I subscribe online to the Writer's Almanac, Garrison Keillor's site which sends a daily poem. I reprint this without permission but crediting the author, Tim Nolan. My comments follow the poem.
Long Winter
by Tim Nolan
So much I've forgotten
the grass
the birds
the close insects
the shoot—the drip—
the spray of the sprinkler
freckles—strawberries—
the heat of the Sun
the impossible
humidity
the flush of your face
so much
the high noon
the high grass
the patio ice cubes
the barbeque
the buzz of them—
the insects
the weeds—the dear
weeds—that grow
like alien life forms—
all Dr. Suessy and odd—
here we go again¬—
we are turning around
again—this will all
happen over again—
and again—it will—
---
Here in Sudan I have forgotten not only the grass but also the white expanse of cool wet snow. Here, the long dry season has left inches of fine silt to blow across the hard-packed ground. Sahara sand mixed with dirt, it coats equipment, tables, and chairs, dries eyes and throats, clings to the sweat that covers my body, blackens my sandaled feet.
There is no dirth of birds of all sizes and colors, both beautiful and hideous in looks or nature, their voices a cacophony sounding before dawn and after dusk. No sprinklers here, no strawberries, no fruit, save the coconut. The sun's heat is inescapable, except for the occasional breeze under the shade of the infrequent tree. There is also wind, which is quite different from the breeze, carrying the bric-a-brac of weeds and trash. The weeds often come with thorns and sticks, one of which stabbed the top of my foot where my sandal didn't cover.
Insects, lizards, frogs, and bats our constant companions, along with the antelope and the occasional feral cat.
Humidity will attend the rains in May, and by August, perhaps, the roads will flood. Vehicle travel between villages will cease and the silty footpaths will squish beneath the sandals or between the toes of bare feet splashing through water ankle to knee deep. Until the rains cease and the sun sucks dry the Sudd again.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
External Hard Drive Dies--March 31
It was probably the ants. Two days ago, I was loading photos onto the external drive that stores my photo catalog with Daniel, my 15-year-old guide, translator, assistant. Dozens of tiny ants streamed out of it and onto my lap. I'm guessing the heat generated when I plugged it in may have upset them, or attracted them. They kept coming, so I sprayed the outside with bug spray, which killed them, only to have dozens more join the death march. Eventually they stopped coming out. I loaded the photos. Everything seemed fine, but yesterday when I plugged in the drive, my computer couldn't see it. I'm afraid their tiny little bodies may have gummed up the works. I've saved all the memory cards, so I won't lose those, but the same drive is also my hard backup. Let's hope my online backup system, which last did its job March 20, has the rest of my data--and photos from last November. The regular backup time doesn't match our Internet hours, so I better start doing it manually. I left the drive with Sammy, the tech guy here. He can fix anything from cars to plumbing to satellite dishes and has background in computers, too. It may be another day or so before I post more Facebook pics.
We have to feed the crew. The first day they worked until lunchtime, and I gave the supervisor money to buy lunch in town, at the hotel. The proprietor's name is Alice. I haven't been inside, but it consists of a few tukuls, a shower with a neck-high privacy wall of thatching materials, and buckets of water for washing. But there wasn't any food for the crew there or anywhere. So late yesterday afternoon, Sammy drove, me, Daniel, and Dau, our supervisor, to Poktop, the village on the ill-conceived canal dug to divert the Nile to bring water to the parched North. It now exacerbates the flooding in this area. Carcasses of abandoned cranes are part of the landscape there, the trees beginning to eclipse them. There's a market with a wide center aisle to accommodate trucks and people. But to find all you want, it's necessary to make several stops. The prices, however, are fair and don't adjust up when there's a white woman in the group, as happens with street vendors in Kenya.
We bought food to feed 20 people lunch for a month, the expected length of the construction time. Beans, rice, sugar, seasonings, onions, tea leaves, plates, spoons, cups, serving dishes and spoons, thermoses, wash basins, and buckets. About $500. Also, the exchange rate in Poktop--no banks there, just guys with money--is 300 SP/$100 instead of 280 in Juba, so we got more for our money.
We have to feed the crew. The first day they worked until lunchtime, and I gave the supervisor money to buy lunch in town, at the hotel. The proprietor's name is Alice. I haven't been inside, but it consists of a few tukuls, a shower with a neck-high privacy wall of thatching materials, and buckets of water for washing. But there wasn't any food for the crew there or anywhere. So late yesterday afternoon, Sammy drove, me, Daniel, and Dau, our supervisor, to Poktop, the village on the ill-conceived canal dug to divert the Nile to bring water to the parched North. It now exacerbates the flooding in this area. Carcasses of abandoned cranes are part of the landscape there, the trees beginning to eclipse them. There's a market with a wide center aisle to accommodate trucks and people. But to find all you want, it's necessary to make several stops. The prices, however, are fair and don't adjust up when there's a white woman in the group, as happens with street vendors in Kenya.
