At home, my morning routine is up at six, release the cats from the laundry room and traipse downstairs to the fridge for the canned food which they eat in the morning - two different special diets. The canned food is easier on Sniff, the cat with the sensitive tummy, though she tolerates moistened dry food later in the day.
Destiny, my tiny, deaf, aged Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, is usually up by now, and I feed her as well. She's on several medications for a failing heart. Her arthritis meds have diminished her appetite so she's slow to eat.
I make myself a cup of coffee and retrieve the newspaper. I walk the dog. Outside is down six flights from our third-floor condo. I generally carry her (I prefer the stairs to the elevator) because of her creaky joints and labored breath, though sometimes she sets off on her own.
Here in South Sudan, there's less urgency in awakening. No dependent pets, (my husband has that duty alone when I am gone) no early morning appointments. I've showered the night before. My hair is usually a wreck, but my vanity has learned to lower its expectations here.
Now lying on my foam mattress under the pale green mosquito net, I listen to the tweets, buzzes, croaks, bleats and bellows. I do the bed exercises suggested to me after my disc surgery. My husband isn't here, so I won't disturb his slumber. Waking up my spine in the early morning helps me feel stronger and more flexible, and it allows more time with my eyes closed to wake slowly, something to which I am unaccustomed.
What I miss most about my early mornings inhum Fargo is the coffee and a small square or two of dark chocolate and the newspaper. Here tea isn't served until around eight. When school started back up last week, after my horror that first day when the girls left for school without tea, the cooks prepared the hot water in a thermos the night before (as they have done in the past, they just forgot!) and place it in our pink geodesic dome. In the morning the girls prepare their sweetened milk tea or drinking chocolate before school. We have no biscuits left, so the milk tea is all they have in their stomachs, which is more than for many children at the school. I expect biscuits will arrive on the next AIM flight.
I'm spoiled by the ease which has marked my life. The two-hour wait for me is an eternity. On previous trips I've brought protein bars and treats to supplement the beans and rice two-meals-a-day diet here, but I honestly forgot, and the few foods I did bring are in the bags that were left behind in Nairobi. I'd like to say my whining for earlier tea was on behalf of all the staff, but it seems they don't feel the deprivation the way I do. I can skip dinner with no problem, but my coffee and oatmeal are sacrosanct. And LUNCH. By noon. Here lunch is at 1:30, or sometimes two.
There's an issue with getting firewood timely and an issue with the length of time it takes to cook beans and rice and other foods from scratch to feed 20 people.
Two nights ago, just before bed, Martha Achol appeared with a tray. On it was a thermos, a cup and spoon, a cup of sugar, tea bags, a can of powdered milk, and a jar of drinking chocolate. I thanked her but told her no, that I was about to go to bed. She insisted and was so sweet, that so as not to disappoint her, I prepared a small cup of hot milk and said she could take the tray. With hesitation, she picked it up, but then gestured to Manyok, our program director. Laughing, he explained, that the tray was for my own tea in the morning and throughout the day, and they will bring it to me each evening.
Heavens. Now I feel as though I'm a complainer. I don't really want special treatment, but I must admit, the last two mornings, it has been a real joy to make myself a cup of tea shortly after six a.m. And then a second. Today (the 23rd) I had a third which wasn't enough to keep me from getting cranky when our first meal was served at two.
Sometimes they make special food for me as well--chicken or rice instead of ugali. I share the extra and tell Manyok that I can eat what they are eating. I don't love ugali, but I can eat it. It's bland but not horrible. Mudfish is where I dry the line.
Like most Americans reading this, I was raised with more food available than was required, more frequently than I was hungry. Uncountable varieties of many different types of food - meats, legumes, vegetables, starches, seasonings and sweets. And flavors - sweet, sour, salty, bitter and umami, the sense of --- on the tongue.
Our staff and our girls have experienced malnutrition, and some have nearly starved. Some have developed ulcers from the abuse their digestive systems have suffered. They are happy and grateful for any meal that comes their way and eat thankfully and heartily whether it is one meal put in front of them or three (which would be very unusual).
