June 16, 2012
It's easy to concentrate on the nasty biters and disregard the butterflies. But they share the airspace here. Those I've seen are small and yellow or white. I'll pay attention and see what else I can see. They're dwarfed the moths, of course, Oh, there I go again. Some of the moths are exquisite.
There's been no rain since my arrival and the paths are beginning to dry. That's not to say they're dry. It is still necessary to roll your pant legs or life your skirts, to pull on the awkward gum boots, which aren't always as tall as the water is deep, or to remove your shoes or sandals and walk barefoot through murky water that conceals the bottom which may be sandy and firm, or marshy swampy gooey silty mud. Sometimes the grasses under the water give firmer footing. Sometimes the ruts dug by desperately stuck vehicles can twist an ankle. A road grater and fill would be a blessing.
I prefer walking Sudanese style barefoot through the water with a long slow gait. In reality, my gait is slowed in the heat in South Sudan, but my steps through the water are methodical, careful, anything but the easy stride of the people around me.
The water ranges from warm to very warm, depending on its depth. As a child, I rarely wore shoes at the lakes, no matter the path, though my routes were never flooded. My grandmother was horrified that my feet and those of my sisters would S-P-R-E-A-D without the confines of a sole and uppers. I never saw her bare feet, but my toes are as wide and spread apart as she had feared.
I like the contact with the earth. The mud squeezing between my toes, my step cautious, feeling for the occasional large snail resting at the bottom of the flooded paths. The first few days when the water was deeper and clearer, I waded through schools of tadpoles. If they didn't swim far enough, they may already have dried up and died in these receding streams. In a day or two, the puddles may have evaporated. If it doesn't rain tomorrow, I will wear the dreaded gumboots as the receding water is not very fresh anymore. We share the paths with cattle and goats.
In November of 2010, I arrived in Duk at the end of a bad rainy season to find the paths and many huts flooded. Just like Fargo, some had been diked. Some dikes failed, or the water came too fast. There are no sandbags here. But this year's flooding is months earlier than usual. It's too early to say how the season will go, but some have already lost crops planted a month ago.
Our own garden plot fed okra and kale and spinach and other good things to our girls for two months until it flooded. And now we have a new, higher garden where the maize is nearly two feet tall, groundnuts have sprouted, and the seeds I brought last week are being planted. The old garden will be planted again in the dry season. It's close to our water source, so we can pamper it, a luxury most in this village do not have.
A note for those who know about our badly leaking water tank. Repairs have been completed. Now the leak is a small trickle instead of a gusher. We'll keep repairing it until we receive the anticipated "loaner" tank. After the rainy season, we'll have to get a new one, if anyone is interested in helping us acquire one. The tanks are expensive and so is the transport.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Welcome to Fargo and New York, South Sudan-Style
June 15, 2012
An awesome day. The girls are becoming bolder. More talkative with me. Starting conversations of a sort. In March, I taught them to say "May I come in?" before entering my tukul because they used to just barge in. Now, with due respect, I hear their little voices - some of them have big voices, I must admit. Some are 6' 2," angular and thin like super-models. But mostly quiet, they say, "Mommy, may I come in?" It seems they are all calling me "Mommy" now.
In March I brought many skeins of yarn and crochet hooks. Daruka, our matron, has taught them to crochet. In the afternoons, they pull chairs in a circle and crochet as a group, each with her own choice of yarn and design. I asked, "What color is this?" They didn't know. But soon we learned red, and green, and yellow and blue. And the chair is blue, the ASAH shirts are pink, but they think them red, so I showed them a pink stool, the pink geodesic dome, and then the red yarn, the red beads on the necklace. I'm not sure if they've gotten it yet.
My nature is to set things down and walk away, mindlessly. I've trained myself to pay attention to where I set something--the mental note--it's on the counter. It's in the bathroom. I'm overstimulated here with so many sights, sounds, people. It's constant greetings and my fumbling of the language--kudwal, chirwon, achine kerach--the greeting words, never sure exactly which one is correct. I lose things in my tukul and often spend minutes searching for something that was just in my hand. I set my water bottle down and when I'm thirsty I have nothing to drink.
