tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84505473264231358622024-03-05T21:45:17.661-08:00Duffman in AfricaL. Duffeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16973317558684862140noreply@blogger.comBlogger50125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450547326423135862.post-78162181106582133222013-11-16T11:35:00.000-08:002013-11-16T11:35:20.683-08:00The Problem of Fifteen<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I was talking with my friend Rikki, before she moved to Kigali, just talking about things in general. Juba, being a city of transients, always has a lively dating scene, couples constantly getting together and breaking-up. It's almost a sport - a blood sport, really - keeping up with the ever changing landscape of shifting relationships. Juba is a city overrun with twenty-somethings come here to "save the world" or at least a small part of it. It's only natural in an environment like that - lots of young people, freedom from home constraints, lots of alcohol and a jaded, cynical culture that there will be a lot of people falling in and out of love, or if not love, at least lust in all its forms.<br />
Anyway, Rikki was updating me on her latest romances. I won't go into any details, but Rikki - who's about 30- had certainly experienced much that was available in Juba before she left town. I, on the other hand, same as at home, have experienced none. Partly it's the demographics - they work against me. Juba is a city crawling with twenty year olds who are all lovely but with whom I could not have a chance, nor should I. The few thirty year olds are normally a bit more focused on their work, or are involved with people already, or half crazy. Then there are the sixty year olds, retirees looking for the next big thing in their life or who missed out saving the world back when they were young and are catching-up while they still can. Normal people in their thirties through fifties are home raising families and living normal lives. The few people here in those age-brackets have usually been overseas for years and are are, frankly, a bit whack from the stress of living away for so long. They are usually tye-dyed wearing bone thin people with little sense of humor. <br />
Back in 2001 after my wife left me I suddenly and unexpectedly found myself single. Having not dated much when I was younger I thought, "now will be my chance!" I imagined I would become a world-class playboy surfing the ladies. Geez, what a nut-brain. I thought a forty-year old man with his own home and business, money in the bank, reasonably stable personality, would be an automatic draw and I would have plenty of dating opportunities. The reality was that I attracted no interest whatsoever, though I cannot say that I tried very hard either. I was about as knowledgeable about dating as a forty year old as I was as a teenager or twenty year old and that was unknowledgable completely.<br />
One thing I noticed, however, was that my mind instinctively found itself attracted to younger women. Much as I really <em>wanted</em> a woman who was the same age as me, just scanning a crowd my eyes lingered on women that were a number of years younger. It took a while to understand this. I believe that life is much better when people in the same reasonable age bracket are together. We change so much as we age, our attitudes and opinions and thoughts about things change with time and I think it is better to be with someone who is more or less experiencing things as you are rather than be dealing with someone who has already experienced them or who will be in the future. Much as we appreciate the advice of people who older, or want to give advice to someone younger, no one really wants to the <em>that guy</em> who is always telling his younger partner, "oh yeah, this is what you are experiencing and this is what's happening..." That would get old really quick. And you don't want to hear it from someone older either.<br />
Anyway, I started to develop this theory that I call "The Problem of 15." What is boils down to is that we are instinctively attracted to people who are 15-years younger than we are, while we are ourselves attractive to people who are 15-years older than we are. I think this has to do with the idea that if you asked people to describe themselves we would probably all describe ourselves looking and feeling 15 years younger than we really are - that is, our image of ourselves is off by about 15-years. This explains why we are attracted to people 15-years younger, or at least people in their 40's noticeably start to be attracted to younger people (twenty-year olds tend to date twenty years olds and I think the same is true for thirty-year olds, up to their late thirties.)<br />
In my case, as I said, much as in my mind I wanted someone the same age as me my instincts were to be attracted to younger women. But I also found myself with two older female friends, both in their mid fifties, about 15-years older than me at the time, who intimated that our friendship could be more if I desired. I resisted these offers for the same reason I never pursued anyone significantly younger, because I didn't think in the long-run it would be a good idea. Apparently though, I was not the only person experiencing this because single women my own age had no interest in me whatsoever, they seemed always to be wanting younger guys or were being squired about by men 15-years older. This just further convinced me that "the Problem of 15" was real.<br />
Back to the beginning: I was talking with Rikki about the Problem of 15 (and Rikki has been dating someone about 5 years younger, which at 30 is a bigger deal than at 50) and she said if I write about it. it will probably be made into a romantic-comedy movie, probably staring John Cusack, to which we both got a good laugh.<br />
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L. Duffeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16973317558684862140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450547326423135862.post-43353242372573343812013-10-30T12:42:00.002-07:002013-10-30T12:42:53.261-07:00Mutts<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I had a nightmare the other
evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was walking along a road,
walking with a woman – I know her, though I cannot place her name, an older
woman – we were in Spotsylvania County, back home.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Early on as we were walking I saw
what I thought was a cow which was pulling another, smaller cow, dragging it
with its teeth though the smaller cow – or what I thought was a cow - was
resisting, its front legs planted firmly in the ground though the larger cow
was still succeeding in pulling it along.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After a while we came to some
bungalow houses where there was an old couple outside and I again saw the
animals, but I realized now they were dogs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One, a larger, older dog had a smaller, younger dog in its teeth and was
dragging it forward, the puppy digging in its front legs but still it was being
pulled forward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A second, smaller dog
stood next to the first puppy.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I suddenly realized the older dog
was rabid; I yelled out that the dog had rabies and the dog leg go and turned
and looked at me, its eyes ugly red and its mouth frothing with greenish, gray
foam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I yelled, “We have to kill that
dog!” and in the same moment the dog lunged at me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ducked and the dog went past and it lunged
once more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ducked its attack again and
grabbed the dog by the neck and held on to it, the beast snapping and snarling
at me though I managed to hold onto it and keeps its mouth away from me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The dog was about the size of a Beagle.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I turned to the old man and told him
we had to kill the dog and asked if he had a gun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The old man seemed not to comprehend what I
meant and only muttered a response.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Again I said we had to shoot the dog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The old man said he didn’t have a gun, and I said, “what kind of person
from Spotsylvania are you without a gun?!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He only mumbled a response.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There were other smallish homes
nearby and I asked if one of his neighbors had a gun and again he merely
mumbled a “no,” and said he didn’t really know the neighbors well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I began to suspect that the old man and his wife
might have already been bitten by the dog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Maybe repeatedly.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I asked the man if he knew anyone
with a gun and he said he did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Great!”