We bought food to feed 20 people lunch for a month, the expected length of the construction time. Beans, rice, sugar, seasonings, onions, tea leaves, plates, spoons, cups, serving dishes and spoons, thermoses, wash basins, and buckets. About $500. Also, the exchange rate in Poktop--no banks there, just guys with money--is 300 SP/$100 instead of 280 in Juba, so we got more for our money.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Clearing the Land
I am writing this on my IPad connected to Internet in the office of IRD, International Relief Development, which is adjacent to our site. How fortunate Jef and I are to have these amazing tools and also these wonderful partners on the ground.
Jef spent time this morning with Gache, the IRD engineer, figuring out the fencing materials list. I just sent it off to Joseph to add to our list from yesterday with materials needed for the tukuls. We expect he will bring all the materials from Juba along with our dome on Friday. He works in both Juba and Bor, which is closer to us, but higher prices. He is partner with an architect and builder in a construction firm in Bor so we expect he will get us good prices.
Jef is on the site now. There are about ten workers plus supervisors clearing and burning brush, taking out stumps, and preparing for fencing. We have to feed them as part of our contract. Later today I will see if the JDF car can take me to Panyagor, about 2 hours from here, to buy beans, rice, sugar, tea leaves, plates, spoons, cups, thermoses, and hot pots, and we will pay two cooks to feed them. All labor payments are made at the end of The job.
The job is to build 3 large rectangular tukuls, 14 by 20, to house five girls each in two of them. The other is for an office/store. We will build three round tukuls for two staff and for security guard.
The guys that go to the bush to cut down the thatching and branches for tukul walls are paid 800 SDP for the job, which includes the building. That's around $300. The exchange is 2.8 SDP/ $1.There are nine plus supervisor paid 1000 SDP. The workers who are working clearing brush and digger, here on site each get 400 SDP. Of course there will be the latrines, showers, etc. to build as well. Fence building is included in the above.
Yesterday, Jef and I spent nearly fiven hours mostly being quiet while others worked our a land dispute in Dinka. Three hours were spent in the County administrator's office. The most interesting part were the many bats flying around inside and then dangling above our heads. Fortunately, the bats didn't bother anyone, even the chief whose legs they flew between didn't seem to notice, and the administrator is one of our supporters, as it was in his office last November, that the chiefs gave ASAH the land. But last month, a Paramount chief (head) had given the land to Colorado Lost Boy group and they built a visitor's compound on part of our site. Then some representatives came and said they were given the entire site. Apparently that wasn't actually the case. In any case, all parties were satisfied.
There are many be advantages to our program to be in this area. It is close to the school and is adjacent to IRD and Mama Jean's compound. This provides security. There are other larger sites, but they are quite far away and would be harder to protect. Also in this location we can run pipes from IRD's well, and also electricity. This will save us lots of money which can be used toward getting more children in our program.
I apologize for typos in this and other blog posts. Internet access can be unpredictable, and there is little Romeo our busy day for editing.
Jef spent time this morning with Gache, the IRD engineer, figuring out the fencing materials list. I just sent it off to Joseph to add to our list from yesterday with materials needed for the tukuls. We expect he will bring all the materials from Juba along with our dome on Friday. He works in both Juba and Bor, which is closer to us, but higher prices. He is partner with an architect and builder in a construction firm in Bor so we expect he will get us good prices.
Jef is on the site now. There are about ten workers plus supervisors clearing and burning brush, taking out stumps, and preparing for fencing. We have to feed them as part of our contract. Later today I will see if the JDF car can take me to Panyagor, about 2 hours from here, to buy beans, rice, sugar, tea leaves, plates, spoons, cups, thermoses, and hot pots, and we will pay two cooks to feed them. All labor payments are made at the end of The job.
The job is to build 3 large rectangular tukuls, 14 by 20, to house five girls each in two of them. The other is for an office/store. We will build three round tukuls for two staff and for security guard.
The guys that go to the bush to cut down the thatching and branches for tukul walls are paid 800 SDP for the job, which includes the building. That's around $300. The exchange is 2.8 SDP/ $1.There are nine plus supervisor paid 1000 SDP. The workers who are working clearing brush and digger, here on site each get 400 SDP. Of course there will be the latrines, showers, etc. to build as well. Fence building is included in the above.
Yesterday, Jef and I spent nearly fiven hours mostly being quiet while others worked our a land dispute in Dinka. Three hours were spent in the County administrator's office. The most interesting part were the many bats flying around inside and then dangling above our heads. Fortunately, the bats didn't bother anyone, even the chief whose legs they flew between didn't seem to notice, and the administrator is one of our supporters, as it was in his office last November, that the chiefs gave ASAH the land. But last month, a Paramount chief (head) had given the land to Colorado Lost Boy group and they built a visitor's compound on part of our site. Then some representatives came and said they were given the entire site. Apparently that wasn't actually the case. In any case, all parties were satisfied.
There are many be advantages to our program to be in this area. It is close to the school and is adjacent to IRD and Mama Jean's compound. This provides security. There are other larger sites, but they are quite far away and would be harder to protect. Also in this location we can run pipes from IRD's well, and also electricity. This will save us lots of money which can be used toward getting more children in our program.
I apologize for typos in this and other blog posts. Internet access can be unpredictable, and there is little Romeo our busy day for editing.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
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.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
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 24th. 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.
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