Drishti

We've been doing a lot of warrior 3 in my yoga classes recently. A lot of tree, and a lot of eagle. Poses that emphasize balance (like these) require a focal point, strong concentration, deep breaths, and the ability to relax despite trembling limbs. I love them- you dig into your core, and embrace the wobbles. I've learned to pick a point on which to affix my gaze - in yoga, this is called a drishti. It can be anything- a piece of lint, a ceiling tile. On Saturday, a tall dude raised his hands into tree and blocked my drishti. I found another one. Last week, I was in a mixed-level class, and sooo tempted to check out my fellow yogis' skills. But if you look around, you lose focus and fall. It's a balance of staring intently at this one central point, and not feeling so tied to it that you can't do the pose without it.

I find metaphors for faith in almost every physical activity or expression. In dancing, I'm reminded of the tension between trusting someone completely or falling flat. There still aren't a lot of dudes that I trust completely as a dance partner. When I'm out running the trails, I connect the perseverance and the steadiness to Jesus' faithfulness, the race toward heaven. Throughout my life, the drishti I need is Christ and no one else. If I look anywhere else, I wobble and fall. Even the beautiful practice of another will distract me.

Another aspect of the drishti is intangible - where your mind and heart focus during practice.  It has been a challenge for me to figure out what exactly to think about during yoga - peacefulness, acceptance of my practice, maybe non-judgment or beauty.  The last few weeks, I've been so, so happy to get back to practice (after 6 months of a sprained ankle), intention has been really important.  It's hard to explain, but through the intention of finding peace, I've learned about several other attributes like beauty, perseverance, and trust.  Then in the moments of savasana (the last pose in class), returning to my intention for a moment, I've been given scripture to consider.  I don't have a deep explanation for this - only that God has given me his word in moments of need.  It's made me want to memorize so much more scripture!

But back to the drishti:  It finally struck me that the best places to focus are attributes that please God.  (Please don't ask me why it took me this long to figure out - I think I needed God to show me this, not a person)  So, in the past week I've focused on the fruits of the Spirit: Love, Joy, Peace, and Patience.  Coming soon to my practice are: Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness and Self-control.  I'm hoping to go through the Bible to find other qualities and concepts to focus on.

I don't have any grand illusions that this will suddenly change my life.  In fact, yesterday, I completely forgot about my intention of joy, and tried to muscle my way through the class.  Not a good idea.  However, I do love the ability to focus on qualities that are spiritually and physically important to the Lord.  Love isn't just an emotion - it's a way to treat your body, when you can't accomplish a pose.  Patience is more than an ability to wait meekly, it's a perseverance through hard times.  I'm loving these new drishti, and can't wait to see where the next steps of this journey take
me.

Eating slowly

I'm sitting in my office, thinking about Jordan.  Remembering how much power I had over there (relatively speaking), and how different my life was, and how much happier I am now.  And somehow, my mind drifted toward lunchtime.  Ok, that's not so surprising, but bear with me.  In Jordan, I was in charge of this clandestine food drop-off operation, a staff of 12, and loads of U.S. taxpayer money.  But somehow, I could never get lunch to be delivered to me in a timely manner.  Either there is no system for to-go lunching in Jordan, or traffic would delay it so long, that I'd be on the verge of a hypoglycemic meltdown before the food would arrive.  There's not a category in Jordan for 'fast food,' unless it's shwarmas, for which you have to go to a little roadside stand.  There is nothing in between a full, heavy meal and a kebab wrapped in newspaper.  Why?  I think the Jordanians view food as an event, as more than just a means to an end (which for me was always to end the tummy rumbles that would interrupt my meetings).

Uganda was similar - we would wait hours for dinner.  Some days, I would choose between food and a good night's sleep.  In lieu of this response, "No, madam, today the eggs are not there," wait staff would prefer to go to the market, purchase a chicken, wait for it to lay an egg, and then cook it for you.  You think I'm joking.

Surprisingly, in South Sudan, you could get food a little bit more quickly.  I think that's because the culture of Juba had been overtaken by the expatriate world, and vendors knew that their profits lay in fast service.  The food made my friends and me sick more often than not, so I guess they needed to work on that aspect of service.

