The Field: An Introduction

"The field.” Whenever I use this term – everyday lingo in the NGO World, used to refer to the places one works that are not your headquarters – it brings to mind images of skipping through a field of tall waving grasses and perhaps a few happy daisies. The reality? …A little different. Shall we replace that image with one of being scorched by the sun while trekking across a crusted plain of parched, barren soil? Or if it’s rainy season, make that plodding through ankle-deep muddy water and foot-sucking mud as tadpoles flee your giant “gum-boots” (as we call them here) and male frogs sing out their love songs all around you.

I’m in the field as I type this. It’s rainy season now. When I woke up this morning and stepped outside into ankle deep water, I discovered that the rain plummeting down most of the previous night had not gone anywhere, but stayed right where it dropped, making a giant muddy puddle of our compound.

The daunting trip from my room to the WC

Sudan excels at extremes: unbearable dryness, heat and inescapable dust most of the year, then suddenly, torrential rains, a miraculous appearance of green life, flooding everywhere, inescapable mud, mosquitoes and plagues of frogs, and why not throw in an outbreak of cholera or a profusion of malaria cases to boot?

Before
(I took this photo at our compound in this field site in May)

After
(Taken of the same tree on this trip)

Being in “the field” is a good thing: an escape from vehicles, internet, electricity, the demands of a busy office. And this week I needed it. I’ve been catching up on sleep and limiting my computer time due to solar power restrictions. It’s a blessing. It’s not easy though. Liken it to camping: it’s relaxing, and a refreshing escape from the norm, but it’s also a considerable amount of work, it’s uncomfortable, there are challenges to bathing effectively, the food is not always the greatest, your clothes are always dirty, and you have to use your flashlight and mosquito repellant frequently. But you embrace the rustic-ness, and thoroughly enjoy the unique bonding moments you have with your fellow “field-dwellers” under starry skies as you sing songs together during evening devotions, or tell long stories over dinner time.

Sharing a meal under a tree at the home of one of our staff
who lives in the area.

The conversation is always interesting. Today after lunch under the big tree I learned all the step by step process of getting a wife from the Kakua tribe, if you’re a man from the Madi tribe (involving sitting cross-legged for 3 hours, paying in goats, chickens, bows and arrows, kerosene and matchboxes, and throwing a lot of cash around in an arduous detailed ceremony. I also learned how one of our staff recently “stole” his wife-to-be from her family, flying her half-way across the country without paying the necessary dowry. Apparently this is an acceptable move if you’re Nuer and want to marry a Dinka woman. You pay the cows later and it’s all fine, but if you had gone through the usual process, you would have been instantly refused. And some good news for the girls: I also found out that if you’re a Dinka girl, and you have bids from 5 different men, you can choose to marry the guy you like who’s only offering a few cows, rather than the creep who’s offering a hundred cows (if you have a kind and considerate family who are not desperately poor or exceedingly greedy and are thus willing to let you make the choice). Since I’m still in the bidding process myself, I’ll keep this useful caveat in mind. ;)

One of the handsome Nuer cows exchanged in dowry transactions,
and someone's good wife milking it for her family's daily
sustenance of milk and sorghum.

Eligible young ladies

Nuer lady with impressive facial scarification.