accordingly. We can bring Kenyan or Ugandan workers from Bor or Juba, but that is costly, too, and with the long rainy season it isn't always possible. Manyok and Dau are learning the art of negotiation. They know what things should cost, and they don't give out the contracts until the price is reasonable. Our most recent negotiation was for welding of the elevation structure for our water tank and the gates for our fence. At this particular time, we have an advantage as the Kenyan plumbers and electricians now working on our site are capable of doing this job as well.
We now have a hand washing sink on the outside wall of our ablution blocks. Not a novel concept—use the toilet and wash your hands right afterwards—but there aren't any sinks at the clinic, for example. The faucet at the clinic is a trek from the latrine through the clinic and from there to the dining compound. The water that spills from this knee-high faucet is drinkable, splashes onto broken concrete and trickles down a shallow mud ditch. From this single outdoor faucet we fill our water bottles, basins to wash clothes, buckets to wash dishes. We also wash the dust from our feet and legs and rinse our toothbrushes.
Earlier in the week, a small cow walking outside our fence managed to climb over a pile of concrete blocks and tumble into the hole dug for our septic tank. One of our crew was working on the ablution block roof, and he got down from the roof, jumped into the hole, and lifted the calf to another worker. Unfortunately, the calf sustained spinal damage of some sort and wasn't able to walk or stand, but remained alive. Someone went to notify the owner and ask him to come and determine what should be done with the cow. He declined, so Manyok and Dau went to visit him. He was angry and verbally abusive but would not offer a resolution. They expected him to send someone to examine the animal. Cows here are not sacred as in India, but they are prized and people will starve before slaughtering them. The idea is to have them and to accumulate more like money in the bank. Of course they breed them, and they use the milk, but beef is saved for celebrations and weddings.
The crew carry the cow to a grassy area and offered water. On Friday, as no one had come on behalf of the owner, they put it out of its misery. It served to feed them all. I can't understand it. If these animals are so loved, how could this calf be left to suffer by the owner? The septic tank was finished and covered. No other animals (or children) will suffer such a fate.
One obstacle in this remote place is the dearth of skilled local workers. One local has carpentry and welding skills and the equipment to do the work. As the only game in town, he prices his work accordingly. We can bring Kenyan or Ugandan workers from Bor or Juba, but that is costly, too, and with the long rainy season it isn't always possible. Manyok and Dau are learning the art of negotiation. They know what things should cost, and they don't give out the contracts until the price is reasonable. Our most recent negotiation was for welding of the elevation structure for our water tank and the gates for our fence. At this particular time, we have an advantage as the Kenyan plumbers and electricians now working on our site are capable of doing this job as well.
We now have a hand washing sink on the outside wall of our ablution blocks. Not a novel concept—use the toilet and wash your hands right afterwards—but there aren't any sinks at the clinic, for example. The faucet at the clinic is a trek from the latrine through the clinic and from there to the dining compound. The water that spills from this knee-high faucet is drinkable, splashes onto broken concrete and trickles down a shallow mud ditch. From this single outdoor faucet we fill our water bottles, basins to wash clothes, buckets to wash dishes. We also wash the dust from our feet and legs and rinse our toothbrushes.
Earlier in the week, a small cow walking outside our fence managed to climb over a pile of concrete blocks and tumble into the hole dug for our septic tank. One of our crew was working on the ablution block roof, and he got down from the roof, jumped into the hole, and lifted the calf to another worker. Unfortunately, the calf sustained spinal damage of some sort and wasn't able to walk or stand, but remained alive. Someone went to notify the owner and ask him to come and determine what should be done with the cow. He declined, so Manyok and Dau went to visit him. He was angry and verbally abusive but would not offer a resolution. They expected him to send someone to examine the animal. Cows here are not sacred as in India, but they are prized and people will starve before slaughtering them. The idea is to have them and to accumulate more like money in the bank. Of course they breed them, and they use the milk, but beef is saved for celebrations and weddings.
The crew carry the cow to a grassy area and offered water. On Friday, as no one had come on behalf of the owner, they put it out of its misery. It served to feed them all. I can't understand it. If these animals are so loved, how could this calf be left to suffer by the owner? The septic tank was finished and covered. No other animals (or children) will suffer such a fate.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Harsh Light, Blue Shadows
Thursday, December 8, 2011
I'm pretty adaptable, but heat fatigue and hunger take a toll. I use "hunger" loosely—though I might yearn for a meal here, I have no idea what it would be like to suffer hunger. In this village, I'm surrounded by people who have an intimate relationship with the pain and anguish of malnourishment, the experience of starving, and of watching people they love die for lack of food.
Moses and Daniel and I traveled to the site for a meeting with the guardians and the girls, arranged by Dau and Manyok. The meeting was at nine, so naturally the guardians came at 10:30. Before they arrived, we heard the plane overhead, which caused Dau to head toward the airstrip to organize carriers for our materials, leaving the girls, Manyok, Rhoda, Moses, Daniel and me to set out chairs and greet the guardians.
Materials began to trickle in, but I felt bad about the guardians with nothing to do, though they were less concerned. My Western desire for punctuality and my own personal difficulty of sitting quietly without always having to "do" is continually challenged here. Manyok didn't want to start the program without Dau who had been the one to meet with the guardians when the girls were first chosen before Manyok was hired, but we had planned to serve tea and fruit, so we began preparing that.
Rhoda and Tabitha (pronounced Tabeesa) brought trays with cups of tea while Achol, one of our ASAH girls, worked at slicing two fresh pineapples and apples. Milk tea is a special treat. Though common in Africa, nothing is common in South Sudan for people who have no food, no money, and no place to buy food even if they had money. Their faces lit up, and there was much chatter as they consumed the dripping pineapple, a food they had never tasted before.
I'm frustrated taking photos. The sun is bright and harsh, the shadows deep and blue. To shoot the very dark faces of Sudanese, the darkest of Africans, light is essential. But this light is not flattering, it's hot—both in temperature and appearance—and the shadows are deep and dappled as they filter through the trees. Group shots often result in faces that are almost silhouettes.
Dau arrived and the program began. The guardians were introduced. Manyok translated for me as Dau spoke to them in Dinka about our opening date—January 15, and our expectations for the girls—that they be released to our care and allowed to remain until their education is complete, which today means primary school, but we hope to get many of them through secondary school and beyond if funds allow. We will encourage visiting and interaction of the girls with their families and the local community. They will attend the local school during the mornings and church on Sundays, and we will enlist teachers, villagers with talents and skills, and even clinic staff and visitors to share their knowledge with our girls.
After I thanked them for allowing their girls to join us and talked of our desire that they stay in the program and not be forced to marry at puberty, several guardians rose to comment. Each of them reinforced their happiness that the girls would be under our care. They told me they are unable to protect the girls from forced marriage in their households. If a potential groom—even a 50 or 70-year-old man—presents cattle dowry—the girls would be given. With us, they will be safe.
I'm pretty adaptable, but heat fatigue and hunger take a toll. I use "hunger" loosely—though I might yearn for a meal here, I have no idea what it would be like to suffer hunger. In this village, I'm surrounded by people who have an intimate relationship with the pain and anguish of malnourishment, the experience of starving, and of watching people they love die for lack of food.
Moses and Daniel and I traveled to the site for a meeting with the guardians and the girls, arranged by Dau and Manyok. The meeting was at nine, so naturally the guardians came at 10:30. Before they arrived, we heard the plane overhead, which caused Dau to head toward the airstrip to organize carriers for our materials, leaving the girls, Manyok, Rhoda, Moses, Daniel and me to set out chairs and greet the guardians.
Materials began to trickle in, but I felt bad about the guardians with nothing to do, though they were less concerned. My Western desire for punctuality and my own personal difficulty of sitting quietly without always having to "do" is continually challenged here. Manyok didn't want to start the program without Dau who had been the one to meet with the guardians when the girls were first chosen before Manyok was hired, but we had planned to serve tea and fruit, so we began preparing that.
Rhoda and Tabitha (pronounced Tabeesa) brought trays with cups of tea while Achol, one of our ASAH girls, worked at slicing two fresh pineapples and apples. Milk tea is a special treat. Though common in Africa, nothing is common in South Sudan for people who have no food, no money, and no place to buy food even if they had money. Their faces lit up, and there was much chatter as they consumed the dripping pineapple, a food they had never tasted before.
I'm frustrated taking photos. The sun is bright and harsh, the shadows deep and blue. To shoot the very dark faces of Sudanese, the darkest of Africans, light is essential. But this light is not flattering, it's hot—both in temperature and appearance—and the shadows are deep and dappled as they filter through the trees. Group shots often result in faces that are almost silhouettes.
Dau arrived and the program began. The guardians were introduced. Manyok translated for me as Dau spoke to them in Dinka about our opening date—January 15, and our expectations for the girls—that they be released to our care and allowed to remain until their education is complete, which today means primary school, but we hope to get many of them through secondary school and beyond if funds allow. We will encourage visiting and interaction of the girls with their families and the local community. They will attend the local school during the mornings and church on Sundays, and we will enlist teachers, villagers with talents and skills, and even clinic staff and visitors to share their knowledge with our girls.
After I thanked them for allowing their girls to join us and talked of our desire that they stay in the program and not be forced to marry at puberty, several guardians rose to comment. Each of them reinforced their happiness that the girls would be under our care. They told me they are unable to protect the girls from forced marriage in their households. If a potential groom—even a 50 or 70-year-old man—presents cattle dowry—the girls would be given. With us, they will be safe.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Portage
Wednesday, December 7
Dau and Manyok and I met. They had prepared and printed (using the printer we bought in Juba) spreadsheets detailing the labor costs over the last few months. Some of the labor involved is portage of materials. There are three vehicles in the village, but they can't be driven during the rainy season. The roads and paths between the high ground areas flood and the vehicles get stuck. Thus men, women, and children carry things—on their heads, their shoulders, and their backs.
The most expensive portage was bags of cement carried from storage at the school (inside a classroom and protected from the elements) to our site. It takes about 15 minutes to trek this distance during the dry season, it takes longer to walk through the water, and it is particularly important not to drop the cement in the water. I'm sure few readers could easily lift, let alone carry for a long distance, a bag of this cement. I know because I loaded and unloaded these same bags into and out of a vehicle when we stored them in the first place. Some of the bags were opened and dumped into buckets or sacks and carried by women. A few men were able to carry a bag on their own. It's dirty work.
To bring the sand for building concrete block, three wheelbarrows were each loaded with sand 400 times and pushed to the site and back at a cost of 1 Sudanese pound per wheelbarrow. One Sudanese pound is about 31 cents. And, until my arrival last week with the materials to run water to our site, women carried the necessary water from the well on their heads. Many items on the spreadsheet are listed by the number of "backs" required.
Dau and Manyok and I met. They had prepared and printed (using the printer we bought in Juba) spreadsheets detailing the labor costs over the last few months. Some of the labor involved is portage of materials. There are three vehicles in the village, but they can't be driven during the rainy season. The roads and paths between the high ground areas flood and the vehicles get stuck. Thus men, women, and children carry things—on their heads, their shoulders, and their backs.
The most expensive portage was bags of cement carried from storage at the school (inside a classroom and protected from the elements) to our site. It takes about 15 minutes to trek this distance during the dry season, it takes longer to walk through the water, and it is particularly important not to drop the cement in the water. I'm sure few readers could easily lift, let alone carry for a long distance, a bag of this cement. I know because I loaded and unloaded these same bags into and out of a vehicle when we stored them in the first place. Some of the bags were opened and dumped into buckets or sacks and carried by women. A few men were able to carry a bag on their own. It's dirty work.
To bring the sand for building concrete block, three wheelbarrows were each loaded with sand 400 times and pushed to the site and back at a cost of 1 Sudanese pound per wheelbarrow. One Sudanese pound is about 31 cents. And, until my arrival last week with the materials to run water to our site, women carried the necessary water from the well on their heads. Many items on the spreadsheet are listed by the number of "backs" required.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Feast
Tuesday, December 6
We're on Africa time. Like other hot places I've visited where clocks don't govern the day, I went to find Manyok at the site at 10 am, expecting to meet with him before our feast with the girls scheduled for one o'clock. Manyok was overseeing the workers and Dau was catching up on his end-of-term duties as head teacher. I worked on photos and the blog at IRD, the adjacent NGO site, taking advantage of their electric power and Internet access.
At 12:30, Daniel and I went to the site, but still no Dau or Manyok. The girls started arriving, and I gave them a tour. Much has changed since they visited last July. We interacted as best we could with our limited shared language. By 2, I saw that Tabitha and Rhoda hadn't started cooking the goat and knew this would be a full day affair. I figured I would miss lunch altogether, which isn't an actual hardship in a place where entire families consider themselves lucky to share one small meal in a day, and often have nothing to eat but leaves they've gathered. But it wasn't to be. The cooks had prepared a lunch of goat liver in a stew with carrots and onions for Moses and me. Not used to the heat, Moses had returned to the clinic for a nap, so I was expected to eat alone inside the tukul. Though some of you may not be fond of liver, this meat was quite tasty, and it was a treat to eat meat that wasn't tough, stringy, and accompanied by bone slivers and gristle. I could eat only a small portion, and I asked Daniel to finish it up.
Dau and Manyok arrived with the fruit I brought from Nairobi. We retrieved a knife from Tabitha—a piece of metal with a long pointed triangular blade, fairly blunt edges and a makeshift shaft. Slicing the mangos attracted hundreds of small blue flies. The mangos had been bruised in transit and storage and weren't in perfect shape, but the girls devoured them with gusto. Tabitha is saving the seeds to dry and plant on our site. Likewise, we saved the pineapple tops. The abundance of ripening fruit allowed for an orgy of eating, juice dripping from our fingers and faces. Thank goodness we now have easy access to running water at our site.
We filled the time until dinner playing games and singing songs. Dau asked me to tell them a story. Goldilocks and the Three Bears came to mind, and I drew on storytelling skills acquired in high-school speech tournaments, and honed telling stories to my children. I remembered that I have this book on my IPad and treated them to that version when I finished. The IPad entertained them for a good hour as they explored the interactive children's books and other kid stuff I've downloaded on that wonderful machine.
Finally dinner was ready, and what a feast it was. Tabitha, Rhoda, and another cook carried the dishes to our table. The girls dished up mounds of rice, goat stew, stewed chicken (also donated by Moses' uncle), and a delicious dish of pasta with goat meat and carrots. I've never seen an American child devour such a large quantity of food at a sitting, but these girls are accustomed to a single meal in a day, which often consists only of sorghum.
Since most of our supplies are in storage, awaiting completion of our compound, we had 11 girls but only six spoons. The adults, including me, used our fingers. Five groups of two girls sat knee to knee and shared spoons—a bite for one, pass the spoon, a bite for the other and so on.
Our meal finished, we brought out the sweaters I brought from Nairobi for chilly evenings, and they went home: their bellies full, their bodies warm. It was dark when we returned to the clinic, but Moses and I took a nighttime walk to the central village to meet with his sister's guardian. I have never ventured off the clinic compound after dark. Though I brought a small torch (flashlight), the bright moonlight was sufficient to light our way.
We're on Africa time. Like other hot places I've visited where clocks don't govern the day, I went to find Manyok at the site at 10 am, expecting to meet with him before our feast with the girls scheduled for one o'clock. Manyok was overseeing the workers and Dau was catching up on his end-of-term duties as head teacher. I worked on photos and the blog at IRD, the adjacent NGO site, taking advantage of their electric power and Internet access.
At 12:30, Daniel and I went to the site, but still no Dau or Manyok. The girls started arriving, and I gave them a tour. Much has changed since they visited last July. We interacted as best we could with our limited shared language. By 2, I saw that Tabitha and Rhoda hadn't started cooking the goat and knew this would be a full day affair. I figured I would miss lunch altogether, which isn't an actual hardship in a place where entire families consider themselves lucky to share one small meal in a day, and often have nothing to eat but leaves they've gathered. But it wasn't to be. The cooks had prepared a lunch of goat liver in a stew with carrots and onions for Moses and me. Not used to the heat, Moses had returned to the clinic for a nap, so I was expected to eat alone inside the tukul. Though some of you may not be fond of liver, this meat was quite tasty, and it was a treat to eat meat that wasn't tough, stringy, and accompanied by bone slivers and gristle. I could eat only a small portion, and I asked Daniel to finish it up.
Dau and Manyok arrived with the fruit I brought from Nairobi. We retrieved a knife from Tabitha—a piece of metal with a long pointed triangular blade, fairly blunt edges and a makeshift shaft. Slicing the mangos attracted hundreds of small blue flies. The mangos had been bruised in transit and storage and weren't in perfect shape, but the girls devoured them with gusto. Tabitha is saving the seeds to dry and plant on our site. Likewise, we saved the pineapple tops. The abundance of ripening fruit allowed for an orgy of eating, juice dripping from our fingers and faces. Thank goodness we now have easy access to running water at our site.