I replied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Where are they?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The old man said his friend lived 32-miles
away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Thirty-two miles!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thirty-two fucking miles!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are you shitting me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are you fucking shitting me?” I screamed.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>At this point I turned to my
companion and said, “Get a bucket of water,” and within seconds there was a
bucket full of water before me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still
being careful to keep the dog’s mouth pointed away from me I plunged the
animal’s head under the water and as the life ebbed out of it I simultaneously
awoke, highly disturbed and agitated.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It took a long time for me to fall
back asleep, if in fact I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The dream
was so vivid and upsetting, and I didn’t know what to make of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But you can be well assured that while on my
morning run I kept a warier eye than usual on all the filthy dogs that roam
Juba, suspecting every one of them of being rabid or at the very least wanting
to bite me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was a dog lover before I
came to Juba but since I’ve been here the only thing I want to do to the dogs
is shoot them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are all horrible,
wild dirty creatures, half crazed by parasites and beset with open bloody
sores, fleas and mange.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was commiserating
with a friend about the awful dogs of Juba and she said something like, “maybe
they need more love and discipline.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Channeling Naipaul I said, “What the dogs here need is a good
kick.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s terrible to feel that way,
but imagine if you can a city full of wild dogs that no one looks after, that
just live off garbage and die after only a few years – if they are lucky to
live that long – and you have an idea of the dogs of Juba.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Most of the dogs of Juba fall into
three breeds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are the orangey tan
wild dogs, nearly all of which look similar and are by far the largest
class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They breed incessantly, though
owing to cannibalism – the larger dogs can’t resist a meal of puppy, and the
mothers simply cannot defend all their pups – not many from any litter survive
into adulthood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then there are some that
look like they descended from American-style bird-dogs, medium sized, longish
haired, lithe and quick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the morning
after my nightmare one of this breed came lunging at me having run silently across
the foreyard of the Bari-parish church and I did not see it until it was nearly
on me at which point I instinctively howled at it and raised my left arm like I
was going to throw a rock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the dogs
of Juba recognize this movement, they’ve had enough rocks thrown at them that
merely cocking your arm and yelling is normally enough to scare them off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The last breed is the least numerous but the
most disgusting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These are medium sized
hairless dogs, silent – I’ve never heard one bark, nor even seen one run.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They just lope along, their pinkish bare
flesh a mass of mange and discolorations, cracked, dry and diseased.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their eyes are often small and beady and they
walk with their heads hanging down, they seem like the spectral dogs of death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shudder whenever I see one.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Most of the roads of Juba are dirt,
deep gullies washed into them, rocky outcrops mixed in with the right of
way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The few tarmac roads are edged with
broad swaths of inches deep dust.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For
some reason a lot of dogs love lying either in the dust on the edge of the
tarmac roads or in the gullies of the dirt roads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suppose – especially where the dust is
pushed-up into a sizeable hill – the sand feels coolish in the mornings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sadly for the dogs though is the fact that
since<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>nearly all people here have no
regard for dogs – viewing them as little more than flea carriers – people make
little effort to avoid running over dogs which are not clever enough to know
better than to lie right in the roadways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Hardly a week goes by while I am out running that I do not encounter one
dog carcass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Usually the heat and the
scavengers make quick work of the bodies, though a couple of months ago I was
thankful to see that someone had had enough sense to douse with kerosene and a
light a match upon a particularly large dog that was stiffening along the
roadside by Juba University.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would
have taken a couple of weeks to rot away otherwise and we were all spared that
gruesome spectacle.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There are a few westerners here with
dogs, proper dogs, well cared for and loved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is such a treat to encounter one of these dogs, to again feel clean
dog-fur in my hands as I pet them and to not have to worry about being bitten
or attacked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Friends in Mundri had
succeeded – partly anyway – in taming one of the wild orange dogs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They even went so far as to have her spayed
by a visiting veterinarian in Juba.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sadly, someone disturbed a wild bees nest just outside their home and
the poor dog was stung so many times that it had to be put down to end its
