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.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
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.
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