March 4
Our site is difficult to see from the air because of the many trees, which provide shade and beautify our compound. I don't know the names of most of them in English, but some are banyon-type trees. Banyons spread by producing long tendrils from branches that root into the ground creating a network of many trees that are all connected. We have tiny-leafed shade trees that produce a mess of leaves swept daily by the cleaners at the compound, we have broad-leafed trees, and we have a number of palm trees. When we acquired the site in November 2012, I was pleased to see coconuts nested in the palm leaves and had looked forward to being here when the coconuts were ready to eat. When the ASAH girls produced one, I was game to try it, but I've seen coconuts with the husk on—the thick covering before the dark brown "wood" we're accustomed to seeing in the grocery store—and this looked nothing like what I expected.
Up close and peeled, this huge fruit was yellow-brown. No white coconut meat inside. I had a taste and was put off by the stringy texture and the taste. I can't now remember to report on it, only that it wasn't pleasant enough to request a second bite. Josh from the clinic told me these are palm nuts and they produce oil, but I haven't been able to find anything on the Internet that matches what I saw.
Showing posts with label Site. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Site. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
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.
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
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.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
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.
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