new habits die hard

The first few shocks of being home are always hilarious - I'm going to let you in on some of my inner thoughts, when I first arrived in DC last month:

-"Wow, this country is freezing!  Why is the a/c on!??"  (it was about 80 degrees outside)
-"I feel like I'm on NASCAR - seriously this cannot be a safe mode of transportation." (driving down 66 in rush hour)
-"I can't remember how to change my droid off of airplane mode!"
-"Why is there no dust anywhere?"  (this in reference to the concrete jungle)
-"All these street lights are overwhelming." (neon signs and police car lights)
-"Why do I have so much stuff?"  (unpacking my room)
-"I don't know if I still remember how to parallel park!"  (turns out I do)
-"I don't know if I can go to the grocery store - I will be overwhelmed."
-At one point, I almost spit my gum out onto the beautiful tiled floor of the Nairobi Serena hotel pool deck area.  Got it together just in time.
-I've forgotten how to cross the street like a normal person. I hold my hand out for cars to wait, as if they will obey me.
-My roommate asked why the bathroom was so steamy, and I realized I had forgotten that the water comes in different temperatures - not just hot and cold.
-I can't find the stars anywhere.
-I saw an ad for a motorcycle, and thought, "Maybe I should get that for traveling on dirt roads outside of town... oh wait, I have a car and I live in D.C."

It surprises me how much I still have South Sudan on the brain.  Remember how I said that any time someone calls - you always answer in case of an emergency?  You also return calls from numbers you don't know.  Yesterday I was sitting in a meeting and got a call from an unknown number - I almost left the meeting to answer it.  I miss sundowners on the Nile.  I miss dancing and sweating out all those sundowner toxins till all hours of the morning until my self-imposed curfew rolls around.  Yes, I miss Juba.  Reverse culture shock lingers on... and I'm thankful for my friends' patience with me while I try to wrap my head around this developed world of D.C.

Inspirations

Juba's first Tedx event was sponsored by UNICEF, and held in early July at the Juba Regency Hotel.  We heard from entrepreneurs, cultural artists, journalists, supermodels, and freedom fighters.  I was attending for networking purposes, since the event was focused on education, but I feel so priviledged to have heard from these inspiring South Sudanese leaders, including Alek Wek - South Sudan's internationally acclaimed supermodel.

The first story was one of women's empowerment - Mama Eunis recalled back to the days of 'the struggle' (this is what they call the long period of war between the north and south), seeing the ladies in Eastern Equatoria use the mash of shea bean curds to help their skin heal from wounds.  Mama Eunis organized the ladies into groups, and started producing shea butter to be sold.  She recognized a huge market opportunity in the soldiers, whose feet got very sore from marching.  The women were able to both make money and support the cause of freedom.  Today shea butter is sold in Mama Eunis's shop in Juba, and it's even exported overseas, still supporting the women who now have machines and additional tools to help them produce even more quickly and better quality shea butter.  In a country where fields upon fields like green without cultivation, I loved this story of entrepreneurship and production (her talk is here)

The next story was of Joseph Abuk, an artist whose claim to fame was writing South Sudan's national anthem.  He then went on to translated Shakespeare's Cymbelline into Juba Arabic, and produced the play in London - using traditional South Sudanese dress, and people from all different tribes.  He talked about the importance of cultural heritage, and the responsibility that goes along with this wealth of cutlural traditions.  His talk is here.

My favorite story was that of William Kolong Pioth, who was born in Aweil West in Northern Bahr el Gazal state.  William became one of the 'Lost Boys' of South Sudan, who traveled by foot to Ethiopia and then Kakuma refugee camp in Kenya, where he spent much of his childhood.  He told of when John Garang visited the camp, and, seeing that the boys were huddled into groups based on their tribes, told them, "Now you have one tribe - that you are all brothers, and must care for one another."  Garang then reorganized the boys into different living setups, where all the tribes were intermingled.  Somehow William made his way to Toronto, and went to school.

William told of returning to his home village, after decades of being away:  his father (the paramount chief of that area) was asking him for some improvements to the town, as he thought William was another aid worker.  William asked his father the story of his children, to which he replied that his two sons were killed in the war, and his two daughters had been married.  William asked if he would recognize his sons, if they came home one day - and of course his father told him he would.  Finally, when William identified himself as his son, he said his father would hardly look at him, because in this culture you are not supposed to show emotion or cry.  They sat and talked for a long time and celebrated his return.  Two weeks later, after William had returned to Canada, he heard that his father had died.  William told us he wasn't mourning his father's death, but celebrating the time that they had spent together.  Now William is fulfilling the Paramount Chief's requests by building schools and installing water filters in his home village.  William tells his own story here.

Some say that there is no logic to this country (I know I've even made that statement) - it's not true.  Yes there are paradoxes, but there is also a very non-Western logic.  Can you imagine spending your entire life fighting in the bush, and then turning around and sitting in a government office?  Every single day, every thought for the past 50 years has been focused on survival.  Why do you have 7 children?  Because 80% of children don't live past age 5 here.  Why do you not get the milk to market?  Because your kids are hungry, and it may be all the meal they get that day.  Imagine an entire worldview shift focused entirely on survival of some of the harshest conditions in the world - disease, war, famine, and you will have turned your mind's eye in the right direction.  This is why the people of South Sudan are so amazing - a country torn apart, and yet producing, growing, and strengthening.

If you want to hear the rest of the Tedx speeches, find your inspiration here:
Jok Madut Jok
Warille B. Warille
Rachel Alek

pieces

Every time I leave a country, I feel like I'm leaving a piece of my heart behind there. It sounds silly, but it's completely true:  there's a little piece of my heart at the top of Machu Picchu, waiting for the sun to come back out from behind those rainclouds. There's a splinter of my heart in Greece, sitting by the Mediterranean sea. I left a shard behind in Kenya, where I know that my friend Sheila will always welcome me 'back home' with open arms. There's a slice of my heart in El Salvador, probably gorging itself on pupusas right now. Of course there's a fraction left in Spain - not just in Salamanca, but in Barcelona and Sevilla and Cordoba. Another piece is floating down the Zambezi river. My heart will never be the same after all those weeks and months spent in northern Uganda - those tiny towns of Pader, of Kitgum, of Gulu, of Amuru - and all the pothole-filled roads in between are still holding on to part of my heart that I will never get back. There's even pieces left in places that I've spent little amounts time - like Milano or Prague or Tegucigalpa or Drumnadrochit.

You might think this is very bad for a heart - all those cuts, all that scar tissue. Do you know how the body operates when you're weightlifting?  Muscles get all these tiny rips and tears, then the effect of rebuilding over those tears is how we build muscle. I think my heart has gone through something of that process. Not to say that it doesn't hurt - can you imagine feeling like you're never quite whole because part of you is longing for another place in the world?  Your other friends from Gulu, your other favorite coffee shop from Milano, your other cute salsa-dancing crush in Salamanca, your comfy pillow from Nairobi? It's a horrible feeling, especially in the midst of leaving.

Humans naturally build community - we seek like and not-so-like minded people to bolster our lives and make us feel whole. Here in Juba, it was hard for me to make meaningful friendships because people live such transient lives - you basically need a backup group of friends for when all your A Team friends go on vacation or are traveling to Bor.