In Spain, my roommates and I still remember the hunger pains before and after those giant midday meals.  From one extreme of hunger to the other extreme of gluttony, that food was never easy to come by.  We had one late-night snacking spree in our kitchen, which resulted in a major scolding from our mama.  Food was available at mealtimes only, no mas!

Is America the only country where even sit-down restaurants are fast food?  In Greece, it is considered the height of rudeness to bring a patron their check before they request it.  Similarly in Uganda, if the waitress brings the bill before you clap your hands, it's considered rude.  I loved that approach to time management and the lack of 'busing' tables - we more than just eaters, we were guests.  I flip-flop between appreciating speedy American service (this comes naturally to me) and loving the indulgence of a long meal.  Letting the world go by, taking each moment in, even taking my time over courses - these are all elements of patience that I'm learning.

Yoga

I was thinking last night about yoga, and the adventures that I have gone on through this practice.  I've done yoga on 3 continents, and yet the farthest journey has been within myself.  Maybe I should start with the physical manifestations of how yoga has changed my life - although yoga is so integrated, it's almost impossible to separate the physical from the mental from the spiritual.

I grew up in a family of athletes - although there is some internal debate about whether trying really hard is worthy of the word 'athlete.'  All my brothers played football, basketball, swam, ran, and did a variety of other sports.  For as long as I can remember, my parents were at the gym every single morning at 6 a.m.  My aunt was state champion in tennis, played lacrosse, did gymnastics, and, in her mid-60s, still lives an incredibly active lifestyle.  Dedicated athletes.  Trying to keep up, I swam and ran cross country.  I was pretty darn slow, but I loved the runner's high, the camaraderie, and the ability to be out on the trails.  So I've always had pretty strong legs, but have never been particularly muscular.  I started practicing yoga (seriously) in January of 2012 - I had found a groupon for a studio 2 blocks from my house.  A few months later, I noticed something remarkable:  My abs.  My arms.  My back.  There were muscles in places I didn't even know muscles could be!  While I was busy ohm'ing, yoga was building a new me.

But even better than that, in yoga we learn to be grateful to our bodies for what they give us each day, each practice.  Instead of straining to reach a certain level, to build muscle, to compete - we ask our bodies to accomplish a pose.  Sometimes my body says yes to these poses, and sometimes it says no, and I have to back off.  This experience of asking and listening is new to me - and it can be tough (remember, the family of athletes) - but there's a mental strength which is building.  In yoga, we practice mindfulness - staying present in the moment, focus on breath, intentionality, meditation.  It's so much harder than it sounds.  In D.C., a place free of competition is particularly rare; I love it.

In 2012, I experienced deep personal tragedy while working in one of the most remote countries on the planet.  Yoga was the only place where I could let go of the deep sense of sadness, the despair and chaos I felt.  Some days, I would lay in savasana (the final resting pose) and just cry.  In a world where I had to be on all the time, in a place where I felt no peace - in yoga I found a moment of joy.

As I look back on this journey, I can see tiny ways that it has changed my outlook on the world.  My new sense of patience, my new ability to embrace each day anew, my new gratitude for those instants of peace.  I'm not a great yogi.  After 2 years of practice, I still can't do a full headstand.  My form needs improvement.  I dream of poses like 'Bird of Paradise.'  But those things are secondary to the great comfort and joy that yoga has brought me.  This past Christmas, my mom and younger brother and I all did a yoga session in our kitchen.  I've made new friends, and learned new things about old friends as we practice together.  I've learned about myself and about the world.  This is one adventure that has no end in sight, and for that I am grateful.

Where'd you go?

It's been a few months since I've written on this blog!  In that time, I decided Jordan wasn't the best place for me to live and thrive, and moved home.  I came home on July 4, 2013.  It was a great day to arrive in the U.S., after a stressful and exhausting few months in Jordan.  I spent the next few days sleeping off jet lag, and trying to catch up with all the friends I've missed for so long.  I hit up a family reunion in Maryland, and a family beach trip in Virginia.  I took a few days to visit my best friend Becky in Richmond (along with her husband and sweet puppy dog).  I headed to Texas to celebrate my little brother's 'winging' ceremony for the US Air Force.  I spent two weeks basking in the northern California sunshine, and stuffing myself full of organic goodness and playing with my sister-in-law's adorable pug.

