There are moments in time when time loses itself and in the blink of an eye you can forget which century you are living in.

2013-02-09  The Journey

A Week of Contrasts…

Sometimes you look back over a period of time and all the contrasts just jump out.   This is one of those weeks. Sometimes the contrasts are easy, sometimes not so easy.  So this week, I will share some of both...

I woke up early on Saturday morning – of  course!  It is my only day to sleep late!  By  8:30 I had stripped the sheets off my bed and hung them to sun, hauled water from the bore hole to fill my water barrel, washed my clothes (by hand) in two buckets – on for washing, one for rinsing, cleaned my room and swept my porch.  By 10 I was bored and went for a walk.  I ended up at the river.  I am glad I did.

The contrast was I thought I had worked hard. But not as hard as my friend.  As I sat at the top of the bank I looked down and there she was by the edge of the water scrubbing clothes for a family of seven!  She would wade out into the water, wait for the mud to settle, fill her bucket with water and haul it back to the bank where she put the clothes and soap and began to scrub and wring them out by hand.  The process was repeated three or four times with each batch until she was satisfied they were clean enough; then came the rinsing which followed the same procedures.  And I thought I had worked hard!

There are moments in time when time loses itself and in the blink of an eye you can forget which century you are living in.  This was one of those moments. 

As I watched my friend, I was struck by the beauty of them moment.  Behind her on the bank floated at least 100 pure white butterflies, dancing all around her.  It was almost like she was in a cloud.  In front of her the water sparkled like God had sprinkled it with a million diamonds.

To the right of us about a dozen little boys from toddlers to maybe 9 or 10 played in the water, swimming and splashing and doing the things that boys do.  They were having a great time.  I caught a glimpse of other women farther down the banks, washing their clothes, watching the children play and laughing with each other in that way women do when they have work to do along side one another.

Across the river the cattle camp was beginning its preparations to move.  The morning cook fires were smoking, the cattle were mooing. Some of the boys were with the cattle and others were playing in the water.  I laughed, they are a little older and obviously more competitive than the ones on my side of the river as one hollered and two others began to chase him across the river swimming like the devil to catch up with him.  I watched as young boys danced in and out of the water, bathing, washing their clothes, splashing and playing with each other.

A short time later, an old man came and took the canoe.  He climbed in, sat down and paddled down the river without a word to anyone.  A while later he came back.  Took a stick out of the water, tied the canoe to it, climbed the bank and was off again. And still, not a word to anyone.

For those of you who ask me about photos.  There are not any from this morning.  There are some things in life that should not be preserved in a photo or the beauty of the moment is destroyed.  I was honored and privileged to be allowed to witness their private moments.  And in moments like that, I will honor their trust and not take the photos.

On Monday morning I had no office.  By later in the morning I did have an office.  My small grey tent is just the right size for an office.  It was Put up by the men church leaders and the pastor in charge.  And as I have sat in my office this week I have learned that life is not always what it seems or what you have been told.

I was told the men are very lazy and they don’t do anything; the women do all the work.  That is not what I have seen as I venture out and observe what happens on the church compound.  What I see is a very different story.  I see men who were eager to sweep the ground (women’s work) and make sure it was clean and level before putting up my tent/office.  I see men who serve each other coffee and tea.  I see men who very efficiently take their clothes to the river and wash them, bring them back, hang them to dry and then lay a sheet of plastic on the ground and find coals for the iron so they can iron their clothes.  Women bring their meals and take away the dishes, but outside of that, they are very self sufficient and hard workers.

I see men on the road carry large loads of fire wood on their heads, just like the women.  I see them chopping and bundling firewood getting it ready to sell.  I see men with sewing machines who very industriously make repairs and sew new clothes. And I see the men who work in the hospital and on the compound and in the health department and government offices.  I see men who run the shops in the market, make furniture and the list goes on.  The men I have seen are a contrast to what I have been told.

2013-02-03 A TALE OF TWO WEDDINGS…

I stayed awake last night caught in the vision of the tale of two weddings and the difference a week makes.  On was a family and friends gathered for days of celebration – singing, dancing, feasting.  Everything geared to send the young couple off to begin their lives together surrounded by lots of love and support.  I saw them at church this morning, the young couple is still grinning ear to ear.

The other leaves an old woman lying in the road outside my gate, just as the sun begins to set, crushed, battered, beaten, with a crowd of young men surrounding her, and a foreign doctor asking her questions she probably can’t understand.

The story of the second wedding began, for me, with the sounds of two gun shots fired as I was working with the women teaching me to make a tray.  Our heads were gathered, they were excitedly teaching me to weave the needle in and out, when two shots were fired in the distance.  For a split second we all held our breath, waiting for what would come next.  In that instant, they moved in closer, forming a wall to protect me.  In an instant, I caught their eyes as they flashed against mine.

There was no running on the street, no panic and no return shots.  Life returned to normal. The women began to laugh again.  A short time later when they were sure all was safe, they began to shoo me away, like a grandmother shoes away her grandchildren,  with  laughing faces, shaking heads and “Kallas, kallas – finished, finished” and so began my introduction to wedding number two. 

I left the women’s compound happy as could be.  As soon as I rounded the curve in the road and saw the crowd standing there I knew the gunshots had come “home”.  I didn’t know if they were fired there or if someone had been injured and they stopped for a doctor on their way to the hospital.  What I saw, were young men surrounding something on the ground and they were all excitedly talking.  One of our volunteer doctors was in the middle asking questions.  Soon he called for the doctor on call aka head doctor for the hospital, and had them take the victim to the hospital.

Everyone left, except three young men.  They stayed to explain to me what happened.  This is their story.  It is a story of their culture.  A culture that has been carried down for way too many years, and it (the story), is hard to read.  None the less, it is theirs and I can’t thank them enough for stopping to share it with me, for trusting me to know and not pass judgement.  For having the patience to explain some things more than one time. For caring enough to make sure I understood. And so, I try to tell it, as the best I can, the way it was told to me.