We filled the time until dinner playing games and singing songs. Dau asked me to tell them a story. Goldilocks and the Three Bears came to mind, and I drew on storytelling skills acquired in high-school speech tournaments, and honed telling stories to my children. I remembered that I have this book on my IPad and treated them to that version when I finished. The IPad entertained them for a good hour as they explored the interactive children's books and other kid stuff I've downloaded on that wonderful machine.
Finally dinner was ready, and what a feast it was. Tabitha, Rhoda, and another cook carried the dishes to our table. The girls dished up mounds of rice, goat stew, stewed chicken (also donated by Moses' uncle), and a delicious dish of pasta with goat meat and carrots. I've never seen an American child devour such a large quantity of food at a sitting, but these girls are accustomed to a single meal in a day, which often consists only of sorghum.
Since most of our supplies are in storage, awaiting completion of our compound, we had 11 girls but only six spoons. The adults, including me, used our fingers. Five groups of two girls sat knee to knee and shared spoons—a bite for one, pass the spoon, a bite for the other and so on.
Our meal finished, we brought out the sweaters I brought from Nairobi for chilly evenings, and they went home: their bellies full, their bodies warm. It was dark when we returned to the clinic, but Moses and I took a nighttime walk to the central village to meet with his sister's guardian. I have never ventured off the clinic compound after dark. Though I brought a small torch (flashlight), the bright moonlight was sufficient to light our way.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Sacrificial goats
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Manyok and Dau bought a goat to celebrate our arrival. The plan was to slaughter it Sunday and invite the girls for a feast. Alas, the clinic has no firewood. Shortly after we received this gift, before we left for church, Moses' uncle Kon stopped by with a goat for us as well. The he-goat and the she-goat are tethered, bleating pitifully, knowing something is up. They have a short respite as we won't be able to slaughter and cook them today.
Daniel and I walked to church before the two-hour service finished. Two hours is a bit long for me since all the preaching and prayers and announcements are in Dinka. The singing and drumming is quite enjoyable, as is watching and listening to the movement of people and children inside the church.
As in any church, when it's over, everyone gathers outside to greet friends. Many people know me now, and their greetings are warm. People call me Deborah Dit, though I didn't t know why. The addition of "Dit" to the name is a sign of respect for elders and for people in responsible positions.
After lunch we started our long walk through the outskirts of the village on our way to Daniel's home to meet his mother. She's in her 50s, but looks older. His father is nearly 70, blind, living in Juba. As often happens when you meet parents of kids that you are helping, I was designated his second mother. From there, we tried to meet Moses' brother, Akol, at his uncle Kon's, but when we arrived we learned Akol had gone to the central town, so we will meet him another day.
Continuing our trek we headed to the site. Walking cross-country through knee-high grass is uncomfortable now that things are drying out. Prickly grasses scratch my legs and tiny thorns end up in my sandals. Daniel, Moses, and Manyok are all wearing trousers and shoes. I'm wearing cargo shorts—not the traditional dress for women, but no one seems to mind. I wear dresses or skirts for church and when meeting with elders. It's too hot for pants.
Juma, the head medical officer at the clinic, came to me in the afternoon pleading on behalf of eight tuberculosis patients—seven women and a little girl, and one man who has lost his fingers to leprosy. They have no food. Their bodies can't utilize the medications if they're starving. He asked if I could help. ASAH has precious food supplies stored here. We had expected our compound to open last summer, but the onset of heavy rains delayed materials and the crew until this trip.
Since our facility doesn't open until January, when it will be possible to travel the roads again, Manyok feels we can part with some beans and rice and powdered milk. We organized a plan with Victor, the clinic pharmacist who oversees supplies at the clinic. It isn't certain that we will be repaid, but the Lost Boys Clinic has applied for renewal of a World Food Programme grant for just this situation, and they expect it to be renewed by year-end. They will repay the beans and rice with WPF lentils and sorghum—not as desirable, but we might be able to trade the sorghum for rice. This is a life and death situation for these patients, and right now, we're the only option.
Manyok and Dau bought a goat to celebrate our arrival. The plan was to slaughter it Sunday and invite the girls for a feast. Alas, the clinic has no firewood. Shortly after we received this gift, before we left for church, Moses' uncle Kon stopped by with a goat for us as well. The he-goat and the she-goat are tethered, bleating pitifully, knowing something is up. They have a short respite as we won't be able to slaughter and cook them today.
Daniel and I walked to church before the two-hour service finished. Two hours is a bit long for me since all the preaching and prayers and announcements are in Dinka. The singing and drumming is quite enjoyable, as is watching and listening to the movement of people and children inside the church.
As in any church, when it's over, everyone gathers outside to greet friends. Many people know me now, and their greetings are warm. People call me Deborah Dit, though I didn't t know why. The addition of "Dit" to the name is a sign of respect for elders and for people in responsible positions.
After lunch we started our long walk through the outskirts of the village on our way to Daniel's home to meet his mother. She's in her 50s, but looks older. His father is nearly 70, blind, living in Juba. As often happens when you meet parents of kids that you are helping, I was designated his second mother. From there, we tried to meet Moses' brother, Akol, at his uncle Kon's, but when we arrived we learned Akol had gone to the central town, so we will meet him another day.
Continuing our trek we headed to the site. Walking cross-country through knee-high grass is uncomfortable now that things are drying out. Prickly grasses scratch my legs and tiny thorns end up in my sandals. Daniel, Moses, and Manyok are all wearing trousers and shoes. I'm wearing cargo shorts—not the traditional dress for women, but no one seems to mind. I wear dresses or skirts for church and when meeting with elders. It's too hot for pants.
Juma, the head medical officer at the clinic, came to me in the afternoon pleading on behalf of eight tuberculosis patients—seven women and a little girl, and one man who has lost his fingers to leprosy. They have no food. Their bodies can't utilize the medications if they're starving. He asked if I could help. ASAH has precious food supplies stored here. We had expected our compound to open last summer, but the onset of heavy rains delayed materials and the crew until this trip.
Since our facility doesn't open until January, when it will be possible to travel the roads again, Manyok feels we can part with some beans and rice and powdered milk. We organized a plan with Victor, the clinic pharmacist who oversees supplies at the clinic. It isn't certain that we will be repaid, but the Lost Boys Clinic has applied for renewal of a World Food Programme grant for just this situation, and they expect it to be renewed by year-end. They will repay the beans and rice with WPF lentils and sorghum—not as desirable, but we might be able to trade the sorghum for rice. This is a life and death situation for these patients, and right now, we're the only option.
Let There Be Light
Monday, December 5
Juma greeted me with enthusiasm and thanks for the food supplies at breakfast. He wants a photograph of me with the TB patients. What can a bag of beans and rice, a little salt and sugar do? It will keep people alive so they can benefit from the medications for their TB and Leprosy.
Breakfast at the clinic is even more sparse than it's been on previous visits due to the exhaustion of food supplies. There used to be two or three thermoses on the counter—one with milk, one with hot water, but they have only a single thermos now. There are no morning biscuits.
Occasionally someone remarks to me that our country has hardships and our efforts should be concentrated at home. But if you could see what I have seen, you would understand that the situations are not comparable. We have poor and sick people in the US, but it's uncommon for us to see people stricken with TB, leprosy, malaria, and other treatable or eradicated diseases, and one in five small children aren't dying of malnutrition and other illnesses prior to age five. The JDF Lost Boys Clinic here in Duk performs minor miracles daily, caring for up to 100 patients a day, some of whom walk up to 100 miles for care. Medication alone isn't enough to help them, so the clinic provides basic food to many patients.
Today Reuben, a 19-year-old young man from Patuenoi, walked to Duk Payuel for medication with a fever. He has been looking over my shoulder as I type this in the clinic office. I asked him how large Patuenoi is compared to Duk. He told me that Patuenoi is a village and that Duk Payuel is a town. Moses had also told me that he was surprised by how large Duk was—that it was not a village, but a town. It still looks like a village to me. Duk has a population of about 3000 people spread out a great distance across pockets of high ground, as the lowlands flood during the rainy season. There about 500 of these households, though the population is fluid, people coming and going between villages seasonally and with their cattle. Manyok and Dau tell me that Duk is only a village, but because of the clinic and IRD compound, (and our developing program and site) it looks like a town to many from smaller communities.
My trip to the site today was rewarded by the discovery of light in the tukuls. Long single-tube fluorescent lights are installed in the large tukuls, and smaller energy-saving bulbs in the small ones. Though so far the power is only turned on to the tukul where the crew is sleeping, it was wonderful to see the light.
The she-goat was slaughtered at the clinic this morning—fortunately out of my eyesight--and roasted for lunch. Any kind of meat is a real treat at the clinic, and goat meat is prized by Sudanese. The staff is always pressing me to eat more, but I tried to satisfy them by gnawing the fibrous meat off one bone while chewing with care to avoid bone slivers—a given when the meat is butchered with a hatchet.
Some of our ASAH girls came by in the afternoon as we were preparing the pineapple I brought from Nairobi, so we shared it with them and the clinic staff. None had tasted pineapple before, but more shocking to them was that it was straight from the refrigerator. They could hardly manage to chew as they had never had cold food in their lives.
After dinner one of the cooks lit the enormous trash pile. The resulting bonfire was a treat for us all, the night cool without wind. From my bed in the tent—I'm close enough that it could have presented a problem if it were windy—I enjoyed the crackling of the fire, the flames still burning bright as I went to sleep.
Juma greeted me with enthusiasm and thanks for the food supplies at breakfast. He wants a photograph of me with the TB patients. What can a bag of beans and rice, a little salt and sugar do? It will keep people alive so they can benefit from the medications for their TB and Leprosy.
Breakfast at the clinic is even more sparse than it's been on previous visits due to the exhaustion of food supplies. There used to be two or three thermoses on the counter—one with milk, one with hot water, but they have only a single thermos now. There are no morning biscuits.
Occasionally someone remarks to me that our country has hardships and our efforts should be concentrated at home. But if you could see what I have seen, you would understand that the situations are not comparable. We have poor and sick people in the US, but it's uncommon for us to see people stricken with TB, leprosy, malaria, and other treatable or eradicated diseases, and one in five small children aren't dying of malnutrition and other illnesses prior to age five. The JDF Lost Boys Clinic here in Duk performs minor miracles daily, caring for up to 100 patients a day, some of whom walk up to 100 miles for care. Medication alone isn't enough to help them, so the clinic provides basic food to many patients.
Today Reuben, a 19-year-old young man from Patuenoi, walked to Duk Payuel for medication with a fever. He has been looking over my shoulder as I type this in the clinic office. I asked him how large Patuenoi is compared to Duk. He told me that Patuenoi is a village and that Duk Payuel is a town. Moses had also told me that he was surprised by how large Duk was—that it was not a village, but a town. It still looks like a village to me. Duk has a population of about 3000 people spread out a great distance across pockets of high ground, as the lowlands flood during the rainy season. There about 500 of these households, though the population is fluid, people coming and going between villages seasonally and with their cattle. Manyok and Dau tell me that Duk is only a village, but because of the clinic and IRD compound, (and our developing program and site) it looks like a town to many from smaller communities.
My trip to the site today was rewarded by the discovery of light in the tukuls. Long single-tube fluorescent lights are installed in the large tukuls, and smaller energy-saving bulbs in the small ones. Though so far the power is only turned on to the tukul where the crew is sleeping, it was wonderful to see the light.
The she-goat was slaughtered at the clinic this morning—fortunately out of my eyesight--and roasted for lunch. Any kind of meat is a real treat at the clinic, and goat meat is prized by Sudanese. The staff is always pressing me to eat more, but I tried to satisfy them by gnawing the fibrous meat off one bone while chewing with care to avoid bone slivers—a given when the meat is butchered with a hatchet.
Some of our ASAH girls came by in the afternoon as we were preparing the pineapple I brought from Nairobi, so we shared it with them and the clinic staff. None had tasted pineapple before, but more shocking to them was that it was straight from the refrigerator. They could hardly manage to chew as they had never had cold food in their lives.
After dinner one of the cooks lit the enormous trash pile. The resulting bonfire was a treat for us all, the night cool without wind. From my bed in the tent—I'm close enough that it could have presented a problem if it were windy—I enjoyed the crackling of the fire, the flames still burning bright as I went to sleep.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Let There Be Water
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Even before the local villagers finished digging the long trench from IRD's compound to ours, we had water running out of a faucet on our site. A real faucet! That means we don't need laborers to haul water from the well, and Tabitha can cook for the men without hauling water as well. You can imagine what a miracle that is. Today, the doors of the toilet and shower stalls are framed and the roof framework is in place.
Our program director, Manyok, and I went to IRD, the adjacent NGO site to get Maduk the carpenter/welder who has been (slowly) building our fence. Maduk will be welding the elevation structure for our 5000 liter water tank and the pedestrian and vehicle gates, and we needed him to let us know what additional materials are needed to complete the work.
It isn't like you can walk down the street to Ace Hardware. The closest location is Bor: four or five hours by car because of the terrible road conditions, three days by footing if you are walking through flooded land, about a half hour by plane. Right now, though the heavy September flooding has receded, the last leg of the journey to Duk from Bor is still too wet for road travel. We are hoping one of the AIM flights coming to Duk this week can land and then return to Bor to pick up the necessary materials so they will be here when the crew needs them. The coordination of these mission flights is complicated as they must calculate weights, fuel loads, and as there are no lights on these landing fields, there is no flying after dark. AIM doesn't work on the weekends, so it will be Monday before I will hear from them.
Too much sun for me today. When I returned to the clinic I was a bit dehydrated in spite of drinking water. One doesn't have to pee much here because you lose the water sweating.
Six of our 11 girls stopped by to hang around. Since they don't speak English, our relations are a little awkward. I brought a puzzle of Africa—each country on the continent is a separate piece, and the outline of the pieces shows on the puzzle when the pieces are out. This was the first puzzle they had ever seen, and it was interesting watching the girls try to fit round pegs in square holes, something US children are exposed to at young ages. I drew their attention to a couple of pieces, pointing out the angles and shapes and gesturing for them to find that on the puzzle.
After that we shared the universal language—food. I gave them each a banana encouraging them to eat them now, but they insisted on taking them home, probably to share with their families.
Fresh fruits and vegetables are a rarity in the village. There are coconut trees all around and many growing on our site. I'm told the fruit begins to ripen in January and coconuts are available through March. Moses tells me that the British coconut trees were planted by the British. Other fruit trees will grow here, but there aren't any in the village now. We will plant mango trees on our site with the seeds from the mangos I brought to share with our girls and the clinic staff.
Even before the local villagers finished digging the long trench from IRD's compound to ours, we had water running out of a faucet on our site. A real faucet! That means we don't need laborers to haul water from the well, and Tabitha can cook for the men without hauling water as well. You can imagine what a miracle that is. Today, the doors of the toilet and shower stalls are framed and the roof framework is in place.
Our program director, Manyok, and I went to IRD, the adjacent NGO site to get Maduk the carpenter/welder who has been (slowly) building our fence. Maduk will be welding the elevation structure for our 5000 liter water tank and the pedestrian and vehicle gates, and we needed him to let us know what additional materials are needed to complete the work.
It isn't like you can walk down the street to Ace Hardware. The closest location is Bor: four or five hours by car because of the terrible road conditions, three days by footing if you are walking through flooded land, about a half hour by plane. Right now, though the heavy September flooding has receded, the last leg of the journey to Duk from Bor is still too wet for road travel. We are hoping one of the AIM flights coming to Duk this week can land and then return to Bor to pick up the necessary materials so they will be here when the crew needs them. The coordination of these mission flights is complicated as they must calculate weights, fuel loads, and as there are no lights on these landing fields, there is no flying after dark. AIM doesn't work on the weekends, so it will be Monday before I will hear from them.
Too much sun for me today. When I returned to the clinic I was a bit dehydrated in spite of drinking water. One doesn't have to pee much here because you lose the water sweating.
Six of our 11 girls stopped by to hang around. Since they don't speak English, our relations are a little awkward. I brought a puzzle of Africa—each country on the continent is a separate piece, and the outline of the pieces shows on the puzzle when the pieces are out. This was the first puzzle they had ever seen, and it was interesting watching the girls try to fit round pegs in square holes, something US children are exposed to at young ages. I drew their attention to a couple of pieces, pointing out the angles and shapes and gesturing for them to find that on the puzzle.
After that we shared the universal language—food. I gave them each a banana encouraging them to eat them now, but they insisted on taking them home, probably to share with their families.