It makes me feel a little small, but I'm glad I haven't had to cope with actual hunger. I'm embarrassed that my lowered blood sugar makes me lethargic and cranky.
Humbled here in Duk Payuel.
Showing posts with label ASAH School for Orphan Girls. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ASAH School for Orphan Girls. Show all posts
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Friday, June 22, 2012
Seeking Sunrise and Sunset
June 21, 2012
It shouldn't be that hard to see the sun rise and set in a place where the rising happens after six am and the setting happens around seven pm. When I used to stay at the JDF Lost Boys clinic, the rising sun greeted me through my huge tent windows. I used to cover my eyes to stay in that dreamy just-awakened state. Soon the unzipping and zipping of tent doors, the creak and clang of the supply container doors, and the voices of the other early risers announced the day. At dusk, the expansive view to the west offered a gorgeous sunset except when the overcast sky obscured it.
I've been at the ASAH School compound for 11 days, and today was the first time I witnessed either. I've been meaning to rise early enough to catch the rising sun, but my tukul is dark dark dark, and though the light peeks through the two tiny windows, it isn't enough to rouse me, and there is no colorful view to entice me from my bed. I am generally wakeful early mornings, but I haven't been willing to brave the early a.m. mosquitos. Until today.
I jumped up at the first hint of light, grabbed the videocamera, and found I had to walk all the way to our garden to see the sun rise. Our housing area is completely surrounded by trees which makes for lovely shade - a comfortable respite from the often-blazing sun, but it also blocks the view. Today's sunrise was unspectacular for Africa. It can do better. So I'll take another shot tomorrow.
The sunset, however, did not disappoint, though I had to walk to our volleyball court which is near our temporary kitchen, the security guard's tukul, and the gate to see it. Still, that meant viewing through the fence, and I wanted a picturesque "framed by trees" view. Through the gate just ahead to a spot where a couple of palms, one silhouetted in the foreground, one in the middle ground, shaped color around the gorgeous flaming orange ball as it sunk into the horizon.
It shouldn't be that hard to see the sun rise and set in a place where the rising happens after six am and the setting happens around seven pm. When I used to stay at the JDF Lost Boys clinic, the rising sun greeted me through my huge tent windows. I used to cover my eyes to stay in that dreamy just-awakened state. Soon the unzipping and zipping of tent doors, the creak and clang of the supply container doors, and the voices of the other early risers announced the day. At dusk, the expansive view to the west offered a gorgeous sunset except when the overcast sky obscured it.
I've been at the ASAH School compound for 11 days, and today was the first time I witnessed either. I've been meaning to rise early enough to catch the rising sun, but my tukul is dark dark dark, and though the light peeks through the two tiny windows, it isn't enough to rouse me, and there is no colorful view to entice me from my bed. I am generally wakeful early mornings, but I haven't been willing to brave the early a.m. mosquitos. Until today.
I jumped up at the first hint of light, grabbed the videocamera, and found I had to walk all the way to our garden to see the sun rise. Our housing area is completely surrounded by trees which makes for lovely shade - a comfortable respite from the often-blazing sun, but it also blocks the view. Today's sunrise was unspectacular for Africa. It can do better. So I'll take another shot tomorrow.
The sunset, however, did not disappoint, though I had to walk to our volleyball court which is near our temporary kitchen, the security guard's tukul, and the gate to see it. Still, that meant viewing through the fence, and I wanted a picturesque "framed by trees" view. Through the gate just ahead to a spot where a couple of palms, one silhouetted in the foreground, one in the middle ground, shaped color around the gorgeous flaming orange ball as it sunk into the horizon.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
I Thought the Bats had Deserted Us
June 19, 2012
In March, after dusk, they swooped in and out of our tukuls, all stealth and speed, eating the bugs before they could get us. It was easy to see they knew what they were doing, their radar never wrong. When I used to stay on the JDF Lost Boys Clinic compound, the bats darted around us as we sat outside the dining room. The wind whistled beneath their wings.