I told Daruka, if you see my water bottle. . . . It isn't necessary to look because I have another, but if you see it. . . . Soon I hear, "Mommy, may I come in?" It's Achol Majok, our oldest girl. She has my water bottle. Fourteen-year-old Martha Achol brings me highly-sweetened milk tea in the early afternoon, or a Coke, or a sugary powdered drink. I don't even want them, but I drink them obediently. I'm a water girl. At home, it's black coffee in the morning, and after that it's mostly water, or the raw milk Ron Saeger brings to me every two weeks. I love the milk tea here, since it's all there is. When I stayed at the clinic we had biscuits, but our supply is finished here. And I have no chocolate. Usually I bring some treats for myself and to share, but this time I brought only one large bag of peanut M&Ms. The M&Ms withstand the heat, but they are with the cargo still in Nairobi that won't arrive until after I leave. So I appreciate the morning sugar tea.
The girls were pulling down their mosquito nets for the night just after dinner. I fetched the videocamera. "Girls, may I come in?" "Yes, Mommy." They mugged for the camera and posed in their beds, on their beds, in groups, and singly. They began to say, "I am sleeping in my bed." Though some said, "I my sleeping in my bed." Or they hopped into each other's beds, and began to shout to outdo each other, "Two girls my sleeping in my bed." I corrected them and made them repeat and asked them to talk more quietly, but they couldn't help themselves.
Then we went through a series of "Mommy, welcome to Fargo." They initiated this on their own, then pulled me to the next dorm tukul for "Mommy, welcome to New York." They have named their tukuls, and proudly claim the cities. In their experience of life in the village, the refugee camp, or even Bor or Juba, Fargo or New York would be unimagineable.
I started out of my tukul to take a shower about eight, but a gaggle of girls laughed and giggled in and around the shower block. So I retreated. In a while I heard, "Mommy, may I come in?" It was Achol Majok again. "You may come for bathing now." I hadn't known that they saw me.
Tonight I purposely left my soap in the shower. Daruka gave me my own bar when I arrived. I brought a small bottle of body wash. but each evening there has been soap in our lovely shower. Lovely, aside from the bullfrogs and the various insects. No bats in our shower, though. There was only a tiny sliver of soap, so I opened my box and left the soap on the shelf. Akuol was waiting outside wrapped in a towel. Fifteen minutes later, she said, "Mommy, may I come in?" And she handed me my soap, for which I said, 'Thank you very much. I let her stay a bit and watch me flat iron my curly-in-the-humidity hair and touch it to see how hot it was. And then we practiced some colors. And days of the week, which I wrote for her and gave her to share with her dorm-mates.
An awesome day. The girls are becoming bolder. More talkative with me. Starting conversations of a sort. In March, I taught them to say "May I come in?" before entering my tukul because they used to just barge in. Now, with due respect, I hear their little voices - some of them have big voices, I must admit. Some are 6' 2," angular and thin like super-models. But mostly quiet, they say, "Mommy, may I come in?" It seems they are all calling me "Mommy" now.
In March I brought many skeins of yarn and crochet hooks. Daruka, our matron, has taught them to crochet. In the afternoons, they pull chairs in a circle and crochet as a group, each with her own choice of yarn and design. I asked, "What color is this?" They didn't know. But soon we learned red, and green, and yellow and blue. And the chair is blue, the ASAH shirts are pink, but they think them red, so I showed them a pink stool, the pink geodesic dome, and then the red yarn, the red beads on the necklace. I'm not sure if they've gotten it yet.
My nature is to set things down and walk away, mindlessly. I've trained myself to pay attention to where I set something--the mental note--it's on the counter. It's in the bathroom. I'm overstimulated here with so many sights, sounds, people. It's constant greetings and my fumbling of the language--kudwal, chirwon, achine kerach--the greeting words, never sure exactly which one is correct. I lose things in my tukul and often spend minutes searching for something that was just in my hand. I set my water bottle down and when I'm thirsty I have nothing to drink.
I told Daruka, if you see my water bottle. . . . It isn't necessary to look because I have another, but if you see it. . . . Soon I hear, "Mommy, may I come in?" It's Achol Majok, our oldest girl. She has my water bottle. Fourteen-year-old Martha Achol brings me highly-sweetened milk tea in the early afternoon, or a Coke, or a sugary powdered drink. I don't even want them, but I drink them obediently. I'm a water girl. At home, it's black coffee in the morning, and after that it's mostly water, or the raw milk Ron Saeger brings to me every two weeks. I love the milk tea here, since it's all there is. When I stayed at the clinic we had biscuits, but our supply is finished here. And I have no chocolate. Usually I bring some treats for myself and to share, but this time I brought only one large bag of peanut M&Ms. The M&Ms withstand the heat, but they are with the cargo still in Nairobi that won't arrive until after I leave. So I appreciate the morning sugar tea.
