Juba and Bor, Southern Sudan

March 21-24, 2011

On Monday the 21st, we flew to Juba, the capitol of Southern Sudan, without a visa for Jef. A friendly Jetlink agent helped us to find a contact to expedite our visa, only to learn that the only individual who issues visas had been out sick for a week and no one knew when he was expected back. Joseph Akol Makeer arranged for a GOSS representative to meet us at the airport in Juba to help Jef through customs there. My visa was still valid since my November visit.

Joseph, Kenneth Masunga, Jef Foss and I had dinner at the Oasis—a paradise-type restaurant on the Nile specializing in Indian food. Delicious Naan. We stayed at the Olympic hotel for $100 a night—wireless Internet in the rooms, toilet and cold shower, plus breakfast. When Jef and Ron Saeger were here two years ago, they spent $200 a night for a tent with no amenities.

The next morning we left with Joseph for Bor, the capitol of Jonglei State. Joseph is working for GOSS in a public relations and communications arena—a group of about 75 Lost Boys and girls from across Southern Sudan who have returned from the US, Australia, and other countries to help their homeland.

Our goal was to meet with NGOs who might provide aid for our boarding project for orphans in Duk Payuel. Our first visit, to UNHCR, resulted in a tip about an interagency meeting taking place the next morning at the governor's office.

Our hotel in Bor, the Freedom Hotel, offered three meals a day plus slow and sometimes offline Internet in the restaurant—which was always packed with NGO folks and computers. Talking on Skype to my husband, we were interrupted by various groups—he said, "This place must be some kind of NGO heaven."We met a couple guys from Platteville Wisconsin who were hoping to build a school near Bor. Some of the IRD (International Relief Development) team from Duk Payuel were also there, and we made plans to caravan with them to the village the following day.

Wednesday, the 23rd, we stopped at World Food Programme and learned how we might qualify for food aid for our program—which requires fairly permanent buildings and other amenities in place—kitchen, latrines, etc. Each person we met along the way gave us suggestions about what other groups might lend us a hand through aid or guidance of some type.

From there we headed to the inter-agency meeting, only to have the car break down a few "blocks" from a garage. Joseph caught a ride on a passing motorbike and several guys from the garage came to push the car with me steering. We left the car and a garage employee took us to the meeting. We were now 45 minutes late, but being that "This is Africa," the meeting didn't start until the governor, Kuol Manyang, arrived, 15 minutes after we did. There were about 30 people, including us, seated at long tables. Each seat had a mic, a water, and a soda. Joseph sat in the back with other visitors. The meeting lasted about 2 ½ hours with the ministers of each department in the state reporting on everything from health, to education, to cattle raiding, to physical infrastructure, and more. At the end, Joseph stood and introduced Jef and me. I was pleased to be able to tell the group about ASAH and to tell the governor that his daughter and her husband, who live in Fargo, were friends of mine. We made several contacts at this meeting who will be helpful to us in the future.

The day was long, and we made plans to leave for Duk at 7 the next morning in the caravan. But This is Africa. IRD (International Relief Development) had some shopping to do at the market (fresh vegetables, which they treated us to later that evening) and said to meet them on the main street around 9. Somehow, our driver decided NOT to drive to Duk Payuel, so IRD went on alone, and we headed out with Joseph and a new driver later that morning. Gabche, a Kenyan with IRD, gave us one of their SAT phones to carry in case of problems. What kind of problems? Well, in a three hour period on a recently built but still very rough road, we passed a couple of burned out vehicles, stopped to help a stalled vehicle get started, and passed two lorries going our way. That's it. For those of you who know I had cervical disk surgery recently—I held on to the dash handle, wore my soft collar, and sat in the front seat while Jef and Joseph bounced around the bench seats in back of the Land Cruiser. What made the road travel worth every bump were the thousands of antelope—Kob and Topi, we passed on our way, plus ostriches to boot. You can find pics on our Facebook page. http://www.facebook.com/pages/African-Soul-American-Heart/48997754057

Joseph left us off at the Lost Boys Clinic in Duk. We set up a camping tent for Jef near the containers where the ground was smooth. I'm staying in the tent of the project manager, Tom Dannon, tent as he is gone to Juba for procurement with the clinic manager, Joh Deng. Tom has offered to stay in my camping tent upon his return and let me remain in his tent which has actual beds. A true gentleman.