I mitigate the pain of leaving by leaving a door open for my return - I don't think there's a country I've ever been to, and said, "Well, that's enough of that place - I am sure I'll never come back."  I could not say that, even if I tried. Leaving is the worst feeling in the entire world, but it also serves to remind of what bonds can be forged in unusual settings. I've met up with friends from abroad all over the world. So, with one week and one day until I leave South Sudan... my heart is in pieces around the world, and it feels like it's breaking all over again to depart.  So what do you do?  Cry a little, let your heart rip again, promise to come back, and look forward.

the Driver

There are certain people that you just have to be able to trust.  At home, it's the contracts department in my office.  At church, it's the nursery workers watching your kids (I imagine, no kids of my own).  Traveling, it's definitely the driver.  Drivers definitely carry your life in their hands - knowing the best routes, shortcuts, and traffic-free spots are all key, but it's more than just that.  They have to know how to navigate through police checkpoints without getting stopped, see all those potholes in the road before we hit one, fix the car when it breaks down.  Drivers end up knowing basically everything about your life - whether you want them to or not.  They see you at your best and worst, and they remember.  So, the first person to befriend in a new country?  A taxi driver who can get you around town safely and quickly.

My first driver was - well, that was a different story (see earlier blog post).  My first good driver was Big John in Gulu - about 300 pounds and the nicest man you've ever met, Big John took care of me the whole time I was in Uganda.  He always checked up on me, and made sure I was safe and getting where I needed to be.  He also handed me the car keys, and let me drive myself around Gulu at night (maybe not so smart, but at least I was independent :)  Big John loved to give me life advice - all about when to get married and have babies, but also to take my time and be happy and wait for the right person.

Then in Zimbabwe, we had Shepherd - he was lovely, and always got me around on time.  In Kenya, my favorite driver was Maurice - he used to drive tanker trucks from Johannesburg to Nairobi and back.  In another lifetime, he drove the High Bishop around Juba.  He was always, always in a good mood, and knew where the traffic was going to be on any given day (if you've ever sat for 4 hours in Nairobi traffic, you understand why this is important).  We had some other drivers who tried to give me life advice in Kenya (thanks a lot, Alex) - told me I should already be having babies, and I need to find a Kenyan man to take care of me.  I gave him a lil' dose of American Feminism, which totally confused him, hah!

My driver here in Juba is Saddiq.  He was a bit quiet when I first arrived, but he's loosened up significantly over the past few months.  He taught me some Juba Arabic, and even knows the Saturday routine - yoga, swimming, then work.  Now he even teases me for all the bags that I carry around!  Saddiq only works during the day, so I now have a cadre of Kenyan taxi drivers who drop me off in the evenings - Amos, Paul, Bonny, Moses, Hafeez, David... they are also great, except for Hafeez who sometimes drinks between drop off and pickup, *sigh*

When I first got to Juba, I heard two versions of the same story - some gals who worked for my company had gotten stopped by the police, and they told me that they had talked the police down from taking lots of money and blah blah.  Then Saddiq told his version of the story, in which the girls were "all shaking" and he had to speak to the police to let them go.  Guess whose story I believe?

If I come back to Juba long-term, I will definitely want to drive myself around - but until then, I'm so thankful for Saddiq and his slow, methodical way of getting me around town safely.

The day I met Emmanuel Jal

Sometimes it pays to have connections.  I was in a meeting with one of the movers and shakers in Juba, Peter Ajak (he's just formed the first South Sudanese think tank, and leads the Red Army), and he mentioned that he was about to head to a meeting with Emmanuel Jal.  I told him to please send my regards, as I'm such a big fan.  Still sitting at Logali house 25 minutes later when Peter walked back in and said, "The road is closed - so Jal is coming here and you will get to meet him yourself."

For those of you who don't know who this is (probably the majority of readers), Jal is probably the biggest celebrity in South Sudan. He is an internationally acclaimed rapper and hip hop artist, who was a child soldier from an early age until he was rescued by an aid worker and smuggled to Nairobi.  Jal used his experiences to start rapping, and has performed for Nelson Mandela on the same stage as Alicia Keys. I've been inspired by his story for years - even made my brothers buy me his book on cd for Christmas!

Remember what I said about connections?  Emmanuel Jal walked into Logali House, preceded by my good friend (who sometimes helps me set up meetings), Muki Lita.  I should have known that Muki would be helping facilitate travel around Juba for the biggest celebrity South Sudan has ever had.  In person, Jal is about my height and was wearing a Bert & Ernie shirt.  None of that matters, because his presence was enough to render me speechless (I didn't giggle or curtsey or anything embarrassing, don't worry).  He just sat and chatted with us for about 30 minutes - totally down to earth and real.  He is starting a vocational training program for street kids based on a project he set up in Kibera (the largest slum in the world).

Jal got my phone number and told me I should come out partying with him and his crew later that night.  Pretty awesome.  Of course I didn't hear from him again after that first meeting, but he's a busy man - and I do think I'll get invited to his concert in September.

 

If you haven't heard of this guy before, I highly recommend that you get on YouTube and check out his music - War Child, Emma, and also learn more about his life (his book is available everywhere).  What an inspiration to meet someone who has overcome adversity and unbearable suffering to come back, excel, and do real good for his community.

Happy Birthday, baby country!

The first 2 weeks of July are busy ones around here!  South Sudan celebrated its first year of independence on July 9, 2012, and I was so fortunate to be here in the country.  I had asked my friend Richard to take me out, but he (along with half the rest of the population in Juba) decided to stay home and watch the parades on t.v.  Not exciting enough for me, so my kawaga friends and I walked about 8 hours - over to Freedom Square to see the celebrations.

Juba had been decorated all of the days leading up to the event - with big and small South Sudanese flags all over fences and cars and different roundabouts throughout the town.  It's hard to describe the feeling of elation shared among people on the streets as we walked.  Everyone was full of joy beyond joy - cars honking, police sirens, people shouting, singing, and all sorts of makeshift musical instruments.

Once we arrived at Freedom Square, crowds were milling about - everyone shaking hands and slapping each other on the shoulder.  We did have to walk through a metal detector to get into the square - but I'm not sure if there would have been any action taken if we had had been dangerous.  Lots of police were available - some of them drunk, others not - several friends got stopped as we tried to take photos, but nobody seemed to care at the end of the day.

There were so many cultural groups performing local dances - we almost didn't know where to look!  Lots of ladies and men in traditional dress, really looking incredible.  There was a parade of military tanks, soldiers, and the biggest guns I've ever seen - definitely a huge show of power on the part of the government.  We weren't really able to hear speeches taking place by world leaders, but the grande finale was two helicopters that flew over the crowds - waving and tossing out pamphlets highlighting South Sudan's epic history of independence.

There have been a lot of articles about how little South Sudan has accomplished in its first year as a country.  A lot of bullshit articles in my opinion.  How long does it take to build a nation?  Well, for the U.S. it's been over 400 years.  Kenya received its independence over 50 years ago, and look at how far it has come.  That world of 50 years ago was completely different than the world is now.  South Sudan has more to do to catch up to the rest of the planet - and they are making an incredible start.  Of course there is far to go - ministries, basic service delivery, infrastructure, stability, nationbuilding - all of these things take both time and resources.  I have rarely been so inspired by a country's determination for freedom and self determination as I have here.  Here's to many, many more July 9th celebrations!