Fresh fruits and vegetables are a rarity in the village. There are coconut trees all around and many growing on our site. I'm told the fruit begins to ripen in January and coconuts are available through March. Moses tells me that the British coconut trees were planted by the British. Other fruit trees will grow here, but there aren't any in the village now. We will plant mango trees on our site with the seeds from the mangos I brought to share with our girls and the clinic staff.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Achol
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Members of Moses' extended family came to the clinic in the morning with his lovely sister, Achol, who is 14 and will start class five in January.
Moses' Uncle Kon told us he would be gifting us a goat. Though they have no food except what they can gather or hunt, they won't share in the feast with us. Instead, we will share it with the clinic staff. The goat is borrowed.
There is a tremendous shortage of food in the village. Though I saw flourishing crops of sorghum and maize throughout the village, the rainy season picked up in September, and the crops were drowned out. Since people rely on these crops for their food supply, and the flooded crops also meant flooded roads, there is no way to transport food, and the few local shops have no supplies to sell. People with goats are reluctant to sell them. There are lots of cattle, but cows in Sudan are like money in the bank, parted with only for dowry payments and slaughtered only for celebrations, though families with cows enjoy milk and butter.
Though we can't solve all the hunger problems in this village, I talked with Moses about how we could offer some help to his family. We decided to give them some money to purchase food, which will require a two-hour walk each way to Poktop where the marketplace is accessible by road.
We talked with Dau and Manyok about Moses' sister Achol and learned she is a top student in the school. We are considering her as a candidate for our program. The family wasn't living here when we assessed orphans in March, so she wasn't identified. The criteria we used to select students was to choose girls from each area of Duk Payuel, not unfairly benefitting one chief or family over another. Eligible girls must be able to benefit from the program; we chose a target age of 10 to 15, but the current group ranges from seven to 16; the guardian must be willing to allow the girl to enter our program; and the girl must want to join.
If you're interested in sponsoring Achol or one of our other girls, please email me.
Members of Moses' extended family came to the clinic in the morning with his lovely sister, Achol, who is 14 and will start class five in January.
Moses' Uncle Kon told us he would be gifting us a goat. Though they have no food except what they can gather or hunt, they won't share in the feast with us. Instead, we will share it with the clinic staff. The goat is borrowed.
There is a tremendous shortage of food in the village. Though I saw flourishing crops of sorghum and maize throughout the village, the rainy season picked up in September, and the crops were drowned out. Since people rely on these crops for their food supply, and the flooded crops also meant flooded roads, there is no way to transport food, and the few local shops have no supplies to sell. People with goats are reluctant to sell them. There are lots of cattle, but cows in Sudan are like money in the bank, parted with only for dowry payments and slaughtered only for celebrations, though families with cows enjoy milk and butter.
Though we can't solve all the hunger problems in this village, I talked with Moses about how we could offer some help to his family. We decided to give them some money to purchase food, which will require a two-hour walk each way to Poktop where the marketplace is accessible by road.
We talked with Dau and Manyok about Moses' sister Achol and learned she is a top student in the school. We are considering her as a candidate for our program. The family wasn't living here when we assessed orphans in March, so she wasn't identified. The criteria we used to select students was to choose girls from each area of Duk Payuel, not unfairly benefitting one chief or family over another. Eligible girls must be able to benefit from the program; we chose a target age of 10 to 15, but the current group ranges from seven to 16; the guardian must be willing to allow the girl to enter our program; and the girl must want to join.
If you're interested in sponsoring Achol or one of our other girls, please email me.
Shivering
December 2, 2011
During the night the temperature dropped to 60 degrees. My bed sheets and fleece camping blanket/sleep sack weren't sufficient to keep me warm. It was so chilly, I woke up and slipped light sweatpants under my sleeping shirt, a sweatshirt on top, socks on my feet, and laid the lightweight cloth wrap I carried on the plane over the blanket along with more clothing items on top. In the morning I requested one of our heavy wool blankets from the store. Moses already had one, so he was toasty warm, but I've never been that cold on any prior visit, even during the rainy season. Most nights a sheet is sufficient. In our busy day we forgot to get the blanket, so I spent another night shivering.
The high point today was the visit to our building site. I couldn't believe the progress. All six tukuls are thatched, skirted with smooth concrete lips around on the outside, and they have concrete floors as well. Most windows are screened but awaiting frames. The office tukul's door is padlocked. Soon all the tukuls will have doors and framed screened windows. The ablution blocks—one toilet and shower for staff and one toilet and shower for the girls—await the roof, doors, toilets, sinks, and water hookup. We will even have toilet paper holders and towel racks—the first in the village.
The fence is up though the gates are temporary, awaiting materials for framing pedestrian gates and a large one for vehicles. One side of the fence is not complete as the floodwaters are just receding, but I think it will be dry enough soon to put in the last fence posts.
The sound of an airplane drew us back to the airstrip. Our AIM Caravan pilot had taken clinic patients to Bor early in the morning, and he returned before noon with our crew—two plumbers and an electrician—and more materials. Again many people and children gathered to carry things to the site, which is much farther from the airstrip than the clinic. Manyok paid the children small amounts for their labor. To carry large heavy bags of calcium, we borrowed a wheelbarrow from the clinic since our wheelbarrows were too heavy to come on our flight.
Tabitha, the church's lay pastor lives on our site, and we arranged for her to cook for the men who brought their own food from Bor. Manyok got mattresses for them to sleep in the newly-built tukuls—our first guests—but they went the night without bedding. I can't imagine how chilly that was for them. They have bedding now.
During the night the temperature dropped to 60 degrees. My bed sheets and fleece camping blanket/sleep sack weren't sufficient to keep me warm. It was so chilly, I woke up and slipped light sweatpants under my sleeping shirt, a sweatshirt on top, socks on my feet, and laid the lightweight cloth wrap I carried on the plane over the blanket along with more clothing items on top. In the morning I requested one of our heavy wool blankets from the store. Moses already had one, so he was toasty warm, but I've never been that cold on any prior visit, even during the rainy season. Most nights a sheet is sufficient. In our busy day we forgot to get the blanket, so I spent another night shivering.
The high point today was the visit to our building site. I couldn't believe the progress. All six tukuls are thatched, skirted with smooth concrete lips around on the outside, and they have concrete floors as well. Most windows are screened but awaiting frames. The office tukul's door is padlocked. Soon all the tukuls will have doors and framed screened windows. The ablution blocks—one toilet and shower for staff and one toilet and shower for the girls—await the roof, doors, toilets, sinks, and water hookup. We will even have toilet paper holders and towel racks—the first in the village.
The fence is up though the gates are temporary, awaiting materials for framing pedestrian gates and a large one for vehicles. One side of the fence is not complete as the floodwaters are just receding, but I think it will be dry enough soon to put in the last fence posts.
The sound of an airplane drew us back to the airstrip. Our AIM Caravan pilot had taken clinic patients to Bor early in the morning, and he returned before noon with our crew—two plumbers and an electrician—and more materials. Again many people and children gathered to carry things to the site, which is much farther from the airstrip than the clinic. Manyok paid the children small amounts for their labor. To carry large heavy bags of calcium, we borrowed a wheelbarrow from the clinic since our wheelbarrows were too heavy to come on our flight.
Tabitha, the church's lay pastor lives on our site, and we arranged for her to cook for the men who brought their own food from Bor. Manyok got mattresses for them to sleep in the newly-built tukuls—our first guests—but they went the night without bedding. I can't imagine how chilly that was for them. They have bedding now.
Reunion
December 1, 2011 Cont'd
We had alerted Dau, the head teacher, and Manyok, our program director, that Moses had siblings in the area. Dau knew of the family. I thought they were in a neighboring village, but while I was busy greeting old friends, meeting new ones, and watching as our cargo was transported here and there, Moses was spirited off by Daniel, the 15-year-old boy who has assisted me on all my trips here. Daniel helps with videotaping, finding me people when I need them, and keeping my camera batteries and computer charged. What neither Moses nor I knew is that the younger brother and sister he didn't know—they were born after he was separated from the family—is that they now live here in Duk. Neither of these children were identified as orphans on our list because they were living in Poktop when we assessed the families.
I missed the reunion. His brother, Akol, is 11 in class three and his sister, Achol, is 14 in class five. He tells me there was excitement and tears, but I don't have a photo or a snippet of videotape to share. Moses has agreed to record his feelings about this reunion and to share his impressions of the village.
We had alerted Dau, the head teacher, and Manyok, our program director, that Moses had siblings in the area. Dau knew of the family. I thought they were in a neighboring village, but while I was busy greeting old friends, meeting new ones, and watching as our cargo was transported here and there, Moses was spirited off by Daniel, the 15-year-old boy who has assisted me on all my trips here. Daniel helps with videotaping, finding me people when I need them, and keeping my camera batteries and computer charged. What neither Moses nor I knew is that the younger brother and sister he didn't know—they were born after he was separated from the family—is that they now live here in Duk. Neither of these children were identified as orphans on our list because they were living in Poktop when we assessed the families.
I missed the reunion. His brother, Akol, is 11 in class three and his sister, Achol, is 14 in class five. He tells me there was excitement and tears, but I don't have a photo or a snippet of videotape to share. Moses has agreed to record his feelings about this reunion and to share his impressions of the village.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Traveling on AIM Air
December 1, 2011
Moses and I arrived at Wilson Airport in Nairobi at 6:30 am. Outside we met our favorite pilot, Jon Hildebrandt, and his family. Jef Foss and I stayed in their guest house last spring because we couldn't catch a flight to Nairobi that day.
His wife and two children would be flying with us, but Jon had to fly commercially as our cargo was heavy. Including passengers, we're allowed 1000 kg on the caravan. Our heaviest item, a 3' diameter spool of underground cable was too heavy for AIM's scale. To accommodate our cargo without leaving too much behind the plane loaded only enough fuel to get to Eldoret. We landed, refueled enough to get to Loki, landed, and went through immigration AGAIN even though we hadn't left the country, THEN we flew to Juba. Now that the country is independent, all the flights have to go through immigration instead of landing directly in villages. So we stopped again, had the visas stamped, and then we flew to Duk Payuel.
The poor pilot wasn't done. He had to fly to Pieri to refuel for the morning. Then he returned to the village and stayed with all of us at the clinic. In the early morning he took several sick passengers to the hospital in Bor, picked up our electrician, two plumbers and additional materials, flew back to Duk to drop them off and then on to the rest of his day: the life of an AIM Air mission pilot.
We were greeted as usual by an entourage of children, villagers, clinic staff, and now our ASAH girls were waiting, too, wearing their hot pink t-shirts.
There are three vehicles in the village. None are in working order, so our bigger girls carried duffle bags on their heads—each weighing 50 to 60 pounds. The smaller girls carried other items on their heads. Boys typically carry things on their backs or shoulders, though a few of them did the head carry. It took many people to bring our cargo to our storage at the school, the clinic and the site, walking in hot afternoon sun, for 15 to 30 minutes with heavy loads.
Moses and I arrived at Wilson Airport in Nairobi at 6:30 am. Outside we met our favorite pilot, Jon Hildebrandt, and his family. Jef Foss and I stayed in their guest house last spring because we couldn't catch a flight to Nairobi that day.
His wife and two children would be flying with us, but Jon had to fly commercially as our cargo was heavy. Including passengers, we're allowed 1000 kg on the caravan. Our heaviest item, a 3' diameter spool of underground cable was too heavy for AIM's scale. To accommodate our cargo without leaving too much behind the plane loaded only enough fuel to get to Eldoret. We landed, refueled enough to get to Loki, landed, and went through immigration AGAIN even though we hadn't left the country, THEN we flew to Juba. Now that the country is independent, all the flights have to go through immigration instead of landing directly in villages. So we stopped again, had the visas stamped, and then we flew to Duk Payuel.
The poor pilot wasn't done. He had to fly to Pieri to refuel for the morning. Then he returned to the village and stayed with all of us at the clinic. In the early morning he took several sick passengers to the hospital in Bor, picked up our electrician, two plumbers and additional materials, flew back to Duk to drop them off and then on to the rest of his day: the life of an AIM Air mission pilot.
We were greeted as usual by an entourage of children, villagers, clinic staff, and now our ASAH girls were waiting, too, wearing their hot pink t-shirts.
There are three vehicles in the village. None are in working order, so our bigger girls carried duffle bags on their heads—each weighing 50 to 60 pounds. The smaller girls carried other items on their heads. Boys typically carry things on their backs or shoulders, though a few of them did the head carry. It took many people to bring our cargo to our storage at the school, the clinic and the site, walking in hot afternoon sun, for 15 to 30 minutes with heavy loads.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Kenya--November 26-November 30
Ron Saeger spent nearly a month in Kenya with our nine Kenyan students—Moses, John, Joseph, Michael, James, Simon, Abraham, Deborah, and Sarah. They go to six different schools in Nakuru, Kenya. There is much to do when a school year ends, and Ron took care of them with much help from Moses, who just finished Form 4 and is now a high school graduate.
All the kids did well in school—James is top of his class, competing against Kenyan native students; Deborah was fourth in her first year of secondary school. New to our program and fresh from Kakuma Refugee camp schools, which are very inadequate, she had completed only two terms of the previous year in grade eight. We suggested she repeat because though she improved greatly over the two terms, her final test scores weren't high. The scores determine what type of high school she can attend. She refused and told us she could do it. Shiners High School, a sister school to Roots Academy, her primary school, accepted her and she proved us wrong. We're happy to be wrong.
I arrived in Kenya on November 26 and met them Ron and the kids at Mayfield Guest House, owned by AIM Air. James was absent--he chose a Scouting trip over Nairobi The guests here are all missionaries or other humanitarian workers. The dormitory-style housing is simple, the food served family-style. On every stay we meet interesting people doing good work in South Sudan and Kenya.
Except for Moses, none of our students had been to Nairobi before, That didn't stop the older boys from taking off to explore on their own. With them, we visited a baby elephant orphanage and a giraffe center, and on a day when I was away, Ron treated them to their first movie in a theater. They saw "Happy Feet."
All the kids did well in school—James is top of his class, competing against Kenyan native students; Deborah was fourth in her first year of secondary school. New to our program and fresh from Kakuma Refugee camp schools, which are very inadequate, she had completed only two terms of the previous year in grade eight. We suggested she repeat because though she improved greatly over the two terms, her final test scores weren't high. The scores determine what type of high school she can attend. She refused and told us she could do it. Shiners High School, a sister school to Roots Academy, her primary school, accepted her and she proved us wrong. We're happy to be wrong.
I arrived in Kenya on November 26 and met them Ron and the kids at Mayfield Guest House, owned by AIM Air. James was absent--he chose a Scouting trip over Nairobi The guests here are all missionaries or other humanitarian workers. The dormitory-style housing is simple, the food served family-style. On every stay we meet interesting people doing good work in South Sudan and Kenya.
Except for Moses, none of our students had been to Nairobi before, That didn't stop the older boys from taking off to explore on their own. With them, we visited a baby elephant orphanage and a giraffe center, and on a day when I was away, Ron treated them to their first movie in a theater. They saw "Happy Feet."
Sunday, November 27, 2011
In Nairobi with our Kenya Kids
I'm giving thanks for the opportunity to share Thanksgiving dinner with my husband and about half my children and grandchildren at our son Adrian's house last Thursday, since I left the following day for Nairobi--about 23 hours of traveling. Once again, Delta came through for us, letting me check seven bags of underwear, sanitary napkins, clothing and other supplies for the ASAH Home and School for girls at no charge.
Two weeks earlier, I went with Board member Ron Saeger to see if they would allow him the same. When we arrived at the counter, the two agents said, "oh, we know you. It's no problem." Their support of our program allows us to take needed suppliies to South Sudan, along with thousands of pairs of donated underwear and washable sanitary pads to Kenya, and Kenya customs lets me through because the bags are on their way to South Sudan.
The Mayfield Guest House driver was waiting for me after I collected my bags. I expected the guard at the gate to give me the key, but instead I was met by Ron. He came with the kids a day earlier than I expected. Moses, John, Joseph, Michael, Simon, Agot, and Sarah all greeted me. Only James was missing. He is spending the beginning of his school break on a trip with his Scout troop.
Mayfield is owned by AIM International (Africa Inland Missions). Guests here are missionaries and their families and other humanitarian workers working in Kenya and South Sudan and other places. It is very inexpensive with simply furnished rooms with a sink, toilets, bathtubs, and shower rooms are along the halls. It is a cozy house with a living room and large dining room, with many dormitory additions up, down, and across, nice outdoor garden seating, and a friendly staff. Meals are simple, too, served family style, with Sunday lunch the best meal of the week. We had fried chicken, potatoes, gravy, mixed vegetables, Chai, and ice cream for dessert. Sunday dinner is a little simpler--tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches--and the ever-present ice cream. Ron wasn't able to get the large group of boys to understand that they needed to let us know if they would be present for meals, so they missed lunch, which is a problem for the Mayfield staff as they prepare the food based on expected number of guests, and this is a budget operation which doesn't waste food unnecessarily.