The girls were pulling down their mosquito nets for the night just after dinner. I fetched the videocamera. "Girls, may I come in?" "Yes, Mommy." They mugged for the camera and posed in their beds, on their beds, in groups, and singly. They began to say, "I am sleeping in my bed." Though some said, "I my sleeping in my bed." Or they hopped into each other's beds, and began to shout to outdo each other, "Two girls my sleeping in my bed." I corrected them and made them repeat and asked them to talk more quietly, but they couldn't help themselves.
Then we went through a series of "Mommy, welcome to Fargo." They initiated this on their own, then pulled me to the next dorm tukul for "Mommy, welcome to New York." They have named their tukuls, and proudly claim the cities. In their experience of life in the village, the refugee camp, or even Bor or Juba, Fargo or New York would be unimagineable.
I started out of my tukul to take a shower about eight, but a gaggle of girls laughed and giggled in and around the shower block. So I retreated. In a while I heard, "Mommy, may I come in?" It was Achol Majok again. "You may come for bathing now." I hadn't known that they saw me.
Tonight I purposely left my soap in the shower. Daruka gave me my own bar when I arrived. I brought a small bottle of body wash. but each evening there has been soap in our lovely shower. Lovely, aside from the bullfrogs and the various insects. No bats in our shower, though. There was only a tiny sliver of soap, so I opened my box and left the soap on the shelf. Akuol was waiting outside wrapped in a towel. Fifteen minutes later, she said, "Mommy, may I come in?" And she handed me my soap, for which I said, 'Thank you very much. I let her stay a bit and watch me flat iron my curly-in-the-humidity hair and touch it to see how hot it was. And then we practiced some colors. And days of the week, which I wrote for her and gave her to share with her dorm-mates.
Elections of Chiefs
Wednesday, June 13
As part of the effort to reduce conflict between tribes, the Jonglei state government has called for election of the chiefs. Following results of a census, they determined how many people were in each chief's area. From that information, they consolidated some areas and reduced the number of chiefs and the number of sub chiefs. In the past, chiefs have been born to the spot. The elections are to determine who remains in their post and gave the opportunity for others to run for the position. As far as I'm aware, no women ran.
I probably could have watched the process, but I didn't know about it until it was underway. Each voter stands behind the chief of their choice and they are counted by head. Most elections were decided the first day, but one was carried over for a couple days to allow the constituents time to travel for the vote. Most are satisfied with the result, though there is some grumbling among the losers.
As part of the voting process, a group of women went dancing and singing through the community. As they approached our compound, I was told they would pass us by, but they came toward the fence, and we opened the gate. I stood in the middle with my camera and the women rushed past me on both sides. Leek Sam, one of our teachers, had the video camera, so we captured this.
They formed a circle, running, jumping, carrying long sticks or umbrellas and thrusting them up and down. They chanted and some ululated. Someone encouraged me to join them, so I did. Daruka, our matron, was very impressed, that I, a kawaja, would join in, and the women were thrilled. Then the speeches. The head woman spoke and welcomed me and talked of their happiness about the ASAH School. I thanked them and talked about the importance of educating women and protecting girls from forced marriage which elicited cheers.
Later, I learned from Manyok that this visit was a type of entertainment and the women's group would like a contribution. So ASAH and each primary staff person will contribute. The women will typically use the money for something to benefit a large group of women, or to buy goats or a bull and then share a meal with all who contributed. JDF, the election group, and others also add to the kitty.
Thursday, June 15 Solar panels and batteries. Fred, the clinic electrician and technical guy, showed me around their new solar power system. Four panels, four batteries, and all the breakers and systems required to manage the power. The panels are installed on the roof of their new nutrition center, and they have a small mechanical room for the other components. A full system such as theirs runs about $6800 in Nairobi.