First fashion show

One way to know your country is moving up in the world is when they have their very first fashion show.  I've never been to a fashion show, except the ones I attended with Carrie and Charlotte over many years of SATC.  This was slightly different.  The event was supposed to start at 6 p.m., so Liv and I showed up at 7... we waited about 2 more hours until the event really started.  It was called Fashion for Arts & Peace in South Sudan - and it was fully Tim Gunn fabulous.

The models were all at least 6 feet tall - both men and women.  The women wore dresses and slacks and jumpsuits, tank tops, blazers, skirts, shorts - I haven't seen such short skirts the whole time I've lived here in South Sudan!  It was more than just a fashion show - as there were singers and poetry slams in between the various designers.  Many of the designers were from Nairobi, but one designer was from South Sudan.

There was an opportunity to purchase clothing the next day, and in following weeks from each of the designers.  This is the kind of event that makes me remember - South Sudan really does have an incredible amount of talent and commitment to the arts.  Nobody should say people here are lazy or incompetent - they have the skills, and they're moving up in the world - not a doubt about it.

Going to church

I was at dinner with some friends, who were comparing notes on who has actually interacted socially (not for work purposes) with a South Sudanese woman.  Women can be really hard to find - as most are married or they are outside the country completing their studies.  I realize this is a gross generalization, but I was shocked when I was the only person who had met a South Sudanese woman out socially.  This is partially because just about all we expats do is work and party with each other.  Sad.  There is a huge divide between national folks and diaspora and expatriates - it's socio-economic, it's cultural, and it's so, so, SO wrong.  The more I thought about social interaction, the more I realized - the other part of this is that I go to church regularly - I would never have so much opportunity to meet people without this experience.  I want to talk about this - since it's both meaningful for me, and it may give you some insight into the culture:

Every Sunday at 9:30 a.m. (ok, it's more like 9:45) I walk to church - it takes me about 20 minutes, and I have to pass by several boda boda drivers who zoom by me like they're going to knock me over, as well as herds of cattle, goats, little kids, and a couple of kiosks where the men hiss at me.  I hate being hissed at.  Anyway, pass the bridge, right before the stadium, take a left, then another left and you're at Nile Riverview Community Church.  We meet in a container which thankfully has two a/c units and a door at the front and the back (in case I really leave at 9:55).  I try to be there early (thanks to my parents for instilling this in me:  never, ever, ever be late for church), and I always greet my friends the pastor, the elder, and the music guys.

We normally start on time, which is amazing, and even more amazing - we end on time!  I won't say that I chose this church for how short the service is (2 full hours), but I won't tell you that wasn't one of the determining factors - the Episcopals and Pentecostals take at least 4 hours each.

My favorite part of the service is the welcome message- Stephen (the MC) always asks, "Who do we have here from England?  Australia?  US?  Burundi?  Kenya?  Uganda?"  and so on, until we've reached all the countries represented by our little group.  One week we had over 15 countries!  We always clap for each country, and Stephen tells us, "I know you are far from home - you may be feeling that this is a very hard place, a place where you don't know friends.  Maybe you are even thinking, 'Today I will pack up my bags and go home.'  But I want to tell you - here, you are among friends.  Here, feel at home."  Even remembering this speech gets me choked up - the creation of community through mere words.

Then of course there is worship and offering, prayer and sermon time.  This week, Martin (the elder) brought all those who have family members who are sick to the front, and prayed for us together.  Sometimes we sing songs in kiswahili, but most are in English.  Sometimes the piano player is not there - and we have to have a stand-in.  Sometimes the a/c units don't work.  Sometimes they run out of bulletins.  Sometimes I feel too tired to go to church, but every Sunday this place is a blessing.  Being in community with believers is precious to me.

Gate-Crashing

There's something very special about being with your own country-people overseas.  I love all people - truly, but it's different being with people who talk with the same intonation and make the same kind of jokes.  I love being American - but ironically I don't have too many American friends over here in Juba.  Being overseas for Fourth of July is a truly unique experience - and one that is special to me.  I've celebrated the Fourth in Gulu before, and also in Harare - Americans come together to share in celebrations, but we also welcome others to celebrate with us.  We poke fun at the Brits, thanking them for the opportunity to celebrate our independence, and generally try to eat hamburgers (or at least I do).

I had just arrived back in Juba on July 3, and realized that I had no plan - now, in Juba you always have to be on a list in order to get into a party.  It's because of security reasons, but it feels very exclusive.  Imagine that level of security for house parties, and then multiply it exponentially to think of how much security you would find at an Official event.  So, my friends told me they couldn't get me onto the list - it was closed 2 days earlier, and no exceptions.  Well.  I figured there might be a problem like this, and would have been perfectly happy to attend Talent Search South Sudan (more to come on this later), but I met another American reject, and we decided that we should at least try to get in.

Now, Greg wanted to have a strategy of how we would approach this - I really prefer to wing it, but at least we agreed that we are Americans, and therefore deserve admission to this party.  We were first met by a fierce (and large) female guard.  She did not want to see us, and did not want us to get in (even when I flashed my US passport, she was unimpressed).  So we made a plea to the security manager (also South Sudanese), who said the list has been taken inside and they don't have access to it.  Well, claiming we were on a list that wasn't even available..... ok, so then the security chief disappeared back inside (I assumed to go find the list).  Then came out two Americans, and I knew we were in.  We smiled and talked college football, and they were completely welcoming.  I think both the feeling of being an outsider and being warmly welcomed are things that typify America.

Of course the gentleman who kindly admitted us to the party is the ambassador's right hand man, so we immediately met the ambassador, and thanked her for allowing us to join.  Then we worked our way over to the dance floor (really just to take a picture), but Madam Ambassador broke it down with us for a few minutes.  It was a great moment, and a great evening - so good to be with my people.  Thanks, America.

Talent Search South Sudan 2012

American Idol has come to South Sudan - it's really an incredible phenomenon.  Vivacell is a local mobile phone company who has been sponsoring this contest over the past 4 weeks.  I believe we started out with 24 contestants, and last night was the grand finale.  The best part is that everyone is invited to a live recording of the event (completely free of charge), and sometimes they toss free t-shirts out to the crowd!!

You have your three judges (one lady, two gents - one is Simon Cowell-esq), each contestant does a different song each week.  We hear everything from Tupac to Eminem to Nigerian artists, even a few local artists.  The songs are truly terrible.  No one can carry a tune, and almost no one has any rhythm.  It's not a good situation.  Plus you have the lights catching on fire (not kidding), people walking up on stage to give the performers money, microphones shrieking every time someone uses them, judges speaking too softly to be heard.  It's basically everything that can go wrong with an event, all rolled into one evening.


Out of all the contestants - there are only two women.  One is a true African Mama - she dresses traditionally, and always sings traditional songs - we love her!  The other is like South Sudanese Shakira - she wears these outrageously stylish outfits (seriously, where do you get those clothes in Juba?  I need to know where she shops), and works the dance floor.  Most of the male contestants dress like rap stars - seriously blinged out necklaces and belt buckles, chained wallets, flat-brimmed hats, saggy jeans, converses - the works!  They would put my little brother to shame in his gangsta style.