“The boy” came to “get” her – the girl.  He took her away.  They went far away.  Her brothers came home and found their sister gone. They were angry and went looking for her and the boy.  When they arrived at the boy’s house, they did not find the boy and the girl. 

I should stop and explain here, because I was confused too, “get” means take her away to marry, in our tradition – elope. 

I don’t know the history behind the couple.  I don’t know if they were very, very young and the brothers didn’t approve.  I don’t know if there was not enough cows for a dowry.  I don’t know if there was a father in the picture who didn’t approve. I don’t know if the girl was in love with the boy. I don’t know if she was taken against her will.   I just don’t know the answers to those kinds of questions. What I do know is this…

They found the old lady, home, alone.  They began to shout at her, demanding to know where their sister was.  She said she didn’t know.  They threatened her and she still didn’t know.  They began to beat her and she still didn’t know.  Strong, young men, armed with hormones, anger and sticks, reigning down on a poor defenseless old woman, huddled on the floor of her mud hut, crying out in fear.  There was nothing she could do.  She didn’t know.  She couldn’t give them the answers they wanted.   She either screamed until someone came to help her or until they left to continue their vengeance elsewhere.  I suspect, someone came to help her.  The two shots we heard were from the police trying to stop the brothers and jail them for what they had done to the lady. 

That is all I know except that she will be ok.  She received blunt force soft tissue wounds to her back and shoulders.  They will heal.  That is the physical wounds.  What about the mental ones?  How do you ever look at the boy and the girl the same again for inflicting such pain on you?

The three boys that stayed to tell me the story had such sadness in their eyes.  They kept telling me over and over, “It is our culture, it is our culture”.  I don’t know what to do in those kinds of situations sometimes maybe God takes the duct tape off my mouth and lets me talk so he can talk through me with love and kindness, not harshness and judgment. 

I thanked them many times for taking time to share the story and their culture and to make sure I understood and to answer my questions.  I told them, “It is your history, your culture.  I may not agree.  But it is yours.  I will not judge.  I will not be the one to change it.  YOU will.  YOU are the youth.  YOU are the leaders, I know that because I see you on the road and how people respond to you.  YOU are the ones who will make sure this doesn’t happen in the future because you are the ones who will change the culture and the future.” Right, wrong or in between those are the words I said to them.  I told them, You are the youth and you are the leaders and you are the future of your country.  YOU are the ones I want to work with because you have the ability to teach others and lead them.”

I walked away with a million questions in my heart.  At least one of them walked away with a little more confidence, walking a little taller and I would like to think it was because someone voiced support of them.  I know he found me at church this morning, looked me straight in the eye, smiled and shook my hand extra long as he made his way through the line.  It is a small step, but a step towards building a relationship and one leads to another.  Each step towards a relationship is a step towards peace.

And so, I thank God for leading me home last night when he did.  The stories aren’t all easy and light and fun.  Some will weigh on my heart for a long time to come.  But, each one is a piece in the quilt that is the fabric of my life in Akobo.

And I will conclude with one from Sunday, knowing it is out of order in the scheme of things but knowing that it too will forever be a piece in the quilt that is my life in Akobo.  And so, I add it, because it too is a contrast and shows how quickly life can change here…

2013-02-10 The Journey

Humbled in Prayer

Some of the women who came to the Women's Group meeting.
I know it is a blury photo but it reflects some of the pain in the
women as they were waiting for the meeting to begin.

I was supposed to have a meeting with the women today and while we were waiting some were gathered around laughing and praising me for how well I can read a 1st grade primer.  They don’t know that every single person that has tried to teach me Nuer has used that very same book!  I never make it to the 2^nd grade primer before I have moved or my teacher has moved. 

As we were sitting and laughing 2 UN vehicles went down the road followed by one filled with soldiers and people. A short time later a large group of people came running from the countryside to the town followed by soldiers the whole atmosphere changed!

The women started gathering up their chairs and heading for the church. We always meet outside but I didn't think it was strange when we went inside.  (I am a little slow sometimes!) The women usually meet alone, today the pastor in charge came in and sat in the corner by the door.  I didn’t think much about it.

I knew they were upset.  I could tell by the tone of their voices and the looks on their faces.  Some of us have seen it – that abject fear that changes a person’s whole demeanor.  Some had just shut down – that no life behind their eyes kind of blankness.  When Rebecca (the leaders and my translator) got there I told her I can't understand the words you are saying but I can understand your faces and I see your fear should we cancel our meeting and have a time of prayer instead?

She said let me ask the ladies and that is what they decided to have a time of prayer.

They decided to pray for one hour and go home.

Three hours later we left.

All around me women were sniffling and you could hear the sobs and the crying out God in ways I have never heard in our culture.  For those of who kneel, we stand with our knees bent and our thighs straight, usually leaning on the pew in front of use. We have padded kneelers or carpet to soften the impact on our knees. 

These ladies had nothing but a hard, broken concrete floor with chips and stones, holes and cracks, and the air to lean on.  We were on our knees, my head and hands touching the floor.  I had folded myself into this little ball, as small as I could, and I kept trying to make myself smaller as I prayed.  I prayed harder than I think I ever have in my life.  After a while my knees were numb to all the tiny stones and chipped concrete.

I felt so humbled by their pain and by their grief; their petitions to God for help and saving.  For his mercies on the women and children who have been kidnapped and for the boys and young men who are fired up and excited, ready to go fight for the honor of their people.

I couldn’t pray for just one side or the other.  I don’t know if they did or not.  I just knew that I had to pray for peace for all God’s people here. Have you ever prayed so hard that you had sweat pouring from every pore in your body?  That is how it was today. 

I have never prayed so hard for something I didn't know what I was praying for in my life.

I just knew there had been an attack, I knew there were groups leaving town in a hurry and some were running back into town apparently being chased by soldiers. I knew it wasn't good.  I found out later it was youth coming from the countryside to join in the fight.  I only pray that they, and more, don’t get caught up in the “crucify him” attitude where the excitement sweeps through the crowd and people are swept up into something they might not have done otherwise.

