my small world

A week ago today, I was sitting in a cramped mini-bus, bumping, bouncing and jostling along a rural Kenyan road listening to chipper East African music as bundles of firewood and cans of milk were loaded on and off at village edges. I was on my way back from a last minute whim-of-a-road-trip to visit good friends from Edmonton who just took a job in the highlands of Western Kenya.

My travel companion was my big brother. He has just started a job in Sudan – not where I am, but further north. He was in Nairobi en route, on a journey that started in Montreal, took him to Boone, North Carolina, and has now ended in the Nuba Mountains of Sudan. A great stroke of luck meant that Josh and I were both in Nairobi at the same time, and so we had a wonderful weekend catching up on each other’s lives and hiking above the spectacular Rift Valley with good friends from Canada.

I happened to be in Nairobi only because I was on my way back from my R&R (Rest & Relaxation). Two weeks ago today, I was swimming in a lagoon-shaped pool surrounded by frangipani trees after enjoying buffet breakfast in a surprisingly affordable tropical island hotel.

Having been enticed by my sister and her husband (still on their extended-honeymoon travels), I spent my break with them in Thailand (just a short skip across the globe) for some serious R&Ring in style and comfort.

Happy sisterly reunion in the airport

Thailand is a fantastic spot for R&Ring. What more could one want besides affordable facials, foot massages, fresh-fruit smoothies and coconut cashew curries; fine white sand; warm blue-green water; bungalows set in lush vegetation with views to the ocean; and travel companions who want to do little more than read books, eat, and walk to and from the ocean every now and then?

My first facial

Bungalow in the trees

I had a ridiculous routing back to Africa which took in the wrong direction, to Hong Kong for 9 hours overnight. I took advantage of the free hi-speed internet to chat with my friend in Moscow and my parents on Vancouver Island. Onwards to Dubai, then Nairobi, where I spent the weekend with my brother, and finally back to the place I currently call home.

And today I’m “home,” in Juba, South Sudan, enjoying a day of rest and recovering from a (very rare) late-night social-outing last night.

home sweet home - my living room

My Kenyan co-worker and I attended the Juba French Cultural Centre’s French Film Festival for a delightful movie from Senegal. Yes – that’s right, Juba now has a French Cultural Centre. Go figure. And we had an international Film Festival this week. Amazing. Development is on its way…. Now if we could just get clean water, electricity and drivable roads figured out! Prior to the film, we had a compound potluck, hosted by my Calgarian neighbour, who happens to be the cousin of a friend I worked with at camp one summer who’s marrying a great friend of mine from the UofA - small world!

The Rift Valley, the Nuba Mountains, Thailand, Juba, Senegal…. Confused??

Me too.

Happily, it’s Sunday, so I’m enjoying a little solitude and the chance to reflect a little on my life: a rare opportunity amid the stress and bustle of the impossible task of trying to keep 6 primary healthcare centres operating in one of the world’s harshest, most volatile, and continuously frustrating corners of the world. There are so many days where I want to throw up my hands and run away.

But something keeps me here, doing what I do.

Perhaps it’s the glamour of being able to mention Dubai, Hong Kong, Montreal, Sudan and Thailand in the same story covering a span of only 2 weeks. Perhaps it’s the fact that despite the geographical spread of the world I live in, it continues to surprise me how small and intricately intertwined that world is, and how homey it feels no matter where I am. Part of what keeps it homey are the ties that keep me rooted – not necessarily to spaces, but to people: to friends and family who keep tabs on where I am and how I’m doing in the midst of all the struggles - and who care enough about me to stick with me through my long stories!

I love and miss you.

claiming my nomadic identity

Welcome to my first blog posting!

In an effort to define the strange lifestyle I seem to have inherited from my parents I've decided to claim the name "global nomad".

I’ve checked out the definition of nomad, and there are 2 options:

1. member of itinerant people: somebody who belongs to a group of people who move from place to place seasonally in search of pasture for their herds or food and water

Ok, so the group of people would be my family, and the moving from place to place part certainly rings true.

Now, “searching for pasture for my herds, or food and water”? .... Perhaps not. Unless you take that to be metaphorical - pasture for my herds could mean fulfillment of my heart's desires??

2. wanderer: somebody who wanders from one place to another.

Well, I guess that pretty-much sums it up, but it makes me seem a bit aimless. I like to think I'm not completely aimless...maybe just a little.

Join me as I ramble and reflect on my continued wanderings and what they might mean.