August 12, 2012

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

August 7, 2012

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.

August 5, 2012

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.

August 1, 2012

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.