My goal during this respite was to go for long walks, do yoga every day, and write all the thoughts I've been having over the past few months.  You see, I decided to stop traveling quite so much.  I've been headed toward this decision for several months - somehow the schizophrenia of my life has caught up with me, and I've gotten tired.  Right after making those goals, I sprained my left ankle in an obstacle race - did you know a sprained ankle can take several months to heal?  Neither did I.

This past couple of months has been a season in which I'm learning humility - that my plans for health, for fitness, for a new job, for anything can change in a moment.  I'm not the one in control of my destiny, God is.  Rest and recuperation can look way different than I expected, and that is ok.  It's scary that this is not the best time to look for a job - the end of the fiscal year, Congress in recess during August, and a budget crisis in our government.  It's made me wonder how I add value to the world.  How do I contribute, if it's not through my job?  How do I serve, if it's not to people in a war zone overseas?  How do I take part in the world, without stealing from it?  While I'm not sure of the answers, I trust that my future is secure because God's handling it.

Yesterday, I felt so discouraged - like I had nothing to offer.  This morning, I did a headstand.  How do you moderate these feelings?  And what do you do with a blog about travel, when you're going to stop traveling?  Well, I'm figuring all these things out, and I'll let you know what I discover.  In the meantime, thanks for reading.

Petra and Rum and Aqaba

This past weekend was Memorial Day in the US, and our office was closed from Friday - Sunday.  My friend Alisha had planned a low-budget, adventure-filled weekend for her husband who was visiting, and they let me tag along.  We took a bus from Amman to Wadi Mousa, which is the town where Petra is located, spent the day in Petra, then the next day headed to Wadi Rum, camped in Bedouin tents, and finally spent an afternoon in Aqaba before taking the bus back to Amman.

Also known as the Rose City, Petra was discovered about 50 years ago by European hikers, and archeologists have since discovered the huge ruin of a city built by the Nabateans and conquered by the Romans.  You may recognize Petra more from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade than its historical context - I believe it's where he found the holy grail, and the chotchkis are everywhere.  Petra covers a huge area - you could hike your way through there for days and days, get lost, find your way, and get lost all over again.  After the three hour bus ride, we got to Petra along with all the other tourists in Jordan - so we had to fight our way through the crowds to get down to the Treasury, but by the time we got to the amphitheater, the crowds had dispersed a bit.  My favorite part of Petra is the set of houses that you see after the amphitheater - they are so beautiful carved into red stone.  After these houses, we hiked up all 950 steps to the Monastery in the heat of the day!  I do not recommend going during this time - we all got dehydrated, but it was worth it to sit under the shade at the top of the monastery and take a short nap. 

The next day we drove down to Wadi Rum, where we took a jeep tour of Lawrence of Arabia's desert.  Now if you're independently minded like I am, you might wonder why you need a jeep to go hiking.  Did you ever see Lawrence of Arabia?  That desert is huge!  Trying to walk from stop #1 to stop #2 would be a disaster, and we would have gotten extremely lost and dehydrated on our way.  Thankfully, Mohammed took pretty good care of us, and showed us a number of different sites, explained some of the history, fed us in the shade at lunchtime, and didn't even tease us for wimping out of a 3 hour hike at the hottest part of the day.  My favorite part of the weekend was sleeping in the Bedouin camp - Mohammed cooked us an amazing dinner (something involving a chicken smoked in a pit buried under sand), and we watched the stars blink while the full moon rose.  I also don't remember when I've slept so soundly - there is something about the sun, moon, and stars that brings tranquility.

The last day of our adventure was a letdown - suffice it to say that while the Red Sea is exquisitely beautiful (the color of a sparkling sapphire), the public beaches are not even somewhere I would go on spring break in high school.  We got a bottle of wine and burgers to celebrate Memorial Day, rode the 4.5 hour bus ride back to Amman, and were happy to be back 'home.'

 

...not all that glitters is gold.