This is the first trip to Nairobi for all but Moses, so there are delightful things to see. They'd gone to a small amusement park nearby. After lunch, Ron, and Moses, and Agot and I walked about a mile to the Nakumatt, a large department store, to buy more supplies for our compound in the village. Three hoes (actually just the hoe part, they'll fashion their own handles), rugs for the inside of the tukuls, batteries, biscuits, nuts, dates, powdered juice, sweater jackets for the girls on cool evenings (Agot snared one for herself), and mascara for me. I don't know how I missed packing mascara. Believe me, the Nakumatt makeup selection is limited. Tomorrow morning, Sammy, the purchaser for AIM who has acquired our plumbing and electrical supplies, will come to pick up my bags and the new purchases to take to Wilson Airport, the airport where AIM and other small airlines are based. I've known Sammy since my first trip in 2007, as he was the technical guy at the Lost Boys Clinic in Duk Payuel. It's nice to see familiar faces here at Mayfield and in Nairobi. I expect to see a few more this week before heading to Duk witty Mos on Friday.
About a year ago, Moses learned he has two living siblings he hasn't seen since he was a small boy. We've got word they are In a village near Duk Payuel, and Dau, the head teacher will arrange for him to reunite with them.
Two weeks earlier, I went with Board member Ron Saeger to see if they would allow him the same. When we arrived at the counter, the two agents said, "oh, we know you. It's no problem." Their support of our program allows us to take needed suppliies to South Sudan, along with thousands of pairs of donated underwear and washable sanitary pads to Kenya, and Kenya customs lets me through because the bags are on their way to South Sudan.
The Mayfield Guest House driver was waiting for me after I collected my bags. I expected the guard at the gate to give me the key, but instead I was met by Ron. He came with the kids a day earlier than I expected. Moses, John, Joseph, Michael, Simon, Agot, and Sarah all greeted me. Only James was missing. He is spending the beginning of his school break on a trip with his Scout troop.
Mayfield is owned by AIM International (Africa Inland Missions). Guests here are missionaries and their families and other humanitarian workers working in Kenya and South Sudan and other places. It is very inexpensive with simply furnished rooms with a sink, toilets, bathtubs, and shower rooms are along the halls. It is a cozy house with a living room and large dining room, with many dormitory additions up, down, and across, nice outdoor garden seating, and a friendly staff. Meals are simple, too, served family style, with Sunday lunch the best meal of the week. We had fried chicken, potatoes, gravy, mixed vegetables, Chai, and ice cream for dessert. Sunday dinner is a little simpler--tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches--and the ever-present ice cream. Ron wasn't able to get the large group of boys to understand that they needed to let us know if they would be present for meals, so they missed lunch, which is a problem for the Mayfield staff as they prepare the food based on expected number of guests, and this is a budget operation which doesn't waste food unnecessarily.
This is the first trip to Nairobi for all but Moses, so there are delightful things to see. They'd gone to a small amusement park nearby. After lunch, Ron, and Moses, and Agot and I walked about a mile to the Nakumatt, a large department store, to buy more supplies for our compound in the village. Three hoes (actually just the hoe part, they'll fashion their own handles), rugs for the inside of the tukuls, batteries, biscuits, nuts, dates, powdered juice, sweater jackets for the girls on cool evenings (Agot snared one for herself), and mascara for me. I don't know how I missed packing mascara. Believe me, the Nakumatt makeup selection is limited. Tomorrow morning, Sammy, the purchaser for AIM who has acquired our plumbing and electrical supplies, will come to pick up my bags and the new purchases to take to Wilson Airport, the airport where AIM and other small airlines are based. I've known Sammy since my first trip in 2007, as he was the technical guy at the Lost Boys Clinic in Duk Payuel. It's nice to see familiar faces here at Mayfield and in Nairobi. I expect to see a few more this week before heading to Duk witty Mos on Friday.
About a year ago, Moses learned he has two living siblings he hasn't seen since he was a small boy. We've got word they are In a village near Duk Payuel, and Dau, the head teacher will arrange for him to reunite with them.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Get Your Panties in a Bunch--Bismarck ND
Two local news stations covered our most recent "Get Your Panties in a Bunch" luncheon held in Bismarck, North Dakota on Sunday, October 9.
KFYR TV Luncheon Promo
KFYR TV News Coverage at Luncheon
KX TV Luncheon Coverage
KFYR TV Luncheon Promo
KFYR TV News Coverage at Luncheon
KX TV Luncheon Coverage
Friday, September 30, 2011
Easy link to our Facebook page.
We now had a user name which makes it easier for you to find us on Facebook.
http://www.facebook.com/ASAHSudan
http://www.facebook.com/ASAHSudan
Monday, September 19, 2011
The African Home that American Hearts Built
In their September issue, INSPIRED HOME Magazine ( delivered with the Forum) published, "The African Home that American Hearts Built" about the ASAH Home and School for Girls. 
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Sunday, July 17, 2011
We've hired a Program Director
Friday, July 15,
The best news this week is that we've hired a program director for the ASAH Home for Girls. His name is Manyok Phillip Khok. He was born in Duk in 1985, and lost his mother to illness when he was eight. His father was killed when Manyok was a teen. Educated in Uganda, Manyok holds a diploma in Business Administration and returned to Duk some months ago to be closer to extended family. His uncle is a pastor at the church here. He was looking for a job with the county or as a teacher, but jobs are few in this area. Dau John Awuou, our project manager and the head teacher at the local school recommended him for our program.
On Monday, his first day, Manyok began working with us, and with the girls. I'm confident that he understands the need to protect and educate these future community leaders, along with the responsibilities of overseeing staff, managing inventory, and communicating with local administrators, NGOs, and our board in the US. This is an enormous relief for me to be able to leave here, knowing that our project is in capable hands.
Our goal now is to open the ASAH Home for Girls in mid-September. There is a month long school break from August 15 to September 15, and our hope is that the girls will come a few days before school begins to orient to the facility.
The best news this week is that we've hired a program director for the ASAH Home for Girls. His name is Manyok Phillip Khok. He was born in Duk in 1985, and lost his mother to illness when he was eight. His father was killed when Manyok was a teen. Educated in Uganda, Manyok holds a diploma in Business Administration and returned to Duk some months ago to be closer to extended family. His uncle is a pastor at the church here. He was looking for a job with the county or as a teacher, but jobs are few in this area. Dau John Awuou, our project manager and the head teacher at the local school recommended him for our program.
On Monday, his first day, Manyok began working with us, and with the girls. I'm confident that he understands the need to protect and educate these future community leaders, along with the responsibilities of overseeing staff, managing inventory, and communicating with local administrators, NGOs, and our board in the US. This is an enormous relief for me to be able to leave here, knowing that our project is in capable hands.
Our goal now is to open the ASAH Home for Girls in mid-September. There is a month long school break from August 15 to September 15, and our hope is that the girls will come a few days before school begins to orient to the facility.
The Republic of South Sudan is officially an independent nation
Saturday, July 9
Gunshots rang through the night air, causing many of the foreign workers to fear for their lives, even getting out of bed to lay on the floor—particularly when two shots rang out on the compound. Apparently, since fireworks aren't available, the locals use what they have—rifles and AK-47s—to celebrate the birth of their nation. Unbelievably, I slept through the shooting, though I was conscious of my daughter getting up and moving around. I have some great earplugs, which are a necessity in this place where there is no silence at any time of day. Roosters crowing, hens cackling, goats bleating, cows mooing, dogs barking, frogs croaking, cicadas buzzing, birds tweeting, and insects of all kind whizzing and ???
As I was waking, earplugs out, the town crier was making his rounds, as he had the night before, calling out plans for the day. As I headed out for a run, the chanting and drumming and droves of people heading toward the village center, caused me to go back to the tent for my still and my video camera, and follow the crowd, sloshing through the water that is beginning to accumulate in low areas, water that will be here for months.
When I arrived, I was enlisted by Paul, one of the clinic nurses, who is also a village elder, to videotape the speeches of the dignitaries and esteemed elders present, including the Paramount Chief. I felt a little embarrassed—dressed in gym shorts and shirt, and unshowered, but apologized, and shot the 30 minutes of tape I had available. Unfortunately, when I got back to check the tape, there was no sound. I tested the mic and found it works only on "zoom" and the "gun" setting recorded no sound at all. Such a shame as I had hoped to deliver them a DVD copy on my next trip. And I had also recorded the women church leaders dancing and singing.
They asked me to return at 1:30, which I did, but the men had retreated due to impending rain. Instead I photographed the women cooking a freshly-slaughtered bull or two or three. Back at the clinic, our cooks were doing the same thing, the bull slaughtered onsite. I walked to IRD where a crowd had gathered to watch the news coverage of the celebrations in Juba. As the rain seemed eminent, they brought the flat screen back indoors, and I jogged back to the clinic with the other staff who had wandered that way. We caught a few sprinkles, but I got inside before it began to pour. Gina had battened up the hatches before my return.
It was a gentler rain and lasted only an hour or so. The rest of the day was cool and comfortable. We enjoyed fresh beef and liver: I avoided the cooked blood. And after dinner, we enjoyed cool (not cold) bottles of Coca Cola, a luxury around here.
Gunshots rang through the night air, causing many of the foreign workers to fear for their lives, even getting out of bed to lay on the floor—particularly when two shots rang out on the compound. Apparently, since fireworks aren't available, the locals use what they have—rifles and AK-47s—to celebrate the birth of their nation. Unbelievably, I slept through the shooting, though I was conscious of my daughter getting up and moving around. I have some great earplugs, which are a necessity in this place where there is no silence at any time of day. Roosters crowing, hens cackling, goats bleating, cows mooing, dogs barking, frogs croaking, cicadas buzzing, birds tweeting, and insects of all kind whizzing and ???
As I was waking, earplugs out, the town crier was making his rounds, as he had the night before, calling out plans for the day. As I headed out for a run, the chanting and drumming and droves of people heading toward the village center, caused me to go back to the tent for my still and my video camera, and follow the crowd, sloshing through the water that is beginning to accumulate in low areas, water that will be here for months.
When I arrived, I was enlisted by Paul, one of the clinic nurses, who is also a village elder, to videotape the speeches of the dignitaries and esteemed elders present, including the Paramount Chief. I felt a little embarrassed—dressed in gym shorts and shirt, and unshowered, but apologized, and shot the 30 minutes of tape I had available. Unfortunately, when I got back to check the tape, there was no sound. I tested the mic and found it works only on "zoom" and the "gun" setting recorded no sound at all. Such a shame as I had hoped to deliver them a DVD copy on my next trip. And I had also recorded the women church leaders dancing and singing.
They asked me to return at 1:30, which I did, but the men had retreated due to impending rain. Instead I photographed the women cooking a freshly-slaughtered bull or two or three. Back at the clinic, our cooks were doing the same thing, the bull slaughtered onsite. I walked to IRD where a crowd had gathered to watch the news coverage of the celebrations in Juba. As the rain seemed eminent, they brought the flat screen back indoors, and I jogged back to the clinic with the other staff who had wandered that way. We caught a few sprinkles, but I got inside before it began to pour. Gina had battened up the hatches before my return.
It was a gentler rain and lasted only an hour or so. The rest of the day was cool and comfortable. We enjoyed fresh beef and liver: I avoided the cooked blood. And after dinner, we enjoyed cool (not cold) bottles of Coca Cola, a luxury around here.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Day Three with ASAH Girls
Friday, July 8
Watching the long-legged Dinka girls stroll toward us is like watching waves ebb and flow. Mindful of the heat, their steps are slow, their arms swinging, relaxed and rhythmic. Today we had spectators. Eight orphan girls, all hoping to join the program. I'm excited to get home and share photos and stories with the sponsors we have for some of our initial group—but we still need sponsors. To expand our program, requires additional costs for construction and staff. Your financial contributions will give this community and other neighboring villages an opportunity to watch these young girls develop into educated women with skills that will help their country develop.
I invited the tag-a-long girls to stand around our circle. We don't have enough chairs for them. For today's program we invited Lillian and Latifah, two MEDAIR employees who are working with the clinic on a nutrition program, to give our girls a lesson on health and hygiene. Lillian is Kenyan, and though Latifah is Sudanese, she doesn't speak Dinka, so Abraham Ring, one of the clinic nurses, translated, and made it participatory for the girls, who knew why they keep their hair shaved or very short—to protect from lice, why they washed their hands and faces—to protect from conjunctivitis, and so on.
Each day we share biscuits—and we included the new girls today, which means we can probably expect them again Monday. And we ended the day with Dodge Ball played with multiple balls—soccer and otherwise. Much laughing ensued.
Watching the long-legged Dinka girls stroll toward us is like watching waves ebb and flow. Mindful of the heat, their steps are slow, their arms swinging, relaxed and rhythmic. Today we had spectators. Eight orphan girls, all hoping to join the program. I'm excited to get home and share photos and stories with the sponsors we have for some of our initial group—but we still need sponsors. To expand our program, requires additional costs for construction and staff. Your financial contributions will give this community and other neighboring villages an opportunity to watch these young girls develop into educated women with skills that will help their country develop.
I invited the tag-a-long girls to stand around our circle. We don't have enough chairs for them. For today's program we invited Lillian and Latifah, two MEDAIR employees who are working with the clinic on a nutrition program, to give our girls a lesson on health and hygiene. Lillian is Kenyan, and though Latifah is Sudanese, she doesn't speak Dinka, so Abraham Ring, one of the clinic nurses, translated, and made it participatory for the girls, who knew why they keep their hair shaved or very short—to protect from lice, why they washed their hands and faces—to protect from conjunctivitis, and so on.
Each day we share biscuits—and we included the new girls today, which means we can probably expect them again Monday. And we ended the day with Dodge Ball played with multiple balls—soccer and otherwise. Much laughing ensued.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Day Two with ASAH Girls
Thursday, July 7
We could see our ASAH Girls approaching from afar, all of them dressed in the hot pink ASAH logo t-shirts we gave them. The names of ten of our girls start with A, and only one starts with N: Achol, Akuol, two Ayens, Adau, Akur, Abul, Akon, Aleul, Abuk, and Nyadak.
It was hot, so we held class outside in the shady area in the center of the clinic housing and dining area. The clinic staff doesn't begrudge us the chairs we take from under them. Everyone is supportive and proud that Duk Payuel has a program to help the most vulnerable, the orphan girls.
After the ritual hand washing and name exchange, Angie and Gina led the girls through If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands, and Head and shoulders knees and toes, which is guaranteed to generate hysterical laughter as we speed up. The highlight was making beaded bracelets. Angie brought a wonderfully colorful assortment of various shapes of plastic beads, and each girl made herself a bracelet.
We could see our ASAH Girls approaching from afar, all of them dressed in the hot pink ASAH logo t-shirts we gave them. The names of ten of our girls start with A, and only one starts with N: Achol, Akuol, two Ayens, Adau, Akur, Abul, Akon, Aleul, Abuk, and Nyadak.
It was hot, so we held class outside in the shady area in the center of the clinic housing and dining area. The clinic staff doesn't begrudge us the chairs we take from under them. Everyone is supportive and proud that Duk Payuel has a program to help the most vulnerable, the orphan girls.
After the ritual hand washing and name exchange, Angie and Gina led the girls through If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands, and Head and shoulders knees and toes, which is guaranteed to generate hysterical laughter as we speed up. The highlight was making beaded bracelets. Angie brought a wonderfully colorful assortment of various shapes of plastic beads, and each girl made herself a bracelet.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Happy Belated 4th, Happy Birthday Vika!
Tuesday, July 5
Because I am catching up on the blogs for Sunday and Monday and Tuesday on Wednesday, I forgot to mention HAPPY 4th of JULY with my earlier post. Tuesday there were a lot of celebrations in the village. We heard guns popping all day long, which made a lot of people here uneasy.
Wednesday July 6—Happy Birthday to my daughter Vika
Though I will not be with my family in Fargo today, celebrating my daughter Vika's 25th at a Japanese restaurant, I will be with her in spirit. I called her on Skype, but the connection was terrible, and we each managed only a few words.
I had a run/walk early this morning. Running on the dry portions of the road, and stepping off to navigating the clumps of grass when the road was covered with ankle-deep water. Even so, I ended up soaking my tennis shoes. The grass here grows like crazy. In days, grass that reached our calves, is now waist-high in places. In the clinic yard, they hack at the grass with "slashers"—long, flat pieces of metal with a bend about four inches from the rounded tip.
