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.