That's the second line from the title quote of my blog, a favorite by Tolkien.  Traveling alone as a woman is really hard to do.  I try not to complain about it too much, but these things get to me after a while...  Here's a journal entry I wrote:

"Today I stopped by our office, to say hello and check on a few things for next week.  The team was asking me on different occasions about my plans and my next steps, and two of the guys told me I needed to stay here in South Sudan and get married.  I went through all the usual protests - I'm too young, I'm not ready, I require only one husband + one wife (no girlfriends or second wives), and on and on.  Here's what Elias told me:
"Are you older than 18?  I think you are old enough for marriage."
"In South Sudan, production [having kids] is a gift - we do not limit the gift to two or three."
"When you only have 2 children, people here view you as having no children at all."

I mentioned that I think having many wives would make a bit of trouble for the man, and Elias said, "Trouble is what makes us men."

Then I was talking to Chan, and he asked if I could please get married to a South Sudanese.  I asked him a bit more about why, and turns out he wants to be my negotiator.  I asked if he's been very happy in his marriage, and that's why he wanted me to experience the same - Chan told me he has no cows, but if he is my negotiator, then he would of course get a percentage of what I earn and then he can get married too."

Here in Jordan, I am very careful to dress modestly - no skirts above my knees, shoulders always covered, clothing mostly loose and formless.  Let me tell you, this does not make for good gym motivation!  But I still get stared at - leered at - like a hooker on Saturday night.  The men hiss at me, beep at me, yell things at me in English and Arabic, and it's not just me - my pregnant friend gets yells and stares too.  I find it most ironic on Fridays, which are supposed to be holy days here!  I'm not so naive to think that this is the only country where this happens, but it really makes it uncomfortable to be here.  Come on, Middle East, surely you can do better.

It's strange to think that women are seen as property in so many countries.  The whole idea that women are lesser, therefore they shouldn't mind being shoved aside in lines at the grocery store, or that foreign women are basically all loose women - it's so wrong.  This morning at breakfast, I had the maitre d' seat me at a booth with a high wall on one side so that I wouldn't be stared at by all the men at breakfast.  It mostly worked.

To fortify myself, I always think back to my Aunt Chris's story about some men speaking derrogatory comments about her in Venezuela, to which she turned around and punched one of them in the face.  This story gives me some strength, strength to hold my head high, ignore the comments, and clutch at the dignity I have left. Different people react differently to these sorts of situations - I am learning just how much of this I can take before I snap.

Welcome to the Holy Land

You know that moment when you get a call that tosses your world into a tailspin?  March 12, 2013 was that day for me.  It's 5:40 p.m. and I'm getting ready to go meet my mom for dinner at her new favorite spot, The Protein Bar, and my former boss calls me and asks what I'm doing for the next six months.  Hadn't really planned it out that far, why?  I need you to go to Jordan.  And here I am.  One week, 48 hours' clearance time to pack, 1.5 suitcases, and a 12 month supply of Dentyne later, I've been in Jordan for about 6 weeks.

Packing in a short period of time is no sweat for me - I basically know what I will need, but the idea of moving to the Middle East is a new one!  I've never been farther east than Zanzibar, and now here I am in the land where Jesus was born and baptized.  The first thing I needed to know was how people dress here - which I can now tell you is cool, fashionable, and covered.  Nobody is wearing tank tops or shorts, not even skirts above the knee.  Second question - what sort of weather are we talking about?  Well, the first few weeks were rainy and cold (meaning 50 degrees and a rainstorm every couple of days), but I think we have successfully moved into warm weather now - about 80 every day, and sunny!

Jordan is beautiful and peaceful and safe and calm.  It's the one neutral spot in the middle of the Arab Spring.  There may be protests on Friday afternoons, but they are not about to overthrow any government.  People are welcoming and warm, the food is incredible (imagine fresh hommous every day for lunch), and there is a lot to see!  Everywhere you look is an ancient Roman ruin or a piece of old Byzantine architecture.  Did you know that the Mongols got all the way to Jordan?  It's true.  In the past few weeks, I've gotten out to see the amphitheater in Amman, the Dead Sea, Petra, Jerash, and Ajloun.  There is so much to do here - I feel like each weekend needs to include some new adventure.  And yes, I know just being overseas should be enough adventure - but of course it never is!

This is the Dead Sea - definitely, do NOT drink the water.

Here's Petra, the beautiful rose colored Roman city, cut out of rocks.  And featured in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. 