agony. My friend also suffered numerous stings and I am not certain his family
didn’t look similarly at him.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’m sorry to have to talk like this
about dogs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sorry to have to want to
see nearly all the dogs poisoned like was done in the town of Bor recently
after a rabies scare swept the town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m
told the townspeople just left the bodies to rot, the poison making its way
through the ecosystem to anything which would then feed on the carcasses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s really quite horrible to think about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s just the reality of living in a poor
country where there is barely survival enough for people, let alone animals.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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L. Duffeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16973317558684862140noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450547326423135862.post-54108871667060833102013-05-09T12:27:00.000-07:002013-05-09T12:27:02.494-07:00Juba HASH There is so much I could say about the Juba HASH. Soooooo much I could say about it, but I won't, other than to say it is great fun and a really wonderful way to meet people as well as getting in some good exercise as we run around the Juba area.<br />
For people unfamiliar with the HASH, the HASH was started by British ex-pats in Asia somewhere back in the 30's or so. It has been described as "a drinking club with a running problem," and now spans the globe. I was aware of their being a HASH in Juba but I resisted for nearly two years because I thought it was merely a drunken brawl. My evidence for this possibility was the regular extremely hung-over condition of two friends, one a faithful HASHer, whom I would see at church early on Sunday mornings. However, another very dear friend who arrived in Juba and participated in the HASH assured me that my fears were misplaced; the extreme inebriation of my friends was the result of post-HASH consumption rather than at the HASH.<br />
I started participating in the HASH around February of 2012 and have not looked back at all. The hour or two I spend there each week is often the highlight of my week, such is the state of my social life in Juba. But it really is a great way to meet people, to unwind and have some fun.<br />
A few weeks ago we ran just outside Juba at an area near Gormoruk Cemetary. This is a really nice area, with some old volcanic hills which afford great views of the surrounding country. Juba is surrounded by classical African savanna grasslands which you don't really appreciate at ground level, you have to get up a few meters and take in a grand vista to see the beauty.<br />
Here are some photos from that HASH:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLYqKJZLsVmr1eFAwhe86Le8rt96GTfwgcEfVkVxMh6NXl3LkhN8BsIq7stNEuRWHizggc6QlqeotajvKkolGesYnsgGFj2CkWZOtQJmRnR3KrKqM-2A5GVaQqFdMmYKMoRl2mZ_T0MTAn/s1600/Cemetery+run+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLYqKJZLsVmr1eFAwhe86Le8rt96GTfwgcEfVkVxMh6NXl3LkhN8BsIq7stNEuRWHizggc6QlqeotajvKkolGesYnsgGFj2CkWZOtQJmRnR3KrKqM-2A5GVaQqFdMmYKMoRl2mZ_T0MTAn/s1600/Cemetery+run+1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Out on the trail. On-on!</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCS9JyBuB6fQlT4M9PY-EvA9FfnrjLpnH8LjA4AAk0I0SEE1CG8EXXXDDP7s7JKdA1w7TJfphiI0OmO_yXfCqwsab_nXIOre8zh6vEkZkAIk6i8bUzMFWe8vk-ZXro92Ul3GhBQIiWQpy2/s1600/Cemetery+run+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCS9JyBuB6fQlT4M9PY-EvA9FfnrjLpnH8LjA4AAk0I0SEE1CG8EXXXDDP7s7JKdA1w7TJfphiI0OmO_yXfCqwsab_nXIOre8zh6vEkZkAIk6i8bUzMFWe8vk-ZXro92Ul3GhBQIiWQpy2/s1600/Cemetery+run+3.jpg" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQjTGMec1Zlgir4t1y-yZwEIHflE9EAOgXxCNZeC_SPe3jVkofx9PsrYYSbnM5ZiruGizHEWpE4fbTXms-8BNoF7KASTKBemiQzHG8DRnX0i5wbZLzKCkOVPkvxjH3BASKdKHUzWaxE_hR/s1600/Cemetery+run+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQjTGMec1Zlgir4t1y-yZwEIHflE9EAOgXxCNZeC_SPe3jVkofx9PsrYYSbnM5ZiruGizHEWpE4fbTXms-8BNoF7KASTKBemiQzHG8DRnX0i5wbZLzKCkOVPkvxjH3BASKdKHUzWaxE_hR/s1600/Cemetery+run+2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was a small pool, outcrops of granite and basalt made a natural dam. Anyone for a dip?</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1VWWZm-CX-SAdmQz75bxJwdjfOlam2c9hmOdYowQnd5B6IkZe48c2axhNXjqCiJWmXFCyjyAaaL7UTM4AOFDYSnPZg-jojXjeBzrXm2Jjhm6r4dYf_lPgXUH5N7FxWfi3OCidGsj3qZwb/s1600/Cemetery+run+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1VWWZm-CX-SAdmQz75bxJwdjfOlam2c9hmOdYowQnd5B6IkZe48c2axhNXjqCiJWmXFCyjyAaaL7UTM4AOFDYSnPZg-jojXjeBzrXm2Jjhm6r4dYf_lPgXUH5N7FxWfi3OCidGsj3qZwb/s1600/Cemetery+run+4.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After the run, the challenge was to haul the "beverages" up on the rocks</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG6iF8stv_Dhik0TWdH7q-hioe0X1n694wNt_OzZ2emzOrFCoY_qCEaxnTzsDnNKL7zDnN3snHKAfc8o98GBEox7RhlOEOrENXdze4EaS-9Ve5YtnQkD_iZES0VxADgEMakoWU6ZSF7CEN/s1600/Cemetery+run+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG6iF8stv_Dhik0TWdH7q-hioe0X1n694wNt_OzZ2emzOrFCoY_qCEaxnTzsDnNKL7zDnN3snHKAfc8o98GBEox7RhlOEOrENXdze4EaS-9Ve5YtnQkD_iZES0VxADgEMakoWU6ZSF7CEN/s1600/Cemetery+run+6.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everyone post run enjoying drinks, songs and fellowship</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFm93aPa7wUs8ZWgsIaQO9zGsFogrw5swGjeTdDJAjsHS917N4pt55oFOHq_I49VtKgRz-LJBFe2uw0c0ulDAZOTg_1a4X-N46Kq0W2ItdSSikoH_X2G3QT9mXnYxAfcccnQVEhmXJl8NS/s1600/On+the+Mountain+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFm93aPa7wUs8ZWgsIaQO9zGsFogrw5swGjeTdDJAjsHS917N4pt55oFOHq_I49VtKgRz-LJBFe2uw0c0ulDAZOTg_1a4X-N46Kq0W2ItdSSikoH_X2G3QT9mXnYxAfcccnQVEhmXJl8NS/s1600/On+the+Mountain+2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from the mountain with yours truly showing his good side. Hard to tell where the socks end and the white legs begin. Nice hole in the shirt, d'oh!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A friend enjoying the view from the mountain</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450547326423135862.post-18537440877312098182013-05-05T12:29:00.000-07:002013-05-05T12:29:34.158-07:00New Job I came to Sudan almost three years ago now. I originally only came for a four month project. I sometimes don't know what has happened to the time. But four months has stretched into three years, and now I have a new job and don't know when I will return to live stateside.<br />