Angie and Gina and I walked to IRD and confirmed that the pickup truck they've hired for the next ten days will be able to bring us sand for concrete blocks for the bathrooms and showers, and retrieve our short poles from the bush so we can finish the last two tukuls. We're still waiting for the plumbing and electrical materials as well. No news on that.
Then we headed into the central village area. This is where yesterday's gunshots must have come from. We passed dozens of men carrying weapons. I've gotten a couple different stories, but the closest I can tell is that they're Nuer tribesmen whose cattle are in Poktop, where they had been taken to graze since there was no water in their area, which I think is near Pajut. Now that it's raining in their home village., they're looking for an escort to get their cattle safely to their village, due to the incidents with Murle that have taken place in the county. UNMIS stopped by in their helicopter again, and it may be they will provide assistance. Anyhow, it's hard to get the full story.
This afternoon, the ten girls who will be in our program arrived at the clinic compound for our first introductory meeting. Gina and Angie prepared lesson plans with name games, songs, some reading, and ending with musical chairs and biscuits for treats. Midway through, an 11th girl arrived. There was a mixup. We'd met her grandmother, but the girl hadn't been confirmed for the program. But we couldn't send her away, so we'll squeeze her in somehow.
There was a lot of smiles and laughter. The ice is broken, and we're getting a feel for their abilities. We plan to have them over every weekday until it's time for us to leave.
Two more orphan girls came by later on. They're on the list. I hope our donors will help us expand this program during the next dry season. The need is great, the community is supportive, and the girls are hungry for the chance to learn.
Because I am catching up on the blogs for Sunday and Monday and Tuesday on Wednesday, I forgot to mention HAPPY 4th of JULY with my earlier post. Tuesday there were a lot of celebrations in the village. We heard guns popping all day long, which made a lot of people here uneasy.
Wednesday July 6—Happy Birthday to my daughter Vika
Though I will not be with my family in Fargo today, celebrating my daughter Vika's 25th at a Japanese restaurant, I will be with her in spirit. I called her on Skype, but the connection was terrible, and we each managed only a few words.
I had a run/walk early this morning. Running on the dry portions of the road, and stepping off to navigating the clumps of grass when the road was covered with ankle-deep water. Even so, I ended up soaking my tennis shoes. The grass here grows like crazy. In days, grass that reached our calves, is now waist-high in places. In the clinic yard, they hack at the grass with "slashers"—long, flat pieces of metal with a bend about four inches from the rounded tip.
Angie and Gina and I walked to IRD and confirmed that the pickup truck they've hired for the next ten days will be able to bring us sand for concrete blocks for the bathrooms and showers, and retrieve our short poles from the bush so we can finish the last two tukuls. We're still waiting for the plumbing and electrical materials as well. No news on that.
Then we headed into the central village area. This is where yesterday's gunshots must have come from. We passed dozens of men carrying weapons. I've gotten a couple different stories, but the closest I can tell is that they're Nuer tribesmen whose cattle are in Poktop, where they had been taken to graze since there was no water in their area, which I think is near Pajut. Now that it's raining in their home village., they're looking for an escort to get their cattle safely to their village, due to the incidents with Murle that have taken place in the county. UNMIS stopped by in their helicopter again, and it may be they will provide assistance. Anyhow, it's hard to get the full story.
This afternoon, the ten girls who will be in our program arrived at the clinic compound for our first introductory meeting. Gina and Angie prepared lesson plans with name games, songs, some reading, and ending with musical chairs and biscuits for treats. Midway through, an 11th girl arrived. There was a mixup. We'd met her grandmother, but the girl hadn't been confirmed for the program. But we couldn't send her away, so we'll squeeze her in somehow.
There was a lot of smiles and laughter. The ice is broken, and we're getting a feel for their abilities. We plan to have them over every weekday until it's time for us to leave.
Two more orphan girls came by later on. They're on the list. I hope our donors will help us expand this program during the next dry season. The need is great, the community is supportive, and the girls are hungry for the chance to learn.
Sun, Rain, Airplanes and Orphans
Sunday, July 3
Angie and I carried our own chairs to church. It's a ten-minute walk, and the chairs are plastic. If we don't bring chairs, someone gives theirs up for us, and then they parade us to the front of the church where we sit with the elders facing the congregation. We were able to slip in the back without causing a stir.
It was another 100-degree day without a cloud in the sky, so we spent the afternoon in the shade at the compound. Around five, as it started to cool, Dau showed up to take us to the central area of the village to meet two more guardians and girls for our program. This was the first opportunity I've had on my four trips to Duk, to wander through the maze of family compounds. The families we visited before were in outlying areas, with great distances of grass between them. A rural setting. In the main area of the village, there's a wide road through the center, lined with a few shops and the Duk Payuel Business Group along the road and fences made of heavy thatching material, offering privacy and protection from roaming cattle and goats to the households within.
We had partial luck. At one home both the guardian and the girl were out cultivating their garden. At another, the guardian was gone, though we spoke with the girl and her blind grandmother. We have eight of our ten orphan girls confirmed.
Monday, July 4
Rain, rain, rain. We could feel it in the air when we woke up. After two full-sun days, rain was inevitable this time of year. We battened down the hatches of the tent, learning the best ways to ensure our belongings stayed dry—as long as the wind wasn't too strong. With a strong wind, there's no way to avoid it.
I was worried because my daughter Gina was scheduled to arrive on AIM Air around 1 pm. Joh Deng, the clinic manager, and I walked to the airstrip. He carried an umbrella, and I wore a yellow rain poncho and rolled up my pants. We walked the airstrip—it must be about a kilometer or more in length, trying to determine if WE thought AIM Air could land. The AIM pilots are pretty familiar with this landing strip, unlike MAF who circled and didn't land a week ago. So, though there was standing water in several places, we thought they'd chance it.
We walked back to the clinic. Learned that AIM had left Loki at 11. We got in the JDF car and returned to the strip with Lual, the driver. Walked the entire strip again, as if we could magically dry the water. Meanwhile, the rain has been steady, though not pouring, all morning. As we pondered whether to go back to the clinic or wait, we heard the plane.
Pilot Jerry landed on the sandy but squishy airstrip without a problem, and we welcomed Gina and some medical supplies for the clinic.
Angie and I carried our own chairs to church. It's a ten-minute walk, and the chairs are plastic. If we don't bring chairs, someone gives theirs up for us, and then they parade us to the front of the church where we sit with the elders facing the congregation. We were able to slip in the back without causing a stir.
It was another 100-degree day without a cloud in the sky, so we spent the afternoon in the shade at the compound. Around five, as it started to cool, Dau showed up to take us to the central area of the village to meet two more guardians and girls for our program. This was the first opportunity I've had on my four trips to Duk, to wander through the maze of family compounds. The families we visited before were in outlying areas, with great distances of grass between them. A rural setting. In the main area of the village, there's a wide road through the center, lined with a few shops and the Duk Payuel Business Group along the road and fences made of heavy thatching material, offering privacy and protection from roaming cattle and goats to the households within.
We had partial luck. At one home both the guardian and the girl were out cultivating their garden. At another, the guardian was gone, though we spoke with the girl and her blind grandmother. We have eight of our ten orphan girls confirmed.
Monday, July 4
Rain, rain, rain. We could feel it in the air when we woke up. After two full-sun days, rain was inevitable this time of year. We battened down the hatches of the tent, learning the best ways to ensure our belongings stayed dry—as long as the wind wasn't too strong. With a strong wind, there's no way to avoid it.
I was worried because my daughter Gina was scheduled to arrive on AIM Air around 1 pm. Joh Deng, the clinic manager, and I walked to the airstrip. He carried an umbrella, and I wore a yellow rain poncho and rolled up my pants. We walked the airstrip—it must be about a kilometer or more in length, trying to determine if WE thought AIM Air could land. The AIM pilots are pretty familiar with this landing strip, unlike MAF who circled and didn't land a week ago. So, though there was standing water in several places, we thought they'd chance it.
We walked back to the clinic. Learned that AIM had left Loki at 11. We got in the JDF car and returned to the strip with Lual, the driver. Walked the entire strip again, as if we could magically dry the water. Meanwhile, the rain has been steady, though not pouring, all morning. As we pondered whether to go back to the clinic or wait, we heard the plane.
Pilot Jerry landed on the sandy but squishy airstrip without a problem, and we welcomed Gina and some medical supplies for the clinic.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
This is what you shall do--Whitman
This is what you shall do
by Walt Whitman
"This is what you shall do; Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body."
"This is what you shall do..." by Walt Whitman, from the preface of Leaves of Grass. Public domain
Happy Independence Day in America.
Celebrate the independence of the Republic of South Sudan on July 9
by Walt Whitman
"This is what you shall do; Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body."
"This is what you shall do..." by Walt Whitman, from the preface of Leaves of Grass. Public domain
Happy Independence Day in America.
Celebrate the independence of the Republic of South Sudan on July 9
Site Progress
Saturday, July 2
Progress on the site. Two of the four mudded tukuls are now plastered with a smooth coat of mud, inside and out. On Facebook I will post photos of the hole dug by the women who did this work. It's about six inches deep and 7 feet in diameter. Dug with small, crude hand shovels and carried to the site in plastic basins to which they add water and smooth across the walls by hand.
The large tukul which will serve as our office and storage is being thatched. This is another laborious and slow job where the long grasses are attached in small bundles and beat into place with a large flat knife-like tool. The result is a roof that can withstand heavy rains and wind without leaking.
That tukul and the smaller one which will house our security guard are still awaiting short poles to strengthen the foundation before the walls can be mudded.
Tabeesa, the matron who lives on our site, but will move within a year when we are ready to expand, has dug up most of the open area and planted sorghum. The crop should be harvested in a couple months when we are ready to open our facility, which is still awaiting materials and running up against the rainy season. We've been fortunate. In two weeks, we've had only two days of rain, and only one severe rain and windstorm.
Progress on the site. Two of the four mudded tukuls are now plastered with a smooth coat of mud, inside and out. On Facebook I will post photos of the hole dug by the women who did this work. It's about six inches deep and 7 feet in diameter. Dug with small, crude hand shovels and carried to the site in plastic basins to which they add water and smooth across the walls by hand.
The large tukul which will serve as our office and storage is being thatched. This is another laborious and slow job where the long grasses are attached in small bundles and beat into place with a large flat knife-like tool. The result is a roof that can withstand heavy rains and wind without leaking.
That tukul and the smaller one which will house our security guard are still awaiting short poles to strengthen the foundation before the walls can be mudded.
Tabeesa, the matron who lives on our site, but will move within a year when we are ready to expand, has dug up most of the open area and planted sorghum. The crop should be harvested in a couple months when we are ready to open our facility, which is still awaiting materials and running up against the rainy season. We've been fortunate. In two weeks, we've had only two days of rain, and only one severe rain and windstorm.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
MAF and UNMIS airlift the wounded men.
Friday, July 1
The first plane to land today was a MAF (Mission Aviation Fellowship) flight dropping off one of the nutrition team members and picking up another. They had been informed about the wounded men, and had prepared the plane by removing all unnecessary seats. Nine of the most seriously injured men were carried by stretchers to the plane and lifted by blankets with great care to avoid jarring the broken limbs.
In the early afternoon, the UNMIS helicopter that surveyed the situation on Thursday returned, and picked up the remaining group of around 20 wounded men. Two elected to stay behind and return to their villages. One very young man who was shot through the side with the bullet exiting the other side, missing all vital organs, felt he was well enough to avoid the hospital. The other had a head wound on the back of his head. Medical personnel here felt he should go to the hospital for tests as the bullet grazed his brain and they feared problems. But they couldn't force him. And I've heard that Bor hospital is not a place to trust that the care will be adequate.
The first plane to land today was a MAF (Mission Aviation Fellowship) flight dropping off one of the nutrition team members and picking up another. They had been informed about the wounded men, and had prepared the plane by removing all unnecessary seats. Nine of the most seriously injured men were carried by stretchers to the plane and lifted by blankets with great care to avoid jarring the broken limbs.
In the early afternoon, the UNMIS helicopter that surveyed the situation on Thursday returned, and picked up the remaining group of around 20 wounded men. Two elected to stay behind and return to their villages. One very young man who was shot through the side with the bullet exiting the other side, missing all vital organs, felt he was well enough to avoid the hospital. The other had a head wound on the back of his head. Medical personnel here felt he should go to the hospital for tests as the bullet grazed his brain and they feared problems. But they couldn't force him. And I've heard that Bor hospital is not a place to trust that the care will be adequate.
UNMIS lands
Thursday, June 30
The UNMIS helicopter that had hovered, touched down, and took off again Tuesday came back and landed today with a cadre of armed soldiers of all nationalities. The guy in charge, Saju, was from India. I'm not a proper journalist, so I don't remember the rank he mentioned when he introduced himself to me, the white woman in the crowd with the camera. He began asking me for the details of the situation. And though I know many of the details, I told him I wasn't the one in charge and directed him to Juma, the head medical officer from the clinic.
I tagged along to the meeting where Juma, the head medical staff from the clinic, and Malou, our construction supervisor, briefed the men on the situation for the injured, who've been suffering for days with only the nursing care the clinic is able to provide. Many need surgery on fractured limbs, have wounds open to the bone, and internal or head injuries. These men were shot when they followed after the Murle to recover their stolen cattle.
In addition, Juma requested security for this area. There is worry as the referendum approaches that there will be more violence in Duk County. The villages where these attacks took place are several hours by car—eight or nine hours "footing," as they say here. The village of Duk has only one police officer.
From there we trekked to the school, where the two classrooms housing the patients are cordoned off with yellow caution tape. The UNMIS soldiers took photos, and then we all walked back to the airstrip and they flew off, promising to talk to their boss, who will talk to the next boss, and so on. We never got an answer as to why they stopped and flew off again on Tuesday, but it must have been a different group, because Saju said this was the first they'd heard about the incidents.
The UNMIS helicopter that had hovered, touched down, and took off again Tuesday came back and landed today with a cadre of armed soldiers of all nationalities. The guy in charge, Saju, was from India. I'm not a proper journalist, so I don't remember the rank he mentioned when he introduced himself to me, the white woman in the crowd with the camera. He began asking me for the details of the situation. And though I know many of the details, I told him I wasn't the one in charge and directed him to Juma, the head medical officer from the clinic.
I tagged along to the meeting where Juma, the head medical staff from the clinic, and Malou, our construction supervisor, briefed the men on the situation for the injured, who've been suffering for days with only the nursing care the clinic is able to provide. Many need surgery on fractured limbs, have wounds open to the bone, and internal or head injuries. These men were shot when they followed after the Murle to recover their stolen cattle.
In addition, Juma requested security for this area. There is worry as the referendum approaches that there will be more violence in Duk County. The villages where these attacks took place are several hours by car—eight or nine hours "footing," as they say here. The village of Duk has only one police officer.
From there we trekked to the school, where the two classrooms housing the patients are cordoned off with yellow caution tape. The UNMIS soldiers took photos, and then we all walked back to the airstrip and they flew off, promising to talk to their boss, who will talk to the next boss, and so on. We never got an answer as to why they stopped and flew off again on Tuesday, but it must have been a different group, because Saju said this was the first they'd heard about the incidents.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Gunshot Victims and Helicopters
WEDNESDAY
Dodging puddles and mud and a pack of dogs on the airstrip, Angie and Kristine, a nutrition worker with Medair, and I had an enjoyable run in the cool air, which lasted all day. We're all praying it stays dry so that materials for ASAH and for JDF clinic will get through. One transport truck full of aggregate got stuck on the road on the way here from Bor. That truck is also supposed to get sand for us and retrieve our short poles from the bush.
Worse, there's a group of gunshot victims holed up in the school. Apparently there have been two attacks in Duk County in Pajut and in Pagalong. One on June 16 where the village was attacked by Murle tribesmen armed with automatic rifles; two women killed, eight children kidnapped, and other wounded victims. The second group who are now here, were injured the 22nd and brought to the Lost Boys Clinic on Sunday night. Yesterday, a UN helicopter, which we all thought was coming to pick them up, touched down on the landing strip and lifted off again. No one knows why. The strip was a little wet in places, but the soil is sandy here—and it's a helicopter. Maybe they didn't want to get their boots dirty.
Anyhow, the clinic isn't staffed or equipped to care for injuries like this. There are wounds of all kinds including fractures—many requiring surgery. All the nurses here can provide are painkillers, wound dressings and makeshift splints of cardboard. The men are laying on pieces of cloth on the concrete floor of two classrooms. I think there are 26 of them, and 17 are seriously injured. No one came for them today, either.
