...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.

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.

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.

rolling thunder part 2

My friend Sarah used to work at a school where the kids weren't allowed to say 'cool' 'dude' or 'awesome' because the administration thought kids these days say those words too much without developing a good vocabulary. I tried it one day, and found it next to impossible. so, I do try to use other words in my vocabulary when I remember.... but sometimes a thing comes across my path that can only be described as awesome. today, that thing is my Mom. Maybe many of you haven't met my Mom - I don't need your input. she is awesome.

So, this weekend I decided to take a motorcycle class - to prep if I ever go live overseas (I'd like to have a motorcycle), and to work on my skillz. Anyway, I was debriefing with my mom afterwards - just talking about some of the techniques and things I'd learned. She's great to talk to because she is a counselor - wonderful at listening thoughtfully. She mentioned how excited she was that I was learning this (albeit a bit nervous), and I said, "Well you did something like this, right?" Mom started reminiscing about this time when she lived in Venezuela - and was riding her motorcycle up a mountain range, back and forth on switchback dirt roads... and she wiped out, the motorbike wasn't even hers, and she had to kick start it again on a hurt ankle, but the kickstart was bent. ridiculous.


My mom is a rockstar. Growing up, she had her pilot's license and used to fly a tiny plane back and forth from Baltimore to Ocean City every morning to deliver newspapers. Who even does that? But it goes farther back than my mom - my grandmother gave up her modeling career to go into the airforce during World War 2. There she met my Grandad (she taught him how to fly), then raised 4 kids, and later she took up horsebackriding and real estate sales. Just a snapshot of the coolness factor. I have a long way to go, clearly.

I know other people's parents are similarly cool - so here's to the people who made us who we are.