I was a missionary working for the Episcopal Church of the Sudan. I came just to help study the Church's finances and help to create some systems. Not really your typical missionary posting. Actually, keeping the line between overworked employee and missionary was very difficult. I often found myself more caught up in the work than on building relationships or some of the other soft, fuzzy things people thought I was supposed to be doing. It was hard to remember that when you are responsible for managing the finances of a three million member organization and there are huge pressures. Vendors looking for their money or bishops howling for their stipends never asked whether or not I was a missionary, they just wanted their money. It was a tough job, the conditions were hard. Except for people who saw me in action here, it would be hard I think for people at home to ever really understand. But I also always felt that I was where God wanted me, where I was supposed to be. I never felt discouraged or that I made a mistake being at the ECS, not for one day no matter how bad it got.<br />
I left the ECS in March. It seemed to me the right thing to do. I felt like I could have stayed there for thirty more years and have still been doing the same thing. I felt that so long as I remained with the Church they would not really grow, nor would I. We would both be dependent upon each other - the ECS to avoid having to do on their own the things I had so often taught them, me hiding from challenging myself to learn new things, push myself. I was getting stale and lazy. It was time to go. I miss the ECS, I miss the community, the emphasis upon living a life of faith. And though I knew I was done working for the ECS, I did not feel that I was done with Sudan.<br />
The thing about South Sudan is that as a new country, it's future, it's direction has not been fully decided. This country has all the assets to be one of the wealthiest, most wonderful countries. It's that possibility that makes living here so enticing. South Sudan has the history of 192 other countries to learn from to avoid making similar mistakes. The future here could either be great or terrible - it hasn't been decided. I think that like teenagers to whom no amount of advice really penetrates - they just have to experience things for themselves in order to learn, maybe the same is true for countries and they just have to go through bad times in order to learn and grow and emerge hopefully better. But it is that uncertainty that makes it so exciting to live here.<br />
So I have traded a seven days a week, seventy hours of work position for a seven days a week, seventy hours of work position! which is great because I left behind when I came Africa a seven days a week, seventy hours of work position. At least now I am able to get a paycheck every two weeks, and my house and office has reasonable electricity - even air conditioning and hot water! That's not just crazy talk! <br />
I don't want to go into too many details, but I am now Director of Finance & Administration for a non-governmental organization (NGO) called IMA Worldhealth. We support the development of primary health care by supporting health clinics and hospitals by giving them training, equipment, medicines, whatever we can do to help them to develop. My job is to make sure we have all the resources we need to do the job and to account for how those resources were used. I spend my days and nights worrying about wire transfers and receipts and audits and exchange rates, etc. etc. I worry about everything, which suits my nature - I like to be involved with everything, I like to be in charge. My ex-wife always said I was bossy. I just like to think that if I'm not in charge, nothing gets done.<br />
I don't know what this is doing to my sense of identification. People bring over magazines and newspapers from the US and I hardly recognize the country I left behind. I feel alien from there. But I will also always be an outsider here, though I am making a commitment to Africa which is the most astounding thing I could never have imagined. This experience has exposed me to people I would never have met otherwise. I have friends on four continents now. I went to England for Christmas last year to be with friends. This Christmas I am thinking of going to India and Sri Lanka to see friends. I'll be going home in June to see family in America. It's a whirlwind, and it's hard sometimes to know where it's heading.<br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450547326423135862.post-62863720514076978142013-02-16T01:31:00.001-08:002013-02-16T01:31:35.757-08:00Nimule Road Not long after I arrived in South Sudan in May 2010 I had the opportunity to visit the ECS farm in Panyikwara in Eastern Equitoria. I went with a fellow American missonary named Robin whose assignment was helping the ECS to develop an agriculture program. The farm in Panyikwara had been given by the community to serve as place where people could be educated in farming techniques.<br />
The drive to Panyikwara was miserable. This was my first long distance trip in Sudan and I could not believe how bad the roads were. It took us about four to five hours to drive a little more than 100-kilometers, barely an hour's drive in the US. And like all drives here your body feels beaten by the time you reach your destination. Last week we drove to Lainya and back in the same day, three hours each way of spine cracking, bone crushing, kidney bruising travel. When you reach home you feel like you have been beaten by baseball bats.<br />
To reach Panyikwara we drove south on the main road towards Uganda. This is the major means by which people and goods reach Sudan from Kenya and Uganda. Because of its importance to transport USAID invested around $250-million dollars to upgrade the road all the way from Juba to the border with Uganda, about 185-kilometers. For any American reading this, please know that these were tax-dollars extremely well spent! Improving this road was a wonderful investment.<br />
I took a lot of pictures on that trip in 2010, when everything was still so new to me. Even goats lounging in the road seemed at the time fascinating, whereas now I barely give them a second glance. Last week I again traveled to Eastern Equitoria. I went to Magwi which is near Panyikwara to attend the Synod of Torit Diocese. I was there to conduct a financial management training such as I have done all over Sudan. This time we drove down the now improved road and what an wonderful sensation it was!! From the time we left Juba to the time we arrived in Magwi was barely two-hours, and I was not really pushing the drive - we could have made it more quickly. Instead, I was luxuriating in the smoothness and comfort of the drive down a road anyone in a developed country would appreciate. What a great improvement!!<br />