And so, tonight I continue to pray for the kidnapped women and children. For the ones fighting on all sides, for the ones stirring the fighting and the ones who want to fight.  I pray for the safety and the protection of all involved.  I pray for the families who have lost loved ones and I pray for those who wait anxiously for word.  I pray for the soldiers and I pray for the peacekeepers. 

And, I invite you to pray with me.  It has already been a heavy fighting season and we are just beginning.

2013-02-03 A TALE OF TWO WEDDINGS…

I stayed awake last night caught in the vision of the tale of two weddings and the difference a week makes.  On was a family and friends gathered for days of celebration – singing, dancing, feasting.  Everything geared to send the young couple off to begin their lives together surrounded by lots of love and support.  I saw them at church this morning, the young couple is still grinning ear to ear.

The other leaves an old woman lying in the road outside my gate, just as the sun begins to set, crushed, battered, beaten, with a crowd of young men surrounding her, and a foreign doctor asking her questions she probably can’t understand.

The story of the second wedding began, for me, with the sounds of two gun shots fired as I was working with the women teaching me to make a tray.  Our heads were gathered, they were excitedly teaching me to weave the needle in and out, when two shots were fired in the distance.  For a split second we all held our breath, waiting for what would come next.  In that instant, they moved in closer, forming a wall to protect me.  In an instant, I caught their eyes as they flashed against mine.

There was no running on the street, no panic and no return shots.  Life returned to normal. The women began to laugh again.  A short time later when they were sure all was safe, they began to shoo me away, like a grandmother shoes away her grandchildren,  with  laughing faces, shaking heads and “Kallas, kallas – finished, finished” and so began my introduction to wedding number two. 

I left the women’s compound happy as could be.  As soon as I rounded the curve in the road and saw the crowd standing there I knew the gunshots had come “home”.  I didn’t know if they were fired there or if someone had been injured and they stopped for a doctor on their way to the hospital.  

What I saw, were young men surrounding something on the ground and they were all excitedly talking.  One of our volunteer doctors was in the middle asking questions.  Soon he called for the doctor on call aka head doctor for the hospital, and had them take the victim to the hospital.

Everyone left, except three young men.  They stayed to explain to me what happened.  This is their story.  It is a story of their culture.  A culture that has been carried down for way too many years, and it (the story), is hard to read.  None the less, it is theirs and I can’t thank them enough for stopping to share it with me, for trusting me to know and not pass judgement.  For having the patience to explain some things more than one time. For caring enough to make sure I understood. And so, I try to tell it, as the best I can, the way it was told to me.

“The boy” came to “get” her – the girl.  He took her away.  They went far away.  Her brothers came home and found their sister gone. They were angry and went looking for her and the boy.  When they arrived at the boy’s house, they did not find the boy and the girl. 

I should stop and explain here, because I was confused too, “get” means take her away to marry, in our tradition – elope. 

I don’t know the history behind the couple.  I don’t know if they were very, very young and the brothers didn’t approve.  I don’t know if there was not enough cows for a dowry.  I don’t know if there was a father in the picture who didn’t approve. I don’t know if the girl was in love with the boy. I don’t know if she was taken against her will.   I just don’t know the answers to those kinds of questions. What I do know is this…

They found the old lady, home, alone.  They began to shout at her, demanding to know where their sister was.  She said she didn’t know.  They threatened her and she still didn’t know.  They began to beat her and she still didn’t know.  Strong, young men, armed with hormones, anger and sticks, reigning down on a poor defenseless old woman, huddled on the floor of her mud hut, crying out in fear.  There was nothing she could do.  She didn’t know.  She couldn’t give them the answers they wanted.   She either screamed until someone came to help her or until they left to continue their vengeance elsewhere.  I suspect, someone came to help her.  The two shots we heard were from the police trying to stop the brothers and jail them for what they had done to the lady. 

That is all I know except that she will be ok.  She received blunt force soft tissue wounds to her back and shoulders.  They will heal.  That is the physical wounds.  What about the mental ones?  How do you ever look at the boy and the girl the same again for inflicting such pain on you?

The three boys that stayed to tell me the story had such sadness in their eyes.  They kept telling me over and over, “It is our culture, it is our culture”.  I don’t know what to do in those kinds of situations sometimes maybe God takes the duct tape off my mouth and lets me talk so he can talk through me with love and kindness, not harshness and judgment. 

I thanked them many times for taking time to share the story and their culture and to make sure I understood and to answer my questions.  I told them, “It is your history, your culture.  I may not agree.  But it is yours.  I will not judge.  I will not be the one to change it.  YOU will.  YOU are the youth.  YOU are the leaders, I know that because I see you on the road and how people respond to you.  YOU are the ones who will make sure this doesn’t happen in the future because you are the ones who will change the culture and the future.” Right, wrong or in between those are the words I said to them.  I told them, You are the youth and you are the leaders and you are the future of your country.  YOU are the ones I want to work with because you have the ability to teach others and lead them.”

I walked away with a million questions in my heart.  At least one of them walked away with a little more confidence, walking a little taller and I would like to think it was because someone voiced support of them.  I know he found me at church this morning, looked me straight in the eye, smiled and shook my hand extra long as he made his way through the line.  It is a small step, but a step towards building a relationship and one leads to another.  Each step towards a relationship is a step towards peace.

And so, I thank God for leading me home last night when he did.  The stories aren’t all easy and light and fun.  Some will weigh on my heart for a long time to come.  But, each one is a piece in the quilt

2013-01-27 Journal - walking...pouring...communicating...pounding...more...

2013-02-02          The Road Less Traveled…

I took a walk today, down a less traveled road, and saw a new part of the community that lives around me.   It is a far different community than I see off the edges of the main roads, or perhaps, I looked with more realistic eyes because it is less familiar than the roads I normally travel.