But now, in June, at the ASAH School, the bats aren't so prevalent, though we have plenty of flying bugs for them to eat. Last night, my door open, the light out except for my computer screen, a lone bat visited, like old times. I almost hated to close the door.
I'm beginning to like the cocoon. The net over my bed is a filmy pale green with a pale pink tie. Now that I've figured out how to drape it so I can sit up and read, or type on this IPad which lights the net in an eerie manner, I'm quite comfy.
Catching up on business: our 5000 L water tank which arrived from Uganda a year ago with a large puncture - in the shape of a thumb and forefinger sized "7," was repaired on set up on its platform last fall. The repairs held for a while, then failed. Zablone and his assistant "Toy" (that probably isn't the correct spelling - they're both Kenyan - few Sudanese have skills in plumbing, electrical, building, etc.) have repaired it repeatedly with epoxy and pieces of plastic. They empty the tank. Toy climbs inside, Zablone on the outside.
When I arrived this June, the tank was leaking badly, requiring refilling twice a day instead of every three days with the normal use - twelve girls, five staff, and myself living onsite. They fixed it again. Now we are waiting to see if we can use a loaner - an asset left behind by another NGO. It's final resting place is in dispute, the county government having "seized," though not taken possession of these assets. By rights, they should go to the JDF clinic. If all turns out all right, they'll loan us the tank until we can get a new one after the rainy season, or find a more permanent type of repair.
On the Maintenance To Do list for the compound:
1. Tukul repair: Taking down the lovely fabric lining the walls and ceilings, knocking off the termite soil. Painting the wood with anti-termite solution. Replastering the adobe inside and out where it has been damaged by rain or just plain use. Sometimes it simply falls off in chunks. Replacing the fabric on the walls and ceilings. Touching up the white and blue paint on the outside of the tukuls.
2. Adding a door to the iron sheet storage building that was added to our temporary iron sheet kitchen.
3. Adding a concrete apron around the new two room building, which includes one room for accommodation and one room for the office. Tiling the office floor with the tile leftover from the toilets and showers. Finishing the windows. Staining the mahogany doors.
4. Putting new plumbing parts on some of our fixtures. Some of the parts we installed originally were procured by an "experienced" logistics guy who worked for IRD, the NGO that is now gone. The parts are low quality and aren't holding up well.
5. Continuing to develop our large garden where we are raising greens, ground nuts, maize, watermelon, okra, beans, and other goodies.
6. Our new tailor, just hired, will get our sewing machines running and start teaching the girls to mend, sew, and tailor clothing.
7. Figure a way to keep, Chill, our gazelle, initially raised by Andrew and Miriam Mara, and now devoted to our matron, Daruka, out of the garden. She's particularly fond of the groundnuts (peanuts).
Stuff I've been doing with the girls at night:
1. Showing them ASAH videos on my computer. They love to see themselves.
2. Making and showing slideshows of the pictures I've taken of them since I arrived, of my family, and such. There will be more slideshows to come. I've pictures from all my visits going back to 2007. I've identified some of our girls in those pictures from five years ago, when they were pretty little.
3. Fetching a magnifying makeup mirror so that Martha Ayen could get the bug out of her eye, and being treated to giggles, guffaws, and chortles, as they moved their heads from side to side, and around, drawing the mirror in close and pushing it away. It was a hot potato in their hands and made the trip around the twelve of them five or six times in fifteen minutes.
It rained during the day, and in the evening, I swear the frogs were calling out "Globe Hold," not that that means anything, but it sounded very clear, deep and low but enunciated.
In March, after dusk, they swooped in and out of our tukuls, all stealth and speed, eating the bugs before they could get us. It was easy to see they knew what they were doing, their radar never wrong. When I used to stay on the JDF Lost Boys Clinic compound, the bats darted around us as we sat outside the dining room. The wind whistled beneath their wings.
But now, in June, at the ASAH School, the bats aren't so prevalent, though we have plenty of flying bugs for them to eat. Last night, my door open, the light out except for my computer screen, a lone bat visited, like old times. I almost hated to close the door.