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A view of the old Nimule Road, travel was so slow goats could use it as a resting spot without worry.</div>
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Old Nimule Road. Rain-water would collect and make travel a muddy mess.</div>
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New Nimule Road!! As good a road as anywhere. Speed limit 80-Kph!!</div>
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New Nimule Road. Now you can appreciate the views of mountains, etc., because you don't have to be so incredibly focused looking for potholes and ditches to avoid.</div>
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New Nimule Road. Money well spent.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450547326423135862.post-8460919203582082612013-02-16T01:04:00.003-08:002013-02-16T01:04:43.610-08:00Water Woes For most of the time I have been here the water we received in our house came from a well located on an adjacent property. There really is not a central water system in Juba - and certainly not any kind of sewer system - people have big black plastic water storage tanks elevated on platforms or roofs, the water coming either from bore wells or delivered by tanker truck. There are seemingly hundreds of tanker trucks operating in Juba, and like so many of the services offered in Juba, water delivery is the purvue of mainly Ethiopian or Eritrean drivers. It is interesting how certain nationalities specialize in particular businesses. All of the petrol stations in town are operated by Somalis, who also operate many of the money exchange bureaus. Arabs operate so many of the general shops, several of the bigger hardware stores in town are run by Indians. And it's also interesting how similar shops tend to congregate together; you will have in one block a half-dozen building supply traders or plumbing and electrical shops all huddled together. There is a certain logic to this. It makes comparison shopping easier, you can quickly go from shop to shop to compare wares and prices. And also, since there is a certain comraderie amongst the traders, if one is out of stock of something they will obtain it from a competitor. The other day I was doing my general household shopping and wanted a couple of packages of spaghetti. My regular shopkeeper was out but he ran around the market until he found some for me. Did it cost me an extra pound per package? yeah, but it spared me having to search around and ensured my continued patronage, so that quarter a package was worth it.<br />
The well which supplied our house was on the adjacent compound of an NGO. This NGO used to rent some space from our Guest House where they housed their staff which is why they provided the water. Our house and one other - where their staff lived - were both supplied by this particular well. The other two houses in the Guest House compound are supplied by a different well. The NGO moved their staff out of our compound in December 2010 and I have always been amazed - and thankful - that they continued to provide our houses with water.<br />
Evidently the NGO either was unaware they were still supplying us water or finally decided to end it because starting in January I noticed our household water was being supplied by tanker trucks. The tanker trucks in Juba derive their water from one of two sources: one are USAID operated water treatment plants which draw water from the Nile River, treat it and filter it, and then sell it cheaply to tanker truck operators who then sell it to households and businesses. The other source is when the tanker trucks just go to the banks of the murky Nile and pump water directly into their holds. In theory these operators are supposed to throw some chemicals into the trucks to treat the water, but everyone in town suspects they do not. This water is priced somewhat lower and appeals to those householders or businesses wishing to save a few pounds. The Guest House operators are decidedly in the latter category since I have noticed since January how dirty and nasty our water has become. I had also noticed how starting in January my stomach suddenly became distressed like I was suffering from some kind of internal bug. At first this didn't make sense since I am generally careful but once I saw the poor quality of our water the source of my distress became obvious.<br />
We're still suffering from the crummy water. It's just such a shame after two-and-a-half years of decent water to now suddenly being afflicted this way and having to waste money buying bottled water all the time for everything. Below is a picture of the water that was delivered to our tank this morning. Yum.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450547326423135862.post-15758560179094176212013-02-02T03:52:00.000-08:002013-02-02T03:52:03.454-08:00Manna from NebraskaRecently some people came over to South Sudan from Nebraska. They asked if they could bring something for me from there. I think I made excellent choices.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450547326423135862.post-84818307587150175822013-02-02T03:50:00.002-08:002013-02-02T03:50:21.674-08:00Killing time in line I had to make two deposits at the bank this morning. One deposit for our WFP account, which allows us to use UNHAS flight services, was at KCB Bank, while the other was depositing employee payrolls into an account at Equity Bank. <br />
I dread going to the bank here, the lines are always awful, even early in the morning, the only time they are bearable. No one appreciates the concept of customer service.<br />
I only had to wait an hour at KCB, pretty amazing. I arrived just after 8:30am and was out around 9:30am. I used local transport to the bank and had to walk a kilometer to another major road to take another <em>matatu</em> to the other bank. I suppose I reached Equity around 9:45am. The line was lengthy. I finally got to the window around 11:30am and made the deposit. Fortunately, I had one of my <em>Adrian Mole</em> books with me ("<em>The Wilderness Years"</em>) which I actually finished not long before it was my turn. If you are not familiar with the Mole, you are missing out.<br />
