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.