It is a neighborhood, much like any neighborhood.  If I had to describe it as one I know, I would call it the Stop Six to Mistletoe Heights neighborhood in my hometown of Ft. Worth, TX.  I am sure, wherever you live, you have a similar neighborhood…one is very poor and poverty is easily seen, transitioning into neighborhoods that are beginning to be rebuilt and signs of development are all around and transitioning into the ones that are redeveloped.  They are settled now and comfortable.  Well loved and lived in, neat, tidy and organized.  I can’t say my journey on the “road less traveled” was much different today.  Oh sure, it looks very different, unpaved, large cracked, hard baked black cotton soil leading to twists and turns, but the signs of poverty, development, re-development and wealth are the same.

Today I went left when I left the compound and I continued to take lefts as I traveled. It took me behind our compound and past the compounds I can hear at night – the ones who like to play and have fun.  Some are fenced, some are nothing more than a grass hut on a patch of cleared land.  Some fences are new and strong and stand tall and proud.  Some are nothing more than a few strands of straw held together with some string.

The water was pouring from both overhead pipes of the solar water “farm”.  I didn’t know if there was a problem or they were just full, but water was pouring fast onto the ground.  What do little boys do when that happens???  They strip their clothes off and play in the mud of course J  They were having so much fun I just wanted to kick my shoes off and jump right in “Lucy and the grapes” style.

A few steps further and the picture wasn’t so fun.  There was what had been the roof to a tukel (mud or straw house) on the ground.  Two sides were propped up with sticks and there was a family living there.  The yard was immaculately clean, not a stray stone or speck of dirt or leaves or straw that didn’t belong. Three stones, three small pieces of cooking wood, one small pot and a short string with a few clothes drying in the sun and one small jerry can completed the picture.

A little further on, the houses and compounds began to improve. More houses were within the bounds of a compound, the fences were stronger and newer.  There began to be small bundles of straw and firewood and the numbers increased as I came closer to the main road.  The last one I saw was obviously brand new.  The straw fencing surrounding the compound was straight and tightly woven, the gate was a metal instead of straw.  Inside were stacked piles and piles of straw and firewood so high they reached over the top of the fence.  The small glimpse I had inside revealed brand new sturdy pens for holding the livestock at night.  Wealth…Akobo style…

That was the right side of the road.  The left side reveals all the signs of poverty there are.  A piece of plastic propped under some trees with signs of cooking there.  At home I would call it a homeless camp.  Further on were signs of metal cans & rubbish used for cooking, interspersed with signs of human and animal defecation, a variety of bones and lots of rubbish on the road…all the signs and smells of poverty.

Later in the afternoon, I took my ball of yarn, crochet hook and headed for the river.  I like to go visit the ladies there as often as I can.  We can’t speak many words together but we sure do laugh and have a good time.  I love spending time there.  It is like the angels take my soul and carry it off to heaven where God holds it for a while and it can rest and come back refreshed and renewed.

Today was no exception.  I walked through the entrance to the compound, the lady who lives at the front, and I “chatted” about the new gate she is building for her part,  It really is a nice gate all woven from reeds and string.  As soon as she saw my ball of yarn she grabbed my hand and some pieces of straw and started wrapping them with the yarn.  When that didn’t work, she grabbed my hand,  and we went marching across the way to the other ladies houses.  She knew exactly who she was looking for and we didn’t stop until we got there.

When we got “there” several ladies gathered around to see my yarn. Before I knew it, I was swept up into this swarm of excitedness as the ladies began to teach me how to make one of their beautiful trays. I am not very good yet, but I will be before they are finish with me.  They sent me home with the beginning of one, a needle and a piece to practice on.  Tomorrow, I will go back and they will teach me and I will learn. 

In the midst of it, two gunshots rang out from quite a distance away.  I am always struck by the care the people here take to make sure I am ok and not afraid, always putting me first.  In the instant after the shots, for a brief second, we all inhaled and held our breath as we waited for what would come next.  In that instant, I felt the ladies gather closer to surround me a little tighter. In that instant I caught the looks that darted from eye to eye above my head, and they began to laugh and talk again, to shove the work into my hand to distract me.  And in that instant, I knew, there was no place I would rather build my tent, than in that place, surrounded by these people who are so full of love and care and compassion.  And once they were sure it was safe, that life on the main road had taken on its normal tone and activity they said “Kalass – finished” and sent me on my 

way home.

Don’t I have the best job ever????

Note: There is more on the gunfire, I will share later in a new story…I guess the way my blog posts you will have read it before this..

2013-02-01          I Live in an Aviary…

I came home from a walk to the church this morning to discover my veranda was filled with birds, tiny beautiful birds – finches, I think, in a rainbow of yellows and blues were happily flying all over the veranda. It was a beautiful sight and a reminder that “His eye is on the sparrow and I know He is watching over me”.

2013-01-31  Pouring Buckets…

not water, not sand, not anything fun or useful…I am pouring buckets of sweat this week as fever after fever break over and over again – that is one of the symptoms of malaria, which I tested positive for earlier this week.  I don’t like this!!  My head feels like a swarm of bees has taken over.  My body feels like it laid under one of those big road graders and let it roll back and forth over it, and today is the day I have been able to stay awake for a while – if I don’t move. That is a step up from yesterday when I couldn’t stay awake no matter how hard I tried.

But God is good.  He sent my angels who work on the compound to check on me yesterday because they hadn’t seen me all day.  There was just something special and comforting about Martha reaching out with her soft, flowery smelling hands and touching my cheeks as they all said a prayer.  Later she brought me a plate of food and a cold bottle of water to make sure I had dinner.  Later, Simon, the guard came by to check, and Adam brought Tylenol when he came to check.  God does send angels when you need them…

2013-01-29   I think we have a                 communication problem….

I know my title does….I don’t know why it skipped like it did, but it just seems appropriate so I left it…

I was leaving the compound with Dr. Carlos.  Pastor Michael from the church was sitting and chatting with some of the people here.  I stopped to give my greetings.  He said “How are you”.  I said, “Not well.  On my way to get malaria test”.  He said, “Good, very, very good.” 

I came back so Dr. Carlos could write down the medicine I need to get at the pharmacy.  I felt horrible, so I stopped at the church and told the men sitting there I had malaria and I needed to get medicine from the market.  I was pouring sweat from my face and arms and I am sure I looked like I was going to  pass out because I sure felt like I was.  I asked if there was a boy or girl that I could pay to go buy it for me.  Pastor Michael said, “No.  Sorry.  You will get it yourself”. 