Last night was the final episode of TSSS, and while I was off partying with the other Americans - I'm told there was extra security (police + guns), but not even enough security.  Here's her account of it:
"There were policemen with guns, and I wondered what they were doing there until I saw how the audience got too excited. Then I actually wished that there were more policemen. There were too many people inside this time and when the audience got too excited it was both fun and scary.
A lot of them tried to get up on the stage. One lit fire to a spray can and almost "blew fire" on one of the contestants. So when they had announced the winners and people started running out on the stage I asked if we could leave. When we drove off we saw people running around with the winner's check and others started fighting."

Yes, you read that correctly - someone stole the winner's check for 10,000 South Sudanese Pounds (currently about $2,000).  So wrong!  and yet it feels like an appropriate ending to such a hilarious event.  I hope we will have another talent search!

Acholi wedding video!

found here:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KFnfawGPbgU&feature=share

You can see a brief cameo of yours truly at 13:35 or so... this is really what an Acholi wedding feels like!  It takes days upon days, and you really do have to crawl into the hut, keep your eyes down, not be disturbed when the women come and stare at you.... haha, it's great!

Croissants and Culture shock

I came home for a weeklong work visit.  I came home to check in with my management team (yes, it takes a whole team).  I came home to attend a conference.  I came home to get some respite from Juba.  I came home to surprise my family.  I came home because we always get a break at 3 months.  I came home because I could.  I missed 2 epic parties, saying goodbye to one of my best Juba friends, and a chance to visit my friend's home village.  I spent 40 hours in transit from Juba to DC.  I ate thousands and thousands of calories (mostly in hamburgers), saw over 40 friends, spent over $2000, and cried more tears than I thought possible.

Why this emotional upheaval?  Well, let's go through the checklist:  Jet lag is a bitch, but this time it didn't hurt quite as much as I expected it to.  All my bags made it safely, and none of my gifts were broken.  On the flights, I wasn't seated next to anyone smelly, sick, or loud (this includes babies).  There was one fatty who was also drunk, but I'll take what I can get.  My parents were happy to see me, saw my best friends in the whole world, got to hang with 3 of my 4 brothers... I got a pedicure and LOADS of gossip from my friends, great hugs all around, a couple of happy hours - this honestly is the best week I could have asked for.  So why do I feel like I'm walking around in a cloud of self doubt?

I think my Aunt Chris put it best, "People want to know about your life overseas for all of 7 minutes."  This week was surreal - half the time I was comparing life in DC to life in Juba, and the other half I was thinking - in 3 days I'll be back in South Sudan, in 2 days I'll be back in South Sudan...  It's hard to go shopping when people who live right around me in Juba are sleeping under grass roofs.  It's hard to know that $60 for that dress at Gap (seriously, every dress at Gap costs $60) could pay for a family's meals for a month in Juba.  It's hard to be confronted with suffering, with no real outlet for these emotions.  You would think it's hard to live that way in Juba - like, why isn't it just as hard to brush my teeth there, knowing that the boda boda drivers are using sticks to brush their teeth?  Well, it is hard - but the contrast in the U.S. is so much stronger.

The last day I was home, we had a huge electric storm - with power getting knocked out all over the commonwealth of Virginia.  People were SO afraid of these 100 degree temperatures - without air conditioning, what would they do?  And I thought, "This is exactly what people in Juba deal with on a daily basis.  But they haven't had the privilege of education, fuel, or a full belly."  ugh.

I went through the week looking at people like their heads were screwed on backwards, or maybe like I was viewing them from underwater.  Maybe someday this culture shock thing will not hurt quite as much, but today-- it hurts.  It makes me scared to come back to D.C. in August, and it makes me scared to keep up this lifestyle of travel.  I thought I was invincible, but reality eventually catches up to us all.

walk, sit, stand

Here are some tips for your next trip to Juba:
-stand in the shade, not the sun.
-if you're walking, walk on the bumpiest part of the road - that's where the fewest cars are likely to drive
-when a drunk guy starts following you on your walk, get as much space between you and him as possible.
-when you're sitting and the flies start to swarm... let them.  unless they're swarming your face or getting in your drink, then you can flick them away.
-it's ok to greet people, but I generally use these rules: only greet children if they greet you first. Only greet men if their tone sounds respectful. Greet women without discrimination.
-never assume anything is safe from tiny ants. They will eat your food, even if it's sealed.
-if you charge your Kindle through your computer, do it without your computer plugged in, so that your Kindle doesn't blow up.
-when you hear a bump in the night... assume it's a monkey or a mango.
-don't argue with the expats, they are all convinced they know more than you.... about everything.
-when your driver is driving - do not leave your hand hanging out the window, or your arm, or any body part.  While your driver is primarily concerned with keeping you safe - this really only applies to the road, and he will let your arm get snagged by trees and branches, or splashed by mud puddles as he deems appropriate.
-when you visit Logali House, do not expect the waiters to come to you.
-there's one seat where the air conditioner unit drops on people in Logali.  Figure out where it is, and keep your computer away from it.
-don't argue with police, you will not win.

Last, but not least... don't make up your mind too quickly.  About how your day went, about whether you have an amoeba or a parasite, about how you feel about this country- about anything.  This place is full of contradictions, it's confusing and crazy... but in some ways, it's also very good to live in Juba.

Addis Ababa

"Is that where Arabian Nights happened?"  My little brother asked me.  "No, G, that's Ali Ababa."  It's not Arabian nights, but there is a different feel about this city.  The first thing I thought when I walked out of the airport was, "where's all the noise?"  Quiet.  Calm.  Posh.  Measured.  European.  Plentiful. 

I've never been to any country where the women were so beautiful - it's completely overwhelming, and I've caught myself staring at these deep-eyed Ethiopian women several times.  Hopefully they haven't noticed.  Their features are so delicate, and their hair is not quite like most African hair - it's a bit softer, so many more women wear it naturally and curly, which I love.  The men are also beautiful, but it's not quite so shocking as the women.

The streets are paved, the buildings are built several stories, the cafes serve multiple kinds of tea and coffee.  The merchandise is beautiful and good quality, the taxis are plentiful, the spas are high tech, and the power stays on.  I feel a little bit like I've been introduced to food for the first time.  Everything is so delicious - the cakes, the pastries, the lasagna, the coffee.  I would definitely not lose my Africa weight if I lived here!

The clubs are posh, and it's safe to stay out all night.  There are strobe lights and real cocktails and real bouncers.  You can stay out all night without fear that some drunk police officer is going to stop and harass your driver.  booya.

I arrived Friday afternoon, and Lisa and I went immediately for coffee and snacks (what I know as samosas are called 'sambusas' here)... then a quick happy hour with Lisa's fun friends at Black Rose, and we were off to a fancy Italian dinner.  After that, there was an 'old school' party, which I initially thought meant we were going to hang out with boring old people... not so!  It meant a throwback to 90s music, which was pretty awesome (yes, we danced to several Will Smith songs).  After the music got lame, we went to another club called Flirt which is more like a lounge, and then Lisa and I felt the need for some serious dancing, so she got us into the VIP lounge at H20.  These club names are so funny.

Well, by the time we woke up and ate breakfast (brought directly to Lisa's room, oh yeah!) on Saturday, it was time for lunch at a little French bistro called La Mandoline.  I got soup n salad, Lisa got fish - but the best part was the dessert.  Incroyable!  Then it was an afternoon of shopping - we went to Mercato, the biggest open air market in Africa.  I didn't find too much loot there, but had a lot more success at the oldest coffee shop in the country, Tabaca, and the silver market (oh yes).