I'm beginning to like the cocoon. The net over my bed is a filmy pale green with a pale pink tie. Now that I've figured out how to drape it so I can sit up and read, or type on this IPad which lights the net in an eerie manner, I'm quite comfy.
Catching up on business: our 5000 L water tank which arrived from Uganda a year ago with a large puncture - in the shape of a thumb and forefinger sized "7," was repaired on set up on its platform last fall. The repairs held for a while, then failed. Zablone and his assistant "Toy" (that probably isn't the correct spelling - they're both Kenyan - few Sudanese have skills in plumbing, electrical, building, etc.) have repaired it repeatedly with epoxy and pieces of plastic. They empty the tank. Toy climbs inside, Zablone on the outside.
When I arrived this June, the tank was leaking badly, requiring refilling twice a day instead of every three days with the normal use - twelve girls, five staff, and myself living onsite. They fixed it again. Now we are waiting to see if we can use a loaner - an asset left behind by another NGO. It's final resting place is in dispute, the county government having "seized," though not taken possession of these assets. By rights, they should go to the JDF clinic. If all turns out all right, they'll loan us the tank until we can get a new one after the rainy season, or find a more permanent type of repair.
On the Maintenance To Do list for the compound:
1. Tukul repair: Taking down the lovely fabric lining the walls and ceilings, knocking off the termite soil. Painting the wood with anti-termite solution. Replastering the adobe inside and out where it has been damaged by rain or just plain use. Sometimes it simply falls off in chunks. Replacing the fabric on the walls and ceilings. Touching up the white and blue paint on the outside of the tukuls.
2. Adding a door to the iron sheet storage building that was added to our temporary iron sheet kitchen.
3. Adding a concrete apron around the new two room building, which includes one room for accommodation and one room for the office. Tiling the office floor with the tile leftover from the toilets and showers. Finishing the windows. Staining the mahogany doors.
4. Putting new plumbing parts on some of our fixtures. Some of the parts we installed originally were procured by an "experienced" logistics guy who worked for IRD, the NGO that is now gone. The parts are low quality and aren't holding up well.
5. Continuing to develop our large garden where we are raising greens, ground nuts, maize, watermelon, okra, beans, and other goodies.
6. Our new tailor, just hired, will get our sewing machines running and start teaching the girls to mend, sew, and tailor clothing.
7. Figure a way to keep, Chill, our gazelle, initially raised by Andrew and Miriam Mara, and now devoted to our matron, Daruka, out of the garden. She's particularly fond of the groundnuts (peanuts).
Stuff I've been doing with the girls at night:
1. Showing them ASAH videos on my computer. They love to see themselves.
2. Making and showing slideshows of the pictures I've taken of them since I arrived, of my family, and such. There will be more slideshows to come. I've pictures from all my visits going back to 2007. I've identified some of our girls in those pictures from five years ago, when they were pretty little.
3. Fetching a magnifying makeup mirror so that Martha Ayen could get the bug out of her eye, and being treated to giggles, guffaws, and chortles, as they moved their heads from side to side, and around, drawing the mirror in close and pushing it away. It was a hot potato in their hands and made the trip around the twelve of them five or six times in fifteen minutes.
It rained during the day, and in the evening, I swear the frogs were calling out "Globe Hold," not that that means anything, but it sounded very clear, deep and low but enunciated.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Day of Rest
Sunday mornings are busy at ASAH. The girls are up early, fussing, and giggling, and singing and getting ready to go to prayers at the Episcopalian Church, the only church in the village. The church is an enormous tukul. Several hundred people can easily fit inside. Massive metal columns hold the tremendous thatched roof that reaches 20' (or more?) at the center.
Congregants bring their own chairs. The girls carried a few with them. Two or more will crowd into one plastic chair, their tiny thin bottoms don't take up much space. Prayers begin at eight and go until 10. I attend sometimes, but usually not for the full service. It's all in Dinka, and even the hymns are unfamiliar in both word and tune. But it's wonderful to experience the fellowship. I'm warmly welcomed, and often led to the front to sit on the platform with the pastors and elders and lay leaders, usually next to Gideon, the oldest member of the village - more than ninety years old now. He's walks with but is healthy. Had more than 40 children with four or five wives. More than 20 survived the war, but a good number did not.