Three hours thrown away standing in line at the bank on a Saturday morning. Ugh! People back home don't appreciate how lucky they have it.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450547326423135862.post-26870964410745884282012-11-28T05:43:00.003-08:002012-11-28T05:43:44.697-08:00Muddy blues I recently drove from Juba to Maridi in Western Equitoria. The distance is 185-miles. It took us nine-hours to get there and about the same to return, maybe 9.5 coming back. I drove one of our Toyota Landcruiser hardtop cars. These are great cars for the bush roads, really sturdy and decent riding. I've covered most of the same idistance in a Honda CRV wagon and a Toyota Hi-Ace van both of which were awful rides, the van - or <em>matatu</em> in the local language - being particularly bad.<br />
At a spot about 20-km east of Lui (pronounced "Louie") there were two muddy spots in the road which had swallowed vehicles. In the first an entire tractor-trailer was abandoned buried in the mud while everyone else drove up to 100-meters or more off in the grass on the sides to get around the area. In the second two trucks were buried about 8-feet down in the mud blocking the road. Here because of trees and wet-conditions it wasn't really possible to drive around, though going we did manage to scoot around in the grass on one side. On the way back the sides were so chewed-up we had to wait for the truck that was blocking the road to be pulled-out by this big steel cable before we could get by. We only lost about a half-hour going and maybe an hour heading back. Others in our party lost up to 3 hours waiting to get by this same area, so we counted ourselves lucky. One thing in Africa, people just don't stop moving no matter the obstruction. I'm always amazed at construction sites how people routinely just go around barricades and over impossible looking pathways, they just don't stop for anything.<br />
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This is the general view looking east. Ahead is where two trucks were blocking the road. We scooted around on the left side. Many people had been waiting for hours to get by.</div>
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A view of the two trucks blocking the way.</div>
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Another view of the blockage. The guy was one of many young men that appeared from who knows where to move the vehicles out of the way. While returning Sunday morning we reached this spot just after 7am there were already a couple of crates of Nile Special beer lying about and many empty bottles which I did not think bode well for our making progress but we did get by fairly quickly.</div>
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This truck was about 8-feet down in the mud. I cannot believe they actually thought they were going to drive through this mess.</div>
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The other truck that was blocking the road.</div>
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Some people tried driving around on the south side but it quickly became a muddy mess.</div>
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Looking west at the que of trucks and cars waiting to get through</div>
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Looking east. Our car is back there there somewhere.</div>
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The car I was driving. What a great car for driving in the African bush.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450547326423135862.post-69325768130773094242012-10-13T13:02:00.002-07:002012-10-13T13:02:39.037-07:00Abyei, oh Abyei This week I accompanied the Archbishop of the Episcopal Church of the Sudan, Dr. Daniel Deng Bul, on an assessment visit to the Abyei area. Abyei ("Ah-bee-ay") is a disputed area along the border between South Sudan and Sudan. As part of the Comprehensive Peace Agreement of 2005 the people of Abyei were supposed to be given the chance to vote whether they wanted to remain a part of the north or become part of the south. But disagreements over who should be allowed to vote - only year round residents or also nomadic tribespeople who pass through during the year - and general intransigence on the part of Sudan have prevented a vote from taking place.<br />
We had travelled to Abyei in January of 2011 because we were interested in seeing how the town of Abyei was returning to life after it was destroyed by soldiers of Sudan in 2008 & 2009. Also, we wanted to see the plight of the thousands of people who had returned to South Sudan from the north and had resettled in the Abyei area.<br />
What we found in 2011 was a town that was rebuilding but which faced great difficulties in terms of security and resources. The returnees in particular were struggling, people who were largely dumped in make-shift camps located miles from the town in places without clean water or food. The returnees were trying to build shelters and re-establish their lives in a place to which they were tied by history and family but in many cases not by any experience.<br />
In May of 2011 northern soldiers again invaded Abyei. The UN soldiers who promised to protect the civillians, part of their mandate, fled at the first shots leaving the civillians to the invaders according to refugees we interviewed. According to UN figures, over 100,000 people fled Abyei. Most of the people, Ngok Dinka tribespeople mostly, fled southwards towards the town of Agok. Agok has been overrun with refugees who have struggled to build shelter and find a means to support themselves. When we visited in 2011, the ECS primary school was hosting 1200-children with about 12-teachers. Now, with the influx of refugees from Abyei, the school has around 4200+ students with 32-teachers. Most children sit on the ground all day under trees to learn, while their families live four or five familes to a small makeshift shelter.<br />
After they captured Abyei the northern soldiers and their allies the Arab-Misseriya tribespeople who bring their cattle into the Abyei area to graze during the dry season went on a frenzy of looting and destruction of the town.<br />
What we saw of Abyei town on this visit reminded me of the photos of Hiroshima after the atomic blasts at the end of the second World War. There were streets and a few straggling survivors, but everything else was destroyed. Every shop, every tukel and school and office, even the churches - except for the mosque - was destroyed. The buildings built of local materials were all burned, the permanent buildings had their doors and windows and roofing materials removed. We visited the local power generating station and found the two large generators burned and destroyed. Citizens who had fled southwards to the town of Agok told of how the northerners put rocks and debris down the bore wells so they could no longer be used, and especially cruel act.<br />