When we build our kitchen and dining/classroom compound, we will be getting a solar power system along this line. Our program director, Manyok, would like to have it now to reduce our reliance on the generator and diesel fuel, and allow us to run the lights later into the evening so the girls can study or read. It isn't in the cards today, but I hope we can afford it too.
Eventually we will need our own generator as well. We are relying on the generator at the abandoned compound near us. The NGO that was there until April lost their grant and their is no one to take over management of the site, so the government has taken charge of the assets. The assets are supposed to go to JDF clinic, as the NGO's charge was to provide support to them, but they are currently in dispute. A few of those assets have been given to us, but we are unsure whether we will be allowed to keep them or not: a refrigerator and a television.
As I write this, Chill, our gazelle, is nibbling at the gum boots outside my door. When I called his name he looked up and stared me down. When I looked away he resumed, so I called his name again more sharply. He looked up, then urinated right outside my doorway. Returned to the boots. I called his name, he released his little pellets. I found this disrespectful, so when he bent down again to nibble the boots I got up and walked toward the door. He doesn't let me pet him, so he sidled away. He allows only Daruka, our matron, and Abul, our youngest girl to stroke him. With Daruka he acts like she is an antelope and jumps up slamming his chest against her thigh. It's very funny. He's so tiny he couldn't hurt her. She responds by gently boxing the top of his head and he braces to lock antlers.
As part of the effort to reduce conflict between tribes, the Jonglei state government has called for election of the chiefs. Following results of a census, they determined how many people were in each chief's area. From that information, they consolidated some areas and reduced the number of chiefs and the number of sub chiefs. In the past, chiefs have been born to the spot. The elections are to determine who remains in their post and gave the opportunity for others to run for the position. As far as I'm aware, no women ran.
I probably could have watched the process, but I didn't know about it until it was underway. Each voter stands behind the chief of their choice and they are counted by head. Most elections were decided the first day, but one was carried over for a couple days to allow the constituents time to travel for the vote. Most are satisfied with the result, though there is some grumbling among the losers.
As part of the voting process, a group of women went dancing and singing through the community. As they approached our compound, I was told they would pass us by, but they came toward the fence, and we opened the gate. I stood in the middle with my camera and the women rushed past me on both sides. Leek Sam, one of our teachers, had the video camera, so we captured this.
They formed a circle, running, jumping, carrying long sticks or umbrellas and thrusting them up and down. They chanted and some ululated. Someone encouraged me to join them, so I did. Daruka, our matron, was very impressed, that I, a kawaja, would join in, and the women were thrilled. Then the speeches. The head woman spoke and welcomed me and talked of their happiness about the ASAH School. I thanked them and talked about the importance of educating women and protecting girls from forced marriage which elicited cheers.
Later, I learned from Manyok that this visit was a type of entertainment and the women's group would like a contribution. So ASAH and each primary staff person will contribute. The women will typically use the money for something to benefit a large group of women, or to buy goats or a bull and then share a meal with all who contributed. JDF, the election group, and others also add to the kitty.
Thursday, June 15 Solar panels and batteries. Fred, the clinic electrician and technical guy, showed me around their new solar power system. Four panels, four batteries, and all the breakers and systems required to manage the power. The panels are installed on the roof of their new nutrition center, and they have a small mechanical room for the other components. A full system such as theirs runs about $6800 in Nairobi.
When we build our kitchen and dining/classroom compound, we will be getting a solar power system along this line. Our program director, Manyok, would like to have it now to reduce our reliance on the generator and diesel fuel, and allow us to run the lights later into the evening so the girls can study or read. It isn't in the cards today, but I hope we can afford it too.
Eventually we will need our own generator as well. We are relying on the generator at the abandoned compound near us. The NGO that was there until April lost their grant and their is no one to take over management of the site, so the government has taken charge of the assets. The assets are supposed to go to JDF clinic, as the NGO's charge was to provide support to them, but they are currently in dispute. A few of those assets have been given to us, but we are unsure whether we will be allowed to keep them or not: a refrigerator and a television.