But this was no day of rest for me. Manyok and I had work to do: updating job descriptions, policies and procedures for staff. Though I will be here more than two weeks, the time flies.
When the girls returned it was time for compound cleanup, which Daruka organized at my request. Skinny little Debra Akon, age 12, manned a wheelbarrow and the gaggle of ASAH girls with Daruka leading combed the compound for discarded soap boxes, toilet paper wrappers, old cement bags, random pieces of wire, palm fronds, broken branches, bits of plastic detritus. Four wheelbarrow loads full. The old garbage pit was flooded, so we started a new one, and set the trash ablaze. The air was calm. The flames crackled and the smoke licked the air above.
Much of Africa has been civilized quickly to a modern throw-away culture without the infrastructure and education to deal with the garbage culture now produces. And even when things are used many times in many ways, beyond the life we might give it in the US, it may one day just be left to die on the ground somewhere the little bit of life it has left may take centuries to expire.
I've walked on paths in Kiberra slum in Kenya that are built of trash. People set up shop on ground that has give to it when you walk. Layers upon layers of plastic bags and discarded clothing, paper, food and packaging.
How do we keep that from happening here? We train our girls and staff not to drop things on the ground and to pick up trash they see instead of leaving it for someone else. We help our girls and staff care about the place they live and work and go to school, to have pride in it, to want to show it off to visitors. And they will teach someone else one day.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Arrival in Duk - Monday June 11
Up at 4:30 am for 5:30 loading of the van with ten pieces of luggage from the Mayfield container. At AIM Air I learned they already had 900 kg from Jeti's purchases on our behalf - food and some building supplies, beds and mattresses - and I had 276 kg with me. The Caravan can carry 1000 kg, and we also had passengers in addition to me: two clinic staff: Lillian, a midwife, and David, a lab technician. Prioritizing: I decided to leave behind the beds and mattresses.They're heavy and bulky. After referring to my content list. I list the contents for each bag or tote as I pack and indicate priority items. From here it's the pilot's decision. We had to leave a container of oil, a bag of potatoes, and a bag of beans to accommodate the luggage for Lillian and David.
Nate is our pilot, a young guy I've flown with before. It took a long time for customs to clear all our bags. We finally got off the ground about 8. Now at 9:20, we are arriving in Eldoret, Kenya to refuel. Then on to Juba, the capitol, where we must go through immigration for our Visas.
We were not able to pull up as close to the airport in Juba as in the past, but we arrived when no other larger planes were on the ground, so there was no wait at immigration. We caught a ride to the terminal and back with one of the airport crew, then $100 a pop for a single entry Visa to Republic of South Sudan. No multi-entry visas available.
The Lost Boys Clinic staff had reported to me that the airstrip was flooded on Friday, but they were working to drain it. Part of a dike had given way. Though it is the rainy season, this is about two months early for the type of flooding they are experiencing.
The strip was nice and clear for our landing, and there was a huge crowd to greet us. Our girls in their red uniforms stood together waving. Many people assisted in unloading our heavy cargo. Most of my bags were 50 + pounds, and we also had 50 kg bags of beans, potatoes and other foodstuffs. The bigger problem was how to get it all to our site. Even if there was a working vehicle in the village, which there is not, the roads are flooded ankle to knee deep - impassable by car.
If you saw our girls heft these huge bags on their heads, some of them walking without even a hand held to steady the bag, you wouldn't believe it. I've seen it many times, but it always amazes me. And they can carry these heavy loads a great distance. The walk to our site from the airstrip takes about 20 minutes through the water. I didn't even have to carry my backpack as it was spirited off my back and onto Akuol's, one of our ASAH girls.
Nate is our pilot, a young guy I've flown with before. It took a long time for customs to clear all our bags. We finally got off the ground about 8. Now at 9:20, we are arriving in Eldoret, Kenya to refuel. Then on to Juba, the capitol, where we must go through immigration for our Visas.