End of discussion.  I walked to the pharmacy, got the medicine, came home and passed out.  It only took an hour and a half – I walked slow, with my head down and didn’t greet many people on the way.  And through it all I had to laugh, God sure is teaching me to live like the community.  If I had been a Nuer woman I would not have been able to pay someone to go for me.  I would have had to do it myself, and so I did.

We are going to have a serious communication problem.  The two people I can talk to, Pastor Stephen and Pastor Thomas, left for Yei on Tuesday.  They will be gone for a month.  I am going to have to get creative here if I am going to be able to do any communicating at all…  Perhaps I will go back to colored pencils and paper and playing with the kids by the river and on the road.  

That worked pretty good before I got sick….

2013-01-28 – The Bucket Walked out of the Water…

I was at the river the other day and next to me in the water I heard a splash.  I glanced over expecting to find a fish had jumped.  What I saw was the rim of a yellow bucket.  It kept getting bigger and bigger and soon it was walking out of the water on the top of a woman’s head!

She had been harvesting sand from the bottom of the river…

 Waiting…

I am learning that waiting is a way of life here.  Don’t get in a hurry. 

Pastor Stephen came for a visit last night.  He said, “I will come at 8 o’clock and we will build your office.”  At 9 I walked to the church office.  He had gone to a meeting at the church.  I was told,

 “You go. You wait. You take a rest. We will get you when it is time.”  That was at 9:30 it is 2:30 now and still not time. At 4:30 I decided to see if my internet would work at the church compound.  No.  It will not.  Then I asked about registering my sim card with RRC (Relief and Rehabilitation Commision).  “Yes, or in two days it is finished.  You go now!  But you wait for Thomas”. 

Sign on the gate when we went to register
 my sim card

I am glad we didn’t wait too long for him.  It took us 45 minutes to walk there to find out the man in the office never came back after lunch…”You try again tomorrow”.

I am glad it wasn’t a wasted trip!  Unlike Stephen, Thomas didn’t mind letting me go alone in the market.  I think I get better prices because I try on my own and even if I don’t, I have a lot of fun doing it.  So, today’s adventure starts with…

The telephone man.  He has a Zain CDMA like mine.  He says he can fix it.  The directions back to him are easy.  He will be on the left side of the road.  I look to the river until I see the big trees on “this” side of the boat – I hope it is still there tomorrow!  Across the road are two thooks (shops) with pretty bowls and his shop is behind the big Nim tree and has “something” hanging from the little tree.  No problem!!

Ahamad and Mahamad… Ahamad became one of my favorite shop keepers last year.  He always treated me fair and if he didn’t have what I wanted he would tell me where to go.  He never steered me wrong and today was no exception.

When I first saw him last week, his face was full of joy and life and he greeted me with a hug – I think that is pretty unusual for his culture – and he said, “You did come back. He told me in my heart to wait and you would come back and you did”.  What do you say to that?  You wipe the tears and buy something – in this case Halawa – a kind of candy.  He told me, “I have something special just for you”  (even though there was a whole bowl full) and my face lit up and I bought one.  He said “More?’ I said No, this way I will see you again.

Today was the day.  I was looking for buun (coffee). He showed me his coffee.  It wasn’t good.  We laughed.  He knew I knew it wasn’t good.  He told me to go see his friend Mahamad and so I did.  Mahamad had some of the best Ethiopian coffee I have seen since I left Ethiopia.  Big, fat, fresh, beans just waiting to be roasted!  I can’t wait!!  I had bought things from him before and we have an easy rapport.  He shows me the bad, I say no.  Then he gives me the best he has.  Today, he just gave me the best with a great big smile.  He carefully measure out six cups into a plastic bag, went a got his triple beam scale and weighed it.  1 kilo right on!  Then he smiled, took his cup and dumped another cup in.  I laughed and shook his hand.  I said, “You are a very fine business man.  I will buy from you again.”  He shook my hand until I walked away.  I stopped bought two halwas from Amahad for sending me to his friend and we are all very, very happy.

roasting coffee beans.
When they are finished, they have to be pounded
with a mortar and pestal.
THEN you get to make a cup of coffee.

FOUR AND A HALF HOURS – TWO CUPS OF COFFEE AND A NEW INCOME GENERATION PROJECT FOR THE LADIES! 

That is Saturday’s story.  That is how long it took me to sort, wash, clean, roast and pound coffee beans.  Everyone loved the coffee! They drank It right up.  Add two hours to the market and back and that is a hard earned cup of coffee for ME! I said I bought coffee.  I am not roasting it again to get two cups.

I guess it was rude.  I didn’t mean to be but it got my point across and they said they would work on it.

I did!  I came up with a win-win situation if the church ladies go for it.  They can prepare the coffee bring it to the compound in the morning and we will all pay  - income generation for them and I don’t have to roast beans for everyone!  YEAH!!

PRDA Agricultural Center...

they didn't com out quite in order, but I tried converting pdf to jpg...I think I need to work on it some :)

Journal - January 21, 2013

2013-01-26  Dancing in the Streets…

It is Saturday morning all I wanted to do was to put on my blue jeans and t-shirt and lie on my bed and read all day.   I had heard the people chanting not too far from me, for most of the night and long before the sun came up.  Young women came marching down the road outside my window.  They stopped the parade and danced for a while. I ducked down in my bed hoping they would march on so I could run to the latrine. .  As I lay in my bed, deciding that there was no choice I was going to have to get up.  I went flying across the compound in my pj’s.   They were on a mission and had a purpose.  I didn't know what it was, but they kept going so I didn't worry.  I heard them stop down the road and more voices were added to the chanting and stomping. The crowed was growing bigger!

The first thing you should understand about Nuer women is they are very modest.  They cover their heads and 70% of their bodies, rarely leaving the house without their long scarves tied over them. Running across the compound in cotton capri length pj’s is certainly NOT culturally appropriate.