As I write this, Chill, our gazelle, is nibbling at the gum boots outside my door. When I called his name he looked up and stared me down. When I looked away he resumed, so I called his name again more sharply. He looked up, then urinated right outside my doorway. Returned to the boots. I called his name, he released his little pellets. I found this disrespectful, so when he bent down again to nibble the boots I got up and walked toward the door. He doesn't let me pet him, so he sidled away. He allows only Daruka, our matron, and Abul, our youngest girl to stroke him. With Daruka he acts like she is an antelope and jumps up slamming his chest against her thigh. It's very funny. He's so tiny he couldn't hurt her. She responds by gently boxing the top of his head and he braces to lock antlers.
Friday, June 15, 2012
Buzzing and Biting
Fireflies, houseflies, tsetse flies, bullfrogs, cicadas, mosquitos, moths, flying ants, tiny gnats, and crickets. Some make a racket, some bite, some dive bomb. I haven't noticed any locusts, so they must be out of season. The hard-bodied locusts land on your shoulder or in your hair with an audible thump, and the first time it happened I thought a bird had landed on my head.
The tsetse flies were congregating on the ceiling of our pink geodesic dome. We use the dome for serving meals, and it houses the fridge donated to us by a local NGO. The fridge doesn't keep things very cold since we only run the generator for two hours in the evening or to pump water to our water tank.
Since our trip last March, the dome has been moved to a different spot and now sits on a concrete foundation. I know about the insects here, so I had brought a spray bottle with pyrethrum for treating camping gear, mosquito nets and the like. The tsetse flies started to drop after a good spraying of the ceiling yesterday afternoon. There were a few hanging around today, so tomorrow we'll give it another shot. The spray also keeps the flies off the curtains of the tukuls, which makes going in and out much more pleasant.
I have a mosquito net over my bed, but I didn't get it tucked in properly yesterday evening. I've had this trouble in hotel rooms, too. They should give lessons in the art of sleeping under a mosquito net. It's a little creepy to sleep inside a net closed all around you. I feel like I'm going to forget and try to get up and become tangled in the netting like a fish.
Now my ankles are marked by mosquito bites--16 bites on one ankle and 14 on the other. Another 10 dotting my arms and legs. One thigh sports an ugly red welt nearly two inches in diameter with a hard raised center. Day two it blisters and pops. It doesn't hurt, it doesn't itch. I can't find anyone who knows what bites like that, but if I find out, I'm going to give that insect a wide berth. I've had bites like this before both in Kenya and Sudan, both times on my wrist. I showed one of the clinic nurses and he said it was an allergic reaction. i told him I was putting on cortisone cream. He said that was the right treatment.
The tsetse flies were congregating on the ceiling of our pink geodesic dome. We use the dome for serving meals, and it houses the fridge donated to us by a local NGO. The fridge doesn't keep things very cold since we only run the generator for two hours in the evening or to pump water to our water tank.
Since our trip last March, the dome has been moved to a different spot and now sits on a concrete foundation. I know about the insects here, so I had brought a spray bottle with pyrethrum for treating camping gear, mosquito nets and the like. The tsetse flies started to drop after a good spraying of the ceiling yesterday afternoon. There were a few hanging around today, so tomorrow we'll give it another shot. The spray also keeps the flies off the curtains of the tukuls, which makes going in and out much more pleasant.
I have a mosquito net over my bed, but I didn't get it tucked in properly yesterday evening. I've had this trouble in hotel rooms, too. They should give lessons in the art of sleeping under a mosquito net. It's a little creepy to sleep inside a net closed all around you. I feel like I'm going to forget and try to get up and become tangled in the netting like a fish.
Now my ankles are marked by mosquito bites--16 bites on one ankle and 14 on the other. Another 10 dotting my arms and legs. One thigh sports an ugly red welt nearly two inches in diameter with a hard raised center. Day two it blisters and pops. It doesn't hurt, it doesn't itch. I can't find anyone who knows what bites like that, but if I find out, I'm going to give that insect a wide berth. I've had bites like this before both in Kenya and Sudan, both times on my wrist. I showed one of the clinic nurses and he said it was an allergic reaction. i told him I was putting on cortisone cream. He said that was the right treatment.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Arrival in Duk - Monday June 11
Up at 4:30 am for 5:30 loading of the van with ten pieces of luggage from the Mayfield container. At AIM Air I learned they already had 900 kg from Jeti's purchases on our behalf - food and some building supplies, beds and mattresses - and I had 276 kg with me. The Caravan can carry 1000 kg, and we also had passengers in addition to me: two clinic staff: Lillian, a midwife, and David, a lab technician. Prioritizing: I decided to leave behind the beds and mattresses.They're heavy and bulky. After referring to my content list. I list the contents for each bag or tote as I pack and indicate priority items. From here it's the pilot's decision. We had to leave a container of oil, a bag of potatoes, and a bag of beans to accommodate the luggage for Lillian and David.