I found the experience particularly unsettling because I remember vividly the town we visited in 2011, and I could hardly believe the scope of the destruction I saw on this visit. I have never visited a war zone before and was unprepared for the level of destruction I experienced. Even the house we stayed at in 2011 was destroyed without a trace.<br />
I will be writing more of our visit to Abyei, but I wanted to share some photos from 2011 and now so people can see the destruction that has occurred. I also ask for people to pray for the people of Abyei and for a peaceful resolution to the crisis there.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Archbishop Daniel Deng (L) and Bishop Abraham Nhial (R) meeting the Abyei County Commissioner in Jan 2011<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The same office in October, 2012</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abyei town Dept of Social Services, Oct 2012 showing destruction</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abyei town, Jan 2011 showing residents rebuilding homes, note presence of power lines. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abyei Town, Jan 2011 showing rebuilding</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abyei Town, Oct 2012, homes abandoned or destroyed<br />
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Abyei town, Oct 2012: Abandoned homes, even the electric wires removed from the poles.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVotAiJnCH7OleQdAy_1SNYFUmndhCD5HRqm1XSPZqzQ-sJkGSwkhYbrVx66llkxxCchX8rveve1tXNzv6To0kxZ7KBLuGe23t7sqxObNd_ZfPTZUz6g-xsOROOTgt6N6oK1lItyKTI6Sv/s1600/ECS+School+Abyei,+Jan+2011,+No.+1,+small+size.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVotAiJnCH7OleQdAy_1SNYFUmndhCD5HRqm1XSPZqzQ-sJkGSwkhYbrVx66llkxxCchX8rveve1tXNzv6To0kxZ7KBLuGe23t7sqxObNd_ZfPTZUz6g-xsOROOTgt6N6oK1lItyKTI6Sv/s320/ECS+School+Abyei,+Jan+2011,+No.+1,+small+size.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ECS primary school, Abyei, Jan 2011. Note doors and windows in place<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDB9jqdDKCssWSW_ElD6Hdrx-MSooosxPEdMexkZuPOO42qlqcBVctLIWSIp3A54ugJ2RFyrLFXUcAKPNTsB2zG7ectWLWZ5Z21kwonfvh6k2seiVSumNFu62mNj0MUp_HiiqQlOgzD7S4/s1600/ECS+School+Abyei,+Oct+2012,+No.+1,+small+size.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDB9jqdDKCssWSW_ElD6Hdrx-MSooosxPEdMexkZuPOO42qlqcBVctLIWSIp3A54ugJ2RFyrLFXUcAKPNTsB2zG7ectWLWZ5Z21kwonfvh6k2seiVSumNFu62mNj0MUp_HiiqQlOgzD7S4/s320/ECS+School+Abyei,+Oct+2012,+No.+1,+small+size.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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ECS Primary School, Abyei, Oct 2012. Doors, windows and roofing removed.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUjJH6H56F6oB19Z_H5pmnPD9r3aCVHciJgNUbKkpI-ecWeUWa-afKiNwnLuC5grTpOBbMLie1sriIYLp1FE59CUa-T-h94JDps6RB8oQDZ9mE85I6R0B-6T3Afyf0vAIjMr1nli7mTSqT/s1600/ECS+School+Abyei%252C+Jan+2011%252C+No.+4%252C+small+size.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUjJH6H56F6oB19Z_H5pmnPD9r3aCVHciJgNUbKkpI-ecWeUWa-afKiNwnLuC5grTpOBbMLie1sriIYLp1FE59CUa-T-h94JDps6RB8oQDZ9mE85I6R0B-6T3Afyf0vAIjMr1nli7mTSqT/s320/ECS+School+Abyei%252C+Jan+2011%252C+No.+4%252C+small+size.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Archbishop Deng (C) praising the rehabilitation of the ECS Primary School, Abyei, Jan 2011</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The same location, October 2012<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdae3mchdx9foZdc0z-cVlylqGSOtQUWaBO2xIsun0_nD_B3UtiMN9vtgvdXmTJnB8_Aa1PaoU9adF50BqngFuxK7TgWW0DkjWbLtljh4IobkT9dUUNZHsbiZJygn6eNC22_IifmkWvvI5/s1600/LRDuffee+at+ECS+School,+Abyei,+Jan+2011,+small+size.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdae3mchdx9foZdc0z-cVlylqGSOtQUWaBO2xIsun0_nD_B3UtiMN9vtgvdXmTJnB8_Aa1PaoU9adF50BqngFuxK7TgWW0DkjWbLtljh4IobkT9dUUNZHsbiZJygn6eNC22_IifmkWvvI5/s320/LRDuffee+at+ECS+School,+Abyei,+Jan+2011,+small+size.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LR Duffee at ECS Primary School, Abyei, Jan 2011<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglrUiXYIATXlU1ovNWe6Hh4kAjT9yBsYuLjGo58rGCWqeSBdpPuCV6titvgpFzoszon7HHqVvkJlZ5cLOSLfB71fW_isOzCahmrggFTzrGc7OTlGdgpTwLZCQ5x85iBK29FbAzgiR-Y0Tx/s1600/ECS+School+Abyei,+Oct+2012,+No.+4,+small+size.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglrUiXYIATXlU1ovNWe6Hh4kAjT9yBsYuLjGo58rGCWqeSBdpPuCV6titvgpFzoszon7HHqVvkJlZ5cLOSLfB71fW_isOzCahmrggFTzrGc7OTlGdgpTwLZCQ5x85iBK29FbAzgiR-Y0Tx/s320/ECS+School+Abyei,+Oct+2012,+No.+4,+small+size.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LR Duffee at same ECS Primary school classroom, October 2012<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP0uAcULs7exzJRJ_zSJ2XL_BDDUOHZRzLdL5YC1Tjo07dglcFJXH8E_ZuYZikvXA925CaNbTNXYNdAzjevKXtA8973n63N-T-fHI6WPhCDcsr-wqWSCpNym-ccqSd0xqCoC0X69lOeex4/s1600/Abyei+Catholic+Church%252C+Oct+2012%252C+No.+4%252C+small+size.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP0uAcULs7exzJRJ_zSJ2XL_BDDUOHZRzLdL5YC1Tjo07dglcFJXH8E_ZuYZikvXA925CaNbTNXYNdAzjevKXtA8973n63N-T-fHI6WPhCDcsr-wqWSCpNym-ccqSd0xqCoC0X69lOeex4/s320/Abyei+Catholic+Church%252C+Oct+2012%252C+No.+4%252C+small+size.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abyei Roman Catholic Church, Oct 2012: roof missing, fixtures removed<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYlUfYe-ckmXcaXplpijnjTw3Bq4EbQYNKJkTiPi_YI1oXRMoKb5th9usY0G10Lo285yAWL2cOHKsrDgJXtQz7KwbXfCwGzxPChPVqq0hZFv7a0U7sX2Uau3JSwmXYDFvJcJn_jpDv90n9/s1600/Abyei+Catholic+Church,+Oct+2012,+No.+3,+small+size.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYlUfYe-ckmXcaXplpijnjTw3Bq4EbQYNKJkTiPi_YI1oXRMoKb5th9usY0G10Lo285yAWL2cOHKsrDgJXtQz7KwbXfCwGzxPChPVqq0hZFv7a0U7sX2Uau3JSwmXYDFvJcJn_jpDv90n9/s320/Abyei+Catholic+Church,+Oct+2012,+No.+3,+small+size.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abyei Roman Catholic church, Oct 2012, destruction of altar<br />
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Archbishop Deng (R) decrying the destruction of the crucifix which adorned the top of Abyei Roman Catholic Church, Oct 2012<br />
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ECS Church, Abyei, January 2011<br />
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ECS Church, Abyei, January 2011<br />
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Site of the ECS Church Abyei, Oct 2012. A small tukel has been built on the site.<br />
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ECS Church, Abyei, October 2012<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450547326423135862.post-59589873869403563242012-10-03T11:47:00.002-07:002012-10-03T11:47:33.278-07:00Zanzibar
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In December
