Cows in the Sky

One of the things I love best about living in Sudan is the feeling I have after having a shower at the end of the day. Cleanliness. Refreshment. Satisfaction!

It’s so good. Not because the shower itself is so good, so high-pressured, so hot & steamy, such clean, fresh water – because it is none of those things, and often little more than a few brown-tinted dipper-fulls in a bucket (more accurately called a “splash” than a shower). But rather because of the transformation: because of how I felt before the splash – how much dust I had in each elbow crease, behind my ears and scratching at the root of each hair on my head; because of how sweaty I got during the day; because of how many filthy, ratty boxes I lifted, or cruddy hands of curious children I shook. Being cleansed after being so filthy feels fantastic.

It’s like grace.

Some beautiful faces to go with those grubby handshakes.

I just returned from a week in the field on Saturday, and treated myself to a nice long post-field shower – with water that fell on its own from the faucet! Amazing. But all the field dust and crud is all worth it. All the richer the adventure, I say.

I was in the field to join our Education Team on a trip to investigate potential for future programming options. If all goes well, I’ll be joining the Education department in a new position as of April this year.

Having now made a few field trips, I’ve concluded that they generally feature three things: discomfort, adventure & serenity.

Discomfort. On this particular trip, discomfort included things like the fear of falling into a pit latrine at our camp, the concrete base of which was cracked and caving in, and the contents of which were disconcertingly near the top. I was counting down the number of visits remaining to the loo by the end of my trip. Now that would be a story to beat all stories – one which I’m quite happy to be unable to tell you now. (It’s these small everyday blessings one must be thankful for!)

Another discomfort this trip was a feeling my body has so quickly forgotten since returning to sweltering Juba – cold. It was remarkably cold at night in the site I visited. In the day, on the contrary, my thermometer surpassed its mercury limit in the sunshine, and reached a whopping 47C in the tent I slept in. But at night, a miraculous change took place and the temperature dropped 20-some degrees to a mere 18C. This is fine and lovely if you have a blanket, or a nice pair of cozy p.j.’s, but if you’re used to sweating through the night in Juba and you have nothing but a bed sheet…brrr… I shivered through the night and couldn’t wait for the roosters crow to signal the time to get up for my hot cup of tea. My suffering drove me to visit Abiemnom’s meagre marketplace in search of a blanket. I found 2 options: a big fluffy blanket for an exorbitant price, or a more affordable velvety alternative with tassles. I decided to go cheap, and chose the most palatable of patterns in the velvety spread department. The result: survival through the 5 am point of frigidity. Unfortunately, there was a slight side effect of, shall we say “colourful” dreams, thanks to the happy plaid, blue and pink flowered shroud around me. It really was quite hideous. I dreamt I awoke on the morning of my wedding day and realized that I had planned my entire wedding and sent invitations to everyone, but failed to inform my future husband, who I didn’t really even know. Hm…analyze that one. I blame it on the fuzzy blue flowers.

Adventure. That exhilarating mix of hardship and pleasure that makes life so rich. No major adventures to report from this trip, but a couple of out of the ordinary happenings to report.

Having landed safely at one of our sites with our charter flight, we were supposed to travel an hour and a half by road to our final destination. And therein likes the adventure of trying to get our vehicle moving. We had battery problems which we were assured would be fine once the vehicle got going once. So we got all the muscles we could gather together, and tried to push start…and failed…and tried again…and again…and again….Full points for effort I must say. The story goes on and on through various trials & tribulations, but suffice it to say that I would not be exaggerating if I said I pushed this 4-tonne vehicle 15 times. To no avail. Great exercise. Lots of fun. Especially in the heat of the day. We did, in the end, make it to our destination triumphantly with the help of good neighbours.

If you replay this movie again and again about 15 times,
that would give you an accurate idea of how I spent my
morning last Wednesday.

Another little adventure was on our last day in the field when I had the honour of being chosen to be married and remain forever in Abiemnom. At the end of a teacher training graduation, our organization was presented with a special gift from a woman in the community.

Gorgeous gift of locally-available seeds & nuts.

With it, came a piece of beaded jewelry for each of the 3 foreign ladies representing the organization. The other 2 received necklaces and I got a bracelet. They then informed me that to receive a bracelet means one is chosen as a bride, and that I must stay in Abiemnom and marry a Sudanese. I’ve decided to give the offer some thought from the safety of far-away Juba. Given my recent dream, I don’t want to jump into anything I’m uncertain about. ;)

Group photo with some of the teachers trained. I'm at the bottom right.