Nate is our pilot, a young guy I've flown with before. It took a long time for customs to clear all our bags. We finally got off the ground about 8. Now at 9:20, we are arriving in Eldoret, Kenya to refuel. Then on to Juba, the capitol, where we must go through immigration for our Visas.
We were not able to pull up as close to the airport in Juba as in the past, but we arrived when no other larger planes were on the ground, so there was no wait at immigration. We caught a ride to the terminal and back with one of the airport crew, then $100 a pop for a single entry Visa to Republic of South Sudan. No multi-entry visas available.
The Lost Boys Clinic staff had reported to me that the airstrip was flooded on Friday, but they were working to drain it. Part of a dike had given way. Though it is the rainy season, this is about two months early for the type of flooding they are experiencing.
The strip was nice and clear for our landing, and there was a huge crowd to greet us. Our girls in their red uniforms stood together waving. Many people assisted in unloading our heavy cargo. Most of my bags were 50 + pounds, and we also had 50 kg bags of beans, potatoes and other foodstuffs. The bigger problem was how to get it all to our site. Even if there was a working vehicle in the village, which there is not, the roads are flooded ankle to knee deep - impassable by car.
If you saw our girls heft these huge bags on their heads, some of them walking without even a hand held to steady the bag, you wouldn't believe it. I've seen it many times, but it always amazes me. And they can carry these heavy loads a great distance. The walk to our site from the airstrip takes about 20 minutes through the water. I didn't even have to carry my backpack as it was spirited off my back and onto Akuol's, one of our ASAH girls.
Nate is our pilot, a young guy I've flown with before. It took a long time for customs to clear all our bags. We finally got off the ground about 8. Now at 9:20, we are arriving in Eldoret, Kenya to refuel. Then on to Juba, the capitol, where we must go through immigration for our Visas.
We were not able to pull up as close to the airport in Juba as in the past, but we arrived when no other larger planes were on the ground, so there was no wait at immigration. We caught a ride to the terminal and back with one of the airport crew, then $100 a pop for a single entry Visa to Republic of South Sudan. No multi-entry visas available.
The Lost Boys Clinic staff had reported to me that the airstrip was flooded on Friday, but they were working to drain it. Part of a dike had given way. Though it is the rainy season, this is about two months early for the type of flooding they are experiencing.
The strip was nice and clear for our landing, and there was a huge crowd to greet us. Our girls in their red uniforms stood together waving. Many people assisted in unloading our heavy cargo. Most of my bags were 50 + pounds, and we also had 50 kg bags of beans, potatoes and other foodstuffs. The bigger problem was how to get it all to our site. Even if there was a working vehicle in the village, which there is not, the roads are flooded ankle to knee deep - impassable by car.
If you saw our girls heft these huge bags on their heads, some of them walking without even a hand held to steady the bag, you wouldn't believe it. I've seen it many times, but it always amazes me. And they can carry these heavy loads a great distance. The walk to our site from the airstrip takes about 20 minutes through the water. I didn't even have to carry my backpack as it was spirited off my back and onto Akuol's, one of our ASAH girls.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Whirlwind
Saturday June 9
Arrived in Nairobi 6:35 am on Saturday, June 9. Mumias, a driver who first picked me up at AIM Air on my return from Duk in 2010 and has been driving me ever since, picked me up and drove me to Mayfield Guest house, also run by Africa Inland Missions. Nine of ten plastic totes and bags I checked in Fargo made it. The tenth tote arrived Sunday.
I showered and organized my things and then Mumias picked me up and we headed to Nakuru (2 1/2 hour drive) to meet up with Moses and visit the kids in our Kenya program. Moses, the first student who began our program with Joseph Makeer as his sponsor, is now attending college in Eldoret - a two-year civil engineering program. He's our on-the-ground manager, receiving the money we send for tuition and board, clothing, rent and medical care. He pays tuition for ten students at five schools, and reports back to Ron Saeger, our board member in charge of that program, on all expenses and the student's performance in school. He handles medical issues and other matters as well as any parent I've known.