2011 Travel to Southern Sudan

I'm in Nairobi. Arrived at Mayfield Guesthouse with Jef Foss, ASAH board member and architect. The trip started out a little rocky at the Fargo airport when I reached in my travel wallet money pouch and handed the agent my passport. She said this, "This isn't a passport." Incredulous, I examined it more closely. It was a small black paper Moleskin journal. It resembled my passport in size and heft, and my yellow fever vaccination certificate stuck out beyond the edges. I couldn't believe it. I'd packed it weeks ago and just that morning, peeked in the wallet to ensure myself of its presence. When Norm asked, "Do you have your passport," I lifted the wallet around my neck and said, "Got it right here!" I had peeked inside earlier and was rewarded with the frayed yellow edges I saw. Frayed because I'd traveled with it last fall.

As I searched through every nook and cranny, Norm helping, Jef remained as calm as the Delta agent who, as have others in the past, allowed us extra free checked bags for our humanitarian work (thanks Delta). Both Jef and the agent were "confident" I'd find it. Then, my memory flashed to the file I keep marked "Travel Africa." I envisioned that faux passport with the yellow edges, saw myself selecting it and putting it in my packing pile without close examination. And searching my brain I found NO recollection of opening the safe in our storage room, the safe where we keep important infrequently-accessed things like passports. So Norm and I raced to the car as I gave thanks that we lived downtown only a short drive from the airport and that I'd told Jef to meet me at the airport a full 2 1/2 hours before flight time--never mind that he was on time and I was late.

What happens if you don't find your passport? You don't leave the country. The fact that I'm writing from Nairobi tells you I found the little book with the replacement yellow fever certificate Cass Public Health had given me last November when I couldn't find mine. Hadn't remembered I had a "Travel Africa" file from the 2007 trip.

We settled into Mayfield Guesthouse after closing hours. The security guard gave us our keys and suggested we whisper so as not to wake the other guests. Mayfield is owned Africa Inland Missions along with AIM Air, who will transport our cargo and pick us up in Bor, Sudan to take us to the village. They cater to missionaries and folks like us doing humanitarian work. The rooms are comfortable and clean, toilets and showers down the hall. Sink in the room. They serve 3 meals with the cost of the room, but you have to tell them if you'll be there to eat. And meals are prompt. When the bell rings, you move to the dining room, take a seat for the family-style service, followed by prayer and comforting homemade food. At breakfast we sat with a family who have been working as missionaries in Kenya for 17 years, their daughter now visiting from college in London. At dinner, we sat with a young woman from Madison, Wisconsin who works as a consultant for the state government, smack dab in the midst of the fiscal brouhaha. She's here for a wedding, so I'm not sure how she learned about Mayfield. There was a young English couple, but I didn't talk with them much because I sat next to an 82-year-old man who was President of World Vision in the 80's. He built the enormous Baptist church near Mayfield and all the buildings around it. And in April returns to the pulpit there for a period. He's a Scot educated at Harvard. As sharp as the cliched tack.

But, before dinner, we had intentions of hopping a flight to Juba, the capital of Southern Sudan. In fact, we'd bought our tickets before we left the airport upon arrival. When we went to check in, they wouldn't let Jef board because he didn't have a Visa. Silly me. I thought it was like to old Southern Sudan where they were almost optional. On my last trip, AIM got me my visa, and originally we were going to fly in with them, but our plans had changed, and I figured we could get the visa on arrival, the way you do in Kenya. The agent rewrote out tickets for Monday and we left.

Before we returned to Mayfield, we stopped at the local hospital because Mumias, the driver I used on my last trip, was feeling ill. Don't worry, he wasn't driving. We all rode with his friend Patrick as the day before our arrival, Mumias was rear-ended so hard his car was pushed into the car in front of him. This is a disaster for a driver, and though insured, the cost to pay the adjuster to survey the damage would equal or exceed the cost to fix the car, which he figures will be about $300, a small fortune. This body work would be thousands in the US, but we visited the car shop and the work is pretty much four guys in white coats with wrenches, crowbars, and paintbrushes.