Of all the random things....Kung Fu in Abiemnom. Out of nowhere
during the graduation ceremony, after long speeches by various
important people, one of the teachers and his student come out with
a Kung Fu performance. Fabulous!

If I did decide to marry & stay in Abiemnom forever, I would
want my house to be as happy as this one. If you can't read it,
it says "Wel come to home" over the door.

And after several years of child bearing, as a good Sudanese
wife, my family might look something like this.

And, finaly, the best part of a field trip: serenity.

Sunset by the borehole.

A retreat from electricity, internet, traffic, construction, noise & office stress. Wonderful. At breakfast each morning, we watched the flocks of hundreds of tiny birds near our camp swooping, soaring, descending on one bush in a flutter, then suddenly moving on with gusto – dancing to the rhythm of some song we cannot hear. During the day, I savoured the tenderest goat I’ve ever eaten, nursed cups of tea with milk, got lost in the book I’m reading, made a fantastic new bug discovery, found a puppy to play with and enjoyed walks through the community (oh yes…and did a bit of work too). I ate supper under the brilliant moon & stars untainted by city lights, and learned that in Nuer culture, the stars are believed to be cows. When the stars are thick and bright, the fox is watching over them. When they’re faint and scattered, the hyena is on watch. He does a poor job and scares them away when he eats some. And guess where your cows go when they die? The happy pasture in the sky. How nice. I started off to bed at about 8:30 every night for lack of anything else to do, and slept long and deeply, feeling so blessed to see, feel, hear & experience all that I do.

My latest insect discovery. This is an ant lion. They build little pits
in the sand to trap unsuspecting ants as they walk past. Then they grab
them with the little pinchers on their heads and pull them under.
Very exciting to watch.

Sweet little puppy with old man whiskers at one of our camps.

Happy neighbour children.

Boys fishing in the roadside ditches.

And now…back to my uncomfortable chair behind my laptop. To the task of somehow, through some mysterious act of grace I know not of – trying to bring something more of the blessing I know and appreciate in life to the lives of others. That’s the idea anyhow. How? If? When? And what good my personal struggles with spreadsheets might possibly do… That I do not know. And hence the need for grace.

In the words of Archbishop Oscar Romero’s poem:

We cannot do everything
and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that.
This enables us to do something,
And do it very well.
It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way,
an opportunity for God’s grace to enter and do the rest.

Death and Taxes

For the sake of staying true to my old tradition, I thought I'd post a post today. Unfortunately, I have nothing profound to share, and not a single photo to post. Suffice it to say that I'm alive and well, and back into the groove in Juba. The groove of work and work, a little stress and lots more work. But all is well. And, not only that, but as a resolution for this new year, I'm attempting to live a far more balanced life, and am actually doing not too badly at it. Solutions have included leaving the office before dark, twice-weekly pilates, morning runs, tree planting and compound-beautification projects, occassional forays into the greater social scene, maintaining Sunday as sacred and untouchable by work, some good book reading, crocheting a scarf (I know...of all the things to crochet in Sudan...but I'll send it to someone somewhere colder!), learning to play guitar, and the usual indulgances - movies, West Wing nights.... Life is not too bad.

So about the title of this post: nothing to say about taxes, as I don't want to completely bore you. (Though I'm happy to report I have already done my taxes for this year with the help of my dear ol' dad - thanks DOD).

It's the death part I wanted to comment on. In the past 2 weeks, I've lost the two babies I raised in Sudan - my cat Toby and my coddled Avocado tree, Alvin. The loss of both is inexplicable. Toby just disappeared on day, and has never returned. Some of the staff tell me he "got married". I think they're just trying to make me feel better. My beautiful avocado tree just suddenly got extremely droopy one day and that was it. He's gone.

Evidently life (and particularly life in Sudan) is riddled with death. Heartbreaking for the would-be gardener or pet owner in Sudan. In my time here, I've seen the death of 10 chicks, 9 ducklings, 3 kittens, many little herb plants, and 1 graceful avocado tree. Sadly, for the many Sudanese families, this heartbreak extends to people as well. It seems nearly every week one of our staff has a death in the family.

But...such is life. The good and the bad and the mess in between.

Happy February.

How I Spent My Christmas Holidays

I remember when I was 8 and went back to school after the holidays.