One of the great things about working for Chemonics is that we do these incredible projects all over the world, and someone who doesn't even work on that project gets to enjoy learning about it and meeting the people who work on it.  So - one of our projects is a regional trade hub project, and part of what it does is encourage entrepreneurs in the fashion industry.  So I got to meet one of the designers and visit his shop - he has recently been featured in really cool magazines, and is getting quite a following in the U.S.!

Saturday night held more partying for us, and then Sunday was a spa day for me.  I went to Boston Day Spa, where an hour long massage costs approximately $14.  Again, incroyable.  Monday was mostly spent in the airport and on planes (yes, who knew a 2 hour flight could take 8 hours? thanks, Ethiopian airlines), but I'm really happy to be back in Juba once again.  I had this strange feeling of being ready to come home, home to Juba.  I think that's a good sign :)

*Must note that none of these pictures are mine - I forgot to take any!

worries...

Fair warning - this is a bit of a random post...

I always know when I'm worried, because I'll wake up with a headache from grinding my teeth.  TMI?  Sorry.  I think you can tell a lot about life by what you are worried about, right?  So I've been having all these hilarious dreams while in Juba - and here are some of the things that I've been dreaming about:
-getting lice (at least 3 dreams about this)
-recently discovered a hole in my mosquito net, so naturally dreamed that I got malaria
-roommates being moved out when I come home
-missing beach vacation with the family
-my leg swelling up with worms
-getting fleas (can humans even get fleas?)
-getting bitten by one of the street dogs
-something about wandering the streets of Juba alone at night

I'm in Addis Ababa for the weekend (more posts about that later :), and one morning I woke up and had about 5 minutes when I couldn't remember where I was!

M-V-P

I'd like to acknowledge that this is my 100th post!  Thank y'all for adventuring along with me!

Most Valuable Proposal.  That's right, folks, I've had another one.  In addition to the variety of stalkers (who call at midnight and 6 a.m., and all times in between), today I had my most expensive proposal yet.  It started with me taking a seat in the reception area of an NGO.  The two men sitting there greeted me, and I greeted them back.  Then, jumping right in, the bolder one (who I later found out was named Daniel Garang) said, "I am looking for a white girl. You are still very young, let me give you some advice:  you still have time to marry a Sudanese man."

Now, I do not like being called a girl.  I am enough of a feminist to know I deserve a little more respect than that.  So naturally when they asked where am I from- I told them Canada.  By the time I was done my persona was Anna, the 30-year-old married woman from Toronto.  Daniel told me he would like to move to Canada, so that's why he wants a white wife.  We didn't get into the fact that there are more than just white people in Canada....

Even though I am already married, Daniel said maybe he could pay my husband and then he could marry me instead.  I told him, I am already married to a Sudanese man (conveniently named Benjamin Deng - Deng is like Smith over here).  He was shocked.  (remember the advice I got from my friend?  always married, always to someone here, always to a Sudanese)

A trade?  I don't think so, besides, my husband paid a good dowry for me.  Daniel was surprised- he didn't think white girls required a dowry.  Let's tally up the insults:  first you think I'm a kid, then you offer to trade me like a new video game, and then you say white girls aren't worth paying for.  Unacceptable!

I told him he must always pay a dowry, and I am wayyyy to expensive for him to afford.  2,000 cows expensive (this was the most outrageous amount I could imagine).  He said he'd raise me 3,000 cows.  3,000 cows!!!  That is how much Daniel wants a Canadian wife.  Wow.  Best offer I've gotten yet, out of any country I've ever visited.

Sadly, I told him no thank you (I'm married already, remember?).  But of course I had to shop my offer around a bit, and one of my friends texted me back, "I have no cows, but can offer my life on the line."  Two in one day.  Guess this girl's still got it.

Daniel told me to pass out his number to any of my 'sisters' who might be interested in marrying a Sudanese man.  I can't promise you 3,000 cows (I've got on my lucky socks today), but at least an entertaining date!  Holla back if you want his number.  It's written in my notebook.

Locked up abroad

Not me.  But this is one of the scariest things that can happen to a traveler.  My friend Etienne told me his story.  (I seriously think we could send this to the tv show - a new twist!  a French citizen locked up in America.  Does anybody know somebody who works there?)

Etienne was driving through New Orleans when a car pulled up in front of him too fast, and he hit the car.  The lady driving was not upset or injured, and Etienne says the car was just dented in the bumper.  Police showed up, and before he knew it - he was being ushered into the back of a police car.  Etienne thought he was headed to the station to give a statement, but he was sent to a temporary detainee cell - this cell was about 10x10 square feet, and there were 4 guys in there.  Since it was a transit cell, most of the guys came and went (read: had bail posted for them) within 24 hours.  He said he was the only white collar person there - most guys had been picked up for drug charges.

You get one phone call per week, so he looked up the French embassy - but it was Friday afternoon, and the embassy was closed.  Etienne left a voicemail saying he was a French citizen needing help, but he never heard from the embassy.  The next week, he was moved to a longer-term but still a transit detainee cell - this one had about 24 guys in it.

He also got to go before a judge in traffic court, where he was finally explained the reason for his detention: the police reported that he was violent, agressive, and uncooperative.  He also found out that he had a fine of $250.  Etienne says he could easily have paid the fine if he had known about it!  So, with his next Friday's phone call - he called a bail bondsman - but since they only receive 10% commission (about $25), nobody would come let him out.

So, once he had served his two weeks in American jail - they released him, gave him his things, and let him go free.  He still had to pay that $250, then he recovered his car from the impound lot (fortunately didn't have to pay that one, since he proved he was in jail), grabbed a shower at the local YMCA, and got out of New Orleans.

Now:  I realize I only heard one side of the story, but can you imagine if this was you?  scary!

Jebel and Juba

When I first arrived, I made a French friend named Etienne.  Etienne promised that he'd take me to climb Jebel, which is a 'big hill' just outside of town.  Juba is growing so quickly that Jebel will soon be within the town limits - Etienne told me that the town grows about 1 kilometer each year.

So we drove out to Jebel, which means mountain in Arabic.  It's a bit of a scramble to get up the hill.  On the way up, we passed several guys breaking rocks.  They burn underneath the rocks to release them from the ground and make them easier to crack.  Then they roll them down the mountain, and truck them into town for various construction projects.  As the locals rip rocks off the mountain, they also are cutting down trees for firewood.  It's really sad to see the complete destruction of somewhere that could be a longterm economic money-maker AND a green tourist attraction.  There's also a slaughter house right at the foot of the hill, which brings vultures and flies swarming.  yum.

The climb takes about 25 minutes, and there are lots of lovely views on the way up - but when you get to the top - you have a 360 degree view of Juba and the surrounding burroughs.  So beautiful!  There's a great view of the Nile snaking past Juba and heading on up to Egypt.  We had a cloudy day, which was actually perfect, because the sun would be scorching at the top of the hill.  Sadly, in addition to local destruction of ecosystems - somebody wrote Russian graffiti on the top of the rocks :(  what is wrong with people?!?

Lots of people were already at the top when we got there, but they mostly left.  There were even campers (although that's illegal).  You know what else was up there?  Ravens, vultures, and crows.  And they dive bomb people.  For someone who hates birds (have I told the pigeon story yet?), this is not ok.  I wanted to throw things at them, but all the rocks had been rolled down the hill!  urgh.