In the morning, we'll go to Kenya National Bank to try to open an account--they have locations in Southern Sudan as well, but you're advised to count your money yourself in front of the teller before exiting. And we will deposit the cost for the GOSS visa and get a receipt--the airport agent gave Jef a contact name there. Take the receipt to the GOSS office--these are all close to Mayfield--and then return to the airport to fly to Juba. So far we don't have a hotel, but there's a chance Joseph will meet us there, along with Kenneth, Jef's Sudanese friend from Fargo, OR we'll call Jeremy Groce's colleague John who Jef sat next to all the way from Amsterdam to Nairobi. Jeremy is our board member who worked six years in Kenya and Sudan, starting Sudan Radio Services, the first station to broadcast into Southern Sudan after the war. They broadcast 10 different languages.

BTW, Mumias doesn't have malaria, his first fear, or any other bad disease. The doc thinks it may be stress, but there's no rest for the weary. Tomorrow, he has to see if our geodesic dome gets through customs, where it's been held up. Pacific Domes is helping too. It has to get to AIM to travel with the rest of our cargo on the 24th.

I've found these things tend to work out, though not always the way you expect.

ARRIVAL in the US December 15

December 18, 2010

The world of international air travel is straightforward and mysterious at the same time. I'm accustomed to lugging baggage from one place to another, a process somewhat more laborious returning from Africa than traveling from the US. First, lift the bags to travel along the belt to be scanned for contraband, then drag them to the weigh station and sigh gratefully when they're marked acceptable. Drag them to the line and show your documents—passport and ticket. Pull them, stopping and starting to reach the check in counter. Show your ticket and passport once again. And then, if you're determined to upgrade to a better seat, step behind the counter and queue at the door to the office of the single agent assigned to this task. He will not look up at the waiting passengers. He will stare at his computer until he is finished, focused on the task at hand. I'm a little irritated when an airline agent brings a passenger in front of me, and I must wait. It didn't take long, but he didn't solve the passenger's problem—no seat assignment. If you travel on KLM from Nairobi to Amsterdam, there is an economy comfort class. It was worth the upgrade fee to me. I am suffering from three prolapsed discs—one quite severe—causing two fingers in my right hand to tingle continually, exacerbated by moving my arm forward, typing on the computer, hanging my head forward—my discomfort is relieved slightly by soldier-at-attention posture—shoulders back, head upright, and by minding the way I move that arm. The seating was great—more legroom, more recline, wider seats, and a dark cabin which made sleeping much easier. My travel companion in Kenya, board member Ron Saeger, kept his regular seat, where they left the lights on, and he was disturbed by an unruly and noisy child, undisciplined by the parents throughout the flight.

Arriving in Fargo was a shock to the system after six weeks in African weather—the heat and humidity of Duk Payuel, the warmth of Nairobi coupled with cool nights, occasional rain, and the similarly delightful weather in Eldoret and Nakuru. Blog posts from these adventures will begin to flow in days to come. There was little access to Internet much of the time in Kenya, and Ron and I were busy busy busy with our eight boarding school kids.

My first night home was restless in spite of the 24 hours of traveling. The nine-hour time difference had me drowsy during the day, and I fell asleep at 9 pm. At one, I awoke—sure that I'd accidentally changed the clock. My body clock felt like 10 am. I forced myself to sleep—woke at 2, woke at 3. Got up at 3:30. Had coffee. Read a book because the newspaper hadn't yet arrived. The pets wanted to get up with me, so I fed them. Took Destiny, my aging Cavalier King Charles spaniel out at 5 am.

I live in downtown Fargo, in a condo. Despite her age and failing heart, Destiny followed me down six flights to the side door, and shot outside scattering the pristine snow that had fallen during the night. The streets were clear, the snow pushed up on curbs and into tremendous mounds in parking areas and at corners. Destiny bounced along through the chest-deep powder, my boots crunching alongside her. The air was crisp and so cool and clean in my nostrils, which were assaulted for weeks by the reddish silt that blows through the Kenyan streets, the black diesel smoke that billows from buses and trucks and matatus.