“Back to school! Looking so cool!” …the ring of that inspirational Bata shoe store jingle from Pakistan motivates me to this day. And infact I do have cool new sandals for my return to work.

The first assignment when I got back to school was to write about what I did on my holiday.

I got back to Juba two weeks ago and have been waiting for the internet connection to be well-behaved enough to post my "report" ever since. Home, sweet dusty, sweaty, sweltering, chaotic home. Aahh…it’s good to be back. Here’s my photo report on how I spent my holidays:

On my Christmas holidays I….

…Enjoyed the beauty of British Columbia

Long walks by the sea-side





Kayaking on the lake where my parents live



Hiking in the enchanted forest across the lake





Admiring stunning views from the kitchen window



….Engaged in cold snowy Canadian winter activities in Alberta

Sledding



Cross Country Skiing








Watching other people skate (unfortunately I never got a chance to do it myself)




Lying in the snow and tasting the sparkles or gazing up at the winter sky







Sitting in a sweltering sauna and then running out into the icy snow

Trudging through the snow-laden forest – and coming home sparkly.

Enjoying the cozy feeling that Christmas lights and a snowy world provides.

…Took care of business left unattended for a year while I hid from it in Sudan

Taxes, banking, a doctor’s appointment, a dental appointment, an eye exam, a hair cut, shopping, sorting through 1 year of mail…

No photos for this section as this is all dreadfully boring, except – I bought some new glasses. I went glamorous and chose some slightly cat-eyed frames with rhinestones! Yes…rhinestones. Not usually me, but I thought I’d have a little fun. Here’s me being silly and vain while trying to capture a decent photo of my new specs.

Oh yeah, and check out the new haircut. ;)


…Took part in a few cultural events unavailable in Juba

Went to a movie in theatre, a free concert by Ann Vriend and fireworks on New Year’s Eve in Edmonton’s city square.

…Had lots of bonding time with my ma & pa, grandparents, cousins, aunts & uncles, and caught up with lots of old friends

Typical Ford family photos

....And got well rested and rejuvinated for all the work and fun that has awaited me in a far away land, in a whole different world, with a whole different climate. In another place I call home.

Luggage Anxiety

I have a confession: despite being a seasoned nomad, I suffer from luggage anxiety. Fortunately, it’s not debilitating and I’m still able to travel in spite of it.

There are 2 main symptoms to my particular affliction.

Firstly, I have a complex about packing light. When embarking on a journey, I’m always concerned that I will have the appearance of packing too much, or will be perceived as a frivolous girl who must have packed excessive pairs of shoes and a blow dryer. This fear is unfounded, as I generally have a tendency to under-pack, finding myself with inadequate footwear options and unruly hair. I’m often told how lightly I travel, and yet, I can’t seem to take this compliment(?) to heart. I attribute the source of this complex to my brother. He is very likely the lightest packer I know and manages to survive on little more than one pair of trousers and a toothbrush for impressively long periods. I suspect my problem is rooted in the repressed memory of some self-satisfied comments he made in the past during cheeky adolescent years comparing his light and miniscule luggage to my (relatively speaking) bulky load.

My second symptom is airport weigh scale anxiety. I have a fear when checking in that my luggage will be overweight and I’ll either have to have a fight with the airline representative, or submit and pay a hideous fine. Again, this fear is unfounded, as I most often travel under the luggage allowance. However, there have been a few odd occasions when I’ve found myself overweight. Which brings me to the story from my journey back to Juba that inspired this post. I’d like to entitle it:

“Goodness prevails over evil once again: the importance of being nice (and earnest)”

Ethiopian Airlines has a new policy on hand luggage. Or rather, they have the same policy as has been in place for a while (1 piece, 7 kg), but they’re suddenly enforcing it and enforcing it strictly which comes as a surprise to most travellers who are used to getting away with using this little loophole in the system. At check-in, you have to sign a waiver stating that you know you are only allowed 7kg, and if it’s over, you have to check it and will be charged 10 Pounds for every kg over 7.

I weighed at check in and with my 2 laptops and 5 cameras (purchases for Sudan), came in at 11.6 kg. Darn. I explained that I couldn’t check it in because they were laptops, and she said, “ok, well see if you can reduce it at all and go to the gate and they will charge you for the excess there”.