All in all, a great hike - good to breathe the air outside of Juba (not quite so dusty), see the sites, and scramble over rocks.  Etienne also stopped by the Juba Cultural Center on our way back, and I got to take a look at the casino... who knew Juba had a casino?  So fun.  I wonder if I can find my way up the big hill by myself next time?

Country of Paradoxes

The restaurant where I'm working has a new electronic system for payment.  The waitress is using it to play spider solitaire on the computer, while her assistant waitress wrote out my bill by hand.

Yesterday, my driver pointed and said, "the office is down that road," and then he drove right by the road.

I was talking to a potential recruit on the phone to set up a meeting.  When I got back to my computer, he had emailed me his phone number.

I was at a meeting where my interviewee burped three times.  During our meeting.

Logic.  It's something maybe we aren't born with, but at least we develop it from an early age - based on norms and societal rules, right?  No?  Not here.  Logic is a foreign concept.

Twice in the last 2 days, I've given my introduction to Chemonics (my company), held the meeting, and then at the end - the interviewee said, "Now, what is this organization you work for?"

Yesterday someone told me his goal was to brainwash all the youth of this country.

The first week I got here, a plane crashed on the runway in Yambio.  Nobody had any equipment to move the plane, so it just sat there - and travelers were stranded for several days in every direction.

Last night I had drinks with someone espousing the Do No Harm principles of disaster relief, while simultaneously admitting that that relief creates a culture of dependency (i.e. longtern development nightmare).

My bathroom has black mold growing along the grout, despite the fact that Bernadita, the cleaning lady, comes every single day to clean.  So, I bought some vinegar and have begun scrubbing a little bit each day (thank you, LL, for that cleaning tip!).  I thought maybe Bernadita would get excited or get involved, but nope - she leaves the black mold to me.

Foreigners in general are unwelcome here, but especially those from East Africa.  So much for warm hospitality and African pride!

Two weeks ago, the flag raising ceremony was taking place - and a driver continued driving when he was instructed to stop (out of respect).  SPLA soldiers shot and killed not the driver but the passenger.  Senseless.

Everywhere I go, people talk about building capacity - capacity, capacity, capacity.  Yesterday my driver told me, "these people are all raised in the bush - they only know the life of war."  This is part of the problem - but it can't be the whole story.

Jerry's Journey

Friends, I realize you may be wondering how our friend Jerry is getting along - (the bug that I found in my bathroom, remember?).  Well, he has been quite busy - Thursday and Friday he made two circuits around the walls of the bathroom.  This is as far as I know - he may have made more, but I only was around for 2.

Then Saturday afternoon, he perched right next to the bathroom door for a few hours, and eventually snuck his way out of the bathroom into the main bedroom.  I know, big exciting stuff for a big bug!  He really could have done this at any time, because the bathroom door is at least 2 inches off the ground - but I didn't tell him that.  Some things a bug must learn on his own.

All this while, I've been reminding him of our pact - official isolationism.  I don't kill him, and he doesn't lay any eggs (or leave the bathroom, but he modified that part slightly).  Despite Jerry's liberal interpretation of our pact, I left him to wander my room unhindered - he really is an explorer at heart.

Well, when I arrived home um, late Saturday night (ok fine, it was really Sunday morning) - tragedy!  I found Jerry sprawled out near my "vanity" area (really just a sink where I put my vitamins and toothbrush), on his back!  quelle horreur!  Pauvre Jerry, what will we do with him?  I thought he was dead and was goign to scoop him up and give him a proper burial, until I saw a slight wiggle of one of his antenna.  Folks, Jerry is still alive at this moment - I don't have the heart to kill him.  I really don't know what step to take, but I fear his time is near.


*quick note to say, yes, there are other things happening here than me sitting around watching a mammoth winged grasshopper who may or may not have a stinger wander around my room.  I just thought you might enjoy this peak into rustic Juba life.

Finding friends

Isn't this one of the hardest things to do? I won't get into all the crazy high-school-esq awkwardness of making friends - but let me just say that making friends in a place like Juba is tough. You have 4 basic categories:
1. the Lifers. This is the top echelon - they've been here through the hard times, and have earned the right to hang out in the good times too. These folks are there for at least 12 months or more, and they have seen LOADS of people come and go. They are jaded, and they have gotten over it just enough to stay here indefinitely. They know everything (they may even tell you some of what they know, so listen closely), and they deserve respect. Yesterday, I met someone who said she will stay in Juba forever. I *almost hugged her on the spot, and I did in fact ask if I could be her friend.

2. the Don't Bothers. These folks are here for 2-4 weeks, and they're not coming back. Don't bother trying to get to know them - they are loud and looking for a good time. They'll definitely show up at the Saturday party, make out with the dude we all know you shouldn't make out with, and then be gone in the next week. Their names are probably Joey or Jenny or Bill or Britt. Something American that you'll never remember. these people are the reason I don't remember small details.

3. the Middies. These people are here for 6 months or so, and can't wait to tell you everything they know about Juba (or wherever)... These storytellers talk about their worms, their trips to the field and their run-ins with the police, each topping the last person's story with their own. It's possible you could find friends here in this group- the best way is to ask about their life story... obviously.

4. the Scrubs. yes, TLC, said it best, "I don't want no scrub, a scrub is a guy that can't get no love from me..." You may recognize the scrubs from one of these attributes:
-they will try to impress you with a. random knowledge, b. a feat of strength, c. their connections around town, d. their cool motorbike, and always with e. their popularity
-they will be your best friend in a minute- offering free tips, rides, coffee, or where to find fuel tomorrow
-they will have all your information (phone numbers, email address, and skype deets) before you know what hit you

-and then they'll try to get with you... as if those first three things have earned the right for a shagfest.

it's ok, though, once they realize you're not available or interested - they move on quicker than a mosquito bite to the next new girl in town. just brush 'em off, unless they are seriously persistent - then you can tell them, "You're creeping me out," which normally works.

So, what do you do to make friends? When I asked someone this, he told me: "Find something in common to talk about, invite to booze, follow up." I'll let you know how it goes--

Maladies and malarone

Amongst all the extras that I packed to come here (extra socks, extra tampons, extra vitamins, extra hair ties)... extra antibiotics were not included.  Why?  Because I'm tough, and I almost never get sick... not until I got to Juba.  I never take malaria meds, I use a filtration water bottle, and my stomach is made of iron - well, until I got here.  That's when I discovered if you are healthy one day, you'll most likely be sick for the next two.  Don't bother with preventative vitamins, they have little effect.

Part of the problem is that you never know where you are actually catching this or that bug from.  When I first arrived, it was from rinsing my toothbrush with sink water (that was dumb, I admit it).  Then I spent a couple weeks with hourly headaches... maybe too much caffeine?  Or maybe it was the lettuce in my salads?  Now, having just been back from Kampala for 1 week, I spent the last two nights clutching my stomach and begging the pain to go away.  I slept 12 hours last night (thank you, aleve).  But I also forgot to bring tylenol and enough cipro for the next three months... guess I will be surviving on pepto and aleve.