 And here is Jerash, another roman ruin - this is Hadrian's arch. Hadrian marked the corners of his empire by an arch and a wall (in Scotland).

Just a mosaic hanging out on the ground - for everyone to see, probably hundreds of years old.

I loved Ajloun - an ancient byzantine and Arab fortress at the top of a jebel in the heart of northern Jordan.  It's like every castle you ever wanted to explore as a little kid - complete with a moat, catapolt boulders, slits for flaming arrow shots, and spaces for boiling oil to be poured over evil intruders. 

And the beautifuly countryside in Jordan - can you see the olive groves that are giving me such bad allergies right now?

the misadventures of Jonglei

My job sent me into the wilds of South Sudan to do research on education - I can honestly say this was the most wild and fun African bush trip I've ever taken.  We hired a Jonglei expert who turned out to be also just a great person to travel with.  Who would have guessed that a simple 5-day jaunt to ask questions about education needs in remote communities would have turned into such a trip?  Welcome to South Sudan.

Andy (our consultant) helped figure out the travel route - we were headed to Waat, then to Duk Padiet, and onward to Bor - with a few stops along the way.  It's funny to see how people pack differently for this kind of trip - Andy brought coffee and peanut butter, Pete brought whiskey and books, and Mike brought dried mangos and an iPod.  I was probably the least prepared, meaning I had granola bars, toilet paper, a headlamp, and a pocket knife.  At least we all had books to read by the dim headlamp lights.  It's funny the things that field people are impressed with - Andy was eager to compare all of our field pants - whose breathed the best, repelled water, and kept out the sun.  Mike was very concerned with the hat situation - he had an Indian Jones hat, while the rest of us went a more traditional route.  (I like the scarf & sunglasses, Pete went with a baseball cap, Andy had a light hiker hat from Patagonia)

It was the very beginning of the dry season when we were there (February), so the roads which are normally rivers in the rainy season were just drying out.  The first hurdle was our car not arriving to pick us from the airport, but thankfully our host organization loaned us a vehicle.  Our car showed up 2 days late, covered in mud from tire to roof, with the back windows busted out, mud tires bald, and extra fuel stolen out of the boot.  Oh, and the exhaust pipe was barely hanging on.  I would show you a picture, but I couldn't capture from one angle the sad story that was our car.

I love being in the field for the raw, simple life that you live there. Every meal is rice & beans, maybe add some chicken or goat, bucket showers to wash off all the dust and sweat of the day, sleep under the beautiful, beautiful stars, in bed by 10 every night, and awake with the roosters.  Of course it's easy to idealize it after you have left, but there is something beautiful about the simple life.  It's the reason when I come home from a long trip, I try to toss out the excess of my life.

Well, after a couple days in Waat, we were driving onward to Yuai - but we had to drive through a swamp to get to Padjiet and pick up the fuel that had been stolen and then recovered.  A bunch of kawajas can't just roll up to a town, though - first we got stopped by the SPLA, who wanted us to take them to town along with their giant kaleshakov, which is very much against the rules of basically everything.  We negotiated down to one commander riding with us, with his handgun.  Then we crossed through the swamp (which is where the driver had gotten stuck for 2 days earlier), and we had to go pay homage to the town commissioner.  We explained the needs, he allowed us to talk to the police and recover the fuel.  You wonder why things take longer, and you have to be more patient in Africa - these are the kinds of reasons.  Instead of a quick pickup, we strolled through town, had a couple meetings, and got on the road 2 hours later.

The next 6 hours we spent in the car headed to Yuai, even though we weren't entirely sure of the direction - the driver had never taken that route before, nor did he speak English.  Did I mention that he was about 16 years old?  yep.  Driving to Yuai was like being on a really mean roller coaster - there isn't really a road per se, more like a cow path, that sometimes is blocked - you guessed it - by cows or tiny villages.  After those six hours were finished - we had gotten so close we could see Yuai, but there was a swampy river in our path.  We decided to get out and wade through, so the vehicle would be lighter.  No sooner had we exited the car, then the driver drove it straight into a deep well, and it was stuck.  For the next 36 hours, our muddy, mud-tire-less, beat-up old SUV was stuck in that river.  For the next 36 hours, we sent more and more guys from Yuai town to try to dig it out, but nothing worked.  Finally, Andy and I were starting to wave down tiny bush planes - when we discovered the lovely organization of Tearfund (run by my friend James in Yuai), who loaned us mud plates and towed us out of the river.