So…after going through security, I re-packed, stuffing as many things as I could into my pockets (thank goodness for my puffy down vest!) and carried my book in my hand (hey – they don’t check body weight!). At the gate, my bag still came in at 10kg, - 3 overweight. I did my best to be sweet, patient and respectful as I explained my situation, unlike a few of the other passengers who were clearly abusing the system and being quite loud and aggressive about not being allowed through with all their hand luggage and overflowing duty-free bags.

It was all quite amusing, though a bit stressful. The airline “bouncers” were getting really upset and the passengers were doing a lot of shouting. I kept quiet and tried my best to look pitiable and innocent. They kept telling me to just wait, just wait. For a while I feared I might miss the plane, but just kept waiting, as instructed. At one point I asked the guy again if he’d help me and he said “I’m trying to help you…I just can’t do it in front of everyone else”.

In the end, my strategy paid off. After waiting for nearly 45 minutes, they ushered me through sneakily without saying a peep and didn’t charge me anything. Very lucky!

Let niceness reign.

Photos & highlights from my winter escape to Canada to come shortly....

Climate Change

Snow!




December has arrived and I've made a dramatic change in location, lifestyle and climate for a one month reprieve from Sudan. I'm back in Canada, to one of the places I call home, to spend Christmas and several weeks of rest with my parents, grandmas and grandpa, cousins, aunts, uncles, and long-unseen friends.




I was welcomed home with beautiful snowflakes, and a reminder of the beauty and magic of Canadian winter.






With the extra time on my hands, I'm catching up on delayed entries. Make sure you read about an amazing day I had last month - just added below.

Swamp Walking

This morning at 8 am, with nothing but a cup of tea and a few biscuits to fuel me, I and the team of 5 vaccinators set off for the village of Marial: a two hours’ walk.

As we set out, I ask just how many rivers we would have to cross.

“Many! – maybe 4 or 5.”

About 15 minutes into the hike, it’s announced that we’ve arrived at our first river.

It’s at this point that I realize that the word “river”, when delivered via English as a second language, in this particular context, actually translates to “muddy, mucky, murky, swamp”. It’s a giant sloppy puddle with deep, unavoidable mud all around.

I realize why all the vaccinators are wearing gum boots for this 2-hour hike, an offer I had declined for fear of blisters. For a moment, I hesitate, realizing that my running shoes are going to become massive blobs of mud the moment I make my first step. I decide that this won’t likely matter as there is bound to be more water and mud on the journey and thus, bravely make the first sloshy, gushy step.

I got myself into this journey. I came to the field to do another round of computer training, but when I heard that the vaccinators were planning to go out for an outreach, I suggested we postpone the training a day, and eagerly asked if I could join the outreach trip.

“Can you swim?” they asked me.

“Yes.”

“Ok, then you can come.”

They had just finished telling stories of various recent journeys in the area and how the rivers are up to “here!”, holding a measuring hand proudly against their chests or necks as appropriate.

I wanted to understand our immunization program (and why it doesn’t work very well) better by seeing it in action myself. I also wanted to see the “village” and real life in “the bush” in Sudan. I also wanted to take part in one of these famous long “Sudan walks” my mother told stories about from her time in Sudan and follow in my mother’s footsteps and her legacy as an impressive walker for a Kawajah lady (a white person).

“That Janice! – your mother – Ay! - but she could walk FAR!”

I was right about the first messy steps being the first of many.

Swamp #1 is shallow and muddy, requiring some serious trudging and complete disregard for my footwear. Swamp #2 raises the stakes with knee-deep water. Swamp #3-5 have knee-deep water plus unpredictably slippery, sucking, surprisingly deep or very sticky mud beneath it.

Swamp #6 passes the crotch-line and I am now committed to this swamp-walking in a more intimate manner.

Swamp #7 – here it is at last – water up to here. This is crazy!

As I step and trudge and splash my way through, attempting to keep up with the impossible pace of 4 long-legged Nuer men leading the way, I think how ridiculous it is that I’m walking through chest-deep swamp water and mud. Crazy, disgusting, and potentially risky. Names of various water-borne diseases roll through my thoughts with accompanying horrific images of worms emerging from foreheads. Now…was that the one you get from drinking stagnant water, or from bathing and – gasp – walking through it!? Oh my…what is that floating in the water beside me? I’m just going to pretend I didn’t see it. O yes – and I saw a big black swimming snake.

Temporary disgust and fleeting fears aside, however, I’m thrilled. This is truly an exciting African adventure – the real deal. And I can’t wait to share the story.