Angie and I went to the school to observe a couple of classes. The teachers here were receptive to her visiting. She will meet with them another day to offer some feedback and share some teaching methods. Few teachers have had more than introductory courses in teaching.
After school, Dau came by and we went over the list of orphans to determine which girls we would visit today. We selected four and set about tramping across paths both wet and dry and steering clear of thorn bush fences as we entered the yards. One of the girls was away fetching wood, but we spoke to her guardian, who is unsure whether she will let the girl come. In some cases, the girl provides needed labor for an elderly widow who might have a hard time getting along without her.
At three others we met the girls, but the guardian was away planting or cultivating. Our plan is to make home visits to all ten homes, then to invite the girls and guardians to meet with us at the school or the clinic compound, since our location is not yet ready for visitors.
Dodging puddles and mud and a pack of dogs on the airstrip, Angie and Kristine, a nutrition worker with Medair, and I had an enjoyable run in the cool air, which lasted all day. We're all praying it stays dry so that materials for ASAH and for JDF clinic will get through. One transport truck full of aggregate got stuck on the road on the way here from Bor. That truck is also supposed to get sand for us and retrieve our short poles from the bush.
Worse, there's a group of gunshot victims holed up in the school. Apparently there have been two attacks in Duk County in Pajut and in Pagalong. One on June 16 where the village was attacked by Murle tribesmen armed with automatic rifles; two women killed, eight children kidnapped, and other wounded victims. The second group who are now here, were injured the 22nd and brought to the Lost Boys Clinic on Sunday night. Yesterday, a UN helicopter, which we all thought was coming to pick them up, touched down on the landing strip and lifted off again. No one knows why. The strip was a little wet in places, but the soil is sandy here—and it's a helicopter. Maybe they didn't want to get their boots dirty.
Anyhow, the clinic isn't staffed or equipped to care for injuries like this. There are wounds of all kinds including fractures—many requiring surgery. All the nurses here can provide are painkillers, wound dressings and makeshift splints of cardboard. The men are laying on pieces of cloth on the concrete floor of two classrooms. I think there are 26 of them, and 17 are seriously injured. No one came for them today, either.
Angie and I went to the school to observe a couple of classes. The teachers here were receptive to her visiting. She will meet with them another day to offer some feedback and share some teaching methods. Few teachers have had more than introductory courses in teaching.
After school, Dau came by and we went over the list of orphans to determine which girls we would visit today. We selected four and set about tramping across paths both wet and dry and steering clear of thorn bush fences as we entered the yards. One of the girls was away fetching wood, but we spoke to her guardian, who is unsure whether she will let the girl come. In some cases, the girl provides needed labor for an elderly widow who might have a hard time getting along without her.
At three others we met the girls, but the guardian was away planting or cultivating. Our plan is to make home visits to all ten homes, then to invite the girls and guardians to meet with us at the school or the clinic compound, since our location is not yet ready for visitors.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
The School, Thunder and Lightning
Monday
Now we're feeling the effects of the rainy season. It was only 80 degrees when I woke. Angie and I went for separate runs in the relatively cool air. By mid-morning the temperature had dropped and it felt like imminent rain.
At ten, during school recess, we met with the teachers in the large schoolyard while children played volleyball and soccer or socialized and horsed around. This was an opportunity for us to learn more about the staff. Though none them have more than a sixth grade education themselves, most have attended teacher training—a couple of weeks, three months, nine months. Mostly, they've learned to teach by doing it.
They teach in spite of tremendous challenges: lack of materials, no textbooks, and inconsistent attendance. UNICEF used to provide the students with writing notebooks, book bags, pencils, chalk and other materials, and remaining supplies are cherished, but they have nothing to replace them with so they make do with mostly oral work and sharing materials they do have.
The rainy season also means planting and cultivating, and much like it once was in the Midwest, children are kept home from school to help with the planting. They may be in school for a few days, or absent for a week or more. And when the rain comes, hard, they stay home as well. Last fall, as the rainy season ended, the school population was over 700, now it is only 500. Some families move nomadically between villages to follow the rain. If it's too dry in their area, they bring the cows closer to rain, then move them back when their area improves. So those children are be in school only when they are nearby.
Angie, who has a Masters in Special Ed, works with students and the teachers of her students in Minneapolis. She asked if there were village children with handicaps, learning problems, and other issues that require special attention. There is a deaf child, a hearing-impaired child, a number of children with learning difficulties, and there may be others who don't attend school because there is no way to help them in the current system. None of the teachers have had any training in working with children with special needs. Angie has permission to observe the classes and work with the teaching staff if she finds some areas where she could help.
Back at the JDF compound, we inventoried the bags and boxes that I stored in one of the containers last November. I recovered the seeds—maize, beans, peas, tomatoes, onions, zucchini, green onions, watermelon, lettuce, collards and kale. There are several tractors in the village that have tilled large garden areas. We'll find a gardener to get ours started as well. There's always a risk of losing the crop from too much rain or too little.
The temp dropped suddenly, the wind picked up, and the smell of rain filled the air. Angie and I zipped up the window flaps and lifted suitcases onto the beds, hoping to have a drier outcome than during the last rain. Then I realized that I'd never secured all the tent guy wires. There weren't enough stakes, and the ground is so soft that the stakes aren't secure. Abraham, one of the nurses, put concrete blocks on some and suggested I have Daniel do the rest. But it didn't get done, so just as it began to pour, with the wind whipping around me, I scrambled to the block pile—thankfully close to the tent, and juggled solid concrete blocks and wet, whipping cords to secure the tent. Then we grabbed our electronics and ran to the dining hall.
At one point, Angie thought our tent had gone down, so I went out to discover one pole had been flattened by the forceful wind. There wasn't much I could do but sigh and scoot back to the dining hall. After about three hours, it let up for a bit, so I checked the tent. Miraculously, the tent pole had righted itself. Inside the tent looked pretty good except that we had a large puddle in the middle of the floor where the plastic table had been (we took it apart before we left) and where the tent pole had lain, allowing the rain to pour in. Our foam mattresses are wet—the rain blows under the rain cover and drips in through the screened roof. The rain lasted close to four hours.
I mopped up a third of a bucket full of water from the large puddle on the floor; Victor brought us new dry mattresses from the container and we put the wet ones inside until it dries up enough outside to dry them out.
Now we're feeling the effects of the rainy season. It was only 80 degrees when I woke. Angie and I went for separate runs in the relatively cool air. By mid-morning the temperature had dropped and it felt like imminent rain.
At ten, during school recess, we met with the teachers in the large schoolyard while children played volleyball and soccer or socialized and horsed around. This was an opportunity for us to learn more about the staff. Though none them have more than a sixth grade education themselves, most have attended teacher training—a couple of weeks, three months, nine months. Mostly, they've learned to teach by doing it.
They teach in spite of tremendous challenges: lack of materials, no textbooks, and inconsistent attendance. UNICEF used to provide the students with writing notebooks, book bags, pencils, chalk and other materials, and remaining supplies are cherished, but they have nothing to replace them with so they make do with mostly oral work and sharing materials they do have.
The rainy season also means planting and cultivating, and much like it once was in the Midwest, children are kept home from school to help with the planting. They may be in school for a few days, or absent for a week or more. And when the rain comes, hard, they stay home as well. Last fall, as the rainy season ended, the school population was over 700, now it is only 500. Some families move nomadically between villages to follow the rain. If it's too dry in their area, they bring the cows closer to rain, then move them back when their area improves. So those children are be in school only when they are nearby.
Angie, who has a Masters in Special Ed, works with students and the teachers of her students in Minneapolis. She asked if there were village children with handicaps, learning problems, and other issues that require special attention. There is a deaf child, a hearing-impaired child, a number of children with learning difficulties, and there may be others who don't attend school because there is no way to help them in the current system. None of the teachers have had any training in working with children with special needs. Angie has permission to observe the classes and work with the teaching staff if she finds some areas where she could help.
Back at the JDF compound, we inventoried the bags and boxes that I stored in one of the containers last November. I recovered the seeds—maize, beans, peas, tomatoes, onions, zucchini, green onions, watermelon, lettuce, collards and kale. There are several tractors in the village that have tilled large garden areas. We'll find a gardener to get ours started as well. There's always a risk of losing the crop from too much rain or too little.
The temp dropped suddenly, the wind picked up, and the smell of rain filled the air. Angie and I zipped up the window flaps and lifted suitcases onto the beds, hoping to have a drier outcome than during the last rain. Then I realized that I'd never secured all the tent guy wires. There weren't enough stakes, and the ground is so soft that the stakes aren't secure. Abraham, one of the nurses, put concrete blocks on some and suggested I have Daniel do the rest. But it didn't get done, so just as it began to pour, with the wind whipping around me, I scrambled to the block pile—thankfully close to the tent, and juggled solid concrete blocks and wet, whipping cords to secure the tent. Then we grabbed our electronics and ran to the dining hall.
At one point, Angie thought our tent had gone down, so I went out to discover one pole had been flattened by the forceful wind. There wasn't much I could do but sigh and scoot back to the dining hall. After about three hours, it let up for a bit, so I checked the tent. Miraculously, the tent pole had righted itself. Inside the tent looked pretty good except that we had a large puddle in the middle of the floor where the plastic table had been (we took it apart before we left) and where the tent pole had lain, allowing the rain to pour in. Our foam mattresses are wet—the rain blows under the rain cover and drips in through the screened roof. The rain lasted close to four hours.
I mopped up a third of a bucket full of water from the large puddle on the floor; Victor brought us new dry mattresses from the container and we put the wet ones inside until it dries up enough outside to dry them out.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Laundry and Church
Saturday
Saturday is more relaxed at the JDF compound. The clinic opens if patients come with emergencies, but the staff have time to do laundry, relax, socialize and read. I did my laundry in a bucket alongside a couple of the male staff, who laughed because I wasn't getting suds the way they were. I told them I'm used to washing my laundry in a machine, which they thought was very funny. I got through it, rinsed them and hung them to dry. In the past, I've not been able to do it myself here because Mary, one of the cooks, always stopped me and washed them for me. But Mary is on holiday. However, Angie started to wash her clothes and one of the cooks took it from her. Angie marveled at the suds generated, and that the woman got the grimy necklines clean.
Sunday
We meant to go to church at nine and then visit with the women church leaders at 10. The service starts at eight, but the two-hour service is all in Dinka, so except for the drumming and the singing, it can feel a bit long. Angie was up talking to Mike, the JDF project manager, until about 1 am, so she slept in. I went for a run and showered. Then the Internet came on. We got there before ten and were mobbed by kids wanting their picture taken outside the church which we obliged for a while. Then we went in and the entourage followed. We were creating quite a stir in the back with the kids all chattering. The service was wrapping up so we retreated with the group of kids following and waited outside for the women.
I've met most of them before and know some of their names. Tabeesa, the matron who lives on our compound was married to a bishop, now deceased, and is a powerful woman in the church. John Dau's (JDF Foundation) mother and stepmother are part of the group as well. At least three of them are named Deborah (pronounced with the accent on "bor"), and they love it when I tell them my name is Debora Agot. I introduce Angie as Angela because it is much easier for the Sudanese to understand.
The women are so happy we're helping orphan girls. There are so many orphans here. Virtually all of them are widows. Most of them are caring for at least one orphan. They told us that when they were young, no girls received education and they didn't know there was any value in educating girls. They thought the only value for girls was to fetch water and firewood and cook and care for the children. But now they have seen the benefits for young women who are educated. They have more skills to help their families, to earn income, and to have more choices in their lives. These women want education for the girls in the village, and they think our program will set an example and encourage others to send their girls to school as well.
Saturday is more relaxed at the JDF compound. The clinic opens if patients come with emergencies, but the staff have time to do laundry, relax, socialize and read. I did my laundry in a bucket alongside a couple of the male staff, who laughed because I wasn't getting suds the way they were. I told them I'm used to washing my laundry in a machine, which they thought was very funny. I got through it, rinsed them and hung them to dry. In the past, I've not been able to do it myself here because Mary, one of the cooks, always stopped me and washed them for me. But Mary is on holiday. However, Angie started to wash her clothes and one of the cooks took it from her. Angie marveled at the suds generated, and that the woman got the grimy necklines clean.
Sunday
We meant to go to church at nine and then visit with the women church leaders at 10. The service starts at eight, but the two-hour service is all in Dinka, so except for the drumming and the singing, it can feel a bit long. Angie was up talking to Mike, the JDF project manager, until about 1 am, so she slept in. I went for a run and showered. Then the Internet came on. We got there before ten and were mobbed by kids wanting their picture taken outside the church which we obliged for a while. Then we went in and the entourage followed. We were creating quite a stir in the back with the kids all chattering. The service was wrapping up so we retreated with the group of kids following and waited outside for the women.
I've met most of them before and know some of their names. Tabeesa, the matron who lives on our compound was married to a bishop, now deceased, and is a powerful woman in the church. John Dau's (JDF Foundation) mother and stepmother are part of the group as well. At least three of them are named Deborah (pronounced with the accent on "bor"), and they love it when I tell them my name is Debora Agot. I introduce Angie as Angela because it is much easier for the Sudanese to understand.
The women are so happy we're helping orphan girls. There are so many orphans here. Virtually all of them are widows. Most of them are caring for at least one orphan. They told us that when they were young, no girls received education and they didn't know there was any value in educating girls. They thought the only value for girls was to fetch water and firewood and cook and care for the children. But now they have seen the benefits for young women who are educated. They have more skills to help their families, to earn income, and to have more choices in their lives. These women want education for the girls in the village, and they think our program will set an example and encourage others to send their girls to school as well.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Building Challenges
Friday, June 25
We had learned just before we arrived, that the plumbers hired to plumb our site had come and gone without doing the work. A plumbing contractor at IRD helped us inventory the materials for the project, and we learned that many of the materials on the list were not here. We've relayed the message to Joseph who is following up on the materials list and hunting down the workers to find out what happened.
Another blow—the 5000 L water tank delivered from Uganda arrived damaged. Something sharp and metal punctured a hole and cracked the plastic near the bottom. The plumber didn't think it could be repaired, but Maduk will try putting a metal plate outside and in. I'm trying to hunt down some epoxy which my husband suggested might help it hold the water in. Transportation companies here don't take responsibility for their deliveries arriving intact, it seems.
The aggregate for the concrete blocks for latrines and showers and the fence posts arrived by truck on Thursday before the rain. Then the Kenyan drivers freaked out and refused to go to the bush to retrieve our short poles and to pick up the load of sand. We're sharing the truck, which was hired by IRD. Another truck will arrive Monday or Tuesday to finish the work. I write this on Sunday and it's been dry and humid since the first rain.
Friday evening, Deng Sam Majok, the Duk Country Coordinator for SSRRC (Southern Sudan Relief and Rehabilitation Commission), came to meet with me. I first met him on our first visit in 2007. We discussed the ASAH project, and he requested an action plan and a job description for our project manager (not yet chosen), printed, by Saturday morning at 8 when he was leaving the village. So I was up late writing it, up early finishing it. Sam will circulate the job description to help us find the right person.
We had learned just before we arrived, that the plumbers hired to plumb our site had come and gone without doing the work. A plumbing contractor at IRD helped us inventory the materials for the project, and we learned that many of the materials on the list were not here. We've relayed the message to Joseph who is following up on the materials list and hunting down the workers to find out what happened.
Another blow—the 5000 L water tank delivered from Uganda arrived damaged. Something sharp and metal punctured a hole and cracked the plastic near the bottom. The plumber didn't think it could be repaired, but Maduk will try putting a metal plate outside and in. I'm trying to hunt down some epoxy which my husband suggested might help it hold the water in. Transportation companies here don't take responsibility for their deliveries arriving intact, it seems.
The aggregate for the concrete blocks for latrines and showers and the fence posts arrived by truck on Thursday before the rain. Then the Kenyan drivers freaked out and refused to go to the bush to retrieve our short poles and to pick up the load of sand. We're sharing the truck, which was hired by IRD. Another truck will arrive Monday or Tuesday to finish the work. I write this on Sunday and it's been dry and humid since the first rain.
Friday evening, Deng Sam Majok, the Duk Country Coordinator for SSRRC (Southern Sudan Relief and Rehabilitation Commission), came to meet with me. I first met him on our first visit in 2007. We discussed the ASAH project, and he requested an action plan and a job description for our project manager (not yet chosen), printed, by Saturday morning at 8 when he was leaving the village. So I was up late writing it, up early finishing it. Sam will circulate the job description to help us find the right person.
Our First Rain
Thursday, June 24
Happy Birthday to my granddaughter, Isabelle, who is in the US.