This past year has seen our students suffering from malaria, typhoid, intestinal disorders and ulcers. Most recently, one student has been suffering tremendous pain, breathing problems and so on. This has gone on for months, but he has been regularly misdiagnosed--most recently as appendicitis. Moses finally took John to a teaching hospital in Eldoret where they determined he had a cracked sternum and ribs, an injury suffered playing football (soccer). He was captain of his team and a star player. Rest is recommended, and so he is staying at the apartment in Eldoret and attending a day school temporarily as the regimen at Kabimoi is too strict and won't allow him the recuperation time he needs.
We met up with Moses at Roots Academy. joining the ranks of parents on the monthly visiting day. Five primary students to see here: Sarah, Abraham, James, Simon, and Daniel.
First Daniel appeared from the crowd, a big smile on his face. He looked great--handsome. His skin has cleared from the bumps that had covered it. Moses attributes it to a cream he got for Daniel and Deborah (at Shiner's Girls School - secondary school) who suffered from the same problem.
Sarah waited at the table they had saved. A hug, a shy smile. She introduced me to a girlfriend who was sitting with her. With her was her brother Abraham, who has grown taller.
Moses plays the parental role and brings treats on visiting day. The bananas were smashed in the crush of the matatu ride. There were mangos and a fruit I didn't know. The colorful rigid cake frosting had cracked and slipped off the cake sprinkling the bottom of the package. Soon James appeared, but I didn't see Simon until after we visited the teachers.
First we met Madame Margaret, Daniel's teacher. His performance has improved from 190 to 254 - a tremendous gain after his disappointing first term. He has gone from the bottom student to 2nd to the bottom, so there is still room for improvement. I expect he will succed as his attitude has improved towards school, he is working hard, and he is getting along with all our other students. There is not even an "inch" of a problem, Moses reported.
Sarah is number four in her second grade class. Sarah is fourteen years old and a year ago couldn't read. Now she is the teacher's pet. Abraham is near the top of his class as well. He's at grade level for his age.
James is number four in his class. Simon is near the bottom. Tutoring is not an option for Simon as the class eight regimen has no time available for tutoring.
From Roots we went to Shiners Girls High School, but we were unable to see Deborah as she was taking an exam.
From there we traveled to Pleasant View Academy, which was anything but pleasant, to see Michael. Michael is in a problem of his own making, having left the good public school he was attending, Narok, for this school. He was the only Sudanese at Narok and was unhappy there. Moses had found him another school, but on his own, he chose PV. The school has been a disaster and this year suffered rioting and damage by students rebelling against the decaying infrastructure. It is hard for us in the US to imagine that a school for which you paid tuition, could be so corrupted and insensitive to students and their families.
There are unfinished buildings started four or more years ago. The latrines don't work. The water they use for cooking, drinking, laundry is contaminated. There is no effort put into fixing these things. Enrollment has dropped from 400 to 70. Michael has paid for the full term and is in Form Three. There is little chance of moving him this year. And even for next year, schools do not like to accept new students for Form Four. Yet PV has little chance of opening up again next term. Michael also suffers from ulcers and the school is not giving him the special diet we have paid for.
No chance to visit Kabimoi and see Joseph as it is too far away. Moses had to return to Eldoret for class at his college. John is in Eldoret recovering from his long-misdiagnosed injury--cracked sternum and ribs from football. And attending a day school there until he is well enough to return.
Friday, June 8, 2012
Going with the Flow AKA: Travel Tips
LOVING DELTA
When embarking from Fargo, North Dakota on Delta via Minneapolis and Amsterdam to Nairobi, Kenya for the sixth time in nineteen months with few irregularities, its easy to assume such will always be the case. Especially when the Fargo check-in crew makes tremendous effort on behalf of ASAH and GETTING OUR STUFF there. Apparently from this point, I will have to apply to Customer Service of our many bags of supplies--underwear and sanitary pads to keep girls in two villages in school at puberty plus clothing and supplies for the ASAH School for Orphan Girls, now open in Duk Payuel, my final destination.
TOO MUCH FUEL
Have you ever had a flight delayed because the incoming plane had been overfilled with fuel and had to fly around for an extra hour or so to burn off the load? That's what happened Thursday, June 7 while I sat in the gate area waiting for what I expected to be a non-eventful trip.