I got dressed, since there were so many women about, culturally appropriate, in my long skirt and shirt.  I was sitting in the dining room watching this glorious sunrise, when all of a sudden an even longer line of women came marching down the street waving sticks and tree branches, and doing this kind of stomping dance in front of our gate.  The younger women had been joined by the older women and elders. 

They had attracted the attention of the other American worker here and he came out and asked me what was going on.  I told him I didn't know, but they had seen my fly to the latrine in my PJ's so maybe they came to cast out the evil demons or something, or to express their displeasure at my inappropriate dress.

I asked the guard what was going on because now, I have all these women - maybe 30 or 40 - stomping in the road, telling me to come out and waving sticks and branches at me.  He told me they were celebrating a wedding.  They wanted me to come and dance with them.  So, now, I have most of the compound and IMC staff watching me.  

Hey, I am game for anything, so I went out and let them teach me how to dance.  I can't dance, but I can stomp and wave sticks in the air.  Next thing I know I am caught up in this beautiful whirlwind of women in swirling bright colored scarves, stomping in a pattern and waving sticks in the air.  I am being led down the road to who knows where.  

During all of this, Dr. Aaron (from California) had been video taping the happenings.  They let him follow us to the edge of the compound then turned and started chasing him back and telling him in no uncertain terms he was not allowed to go.  

And, so, I was caught up in the women and we continued to stomp and dance down the road and around a corner until it faded into nothing but a little narrow path. t I had no idea where we were going.  The tall bush grass turned to scrub bushes and grasses that were taller than our heads.  The women who had taken charge of me, stopped and broke of bushes and gave them to me indicating I should wave them. 

The narrow path  opened into a small area with a few grass huts that were nothing more than a few sticks woven together and then into an area that had been swept clean and two more huts were there surrounded by a small fence.

More women were gathered and singing and dancing, there were many men, sitting in a circle on the other side.  There were elder women sitting along the edge with ancient pipes sticking from their hands or mouths.  What a joy it was to be a part of their celebration! And how honored I feel that they came to get me and invited me to be a part of it.

I stayed for a while and then they told me "You go now. We will dance in the field at 3 and you will come.  The elders will come for you". (I am so grateful Mary speaks English!!)  So, now I am waiting for 3 o’clock to see what happens next.

Nothing happened at 3 o’clock.  I waited.  I thought they would come,  I learned later the guard didn't let me know they came, so now I will do some "fence mending'....

2013-01-25    PENCILS…

I wish I could send you all a picture of the fear in a little girl's eyes today when I handed her a colored pencil and let her draw on my paper. Some of the kids were filled with wonder, some were leery and some were excited to try, some just took the pencils and stared. They didn't know what to do with them.

It occurred to me later, that pencils are sticks with a sharp point.  A stick with a sharp point is something used for killing.  It took some brave boys, like this one drawing in my book.  But eventually, we built some trust and they all took a turn trying.

What an awesome thing to be able to show them a small stick with a sharp point can be used to make something pretty...

It turned out to be a great language lesson on the river. I drew the picture, they told me the word :)

2013.01.23           WALL-WALL, MALUKE AND MORE WORDS …

The language lesson began,  “Thok, naath, bok kel”.  Thok – mouth.  Naath – people. Bok – book. Kel – one.”  That is 1^st language of the people.  But then it was “mouth of the people”.  I couldn’t figure out where Bok (book) and kel (one) fell into place.  I was confused.  “It just is” was the answer. 

Then we moved on…  ahhh, aeee, eee,ohh, wuuu – vowels!  A, E, I, O, U ---I got that.  I repeated it many times and was told,  “In the sentence it has no meaning” and I knew it was going to be a long hour! 

I also know the words for child, there, person cow and fence.  I just don’t know how to use them in a sentence…..I feel a long struggle with language coming on.  Oh well, my life has been pretty calm lately, God hasn’t had much to laugh about and I am sure Jesus’ side has healed from all the previous poking as they sat side by side saying, “Watch this one!”

If they laugh half as much as the ladies by the river and I did today, it will at least be interesting.  I watched them cook their dinner and learned two more words “Wall-wall” and maluke.  Wall-wall is a kind of porridge made by tossing bits ground corn or maze in a bowl with some water until it forms balls and putting it in boiling water until it is “couped” - cooked. 

Maluke is soup – a thin broth, that might have had “rey” fish in it…10 minutes with the ladies and I had much more helpful language than I did in my hour this morning…and that is part of the challenge, finding what works and what doesn’t work….

BUSH WALKING…

It is hard to believe that less than a 5 minute walk from the compound life can be so drastically different.  It is a harsh land, long grass (bush), scrub trees and some houses built together in compounds and others extremely isolated.  They are made of more natural materials and have the appearance of being used for nomadic people.  I’m not sure.

2013.01.22  WEDDING BELLS…

The wedding was supposed to happen at 1.  That was what I was told yesterday.  Today, I asked Pastor Stephen what time I should come.  He said “Perhaps you should come at one. But they come from very far away, so perhaps you should come at two. Well…Maybe you should just listen for a lot of noise from the church and come when you hear it.” 

Well, about 12 I began to hear a lot of noise and thought  perhaps I should go.  But they told me 1, so I thought perhaps I should wait. So I did.  I waited until right before 1 and I went.  When I arrived at the compound there was no sign of a wedding. So I took a chair and visited for a bit.  Then the ladies picked their chairs up and began to move so I went with them. We spent the next hour and a half on language lessons and examining my Nuer song book.

It has a wire binding and they have never seen anything like it so it is very fascinating to them.  John Tuita, spent a lot of time explaining the order of worship to me and told some of the most beautiful stories I have ever heard using the words to the hymns in the book.  I could have listened to him speak for hours…  Read the words to Stand Up, Stand Up for Jesus, then tell it as a story.  It is beautiful and give a whole new meaning.

The wedding finally started about 2:45.  I tried to sit at the back of the church.  That was NOT happening!! They ladies came and got me, rearranged chairs and people and moved me to the front. 