We were not able to pull up as close to the airport in Juba as in the past, but we arrived when no other larger planes were on the ground, so there was no wait at immigration. We caught a ride to the terminal and back with one of the airport crew, then $100 a pop for a single entry Visa to Republic of South Sudan. No multi-entry visas available.
The Lost Boys Clinic staff had reported to me that the airstrip was flooded on Friday, but they were working to drain it. Part of a dike had given way. Though it is the rainy season, this is about two months early for the type of flooding they are experiencing.
The strip was nice and clear for our landing, and there was a huge crowd to greet us. Our girls in their red uniforms stood together waving. Many people assisted in unloading our heavy cargo. Most of my bags were 50 + pounds, and we also had 50 kg bags of beans, potatoes and other foodstuffs. The bigger problem was how to get it all to our site. Even if there was a working vehicle in the village, which there is not, the roads are flooded ankle to knee deep - impassable by car.
If you saw our girls heft these huge bags on their heads, some of them walking without even a hand held to steady the bag, you wouldn't believe it. I've seen it many times, but it always amazes me. And they can carry these heavy loads a great distance. The walk to our site from the airstrip takes about 20 minutes through the water. I didn't even have to carry my backpack as it was spirited off my back and onto Akuol's, one of our ASAH girls.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Throwing Out Best Laid Plans
March 5, 2012
The plan was: Leave Fargo March 1. Arrive Nairobi late evening March 2. Fly with AIM Air to Duk Payuel on the 3rd. Move into the ASAH Boarding School for Orphan Girls and help orient the first twelve ASAH girls into the place they will call home during the school terms. Stay until the 16th and fly with AIM to Juba, where I will stay for a week with Manyok to procure materials and supplies for our compound, and the Maras and Jef will fly JETLINK to Nairobi.
Soon enough it became clear that if we wanted the ASAH girls to move in while we were present, Manyok and I needed to go NOW to Juba to procure the materials to fix the water tower. If you watched our exciting video of the raising of the tower, you know that I left Duk Payuel expecting that very soon we would have functioning toilets and showers. It was not to be. The steel tube platform on top of the tower had been welded with the four -inch side of the 2 X 4 inch tubes laying flat instead of skinny side up, which offers greater strength. When our tank was filled with water, the tubes began to bend. The tank was taken down. It still provides water but is not at a height to provide water pressure to run the toilets and showers.
As it seems to go, as the need arises, opportunity presents itself. IMA World Health, the new medical group that may or may not take over the neighboring NGO compound now being vacated by IRD, had a car traveling to Bor, the capitol of Jonglei state. This is about 125 miles, I believe, though the drive takes five or more hours. I'm not sure that 125 miles is an accurate measurement, but that is what people have told me, and it seems about right. The road conditions are so bad, the vehicle is sometimes traveling at only 10 or 20 km per hour. This is the kind of ride where the handles above the doors and on the dash are held.
When I asked Mike Wagner, former JDF clinic manager, if we could hitch a ride—he said, "Are you willing to sit in the back?" As it turned out, I shared the middle seat with two men, and Manyok sat with the luggage and a Sudanese woman on the bench seats in the back of the Land Cruiser.
During the long and rough ride, I got to know Kon, one of the clinic staff, a little better. He's a quiet guy amongst a lot of boisterous Sudanese at the JDF clinic, so we hadn't talked much in the past.
My other seatmate, Jacob Nuer Deng, who works for IMA World Health in Juba, asked me where I lived in the US. When I said "Fargo," he said, "My sister lives in Fargo." "Who's your sister?" "Sarah Deng." "I KNOW Sarah," I said. "She spoke at our Get Your Panties in a Bunch Lunch in 2011, and she attends Christ the King Lutheran Church in Moorhead which is currently raising money so that we can bring more girls into our program."
You don't know how small the world really is until you meet someone new in South Sudan whose sister lives in your community in the United States—especially when the community is the size of Fargo-Moorhead. Miriam remarked that it's strangely comforting, and I agree.