It's a pleasure to be home. I'll be with my family for Christmas, and that's a blessing for sure. But my work in Sudan and Kenya is unfinished. I'll be returning in March.

Day 13 in Duk Payuel

Monday November 22

This was a day of strolling through water. From the clinic to the school; from the school to the village center; from the village center to the boarding school land; from the land back to the school; then back to the clinic.

First I sat in on a sanitation meeting with chiefs, elders, and IRD staff. The long-standing flood has aggravated sanitation problems in the village. Cattle are unable to graze the flooded land, so they're restricted to the home compounds. Their waste is gathered, picked up or swept into piles, laid in the sun to dry, and used as fertilizer. The large numbers of cattle in the village facilitate the collection process but aggravate the waste in the village and contaminate the flooded paths and ponds. The fact that there aren't many products available in the village to buy cuts down on trash, but what trash there is litters some areas. In direct view of our meeting place was a stagnant, algae-covered pond dotted with plastic bottles and cans. Another problem is human waste. There are no latrines in the village other than those at the Lost Boys clinic and the IRD compound. And some families allow their children to defecate in the yards of their neighbors and don't clean up after them, which enrages everyone, but there are no consequences.

With IRD's help, the chiefs and administrators will set standards for individuals and families regarding sanitation issues. But how to insure compliance? The chiefs want to fine villagers who don't comply. IRD staff were concerned that the suggested fines were too high, that people in the village would have no ability to pay, but the chiefs couldn't be swayed. Future solutions—a group is coming to the village in a few months to build 100 latrines. When the flooding subsides, the men will return the cattle to cattle camps.

After the meeting I accompanied Judith and the other female staff member for a meeting with village women on health and hygiene. Somehow, the communications had been confused and the women didn't come, so I missed out on this important meeting.

I'm leaving on the 24^th. It's the only day that AIM Air can pick me and the other two passengers up and leave off clinic supplies—including powdered milk for Lashes. Now my dilemma was to teach someone to feed her so that I wouldn't worry she'd starve after I left. Ever since I began caring for Lashes, I'd asked staff what would happen when I left. I was assured she would be taken care of, but I wanted someone to be in charge. Chol, one of the younger staff who works around the compound—cutting grass with a machete, for instance—was interested. So we began.

Lashes wanted nothing to do with Chol. She had begun to feed from the syringe with gusto. The battle Lashes had once put up when I gently forced her mouth open (she had no back teeth, so I got good leverage poking my finger into the side of her mouth) was now a messy, eager, can't-get-enough-milk-fast-enough fest. The syringe held only 10 ml, and she was now drinking 500 to 700 ml total, split into three times a day. Initially I fed her on my lap. Folded, her long legs became a small package, and I could support her head easily this way. She rubbed her milky mouth all over my arm and chest, sniffing me and licking me. I walked around in dirty shirts each day and had to wash myself and her milky snout after each feeding. As she got more accustomed to the syringe, she began to object to sitting on my lap. I have a long red scratch from her sharp hooves when she jumped up suddenly and slipped across my thigh.

Finally, she was eager enough for the milk she would stand near me and drink without me holding her body or her head. However, each time I withdrew the syringe she head butted my legs, slipping under my skirt, looking for a teat. The constant head-butting made it hard for me to fill the syringe and caused the staff to laugh.

Chol and I sat we sat next to each other outside the clinic dining hall—Lashes likes to be inside the dining room as well as outside—that could be a problem when she is full grown. I gave him the syringe, but I had to sit right next to him, my arm gently guiding her head toward the syringe, away from me. If I moved, she followed. If my hand wasn't near his, she wouldn't drink. Eventually, she turned her head toward Chol for the milk, but spent the syringe-refill time head butting me.