Yesterday our first rain fell as we began our second day of inventory at the school. When it started to sprinkle, Angie headed back to close up our tent (we'd left the windows uncovered) and to retrieve our raincoats and umbrellas. It rained for several hours, and we headed home in a downpour. Halfway there, the IRD car came down the road and gave us lift the rest of the way.
We mopped up the water that had run under the beds and separated wet items from dry. We flipped Angie's foam mattress, which had soaked up some water, since she didn't yet have a bed frame. Then we spent some hours in the tent reading, catching up on email correspondence, and planning our next moves while the rain pelted the rain cover above our tent.
Happy Birthday to my granddaughter, Isabelle, who is in the US.
Yesterday our first rain fell as we began our second day of inventory at the school. When it started to sprinkle, Angie headed back to close up our tent (we'd left the windows uncovered) and to retrieve our raincoats and umbrellas. It rained for several hours, and we headed home in a downpour. Halfway there, the IRD car came down the road and gave us lift the rest of the way.
We mopped up the water that had run under the beds and separated wet items from dry. We flipped Angie's foam mattress, which had soaked up some water, since she didn't yet have a bed frame. Then we spent some hours in the tent reading, catching up on email correspondence, and planning our next moves while the rain pelted the rain cover above our tent.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Site Progress
Wednesday morning, Angie and I visited our building site with Dau John Awuou, the head teacher at the village school who acts as our project manager, overseeing the construction and setting meetings with local elders and administrators. Though there's not been as much progress as we'd hoped, the two girls' tukuls (adobe thatched huts), which will each house five girls, and two staff tukuls are nearly complete. The walls have been mudded; the roof is thatched. We're waiting for the mud to dry so it can be "plastered" and for the screened windows and doors to be built and installed by Maduk, a local carpenter and former teacher from Kakuma Refugee camp. Two other tukuls are awaiting a truck to recover the short poles for their foundation walls. The poles have been cut but were left in the bush as a truck hasn't been available. We expect them to be delivered Monday or Tuesday.
Then we went to the school, where the cargo we brought from the US and Nairobi has been stored. We inventoried the items in the bags and boxes and reorganized and marked the boxes for easier access.
Later Dau and I hitched a ride to Rubb Hall, one of two huge metal-framed vinyl-covered storage units put up by World Food Program (WFP). The food, mattresses and bed frames Joseph purchased for us in Bor are stored there. We picked out two twin bed frames, so that we could lift our mattresses off the tent floor. There seemed no rhyme or reason to the selection of side frames, head and footboards. They're all handmade of mahogany (termites leave mahogany alone) but there was no consistent design, and a number system that we couldn't figure out.
Dau and Daniel worked on the pieces we selected past sunset by the light of our battery-powered Coleman lanterns, but only succeeded in putting together one frame—wrong. Then we discovered the numbers did have a purpose. Unfortunately, we had selected the wrong size for only fancy bed—the one with tooled bedposts. So Angie spent another night on a mattress on the tent floor, graciously giving up the finished bed to me.
Then we went to the school, where the cargo we brought from the US and Nairobi has been stored. We inventoried the items in the bags and boxes and reorganized and marked the boxes for easier access.
Later Dau and I hitched a ride to Rubb Hall, one of two huge metal-framed vinyl-covered storage units put up by World Food Program (WFP). The food, mattresses and bed frames Joseph purchased for us in Bor are stored there. We picked out two twin bed frames, so that we could lift our mattresses off the tent floor. There seemed no rhyme or reason to the selection of side frames, head and footboards. They're all handmade of mahogany (termites leave mahogany alone) but there was no consistent design, and a number system that we couldn't figure out.
Dau and Daniel worked on the pieces we selected past sunset by the light of our battery-powered Coleman lanterns, but only succeeded in putting together one frame—wrong. Then we discovered the numbers did have a purpose. Unfortunately, we had selected the wrong size for only fancy bed—the one with tooled bedposts. So Angie spent another night on a mattress on the tent floor, graciously giving up the finished bed to me.
Staking the Tent
Tuesday June 22
After initial greetings with JDF staff at the compound, we set up our eight-man tent alongside the clinic army tents that serve as their long-term temporary housing. Mike Wagner, the new project manager for JDF, and Daniel, the 15-year-old Sudanese student who has helped me on past trips with translation, videotaping, and getting messages across the village, helped.
It's a Coleman tent with full 8' height across the top, fairly unclear directions attached to the bag it came in, and an insufficient number of stakes to stake all the tent poles and guy wires. A small number of the clinic's supply of concrete block for their new housing project, which is stored only feet from our tent, is now in use holding our tent secure. The tent has great ventilation from big screened windows, we're under the shade of a tree, and it's a comfortable as it can be in a hot climate like this. JDF staff took the car to pick up a couple of our mattresses for us.
After initial greetings with JDF staff at the compound, we set up our eight-man tent alongside the clinic army tents that serve as their long-term temporary housing. Mike Wagner, the new project manager for JDF, and Daniel, the 15-year-old Sudanese student who has helped me on past trips with translation, videotaping, and getting messages across the village, helped.
It's a Coleman tent with full 8' height across the top, fairly unclear directions attached to the bag it came in, and an insufficient number of stakes to stake all the tent poles and guy wires. A small number of the clinic's supply of concrete block for their new housing project, which is stored only feet from our tent, is now in use holding our tent secure. The tent has great ventilation from big screened windows, we're under the shade of a tree, and it's a comfortable as it can be in a hot climate like this. JDF staff took the car to pick up a couple of our mattresses for us.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Arrival in Duk
June 21
Our chartered AIM Air flight allowed for 1000 kg of cargo and passengers. We filled it to the max with our cargo, Joseph, Angie, myself, and Boniface, a Kenyan Internet serviceman flying to Duk to repair International Relief Development's (IRD) dish misalignment.
Our flight was delayed which allowed us to savor some African tea (heavy on the milk and sugar) and samosas at Wilson Airport, and to chat with a gentleman preparing to leave for South Sudan on a huge (in comparison to ours) Samaritan's Purse plane.
We stopped in Lokichoggio to drop off an AIM staff member and refuel, then to Bor, the capitol of Jonglei State, South Sudan, to drop Joseph. As we approached Duk Payuel our pilot agreed to circle our building site so that I could shoot some aerial photos, though he warned that if the large birds (I don't know what they're called, but they're huge) that make Duk home were soaring overhead, he would have to abort.
The John Dau Foundation (JDF) Lost Boys Clinic staff awaited us with a car along the airstrip, and IRD (International Relief Development) staff were there with a car to pick up Boniface. When I landed last fall, car travel wasn't possible due to the flooding, so all my cargo had to be carried on the heads of women or the shoulders of men and boys. (The position of the burden is cultural.) It took several round trips to ferry the cargo to storage at the school. The community and our other NGO partners, JDF and IRD help us out, which makes working in this difficult environment easier and more pleasant.
Our chartered AIM Air flight allowed for 1000 kg of cargo and passengers. We filled it to the max with our cargo, Joseph, Angie, myself, and Boniface, a Kenyan Internet serviceman flying to Duk to repair International Relief Development's (IRD) dish misalignment.
Our flight was delayed which allowed us to savor some African tea (heavy on the milk and sugar) and samosas at Wilson Airport, and to chat with a gentleman preparing to leave for South Sudan on a huge (in comparison to ours) Samaritan's Purse plane.
We stopped in Lokichoggio to drop off an AIM staff member and refuel, then to Bor, the capitol of Jonglei State, South Sudan, to drop Joseph. As we approached Duk Payuel our pilot agreed to circle our building site so that I could shoot some aerial photos, though he warned that if the large birds (I don't know what they're called, but they're huge) that make Duk home were soaring overhead, he would have to abort.
The John Dau Foundation (JDF) Lost Boys Clinic staff awaited us with a car along the airstrip, and IRD (International Relief Development) staff were there with a car to pick up Boniface. When I landed last fall, car travel wasn't possible due to the flooding, so all my cargo had to be carried on the heads of women or the shoulders of men and boys. (The position of the burden is cultural.) It took several round trips to ferry the cargo to storage at the school. The community and our other NGO partners, JDF and IRD help us out, which makes working in this difficult environment easier and more pleasant.
Kenya, Kiberra Slum Orphan school, Rift Valley
Our driver, the personable and dependable Mumias, who has become a friend during my three trips to Kenya since November, took us to visit his family in their tiny two-room apartment where old airline seats, complete with unused ashtrays, serve as a loveseat. Charity, his wife, served us tea and chapatti, and his children—Ayela, Walter, and Marcy—showed me their excellent school marks and took turns reading aloud from children's books on my IPad. The baby, Dominique, was content breastfeeding and being passed around to the siblings.
With Mumias, we made two visits to Kiberra, the largest slum in Africa. Home to a couple of million people, Kiberra is a city within a city. The slum is built along hillsides offering tremendous views of a sea of colorful tin roofs. In an effort to improve conditions, areas are being razed and families moved into concrete apartment housing. While the apartments include two bedrooms, kitchens, indoor bathrooms, and subsidized rent, the $250 per month is still higher than many can pay. Built as apartment blocks with center courtyards, no provision was made for businesses, so many residents trek back to the slum to fry and sell chapatti, style hair, sell their wares, fix machines, and attend church, which we were invited to do on Sunday.
Below steep banks runs a railroad track. A recent rain made the narrow, uneven paths even more treacherous. The mud is slippery, and the path is soft underfoot, comprised of garbage pressed solid by millions of footsteps.
We visited Little Steps Academy, a school for orphans run by one of Mumias' friends. Mary oversees four classrooms of children from nursery through primary school. Packed shoulder to shoulder in two classrooms 40 preschoolers and 50 kindergarteners entertained us with singing and pantomime. We left a donation that they used to buy flour for chapattis and a blackboard.
We finished our days in Nairobi with a drive outside the city to take in a view of the stunning Rift Valley, arriving just before the fog rolled in. Later, we enjoyed dinner with Joseph at Habesha, the wonderful Ethiopian restaurant where we ate on our first visit in 2007. Without realizing it was the same restaurant, I ate there last November with Jeremy Groce, one of our board members, who was in Nairobi on business. We arrived after dark and were seated inside at a low round table designed to hold the platter of injerra, a spongy, sourdough flatbread used in lieu of utensils, served with lentils, meats, and vegetables.
This was the end of our time with city living. In the morning, it's on to the village of Duk Payuel.
With Mumias, we made two visits to Kiberra, the largest slum in Africa. Home to a couple of million people, Kiberra is a city within a city. The slum is built along hillsides offering tremendous views of a sea of colorful tin roofs. In an effort to improve conditions, areas are being razed and families moved into concrete apartment housing. While the apartments include two bedrooms, kitchens, indoor bathrooms, and subsidized rent, the $250 per month is still higher than many can pay. Built as apartment blocks with center courtyards, no provision was made for businesses, so many residents trek back to the slum to fry and sell chapatti, style hair, sell their wares, fix machines, and attend church, which we were invited to do on Sunday.
Below steep banks runs a railroad track. A recent rain made the narrow, uneven paths even more treacherous. The mud is slippery, and the path is soft underfoot, comprised of garbage pressed solid by millions of footsteps.
We visited Little Steps Academy, a school for orphans run by one of Mumias' friends. Mary oversees four classrooms of children from nursery through primary school. Packed shoulder to shoulder in two classrooms 40 preschoolers and 50 kindergarteners entertained us with singing and pantomime. We left a donation that they used to buy flour for chapattis and a blackboard.
We finished our days in Nairobi with a drive outside the city to take in a view of the stunning Rift Valley, arriving just before the fog rolled in. Later, we enjoyed dinner with Joseph at Habesha, the wonderful Ethiopian restaurant where we ate on our first visit in 2007. Without realizing it was the same restaurant, I ate there last November with Jeremy Groce, one of our board members, who was in Nairobi on business. We arrived after dark and were seated inside at a low round table designed to hold the platter of injerra, a spongy, sourdough flatbread used in lieu of utensils, served with lentils, meats, and vegetables.
This was the end of our time with city living. In the morning, it's on to the village of Duk Payuel.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Kenya Procurement June 16 through June 19
Nairobi is a city of odors, noise, and action. The belching smoke of busses and matatus (minibuses) mixes with the acrid smells of garbage, sweat, and sewer, and the aromas of chapatti (flatbread) cooking on a roadside stand. Pedestrians dodge traffic to cross streets where vehicles ignore stoplights and force their way through roundabouts by intimidation.
Angie Ostbye, a special education teacher, and I arrived late evening June 16 with nine duffle bags of supplies for the ASAH Home for Girls. Our first few nights we stayed at the Country Lodge, a contemporary-style budget business hotel. This allowed us a comfortable transition from the US and access to the Fairview Hotel restaurants.
Then we moved to Mayfield Guest House, owned by Africa Inland Missions (AIM) and populated by missionary families and other humanitarian workers. Toilets and showers and tubs down the hall, mosquito net-draped beds, in-room sinks and wireless Internet. Meals are served family-style and dinner companions may on leave from their work translating the New Testament in South Sudan, piloting evacuees from the border areas during this difficult transition to independence, teaching pastors how to use media developed for remote areas to serve their congregations, or teaching the Gospel to isolated tribes.
We spent our time in Nairobi procuring additional supplies for our boarding facility for orphan girls in Duk Payuel, South Sudan. Joseph Akol Makeer helped Angie and me bargain for shoes at one of the markets with hundreds of stalls and shops selling every kind of goods. The transactions were lengthy, but our prices were still higher than what a local would pay. Just the presence of a couple of white women starts the bidding higher.
At Tusky's, a large department store, we purchased everything from garden tools to bed sheets, from cooking supplies, food, and toiletries to plastic tables and stools. We spent many hours over three days there, leaving our goods for them to box and transport to AIM Air the day before our flight.
Angie Ostbye, a special education teacher, and I arrived late evening June 16 with nine duffle bags of supplies for the ASAH Home for Girls. Our first few nights we stayed at the Country Lodge, a contemporary-style budget business hotel. This allowed us a comfortable transition from the US and access to the Fairview Hotel restaurants.
Then we moved to Mayfield Guest House, owned by Africa Inland Missions (AIM) and populated by missionary families and other humanitarian workers. Toilets and showers and tubs down the hall, mosquito net-draped beds, in-room sinks and wireless Internet. Meals are served family-style and dinner companions may on leave from their work translating the New Testament in South Sudan, piloting evacuees from the border areas during this difficult transition to independence, teaching pastors how to use media developed for remote areas to serve their congregations, or teaching the Gospel to isolated tribes.
We spent our time in Nairobi procuring additional supplies for our boarding facility for orphan girls in Duk Payuel, South Sudan. Joseph Akol Makeer helped Angie and me bargain for shoes at one of the markets with hundreds of stalls and shops selling every kind of goods. The transactions were lengthy, but our prices were still higher than what a local would pay. Just the presence of a couple of white women starts the bidding higher.
At Tusky's, a large department store, we purchased everything from garden tools to bed sheets, from cooking supplies, food, and toiletries to plastic tables and stools. We spent many hours over three days there, leaving our goods for them to box and transport to AIM Air the day before our flight.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Fellow Blogger Angie Caruso blogged about ASAH
Ripple Affect: Awareness Leads to Action.
You can find her post here: http://rippleaffectawarenessleadstoaction.blogspot.com/
You can find her post here: http://rippleaffectawarenessleadstoaction.blogspot.com/
Monday, May 23, 2011
Rasmussen College Raises Funds for ASAH
Fargo College Students
Work for Gift to Charity
(Fargo) – A college in Fargo raised more than $1,400 for a charity recently and the students used it as a learning experience. Challenged to perform a service learning project, the Business and Communication students at Rasmussen College created several pieces of writing including business letters, short reports, press releases and visual communications to market and create awareness for their chosen charity – African Soul, American Heart.
The finished writing projects were the centerpiece of a silent auction held at the college. The student’s goal was to raise $1,000, and with donations from staff, were able to present African Soul, American Heart president Deb Dawson a check for $1,428. According to a Rasmussen instructor, this was an excellent way for the students to experience writing in the “real world” as well as demonstrating to them how writing is a tool for social action that can be used to participate in and contribute to a local and global society.
African Soul, American Heart (ASAH) is a Fargo-based non-profit foundation dedicated to helping feed, house, clothe and educate young orphan girls (ages 10-15) in Southern Sudan, Africa. The organization has recently begun building the ASAH Home for Girls. The first group of girls is expected to move in about July 1st.
Learn more about Rasmussen College.
Work for Gift to Charity
(Fargo) – A college in Fargo raised more than $1,400 for a charity recently and the students used it as a learning experience. Challenged to perform a service learning project, the Business and Communication students at Rasmussen College created several pieces of writing including business letters, short reports, press releases and visual communications to market and create awareness for their chosen charity – African Soul, American Heart.