REBOOKING
Announcement. Calls to the gate for rebooking. Angry business passengers shouting through the cell lines to the agents on the other end. Deep and heavy sigh for me. At the beginning of a trip I'm all excitement and optimism, but fatigued or anxious, I'm capable of tears and an angry tone myself.
My cell rang and a Delta agent prepared to find another option for me as I would miss my connection in Minneapolis. The option to fly Minneapolis, Detroit, Paris, Nairobi sounded excellent, but the Paris flight was on Kenya airlines, and when I asked about my TEN bags, she said Kenya Air couldn't accommodate them. I needed to stay on Delta/KLM. Some options involved me going home (with all the luggage) and coming back in the morning arriving in Kenya Saturday night, the 9th. This wasn't a great option since my plan was to travel to Nakuru on Saturday to meet up with Moses, one of our Sudanese orphans in the Kenya Kids program. Moses is now in college, and we had plans to attend visiting day at the five primary and secondary schools in Nakuru where the other nine students are enrolled.
THE BEST OF THE TERRIBLE OPTIONS
There are two other Delta flights to Amsterdam--the earlier one was full, the second one would have me missing the connection and put me in Amsterdam for more than 24 hours resulting in having to reclaim and then recheck my bags. In the end I chose to fly to Minneapolis and overnight there. The bags could remain in Delta's custody (involuntary travel change) and I could fly out Friday afternoon on the same flight I was to have taken the day before. This still had me missing visiting day at the schools, but while I was working things out with the agent on the phone, one of the Fargo crew (Kyle and Annie--they're the greatest!) came by and said--what are they doing for you? I gave him the info--he thought he could do better.
As the call concluded, the phone agent told me I had to go back and check-in again for the new ticketing. At check-on, Kyle said he'd gotten me on the 7pm to Amsterdam, which I had been told was full. That turned out to be nearly true--obviously I got a seat, but there would be only a 30 minute window in Amsterdam to go through security and board the flight to Nairobi. Once boarded in the cities, we were delayed 15 minutes, then 30, then 45 though the flight attendant suggested we might make up that time in the air. Which we did. Still, I arrived in Amsterdam just as my Nairobi flight took off.
THE SURE-TO-MISSED MISSED CONNECTION
Rebooked once again, this time leaving at 9 pm Amsterdam time, which is the time I was to have arrived in Nairobi. Now I'll get there at 6:30 Saturday morning which allows me to get to Nakuru to visit the kids, the initial goal.
YOTELING
Though I managed to sleep a few hours on the flight to Amsterdam, I was pretty bone tired upon arrival. And then I saw a sign for Yotel. Tiny pod rooms available by the hour. Four hours for 44 Euros got me room 53, a single comfy bed with clean sheets, down comforter, two pillows, a pull-down table with a fold up camp stool and a tiny shower, sink and toilet area, and an alarm clock to wake me up. Nearly four luxurious hours of laying-flat sleep. Could life be better?
HAND & FOOT PAMPERING
As I write this I'm having a pedicure thinking of the tremendous contrasts in my life, which is mostly privileged. On Monday I will travel to the village of Duk Payuel where I will be sleeping either in a tent or a tukul. It's the rainy season where the temperature can rise to 100 F, or drop to 60. The winds can destroy a tent, life a thatched roof off a hut and pull enormous trees out by the roots. People live a marginal existence where malnutrition borders on starvation for many. I'm not feeling sorry for myself on this journey, but each visit reminds me that life is tenuous for many people on our planet. A pedicure is a luxury, and I'm grateful that my circumstances allow me to participate in the pampering, but my work with ASAH has opened my eyes to existence at its most basic level.
ASAH
School is a luxury for girls. The twelve ASAH girls between the ages of 10 and 17, were all orphaned. The causes are varied. Our selection process includes need, ability, desire to join our program, the guardian's willingness to allow their attendance and agreement to let the girl to finish her education instead of selling her puberty for the cattle dowry.
The girls were selected from across the village so that no single chief (there are several in Duk Payuel) is shown favoritism.
On this trip, we hope to add four additional girls from two neighboring villages. Follow the blog for updates. I promise no more news of pedicures or flight announcements.
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