All in all it was a pretty traditional wedding, if you leave the soldiers guarding the compound out of the picture.  A beautiful bride, a nervous groom, three bridesmaids in purple formal dresses, three groomsmen and two train bearers made up the wedding party.  I wish I could have taken better pictures but the camera guys were in the way most of the time.  Six pastors participated in the ceremony, saying the prayers, giving blessings, reading scriptures pronouncing the vows and preaching a sermon, followed by more prayers, more blessings and more song

2013.01.21 .  Now we are free, we fought the war and now we can speak for ourselves. We have a voice. We fought for it. Now we will use it.

Our conversation began, "You come to meet the women at 1PM", then it was followed by "Oh, they are coming from a long way. They will come at 1. You should come at 2". At 2 o'clock he came and said "The women are coming from some distance, perhaps you should take a rest and I will call you when they arrive"

I had a great meeting with the women and we began discussing what THEY want to see happen. AGRICULTURE! One woman said the floods took all our wheat and all our sorghum. Even the forest where we can go when there is no food is gone." 

Hmmmm....things like that are hard to hear, but make me glad that God put me here.  I pray that he gives me strength, courage, knowledge and the ability to help.

Another younger lady stood proudly and came to the front to address everyone.  I was impressed as she spoke with conviction and passion.  She said, “We are free now.  We have a voice.  We have never been able to speak before.  Always before the men spoke for us.  Always before the elders spoke for us.  Now we are free, we fought the war and now we can speak for ourselves. We have a voice. We fought for it. Now we will use it. We are young women. What you teach to us we will share with our children and we will change our country.  We thank you for coming.  We thank you for helping us. We will teach you and you will teach us.”

I just wanted to cry!

Journal - Week of January 15, 2013

2013-01-20 – Sunday - Greetings!

What a difference a week makes!  Last week I was sitting in a 5 star hotel in Washington DC.  This week I am sitting in a small room surrounded by boxes, trunks, parts of tents, water filters and more, praying the electricity will stay on long enough for me to finish writing to you.

What an amazing testimony to God’s unending beauty and grace this homecoming has been.  I arrived in Akobo on Tuesday and each day has been an incredible blessing from the people I have returned to.  I know I said before that my arrival in Akobo the first time was as close to arriving in heaven as I could imagine.  Except for a little hiccup or two, this was even better.  

It is hard to describe in words the beauty and the emotions associated with this return. 

Our arrival this time was met with some surprise and many “You DID come back”.  I can’t even begin to describe the welcome from the ladies who cared for me at the compound where I stayed before and the ladies of the church.  There was much laughter, tears, singing, dancing, hugging and joy cries (high trilled voices raised in praised).  I knew how happy I was to be returning but I could never have anticipated their joy in seeing me again, and it was all repeated when we went to the church to give our greetings.

There is joy and there is peace.  Those are some words that come to mind to describe the last few days.  There is much joy in returning and there is much peace in finding my way back to the places that were familiar and some unsettledness in finding the changes that have occurred that are not always so good – more foreign aid workers, more NGO (non-government organization) activities with their increased traffic on the roads, among other things.

I couldn’t really think of a way to share this week with you, so I will just have to tell a story or two…

Things that go bump in the night…

Welcome back to Africa!  I have a mouse and I am quite sure he thinks Santa Clause came and brought him all these new and exciting boxes and put them around the room for him to run and jump and play with.

I lay in the dark last night and listened; scurrying on the floor between the boxes, the rustle of my backpack and the sound of tearing plastic of the film around my sinus meds.  That was followed by the sounds of little feet climbing up the side of my boxes and sliding down as they lost their grip right at the top. 

He was a determined little mouse and finally made it to the top, just in time to scurry across and take a tumble that sounded like he fell off the edge, bounced off my suitcase and landed in the middle of what used to be a metal aluminum pan.  It had been crushed into a semi ball and I think, from the sounds of it bouncing on the floor he got trapped there – for a while.

I lay there in the dark listening for a little while, trying to figure out what to do.  I didn’t want to get up and step on him.  I didn’t know where he was and I certainly didn’t want him in my bed, so I turned on my light, praying he wouldn’t like it, and pointed it toward the door, hoping he would show himself out.

I think he did.  A short time later, I heard a cat choking outside my window.  Hmmmm---the rat didn’t come back and I enjoyed a peaceful night sleep. I kind of felt bad hoping the cat won.  But not too bad.  I had “Ben” in Ethiopia.  I really don’t want to name another one…

Church…”Whom Shall I send?”

It was an interesting return to church in Akobo today.  The scriptures and songs were the same as the ones that Pastor Weiching, from the Nuer church I attended in the states used for his blessings on my going last week. 

Isaiah 6  Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I. Send me!”

and Matthew parable of the sower of the seeds.  It was also interesting that one of the songs “Onward Christian Soldiers” was the same as well.

ATTACK!!  I wasn't sure what was going on. All of a sudden all of the people started ducking and screaming, grabbing the kids and running. The people on either side of me just kept singing 'Onward Christian Soldiers" so I did too.  The people were covering themselves up and hiding the kids under them, and they just kept singing. A swarm of bees had dropped from the trees and landed on the people worshipping below. 

All I caught out of the corner of my eye was a black thing falling from the sky. I'm not sure what I thought it was, but my first reaction was we were being attacked from the river behind us.  But, I didn't panic. :)

I just kept singing with the people around me.  It was almost funny too, in hindsight,  because all I could think is "prove to them you won't panic".  Be calm!! and so I sang!

I laughed because when everyone calmed down, the pastor in charge said "See even the bees are happy Michael Weller is here.  They came down to greet him"

Sunday is a day of Sabbath here and very little work is done.  It has been a day of resting and reading, but at 104 degrees it Is a little hot for much else…

2013-01-17 to be with Christ is to be in heaven, and to be in heaven is to be with Christ.