The finished writing projects were the centerpiece of a silent auction held at the college. The student’s goal was to raise $1,000, and with donations from staff, were able to present African Soul, American Heart president Deb Dawson a check for $1,428. According to a Rasmussen instructor, this was an excellent way for the students to experience writing in the “real world” as well as demonstrating to them how writing is a tool for social action that can be used to participate in and contribute to a local and global society.
African Soul, American Heart (ASAH) is a Fargo-based non-profit foundation dedicated to helping feed, house, clothe and educate young orphan girls (ages 10-15) in Southern Sudan, Africa. The organization has recently begun building the ASAH Home for Girls. The first group of girls is expected to move in about July 1st.
Learn more about Rasmussen College.
Forum on Oprah--Deb Dawson mentioned.
FROM Forum:
One of Winfrey’s philanthropic causes has been to educate women in Africa by opening a school for girls in South Africa. This work has served as a touchstone for Deb Dawson, founder of the Fargo-based nonprofit African Soul, American Heart, which provides shelter for orphans in Southern Sudan.
Dawson is not a regular “Oprah” watcher but sees news coverage of the challenges the icon’s efforts in Africa have faced. Dawson says seeing that “gives us a little heart when we run into challenges we face” helping in Sudan.
http://www.inforum.com/event/article/id/320837/publisher_ID/1/
One of Winfrey’s philanthropic causes has been to educate women in Africa by opening a school for girls in South Africa. This work has served as a touchstone for Deb Dawson, founder of the Fargo-based nonprofit African Soul, American Heart, which provides shelter for orphans in Southern Sudan.
Dawson is not a regular “Oprah” watcher but sees news coverage of the challenges the icon’s efforts in Africa have faced. Dawson says seeing that “gives us a little heart when we run into challenges we face” helping in Sudan.
http://www.inforum.com/event/article/id/320837/publisher_ID/1/
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Last Day in Duk
A light rain contributed to a pleasing 80 degree morning—though the temp crept into the 90s by mid-afternoon. Still not as brutal as the 100 degree days we have been suffering.
It's our last day here. Tomorrow around noon, AIM Air will pick Jef and me up on the Duk airstrip. Likely the John Dau Foundation car will carry us and our bags to the strip. When I arrived and departed last November, young men and women carried my bags on their heads through knee deep water because of the over-long and heavy rainy season. It sounds like Fargo will escape a devastating flood this year, however, and we will return in time to see the crest.
The past few days have been exciting for us and for our board back in the United States. This project has been a dream and is now becoming reality. Some members of our work crew went to the bush to cut down branches for interior support of the tukul walls as others dug foundation holes. Now all six tukuls are underway, the uprights in place, and work has begun on the braces for the roofs. Somewhere, thatch is being gathered or purchased, and Joseph Akol Makeer is in Juba purchasing materials for tukul roofing, latrines, showers, water tower and fencing.
It's too dry here to gather mud, so they'll send a truck closer to the Nile where the land is wetter. A month or two from now when the rains begin, there'll be plenty of mud here, but construction will be more difficult. We hope to have all construction finished within the next month.
This morning Jef spent time onsite videotaping and reworking his overall plan in his mind. I rode along with IRD and JDF staff to a health services coordination meeting in Mareng, where the County Commissioner is located. We had hoped to visit him last week, but he was in Bor. He was out yesterday and today as well, but I was able to visit with the Executive Director of the commission office. The health meeting was interesting. Various NGO groups, each with their own missions and funding, are trying to coordinate their efforts to avoid duplicating services in areas that are currently being served and to extend services to areas that are underserved, or not receiving any services at all.
It's our last day here. Tomorrow around noon, AIM Air will pick Jef and me up on the Duk airstrip. Likely the John Dau Foundation car will carry us and our bags to the strip. When I arrived and departed last November, young men and women carried my bags on their heads through knee deep water because of the over-long and heavy rainy season. It sounds like Fargo will escape a devastating flood this year, however, and we will return in time to see the crest.
The past few days have been exciting for us and for our board back in the United States. This project has been a dream and is now becoming reality. Some members of our work crew went to the bush to cut down branches for interior support of the tukul walls as others dug foundation holes. Now all six tukuls are underway, the uprights in place, and work has begun on the braces for the roofs. Somewhere, thatch is being gathered or purchased, and Joseph Akol Makeer is in Juba purchasing materials for tukul roofing, latrines, showers, water tower and fencing.
It's too dry here to gather mud, so they'll send a truck closer to the Nile where the land is wetter. A month or two from now when the rains begin, there'll be plenty of mud here, but construction will be more difficult. We hope to have all construction finished within the next month.
This morning Jef spent time onsite videotaping and reworking his overall plan in his mind. I rode along with IRD and JDF staff to a health services coordination meeting in Mareng, where the County Commissioner is located. We had hoped to visit him last week, but he was in Bor. He was out yesterday and today as well, but I was able to visit with the Executive Director of the commission office. The health meeting was interesting. Various NGO groups, each with their own missions and funding, are trying to coordinate their efforts to avoid duplicating services in areas that are currently being served and to extend services to areas that are underserved, or not receiving any services at all.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Long Winter--a poem by Tim Nolan
I subscribe online to the Writer's Almanac, Garrison Keillor's site which sends a daily poem. I reprint this without permission but crediting the author, Tim Nolan. My comments follow the poem.
Long Winter
by Tim Nolan
So much I've forgotten
the grass
the birds
the close insects
the shoot—the drip—
the spray of the sprinkler
freckles—strawberries—
the heat of the Sun
the impossible
humidity
the flush of your face
so much
the high noon
the high grass
the patio ice cubes
the barbeque
the buzz of them—
the insects
the weeds—the dear
weeds—that grow
like alien life forms—
all Dr. Suessy and odd—
here we go again¬—
we are turning around
again—this will all
happen over again—
and again—it will—
---
Here in Sudan I have forgotten not only the grass but also the white expanse of cool wet snow. Here, the long dry season has left inches of fine silt to blow across the hard-packed ground. Sahara sand mixed with dirt, it coats equipment, tables, and chairs, dries eyes and throats, clings to the sweat that covers my body, blackens my sandaled feet.
There is no dirth of birds of all sizes and colors, both beautiful and hideous in looks or nature, their voices a cacophony sounding before dawn and after dusk. No sprinklers here, no strawberries, no fruit, save the coconut. The sun's heat is inescapable, except for the occasional breeze under the shade of the infrequent tree. There is also wind, which is quite different from the breeze, carrying the bric-a-brac of weeds and trash. The weeds often come with thorns and sticks, one of which stabbed the top of my foot where my sandal didn't cover.
Insects, lizards, frogs, and bats our constant companions, along with the antelope and the occasional feral cat.
Humidity will attend the rains in May, and by August, perhaps, the roads will flood. Vehicle travel between villages will cease and the silty footpaths will squish beneath the sandals or between the toes of bare feet splashing through water ankle to knee deep. Until the rains cease and the sun sucks dry the Sudd again.
Long Winter
by Tim Nolan
So much I've forgotten
the grass
the birds
the close insects
the shoot—the drip—
the spray of the sprinkler
freckles—strawberries—
the heat of the Sun
the impossible
humidity
the flush of your face
so much
the high noon
the high grass
the patio ice cubes
the barbeque
the buzz of them—
the insects
the weeds—the dear
weeds—that grow
like alien life forms—
all Dr. Suessy and odd—
here we go again¬—
we are turning around
again—this will all
happen over again—
and again—it will—
---
Here in Sudan I have forgotten not only the grass but also the white expanse of cool wet snow. Here, the long dry season has left inches of fine silt to blow across the hard-packed ground. Sahara sand mixed with dirt, it coats equipment, tables, and chairs, dries eyes and throats, clings to the sweat that covers my body, blackens my sandaled feet.
There is no dirth of birds of all sizes and colors, both beautiful and hideous in looks or nature, their voices a cacophony sounding before dawn and after dusk. No sprinklers here, no strawberries, no fruit, save the coconut. The sun's heat is inescapable, except for the occasional breeze under the shade of the infrequent tree. There is also wind, which is quite different from the breeze, carrying the bric-a-brac of weeds and trash. The weeds often come with thorns and sticks, one of which stabbed the top of my foot where my sandal didn't cover.
Insects, lizards, frogs, and bats our constant companions, along with the antelope and the occasional feral cat.
Humidity will attend the rains in May, and by August, perhaps, the roads will flood. Vehicle travel between villages will cease and the silty footpaths will squish beneath the sandals or between the toes of bare feet splashing through water ankle to knee deep. Until the rains cease and the sun sucks dry the Sudd again.
External Hard Drive Dies--March 31
It was probably the ants. Two days ago, I was loading photos onto the external drive that stores my photo catalog with Daniel, my 15-year-old guide, translator, assistant. Dozens of tiny ants streamed out of it and onto my lap. I'm guessing the heat generated when I plugged it in may have upset them, or attracted them. They kept coming, so I sprayed the outside with bug spray, which killed them, only to have dozens more join the death march. Eventually they stopped coming out. I loaded the photos. Everything seemed fine, but yesterday when I plugged in the drive, my computer couldn't see it. I'm afraid their tiny little bodies may have gummed up the works. I've saved all the memory cards, so I won't lose those, but the same drive is also my hard backup. Let's hope my online backup system, which last did its job March 20, has the rest of my data--and photos from last November. The regular backup time doesn't match our Internet hours, so I better start doing it manually. I left the drive with Sammy, the tech guy here. He can fix anything from cars to plumbing to satellite dishes and has background in computers, too. It may be another day or so before I post more Facebook pics.
We have to feed the crew. The first day they worked until lunchtime, and I gave the supervisor money to buy lunch in town, at the hotel. The proprietor's name is Alice. I haven't been inside, but it consists of a few tukuls, a shower with a neck-high privacy wall of thatching materials, and buckets of water for washing. But there wasn't any food for the crew there or anywhere. So late yesterday afternoon, Sammy drove, me, Daniel, and Dau, our supervisor, to Poktop, the village on the ill-conceived canal dug to divert the Nile to bring water to the parched North. It now exacerbates the flooding in this area. Carcasses of abandoned cranes are part of the landscape there, the trees beginning to eclipse them. There's a market with a wide center aisle to accommodate trucks and people. But to find all you want, it's necessary to make several stops. The prices, however, are fair and don't adjust up when there's a white woman in the group, as happens with street vendors in Kenya.
We bought food to feed 20 people lunch for a month, the expected length of the construction time. Beans, rice, sugar, seasonings, onions, tea leaves, plates, spoons, cups, serving dishes and spoons, thermoses, wash basins, and buckets. About $500. Also, the exchange rate in Poktop--no banks there, just guys with money--is 300 SP/$100 instead of 280 in Juba, so we got more for our money.
We have to feed the crew. The first day they worked until lunchtime, and I gave the supervisor money to buy lunch in town, at the hotel. The proprietor's name is Alice. I haven't been inside, but it consists of a few tukuls, a shower with a neck-high privacy wall of thatching materials, and buckets of water for washing. But there wasn't any food for the crew there or anywhere. So late yesterday afternoon, Sammy drove, me, Daniel, and Dau, our supervisor, to Poktop, the village on the ill-conceived canal dug to divert the Nile to bring water to the parched North. It now exacerbates the flooding in this area. Carcasses of abandoned cranes are part of the landscape there, the trees beginning to eclipse them. There's a market with a wide center aisle to accommodate trucks and people. But to find all you want, it's necessary to make several stops. The prices, however, are fair and don't adjust up when there's a white woman in the group, as happens with street vendors in Kenya.
We bought food to feed 20 people lunch for a month, the expected length of the construction time. Beans, rice, sugar, seasonings, onions, tea leaves, plates, spoons, cups, serving dishes and spoons, thermoses, wash basins, and buckets. About $500. Also, the exchange rate in Poktop--no banks there, just guys with money--is 300 SP/$100 instead of 280 in Juba, so we got more for our money.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Clearing the Land
I am writing this on my IPad connected to Internet in the office of IRD, International Relief Development, which is adjacent to our site. How fortunate Jef and I are to have these amazing tools and also these wonderful partners on the ground.
Jef spent time this morning with Gache, the IRD engineer, figuring out the fencing materials list. I just sent it off to Joseph to add to our list from yesterday with materials needed for the tukuls. We expect he will bring all the materials from Juba along with our dome on Friday. He works in both Juba and Bor, which is closer to us, but higher prices. He is partner with an architect and builder in a construction firm in Bor so we expect he will get us good prices.
Jef is on the site now. There are about ten workers plus supervisors clearing and burning brush, taking out stumps, and preparing for fencing. We have to feed them as part of our contract. Later today I will see if the JDF car can take me to Panyagor, about 2 hours from here, to buy beans, rice, sugar, tea leaves, plates, spoons, cups, thermoses, and hot pots, and we will pay two cooks to feed them. All labor payments are made at the end of The job.
The job is to build 3 large rectangular tukuls, 14 by 20, to house five girls each in two of them. The other is for an office/store. We will build three round tukuls for two staff and for security guard.
The guys that go to the bush to cut down the thatching and branches for tukul walls are paid 800 SDP for the job, which includes the building. That's around $300. The exchange is 2.8 SDP/ $1.There are nine plus supervisor paid 1000 SDP. The workers who are working clearing brush and digger, here on site each get 400 SDP. Of course there will be the latrines, showers, etc. to build as well. Fence building is included in the above.
Yesterday, Jef and I spent nearly fiven hours mostly being quiet while others worked our a land dispute in Dinka. Three hours were spent in the County administrator's office. The most interesting part were the many bats flying around inside and then dangling above our heads. Fortunately, the bats didn't bother anyone, even the chief whose legs they flew between didn't seem to notice, and the administrator is one of our supporters, as it was in his office last November, that the chiefs gave ASAH the land. But last month, a Paramount chief (head) had given the land to Colorado Lost Boy group and they built a visitor's compound on part of our site. Then some representatives came and said they were given the entire site. Apparently that wasn't actually the case. In any case, all parties were satisfied.
There are many be advantages to our program to be in this area. It is close to the school and is adjacent to IRD and Mama Jean's compound. This provides security. There are other larger sites, but they are quite far away and would be harder to protect. Also in this location we can run pipes from IRD's well, and also electricity. This will save us lots of money which can be used toward getting more children in our program.
I apologize for typos in this and other blog posts. Internet access can be unpredictable, and there is little Romeo our busy day for editing.
Jef spent time this morning with Gache, the IRD engineer, figuring out the fencing materials list. I just sent it off to Joseph to add to our list from yesterday with materials needed for the tukuls. We expect he will bring all the materials from Juba along with our dome on Friday. He works in both Juba and Bor, which is closer to us, but higher prices. He is partner with an architect and builder in a construction firm in Bor so we expect he will get us good prices.
Jef is on the site now. There are about ten workers plus supervisors clearing and burning brush, taking out stumps, and preparing for fencing. We have to feed them as part of our contract. Later today I will see if the JDF car can take me to Panyagor, about 2 hours from here, to buy beans, rice, sugar, tea leaves, plates, spoons, cups, thermoses, and hot pots, and we will pay two cooks to feed them. All labor payments are made at the end of The job.
The job is to build 3 large rectangular tukuls, 14 by 20, to house five girls each in two of them. The other is for an office/store. We will build three round tukuls for two staff and for security guard.
The guys that go to the bush to cut down the thatching and branches for tukul walls are paid 800 SDP for the job, which includes the building. That's around $300. The exchange is 2.8 SDP/ $1.There are nine plus supervisor paid 1000 SDP. The workers who are working clearing brush and digger, here on site each get 400 SDP. Of course there will be the latrines, showers, etc. to build as well. Fence building is included in the above.
Yesterday, Jef and I spent nearly fiven hours mostly being quiet while others worked our a land dispute in Dinka. Three hours were spent in the County administrator's office. The most interesting part were the many bats flying around inside and then dangling above our heads. Fortunately, the bats didn't bother anyone, even the chief whose legs they flew between didn't seem to notice, and the administrator is one of our supporters, as it was in his office last November, that the chiefs gave ASAH the land. But last month, a Paramount chief (head) had given the land to Colorado Lost Boy group and they built a visitor's compound on part of our site. Then some representatives came and said they were given the entire site. Apparently that wasn't actually the case. In any case, all parties were satisfied.
There are many be advantages to our program to be in this area. It is close to the school and is adjacent to IRD and Mama Jean's compound. This provides security. There are other larger sites, but they are quite far away and would be harder to protect. Also in this location we can run pipes from IRD's well, and also electricity. This will save us lots of money which can be used toward getting more children in our program.
I apologize for typos in this and other blog posts. Internet access can be unpredictable, and there is little Romeo our busy day for editing.
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