We had intended to get hotel rooms and fly in the morning, but Kon was planning to get public transport. He was on his way to visit his wife in Juba. We elected to share the cost of a taxi and keep going.
The road from Bor to Juba is longer—about 153 miles, according to a Google search—but somewhat faster at around four hours. Improved in some stretches, undergoing construction in others, but still potholed and difficult to navigate in places. We had to pull over at a bridge near Juba as a convoy of about 100 military vehicles crossed the one-lane bridge. They were part of a deployment of 150,000 soldiers heading to Jonglei state to begin disarming the tribes, to reduce the tribal violence, particularly between the Murle and the Nuer tribes, that has plagued parts of the state since independence, causing deaths and destruction of villages.
The plan was: Leave Fargo March 1. Arrive Nairobi late evening March 2. Fly with AIM Air to Duk Payuel on the 3rd. Move into the ASAH Boarding School for Orphan Girls and help orient the first twelve ASAH girls into the place they will call home during the school terms. Stay until the 16th and fly with AIM to Juba, where I will stay for a week with Manyok to procure materials and supplies for our compound, and the Maras and Jef will fly JETLINK to Nairobi.
Soon enough it became clear that if we wanted the ASAH girls to move in while we were present, Manyok and I needed to go NOW to Juba to procure the materials to fix the water tower. If you watched our exciting video of the raising of the tower, you know that I left Duk Payuel expecting that very soon we would have functioning toilets and showers. It was not to be. The steel tube platform on top of the tower had been welded with the four -inch side of the 2 X 4 inch tubes laying flat instead of skinny side up, which offers greater strength. When our tank was filled with water, the tubes began to bend. The tank was taken down. It still provides water but is not at a height to provide water pressure to run the toilets and showers.
As it seems to go, as the need arises, opportunity presents itself. IMA World Health, the new medical group that may or may not take over the neighboring NGO compound now being vacated by IRD, had a car traveling to Bor, the capitol of Jonglei state. This is about 125 miles, I believe, though the drive takes five or more hours. I'm not sure that 125 miles is an accurate measurement, but that is what people have told me, and it seems about right. The road conditions are so bad, the vehicle is sometimes traveling at only 10 or 20 km per hour. This is the kind of ride where the handles above the doors and on the dash are held.
When I asked Mike Wagner, former JDF clinic manager, if we could hitch a ride—he said, "Are you willing to sit in the back?" As it turned out, I shared the middle seat with two men, and Manyok sat with the luggage and a Sudanese woman on the bench seats in the back of the Land Cruiser.
During the long and rough ride, I got to know Kon, one of the clinic staff, a little better. He's a quiet guy amongst a lot of boisterous Sudanese at the JDF clinic, so we hadn't talked much in the past.
My other seatmate, Jacob Nuer Deng, who works for IMA World Health in Juba, asked me where I lived in the US. When I said "Fargo," he said, "My sister lives in Fargo." "Who's your sister?" "Sarah Deng." "I KNOW Sarah," I said. "She spoke at our Get Your Panties in a Bunch Lunch in 2011, and she attends Christ the King Lutheran Church in Moorhead which is currently raising money so that we can bring more girls into our program."
You don't know how small the world really is until you meet someone new in South Sudan whose sister lives in your community in the United States—especially when the community is the size of Fargo-Moorhead. Miriam remarked that it's strangely comforting, and I agree.
We had intended to get hotel rooms and fly in the morning, but Kon was planning to get public transport. He was on his way to visit his wife in Juba. We elected to share the cost of a taxi and keep going.
The road from Bor to Juba is longer—about 153 miles, according to a Google search—but somewhat faster at around four hours. Improved in some stretches, undergoing construction in others, but still potholed and difficult to navigate in places. We had to pull over at a bridge near Juba as a convoy of about 100 military vehicles crossed the one-lane bridge. They were part of a deployment of 150,000 soldiers heading to Jonglei state to begin disarming the tribes, to reduce the tribal violence, particularly between the Murle and the Nuer tribes, that has plagued parts of the state since independence, causing deaths and destruction of villages.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)