That night, we continued our focus groups on education needs and had a goat roast.... fun tip:  travel with someone who is a local celebrity, and you won't have to dig into your canned corn and beans.  Finally, we got back on the road to Duk Padiet, which turned out to not have ANY space at the inn or any place whatsoever, so while the driver changed the flat tire, we decided to head onward to the next town, where Norwegian People's Aid housed us for the evening.  Pete scared up some beer, and that was our dinner.  The 'showers' were missing a roof, so it was like a luxury open air shower under the stars and full moon, haha.

The next day, we drove all the way back down to Bor - where we all got lukewarm showers and spent some quality time in the air conditioning.  It was great - we passed a few huge cattle camps, and saw the house where John Garang was born.  The next day we flew out, and of course I was amazed to consider Juba a luxurious capital city.

I'm sorry for the lack of pictures - imagine dry, arid land with lots of small brush and random rivers :)  I will try to dig some snaps up from my email archives and post.

Pura vida vacaciones

My former roomie Victoria has been bugging me to travel with her for years.  I'm kind of a bear to plan travel with, because I only want to go very specific places, and I'm hard to tack down for planning, and I don't like to make firm plans very far in advance - somewhere between yoga and Africa, I've learned everything will work out if I have a headlamp, a credit card, and a passport.

This past year, my bff and travel buddy got married to a wonderful man, and is settling down in our hometown.  With Becky all domesticated, I needed to travel with someone new - but it's really hard to break in a travel buddy on both sides.  Do you have similar sleep habits?  Want the same things from your vacation?  Get stressed out over little things?  Pack too much?  Have different hotel standards?  Anyone who has traveled will tell you this is not an easy person to find!  Because Victoria and I have lived together and are both somewhat laid back, we figured we'd give it a shot.  Victoria is a wedding photographer, a total foodie, and one of the friendliest people you'll ever meet.  She can strike up a conversation with a brick wall :)  And she's patient and determined enough to make sure we bought plane tickets and made some sort of hotel reservations.

We stayed the first night in San Jose with Victoria's friend's mom's house-sitters, who were the most delightful family!  Immediately when we walked in the door, they had fresh Costa Rican coffee for us, along with an afternoon snack.  Jeanette and Giovanni took us out for dinner at this amaaaaazing restaurant that served all the fried queso, nachos mixtos, and chilles rellenos we could possibly want.  My mouth is watering just thinking about it.  It was so fun to speak Spanish again - to remember that I can speak Spanish, and to try to translate for Victoria.  Early the next morning we hopped on a bus headed all the way west to a tiny surfer town called Santa Teresa.  I love taking buses around different countries, because you really get to see what the country looks like.

When we finally arrived in ST, we were pretty tired and hungry - so we headed directly to a local restaurant and had fresh fish tacos and batidos (milkshakes!).  Then of course I wanted to get to the beach as fast as humanly possible - I may have even skipped there.  The beach in ST is almost indescribable.  It's warm sand, crystal blue water, and open skies.  Rocky outcroppings surround either side of our beach and separate us from the other towns.  We were there a little before high season, so there were always a few people about - but never too many.  I loved watching the surfers catch waves, fall, try again, and there are always lots of town dogs running around the beach.  People are relaxedly friendly - it's pura vida, man.

Adventures were waiting for us, and we didn't disappoint!  The first evening, I made a friend nameed Melanie who let me tag along with her to sunset yoga class in a raised open-air pavilion.  Victoria lined up surf instructors for the next day, and made several new friends at the bar while she was waiting for me.  The next day's highlight's were banana pancakes served by the chef named Nacho (you can't make these things up) and our hilarious awkwardness on surfboards.  Our instructors were Marcello and Leo, and their surfer abs made it a little hard to concentrate on technique, but at some point I think we both got up onto the waves.  That night we found an incredible Argentinian grill and feasted.