I know I'll be fine eventually - but these illnesses are more debilitating here than they would be elsewhere.  When I woke up yesterday, I felt fine - but by noon, I felt pretty miserable and didn't want those spicy thai noodles.  By 5 p.m. I was canceling my evening meeting, pumping my body full of napricin, and wondering why both my head and stomach were hurting, how does that even work?  Today, it's 2 p.m. and I feel fine.  So far.

One of my friends has been sick every 5 days since I arrived.  He just takes a round of antibiotics and gets over it - no need to go to the clinic.  Another friend says the only way to get rid of parasites is to let them pass - you can't kill them, she says.  I think it's the climate that most surprised me - being near the Nile makes everything damp and humid, which is a fabulous breeding ground for bacteria.  There is a little bug that crawls up through my shower drain each day, and struggles to get out of my shower during the evening, and then disappears again in the morning.  Today, I woke up to a gigantic bug in my bathroom - his name is Jerry, and we have a very strict agreement that he will not be laying any eggs while he stays with me.  (he/she - I'm cool with transgender bugs.  Maybe Jerry is really Gerry, and short for Geraldine, who knows?)

Today I am healthy, and today I am thankful.  Tomorrow is anybody's guess.
------------

just one quick addendum a shout-out to my amazing mom, who wrote me this in an email this morning:
I know what you mean about facing a huge bug alone.  One time I was in Cucuta, Columbia--alone because they stopped me at the border (I had to renew my visa before re-entering Venezuela).  I woke up in the night to find a cockroach the size of a shoe--no lie.  I couldn't envision killing it, so spent the rest of the night with the light on and very little sleep!  I hope you survived your encounter with Jerry.

Doin that thing you do

Recently there have been all these articles about people who travel, expatriates, how we do - the way we are, and on and on.  I have something to say about this (I know, shocking):  People with similar experiences have a natural bond, so it shouldn't be surprising that someone can group all expats into one category and create broad stereotypes of how they act.  There is almost nothing so intense as emergency aid work in developing countries. Don't teachers and nurses and florists all have a bond too?  duh.

I was chatting with my friend Becky earlier tonight, about the dating scene, and mentioned that guys I've met overseas tend to be bad boys or cowboys or broken pasts or something that makes them dangerous.  I wonder if they also think us traveler girls are all the same too?  Stereotype traveler men.

I just finished a trek from Juba to Kampala... there is no shit show like the Juba airport, that is for certain.  Sometimes, being a woman is a really good thing - others not so much, but as I was pushing, elbowing, and clawing my way through the mob to get to the security gate, one man took pity on me and held back the crowd so that I could get through.  THANK YOU, whoever you are.  Stereotype this white girl who couldn't hack it on her own.

Kampala is having beautiful weather right now - it's about 65 degrees and sunny every single day.  I'm staying at the place which would feel like home if I were a millionaire.  Seriously, this pool actually makes me want to swim laps, this must be how the other side lives all the time.  Stereotype the millionaires.

I've been having some driver difficulty - but I keep reminding myself, this is just how life is.  Get used to it.  One day last week, the driver made me late to a meeting because he went home to change his shirt.  When I got picked up from the airport, the driver had no fuel and asked me to buy him some.  He also had a busted mirror, which was like begging to get picked up by the police.  Yesterday, my latest driver was 100% un-knowledgeable about where any of my meetings were located.  Grew up in Kampala his whole life, he said.  Ok...  Stereotype drivers.

Then I think, well if there's a reason for stereotypes - what is so wrong with them?  Believing them, acting upon them, never challenging them, right?  We all have them, right or wrong, but I loved being shocked out of my stereotypes, and I hate when people or events just confirm them even more.  Readers, what do you think?

Breakfast

There are few things I enjoy quite as much as a decadent breakfast.  It's not just the abundance of food, the gracious service, or being somewhere elegant and bathed in sushine, no - it's the leisure of it all.  My favorite thing to do when friends come to visit is take our time making coffee or tea, whip up some whole wheat pancakes, make a frittatta (thanks, Martha, for teaching me this skill), bacon, and then toss some fruit on top of plain yogurt and granola.  It's the thing that I never do on work days, the sumptuous feeling of taking our time through the morning, and the delightfully full way to start a day.

My favorite breakfast of all time was at the Serena in Zanzibar.  I haven't written much about my trip there, honestly because there wasn't much to tell - my two friends and I sat on the beach, drank rum n coke, swam in the crystal waters, and soaked in the incredible sunshine for 3 glorious days.  But the first morning we were there - oh, that breakfast.  You wake up to the most blue water you've ever seen, right out the balcony (glad to be out of bed, since we got a 1 person room for 3!).  You rub the sleep out of your eyes and strategize how to walk downstairs as if 2 of your party had just met you for breakfast rather than slept at the hotel with you.  You are served a delightful cappuccino probably with the shape of a leaf or a heart made into the foam (which you try not to destroy by pouring sugar over it).  The Indian Ocean breeze is wafting through ceiling-to-floor windows, and fishing boats that look remarkably like pirate dinghies pass by.  The blue water is a lovely breakfast companion.

You walk over for your first course - begging your stomach to take it slowly and enjoy all this food.  The fruit is fresh mango and honeydew and orange and papaya, and it's ripened to perfection.  Second course - some eggs perhaps?  Now, all the eggs in all of east Africa taste the same to me (all the same ingredients - I could write a book about 'spanish omelette, please') - but you eat them with the knowledge that the cook made these especially for you - just you.  By now you are on your second coffee, or maybe you've switched to juice in the meantime - what a selection of juices.  And finally, when you know your stomach really should be winding down - that's when your custom-ordered waffles arrive.  You drizzle them in some blueberry compote, and take that one moment (the first bite moment) to recognize that this is your happy place.

Perhaps you've been talking through breakfast, or perhaps you've been sitting in silent appreciation.  It doesn't matter.  I've never experienced breakfast like that.  Other places are also nice if you're not vacationing - the Sankara in Nairobi has a delightful spread (although they only get your eggs right 1 day out of 4), but the crepe man is so friendly.  In Kampala, the Serena breakfast is also luxurious, and the staff are the kindest in the world.  In San Salvador, the Hilton Princesa is delightful - and you have to get a cup of their cafe con leche, because that's the only way to start your day correctly.  Or perhaps you're in Milano, and your breakfast is espresso and lemon cakes and focaccia bread.  Delightful and unbelievably unhealthy!  In Harare, I know I've told you about the incredible scones with real clotted cream to eat with your tea. 

But Zanzibar, wow.  Try it sometime...

sad day

Three things broke my heart today:
1. Churches in Khartoum were burned to the ground over the weekend.  Racial and religious hate crimes - against places that also serve as hospitals and schools.
2. My friend sent me this picture - "Kony 2012" spray painted on the memorial for victims of the Boston massacre.  It actually makes me physically ill to look at it:

3. I've mentioned before how people always answer their phones in the middle of meetings - it's totally annoying, and bordering on rude.... but everyone expects you to answer your phone at all hours.  Well, late, late last night and then again early this morning I was awoken by a phone call which I ignored.  Later I talked to this friend - she got beaten up yesterday.  This is why you always answer your phone in post-conflict Africa.