I am writing this from Eldoret, Kenya on Wednesday, December 8, which shows how far behind I am on posting. Bad Internet connections at hotels. Or Internet that is off for three days in a row. Plus too busy with the boarding school kids to recap our days. However, I have had Facebook chats and emails from staff assuring me that Lashes has adapted to the loss of her second mother, after the first day of rejecting milk most of the day. She's friendly with all the staff but accepts milk only from Chol. And she still pees on people if they lift her off the ground. It happened a few times to me, so I learned to hold her away from my body. I guess she gives a clear message about how she feels about being picked up.

One of my friends asked if I had separation anxiety from my little antelope, and another reminded me of Lulu, the baby gazelle in "Out of Africa." I read the book recently but hadn't remembered that. Here's a passage:

"She drank the milk with a polite, pernickety mien, as if she had been pressed by an overkind hostess. . . . When Lulu grew up and stood in the flower of her young loveliness she was a slim delicately rounded doe, from her nose to her toes unbelievably beautiful. She looked like a minutely painted illustration to Heine’s song of the wise and gentle gazelles by the flow of the river Ganges."

Lashes is like that too, but my description not as vivid and beautiful.

Day 12 in Duk Payuel

Sunday, November 21

CHURCH
Whirlwind. Though I'm not usually at a loss for words, I've been consumed with activity and had little time or energy to compose my thoughts. Thus, I'm scrutinizing scribbles of memories, some of which are no longer time-related, though that likely matters more to me than to you. So for these narratives, you'll have to make due with memories recalled on December 4, the first day I've had time at a computer to sit and write coupled with intermittent Internet access. Also, I have an injury that's interfered. Mid-way through my days in the village, two fingers on my right hand started to tingle and go numb when I sat at the computer. This situation grew continually worse with the long flight to Loki and Nairobi.

Sunday afternoon. Tom Dannon and I trekked through the water for the last hour of the church service on Sunday afternoon. Church goes on for hours, and the preaching is in Dinka, so it isn't as though I know exactly what's going on. Other than that, it's not unlike any Christian church, preaching, read singing, drumming, and various speakers announcing one thing or another.

The church is an enormous mud and thatched hut, with very little light entering through the doors. The ceiling is high above and a miracle of construction to be built without any modern equipment. Seating is movable benches, plastic chairs and large tin cans. Tom and I took a seat in the back, but that didn't last long. We were invited to traipse down the middle aisle and take a seat to the right of the pulpit, facing the church members. At least they didn't ask me to speak to the huge crowd.

After church, we met with the women's group in a good-sized tukul near the church, which I took to be some type of office or meeting room. I gave them the still-boxed sewing machine, the table and treadle stand. There are a couple of seamstresses in the group who know how to put together and maintain the machine. There were no sewing machines in the village when I arrived more than a week earlier—now there are three.

MEETING WITH THE CHIEFS
Later, Joh Deng and I met with the chiefs. After all the formal welcoming and exchanges of thanks, they chastised me and ASAH for the delay in following through with our plan for a boarding school. Joh translated this as, "They are complaining. . ." It's easy to understand their frustration, partly because the culture takes the expression of a desire to help as a promise. And it's probably impossible for them to understand the challenges in the US for a small organization like ours to raise funds, especially in our dismal economy. They have the example of the successful clinic built by JDF, with the help of John Dau's celebrity, and to IRD, a large, well-funded NGO group. However, they once again offered us land to build on. This land is adjacent to the IRD compound. The proximity to another NGO would be nice for us, and the land has enormous trees—banyon, acacia, palm—which means shade. And though surrounded by water, it's high and dry.

They're anxious for project to succeed and give us their support and blessing. They would like us to serve a minimum of 40, preferably 50, girls from the two payems, Duk Payuel and Pateunoi, half the number from each. The ASAH board will visit after my return to determine the numbers and our final plan. The chiefs told me the payems are closely related and since Joseph Makeer's father was from Duk and his mother from Pateunoi, it would be appropriate to serve both villages in their memory.

There's never been a boarding school in Duk County, and currently there's no secondary school, either. Our school will set an example for everyone in the village of the benefits of educating girls and helping orphans. To quote Joseph Makeer, "If we raise these kids up from the level they are, and give them what they need, they will be leaders in our country, and in the world." They promised us their assistance in succeeding with our project.