My devotion:  for as good Rutherford says, "Heaven and Christ are the same thing;" to be with Christ is to be in heaven, and to be in heaven is to be with Christ.—Morning and Evening

I am looking at this beautiful sunrise and the sounds of the village starting their day surround me.  I am pretty sure I am in heaven, bucket shower and drop latrine and all…Life is good this morning…

As a matter of fact, it has been good all day…we met with the church leaders and staked out my tent.  Plans were made, again, and revised, again…we won’t have the tent up before Michael leaves next week and that is ok.  We have a plan.  I have a roof over my head, food in my stomach and life is good.

I was a little worried about the place they had chosen for my tent.  Not because it is not a good place, it is.  Because, the spot they had chosen would have infringed on the place the ladies stay and would have involved taking down their fence to make room for the tent.  Now the plan is good.  We will put my tent outside their fence and they will have their space, and we can still live as a community.

I went to the river to sit a while this evening.  It was great!  I was able to greet the women who will be my neighbors. Their children showed me how they work – washing dinner dishes in the muddy river for the girls.

 A young boy is very serious about his duty to provide food for his family by fishing with a broken branch with a little string tied to it.  I don’t know if he ever caught anything, but he was quiet and very determined.

It was peaceful sitting there in the presence of Christ, in the presence of heaven, as I watched a lady and her daughter hop into a dug out wooden boat and paddle across the river where they began working in what I think is their garden. 

Time stood still and backed up thousands of years and it was easy to see life as it began, with the simple things…hard work, hard lives and a love of God that brings joy and peace no matter what the circumstances…

2013-01-15  You Bloomin’ Idiots!!!  A Day of Waiting.

Now before I go any further I should stop and explain…

Michael and I were sitting yesterday morning in the front yard, watching villagers disappear off unseen footpaths carrying big loads of sticks and straw or big bags balanced on their heads. Children were paying on the road and cows and goats wandering by. We were watching the bids flitter back and forth and one, lone cowbird with a broken leg hunting for bugs in the grass.  It was just a peaceful morning, sitting there watching the village come to life; the kind that makes me sit back and say “Wow!  I really am in Africa!”

All of a sudden, this loud deep booming voice shattered the peace and serenity of the moments when it came from behind us shouting, “YOU BLOOMING IDIOTS!!!”  We both burst out laughing as we realized the sound came from the tv in the mud hut behind us…

I woke during the night to a sound that was familiar, but in my deep sleep didn’t make sense.  It was the sound of marching and their “huh one, huh two” cadenced voices.  It was a sound that was familiar to me when I woke during the night in Malakal.  It became a part of the fabric of life. 

It took me a minute to realize this was Akobo. So, I lay there for a few minutes, in the dark and listened and was surprised how quickly old instincts kicked in. 

Is the sound coming closer or moving farther away?  Is there only one set of marching sounds or more coming from different directions.  The dogs began to bark, was it a normal – get out of my yard bark, or something my vicious?  It is amazing how quickly those thoughts came pouring through my head, and amazing at how comforting the familiar of it all was.

I lay there listening and finally decided that no matter what, a trip to the latrine was required.  I had determined the marching was coming from closer to town and it was going away, not coming closer.  There were no gunshots that indicated there might be a problem.  It was just a routine patrol, I was pretty sure. 

That is a good thing when you have to take your flashlight and walk some distance in the dark to the nearest latrine.  Once inside, the dogs closer became louder and more insistent that something didn’t belong in this area, and there I was, laughing at the predicament of being in “position” in the latrine if trouble arose.  Alas, it didn’t.  But it was a funny thought as my “survival” brain kicked into gear and I made plans to turn out my light to not draw attention to myself, and stay behind the “locked” door while I waited.  Some things life just cannot prepare you for. J

I woke with a start this morning to the smell of wood smoke wafting through the window and under my nose.  My first thought was “fire!” It took me a minute to realize just where I was.  I lay there for a few minutes savoring the sounds of mornings in Akobo.  The children were beginning to walk to the well and I could hear their scurrying feet on the road.  I could hear the women begin their day as they stopped to visit on the road outside my window.  Through it all I could hear the stirrings of chickens and goats along with who knows how many variety of birds.

….

It has been a day of waiting.  We arrived at the church early in the morning. And I had to laugh, I had taken my scarf so the women could “help” me put it on, but I didn’t take my louwella – a long scarf the women wear over their clothes.  They cut me absolutely, positively no slack!  I was quickly “shooed” back to the compound to get it.  It was funny.  You could almost hear them saying “We taught you better than that!!  What were you thinking!”  I quickly returned to the compound, grabbed it and returned to the church to be properly dressed before entering the church building for greetings and worship.

Then it was off to the market and a stop to register me with the office of immigration and “alien persons”.  That office was closed so we kept walking to the Commissioner’s office and began more waiting…There is no hurry here.  Everything happens in its own time.  If you are an impatient person, this is NOT the place for you!!  

There is a peace in the waiting that I think we miss in our hurry in the US.  We are so busy rushing from place to place that we miss the gentleness of taking time to greet someone and look into their eyes. We miss the opportunities to really connect with another person when we reach out in greeting.  We frequently reach out and shake a hand, briefly, quickly.  I love the greetings here.  Most times, you hold the hand of the person you are greeting often times with both hands, or one hand shaking, one hand on the shoulder of the other person, for the duration of the greeting.  There is something we miss in our hurry to check the next text message on our phones and we hurriedly say “hi how are you?  I am fine. Thank you” with one eye on the person and one eye on our phones.  I have to admit, that is one part of life in the US I will never miss.

We returned to the compound and began to wait for the afternoon meetings to end so we could have another meeting to discuss my tent and getting it up and ready for me to move in.  I am always impressed with the thought, care and discussion that center any of the discussions I have ever participated in here.  Not just from the men, but also from the women and the voice that they have here.  The church leaders sat and listened to Michael explain what our needs are.  Then took turns listening as each person spoke their thoughts and then came to an agreement on what they thought was best.  We then walked to the place they thought was best and looked and measured and discussed some more.  When we left, it had been decided.

A short time later, the plans had changed and we were told to wait on Thursday until they came to get us.  And so, we spent another day waiting….

01.16.

I woke up to the sound of rain during the night.  I didn’t expect that.  It was a nice sound on the tin roof and it sure cooled things off…