It's not about feeling like this world is too dark, it's about having hope... I don't see a lot of it out there, but I don't know everything.

the 3 questions

I was told today that there are 3 questions to which you always answer, "yes" here:
1. Are you married?
2. Is your husband from here? (South Sudan)
3. Is your husband here? (in the country)

Because apparently if you are married and your husband is South Sudanese and he is in the country, and dude messes with you?  He might get shot.

classic

I'm going to let you in on a few challenges you could run into as an overseas guest:
1. the men on the street told me, 'Run fasta, run fasta!'
2. a black fly kamakazed into my cappuccino this morning.  I fished it out and drank it anyway.
3. my shirt from target just started unravelling.  also this morning.
4. my friend's passport is being held up at the embassy because the worker asked her to marry him, and she said no.
5. my other friend's apartment got attacked by flying termites.
6. within one hour, I was told that I got fat, look too pale, should not have cut my hair, and am too young.  too young for what?  nothing, just too young.
7. Your business is EVERYBODY's business.  Yesterday, the pastor at church called out the honored guests saying, "You are most welcome back to church.  We know you have not been here in many months, but you are most welcome anyway."

Juba, ra ra!

I arrived in South Sudan on Wednesday - so this is my fourth full day here.  Everyone says a lot of different things about Juba, but I'm not going to compare with what everyone else says (I try to never do that), I'm just going to give you the facts from my perspective.

#1 hot, hot, hot.  I've never been anywhere this hot.  It's 10 a.m. right now, and probably 90 degrees (I'm still learning celsius).  We had one night of rain last week, that cooled things down... it was only 70 by 10 a.m., but then the afternoon was just as hot as before.  I'm pretty sure the only way to avoid the heat is to jump in the pool.  I tried running one morning last week - definitely, that has to happen before 8 a.m.

#2 paved roads!  I've counted 5 so far.  It's very exciting, but the rest of the roads are that red dirt, as usual... so the dust is really strong.  Makes my nose and throat all congested.  But that's fine, because I barely notice the smell.  Remember the smell from when I first started coming to Africa 4 years ago?  I don't smell it any more.  I'm not sure that's a good thing.

#3 they really don't speak kiswahili here... it's Juba Arabic, which is not like regular Arabic (or so I'm told).  The sounds are much more gutteral and tonal than I'm used to - maybe after a few months I'll have some phrases down.  Right now all I can remember is something that sounds like "quacha" which means white person.  classic.  maybe I should start working in South America where all languages lead to Spanish.

#4 it's cool to be badass.  Every time I meet a new person, it's the same 3 questions, what are you doing here?  how long have you been here? and have you been out of Juba?  the more badass your answers, the more street cred you get.  Obviously, I'm going to be headed out of Juba as fast as possible.

#5 it's not for families - In Zimbabwe or Kenya, you normally see families - but it's obvious that this is not a family post (as we call it in USAID lingo) - I've only seen one white kid, and he's the exception.  Most people where I'm staying are older British folks.  I talked to one gal last week who said I was the first American she's run into while here.

#6 location, location, location.  I'm at a small "hotel" outside of Juba town... big mistake.  The closer you are to the nightlife, the better - this is because you won't get stopped at a police checkpoint on your way home, and have your evening ruined.  Need to figure out a solution to this.

#7 war, what war?  The first day after I arrived, Sudan declared war on South Sudan.  However, everyone I've spoken with remains blissfully unconcerned about this - "yes, it's bad," they say.  Or, "we knew this was coming," but not one person out of my 6 friends (hey, 6 friends in 4 days - that's pretty good!) actually thinks that the war will move to Juba.  That sound is not a helicopter or a bomb - it's a lawnmower.

I think 7 things is enough for now.  If I get it together, I'll send some pictures - although, it's illegal to do photography here, so maybe I won't.  I'm off to church!

an Acholi wedding, part 2

All of the groom's side met outside the venue and were bussed over to the wedding site. As we arrived, there were dancers and singers who surrounded us, and we danced our way into the venue (an outdoor affair, obviously, with 5 lovely tents surrounding a circular ground - I was in the VIP tent. Believe it).
Then came the ushers - each new group of people is brought in on a white carpet, and they dance their way into the little arena. Each group is requested to search for the groom or the bride (depends), but no one can find him/her until the very end. Ushers are female, by the way. They wear traditional Acholi dress, which are called gomasis, and are quite intricate to put on. They have these huge shoulder poufs, which look hilarious. The goma is supposed to accentuate the woman's features - especially her bum. They will make you pad your bum if it doesn't look big enough. The gomasis also have a sash around the waist - as my friends tell me, "You cannot dance like an acholi unless you have something tied around your waist." They are a hundred colors, and look truly fabulous.

The ladies march their way in, and each participant is given a special envelope from the groom's side with money in it. So nice and, I imagine, so expensive! The MC asks the groom if he can find his bride among the ushers, no, no says the groom, my bride is not in that group. Then the flower girls march in - precious - but the groom cannot find his bride amonst the flower girls. Nevertheless, they are paid for their efforts. Next come the aunties, who are more splendid than any of the previous groups - in their gomasis. They search and search for the groom, but they cannot find him. The aunties are rewarded for their search.

Now I've written this in the course of 10 minutes, and it probably took you less time than that to read it, but these activities have taken place over the course of several hours. It's probably 5 p.m. by now, and we started around 2. There's dancing, MC chatter, and refreshments all along the way. Finally, finally comes the bridal party - the bride with her maids (their term not mine). They are all dressed alike - not in gomasi, but in beautiful red and gold under-dresses with a red sari on top. The bride - well, you're not supposed to know it's her - but her outfit has a lot more gold than anybody else's ;) So Bill's sisters come down out of the raised VIP tent to look for Joanna, and they make a whole game of trying to find her. When they finally find her, there's great rejoicing, ululating, and dancing! Bill's sisters made a sweet speech to welcome her into the family, and then all the VIPs were requested to bring in the family gifts. Each gift is symbolic - carrots, sim sim (sesame) seeds, onions, etc, and each is carried in a basket. For the ladies in the group, we carried them on our heads, and danced our way up to Joanna to present the gifts.
Then came the final moment - introducing the groom to the bride's family. Joanna's aunties came back down the aisle, and searched and searched for Bill in the VIP tent. Finally they found him, brought him down to the front, and presented Joanna to him. All his family was there to accept her, and her family was there to give her away (having already negotiated the dowry several days before).


Ok, introductions completed - then it was time for dinner! We ate delicious local food - chicken, beans, rice, bor, beef stew, and fresh fruits. Bill told me that the number of attendees kept changing - at first they expected 600, then the number dropped to 400, then increased to 1,000, but he insisted they would only cook for 800. Then, let's see - there were speeches by Bill's dad, Bill and then Joanna. (Joanna was wearing a black gomasi at this point, with beautiful patterned colors all over it).
Then I believe there was another break for Joanna to change again - her final outfit was this hot pink wrap dress that had gold sequins all over it. She looked stunning! Joanna and Bill cut their cakes, which were modeled after typical Gululian homes (little clay huts with straw roofs). Then it was the maids' job to serve the cake to the guests. Typically they would have to walk around on their knees to do this, but I guess this was a more forward-thinking couple :)
After dinner and cake, Bill and Joanna opened the dancing to all by making a full circuit around the mini-arena dancing in true Acholi style. At that point it was all over - you couldn't have keep us off the dance floor if you wanted to!

I think what I'll carry with me (in addition to the hugs and excitement of seeing my NUTI friends again), were Bill's words to Joanna: "It's taken me 43 years to find the love of my life, and I'll love you forever."

pictures to come!