Referendum--Season of Prayer with the People of Sudan

A friend sent me this information from the ELCA (Evangelical Lutheran Church Association) regarding the Season of Prayer with the People of Sudan. I am sharing this to raise your awareness of the upcoming referendum where Southern Sudan has an opportunity to vote for independence from the North. This is an opportunity for joint prayer with people in Sudan if you wish to join with them.

deb

----- Original Message -----

From: ELCA e-Advocacy Network

To: Edgar and Dorcas Dorow

Sent: Monday, November 29, 2010 3:13 PM

Subject: A Season of Prayer with the People of Sudan

Prayer is always in order for the people of Sudan. Prayers are particularly in order as January, 2011 draws near. Why? A referendum on self-determination for the people of South Sudan is scheduled for January 9. On that same day, a referendum is also scheduled for the Abyei region where the people will vote on the question of whether to retain Abyei's special administrative status in the north or become part of Southern Sudan. What Can You Do? Our sisters and brothers in Sudan are in prayer now and will continue in prayer until, through, and after the referendum. We have a number of opportunities to join them. One is through the Season of Prayer with the People of Sudan. In this initiative, a number of faith communities will come together in prayer in Sudan and in the United States in the month before the election. Specifically, we are invited to pray for thirty minutes on: Friday, December 3 Friday, December 10 Friday, December 17 Friday, December 24 Friday, December 31 Friday, January 7 Saturday, January 8 Sunday, January 9 Monday, January 10 Our sisters and brothers in Sudan will pray at 6:00 p.m. in their country. In the United States, we would join them by praying at Noon (EST); 11:00 a.m. (CST); 10:00 a.m. (MST); 9:00 a.m. (PST). Many in Sudan plan to engage in the spiritual discipline of fasting on January 7 through 9. If this is a spiritual discipline that speaks to you, consider joining them. This season of prayer is open to all people. Pray wherever you are; pray individually or gather with your community or an ecumenical community or an interfaith community; pray in a manner you feel comfortable praying. Please feel free to share this invitation widely.

DAY NINE in Duk Payuel

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Thursday—no school today or Friday. The schoolteachers are helping the clinic with the assessment of children ages six months to 59 months. They measured height and weight and other criteria to determine the extent of malnourishment in this age group. Preliminary results showed about 20 % of the young children are severely malnourished. The clinic will use this information to appeal to NGOs like World Food Program for nutrition supplementation.

A group of girls arrived once again to draw and paint. It was wonderful to see the chose their paper and paints or markets and spread themselves around the clinic compound: some on the concrete porches of the tents that surround the open area near the dining hall and some on plastic chairs scavenged from here and there. There's a shortage of chairs at the clinic. The colorful plastic chairs are routinely in motion, carried from the dining hall, to the outdoors, to the clinic, to the tent porches—wherever they're needed. After the girls helped me put away the supplies, many of them gave me their drawings with their names written on them, and many of them wrote "Love."

Joh Deng said that some of the girls who came for the art classes don't attend primary school, yet they have come for this. As they worked, some of the clinic staff stopped to talk with them and admire their art. Like all children, many of these girls have talents, but here there is virtually no opportunity to express them. Girls who don't attend school have nothing pleasurable to keep them busy that also engages their minds, which Joh believes is critical to changing the future for their community. And then he said, "Those who believe in forced marriage should watch out—Debra is coming. She will change things."

This second visit to the village has confirmed my resolve to follow through and address these needs. ASAH has raised their hopes, but we've been slow in bringing the boarding school to life. Insecurity in Sudan, the difficult economy in the US, and other things have conspired to slow this part of our work. But now is the time. Joh believes that a boarding school for female orphans will set an example and will cause village mothers, even if illiterate themselves, to strive for their daughters to have chances like this. If girls have an opportunity to be educated, the village will change.

Mid-afternoon, a group of girls from Patuenoi stopped by wanting underpants. I was sorry to disappointment them. The panties were long gone. All I could tell them was that ASAH would send more after the referendum. Imagine waiting two months for one or two pair of panties.