My travel companions are good fun, the weather is beautiful and not yet scorching, the water is cool and delightfully refreshing. Fellow journeyers on their way to the town stop to shake our hands in the middle of the pond and exclaim or giggle at the site of a Kawajah lady in the mud. And suddenly, surprisingly, in the midst of mud and scum and murky water – the most beautiful flowers are growing. I felt like an orchid seeker wading through the swamps in the film Adaptation.

At last, we reach our destination. 2 hours precisely, despite my being much slower in the water than my experienced swamp-walking companions.

On the edge of the village, we are met by a large group of women, all balancing large baskets and bundles on their heads They’re on their way to the town we just came from for a big celebration later in the afternoon to mark the appointing of some new military officers. In their celebratory mood, they start ululating upon seeing me, bringing a huge grin to my face. They start doing this happy dance and some of our staff attempt to join in to lots of giggles and smiles.

We head on into the loose scattering of huts which constitute the village and begin four hours of vaccinating children under the scorching mid-day sun. We arrive at each household to warm greetings and curious children and leave to tears and whimpers of pain. A thankless job in terms of instant feedback.

I’m struck with what a ridiculously challenging job this is under a relentlessly hot sun after walking 2+ hours through 7 “rivers”, to reach a population that rarely stays put. And you’re supposed to reach each child 3 times to fully immunize effectively. The barely literate vaccinators have a hard time even filling out the forms to record their names. They struggle, when I ask them which children of which ages they ought to vaccinate with which antigens.

The families lose their record cards and don’t know what vaccinations their children have been given in the past. The vaccinators don’t quite have the capacity to track everyone effectively and keep good records. There’s no sense of duty to comply or remember a follow-up appointment on the part of the mothers, very little comprehension of the need for the vaccines, and often hostile feelings towards the idea altogether.

The vaccines are volatile and must be kept cold – in a place where the idea of keeping anything cold is laughable.

In short, the immunization program is doomed.

On the other hand – and praises be, there is another hand! – the other thought that struck me as I sought to find even the smallest pool of shade to squat in in one family’s evidently treeless, shade-less yard, is “this is amazing”.

Here we are, in the middle of very arguably “nowhere”, and we’re standing out (in the sun) next to a basket-full of maize, giving this wee brown baby and her beautiful mother the antigens they need to protect them from some potentially deadly but easily preventable diseases – right at their doorstep. That is an amazing feat.

And we even managed to complete the 3^rd dosage for some children on this visit - success. And the new intensified strategy we’ve been trying this past quarter is actually showing unprecedented results. It could be possible that it’s actually working, that vaccinators are actually getting it and that children are actually being protected because we work so hard that they can be. That is wonderful.

About 15 households and many crying babies later, we begin the trek home, knowing, this time, exactly what we’re in for on the journey. By now the water is like a warm bath when you really didn’t feel like taking a warm bath, but thankfully cool fat raindrops bring a short reprieve.

We’re drawn to our destination back through mud and water, and through herds of impressive Nuer cattle by the beating of drums on our auditory horizon. Gradually it builds in volume and I imagine myself to feel like the excited village girl coming to town for the big celebration.

On arrival, we find the town positively charged with excitement. Young men are leaping around with spears and dancing together in mock fights. Their spears are now only sticks – a new law after frequent “dance-place brawls” broke out. After a shower to scrub off my swamp smell, we venture out to observe the festivities.

Clusters of older men, women and wide-eyed children press around a circle of young men singing, stomping shaker-clad feet, whooping and spearing.

Later, topless young women and girls enter in to these circles and…well…shake their goods...before all the young men. I politely decline the offer to learn how to dance as the young women are (although admittedly, it is an amazing skill how their breasts can move entirely independently from the rest of their bodies). Adolescent energy is clearly a driving force behind the whole event. Later the staff tell me that there will certainly be many young women abducted tonight – a cheaper, faster way to get a wife than following the usual dowry procedures.

The community members are delighted to have a foreign guest observing their festivities and I undoubtedly shook nearly 100 hands and felt a few tugs at my hair by curious onlookers in the jostling crowd. I feel very much a welcome guest and fully enjoy the cultural display. - It's all a welcome change from my rather sheltered existence at my office desk in Juba.

Back at “home” on the staff compound, I climb into my bed at the end of a long day and look up at my crude grass roof of my tukel, feeling a little more Sudanese than I ever have before.

The end...of a remarkable day.