The next day, our new friend Jack took me to rent ATVs or 'quads' as we now call them very coolly, and we raced over to the next town called Montezuma.  The roads are dusty since it's dry season, so we wore makeshift masks of bandanas, helmets, and sunglasses.  Of all the cool, fun things to make your heart race, this one was at the top.  Once we got to Montezuma, we jumped in the ocean, grabbed some sort of fresh lunch (including batidos), and then hiked to the Montezuma waterfall.  At some point on the trip, Jack took us to the highest lookout point over the ocean, and we all yelled off a cliff, Garden State-style.

I think the next day we took the quads to a fishing village and Victoria bargained her way into buying giant red snappers and sea bass - which we were going to cook at the communal kitchen that night.  One of the guys working at the hostel, Martin, used to work as a professional chef - so he promised to help.  Then in the afternoon Victoria wandered the town taking pictures, while I laid on the beach reading.  Looking back at this post, I realize it's written day-by-day, which is consistent with the feeling of our vacation - we slept as long as we wished, decided each step one meal, one surfing lesson, one swim in the water at a time - the best way to have a vacation!

We had decided ahead of time to do both beach and mountains, and to build in enough time for travel in between. So we rode a bus up to the tiny touristy town of La Fortuna, which sits at the bottom of the (mostly dormant) volcano Arenal.  The drive took about 8 hours, but again - we got to see so much of Costa Rican countryside. We packed the next couple of days with activities - went ziplining, hiked the volcano base, swam in the hot springs, hiked to a waterfall, and got mud massages.

We also took a coffee tour for this organic, cooperative farm called Arenal Campesino.  Their mission is so interesting, 70 families living entirely off the land - including growing natural pesticides and medicines. They taught us how to make real tortillas ticas, and served us proper coffee in a pourover style - wow!  We had a really interesting conversation about the way tourism is taking over the country, and people are no longer doing the work that they grew up with - farming. Arenal Campesino is working to preserve this life, along with several strains of coffee that have become rare.  It was hard to think about the tourism industry taking over the whole country and creating a class system while we were there as tourists, but I hope it will help me think about responsible tourism for future trips.

We headed back to San Jose, had dinner with our friends Jeanette and Giovanni, and headed back to DC.  I officially love Costa Rica - that is unquestionable.  In the future, I would spend the whole time at the beach, just because beaches are my favorite places in the world - but the mountains are also beautiful and wild.  Photo credits in this blog post all go to Victoria (have I mentioned how fun it is to travel with a photographer? I recommend it!) - you may see the real versions on her blog at some point.

The thing I love about grown-up vacations is that you just do only what you want, and you skip anything that doesn't interest you.  This vacation was no different, and we had the most relaxing time - full of adventures, sleep, reading, sunshine, and more adventures.  Vic, where should we go next?

 

Back to Juba

 Can you look at a suitcase and know if it will hold all your life for the next 3 weeks?  I can.  I'm leaving for Juba on Saturday, and feeling so excited to get back 'home' as my friend Claire says.  Now Juba is not like Nairobi, where you can find many consumer goods on the shelves at Nakumatt - so I've offered to carry whatever my friends might possibly need, and here's the list of extras for my Juba family:
-teeth whitening toothpaste
-blue hair dye
-a french press
-Starbucks ground vanilla coffee
-CDs
-Reese's Pieces
-mini speaker
-laptop
-about 100 calendars

Juba goodies have pushed me over the top - I'm traveling with the larger of my two suitcases, just for 3 weeks!  Haha, but of course I'm so happy to do it - I know they'd do it for me.  At least I'm not trying to take a yoga mat like last time- I thought the customs people in Nairobi were going to laugh me off the plane.  (If you're picturing me bopping people as I swing around with the mat tucked into my side, you are right on)

How does it feel to come back to somewhere that was home for 5 months?  Scary.  Good scary and bad scary - I know Juba has changed since I've been gone, but my friends are still there, which is really all that matters.  I'm excited to see everyone - late nights of sweat and debate over weak Tusker beers, pizza night at Afex, Saturday mornings at the pool, days bathed in sunshine, nights doused in crickets and moonlight, Indian food galore, all my favorite taxi drivers, and my old phone number!  Will culture shock hit me again?  What about on the way back?  Nobody knows...  The adventure continues.

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!