of 2010 I organized a trip which took me from Juba to <st1:city w:st="on">Nairobi</st1:city>,
then by overnight train to <st1:city w:st="on">Mombasa</st1:city> (See “The
Night Train to <st1:city w:st="on">Mombasa</st1:city>”), thence by boat to <st1:placename w:st="on">Zanzibar</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Island</st1:placetype>
off the coast of <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Tanzania</st1:place></st1:country>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I finished the trip by taking a ferry from <st1:city w:st="on">Zanzibar</st1:city> to Dar es-Salaam in <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on">Tanzania</st1:country>
and then flying back to Juba via <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Nairobi</st1:place></st1:city>.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I like
making circular trips, traveling in a single direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t like having to either backtrack or
return over territory I’ve already covered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It boarders on the maniacal I suppose, though I am willing to make
tactical retreats where necessary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Anyway, it was nice to get away in the days before Christmas and to have
the opportunity to see some of Africa beyond <st1:place w:st="on">South Sudan</st1:place>.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It was
important to me to arrive on <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Zanzibar</st1:place></st1:city>
by boat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How else could you approach an
island except by water, really?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Arriving
by air seemed pointless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However,
finding a water route to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Zanzibar</st1:place></st1:city>
proved quite difficult.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ferries which
used to operate between <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Mombasa</st1:city></st1:place>
and other points along the Tanzanian coast had ceased operating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I figured I could travel by bus from <st1:city w:st="on">Mombasa</st1:city> to Dar and then take the ferry over, but that went
against my principles since I would have to ferry again from <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Zanzibar</st1:place></st1:city> back to Dar when my trip was over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And besides, long distance buses in <st1:place w:st="on">Africa</st1:place> are nearly always miserable.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Searching
on-line for a water-borne option, and I did waste some work-time planning my
trip, finally turned-up a cruise-ship that was making a five day journey out of
Mombasa but which would, if requested, drop passengers off at Stone Town on
Zanzibar the first morning out of port.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Perfect!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made a reservation
satisfied that I had found the final link in the chain of my adventure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And just making reservations from <st1:place w:st="on">South Sudan</st1:place> was difficult.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are few on-line credit-card purchases
in <st1:place w:st="on">Africa</st1:place>, and you wouldn’t feel safe giving
credit card information over a cell-phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I had to wire funds from Juba to <st1:city w:st="on">Nairobi</st1:city>
for my train ticket and hotel reservations on <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Zanzibar</st1:place></st1:city>, and through the use of scanned
forms was able to book my cruise-ship tickets via email.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People back home don’t appreciate the ease
with which they can be parted from their money.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I found <st1:city w:st="on">Mombasa</st1:city> dreary, just a large commercial city, like <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Omaha</st1:place></st1:city> but hotter and
grimier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The locals were pleasant
enough, no one bothered me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The city is
overwhelmingly Muslim, and even the Anglican Cathedral was heavily influenced
by Islamic architecture, though the interior bore traces of the British who
occupied the country for so long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
were innumerable brass plaques lining the walls giving testimony to the piety
of past congregants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Sir Reginald
Thomas Plash was a dedicated member for forty years,” “Edward Lukken Willoughby
served on the vestry for twenty years, 1910-1930,” “Lady Davinia Swindle Ernst
sang in the choir for many years,” etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was all very charming and I was surprised in the middle of the day to
have the cathedral to myself.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I was so
glad to be leaving <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Mombasa</st1:place></st1:city>
that I left for the cruise ship an hour earlier than necessary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My scooter rickshaw driver had a hard time
finding the dock; I had to keep giving him directions even though he was
local.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was the first passenger to
arrive and the operators were not quite ready for me so I was left to cool in
the company’s offices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha7y55frxdq8oSSzZK7V6gAZUoQBmUzk56FxM29Hc1jRNOQxYxRzs6cEV7_IpLBjCntJltGEFBeb7sY5y_HAf9OA0jVU_kmt5SPhk6Fr5Y_RTo0C7stAjva2F0nO8XUJoaaUuAi1dYN59j/s1600/Ocean+Mist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha7y55frxdq8oSSzZK7V6gAZUoQBmUzk56FxM29Hc1jRNOQxYxRzs6cEV7_IpLBjCntJltGEFBeb7sY5y_HAf9OA0jVU_kmt5SPhk6Fr5Y_RTo0C7stAjva2F0nO8XUJoaaUuAi1dYN59j/s320/Ocean+Mist.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Ocean Mist"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The ship was
called the “Ocean Mist.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
Cambodian flagged and had just undergone extensive renovations to the tune of
millions of dollars according to one of the crew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The captain was an old Greek, looking
perfectly cast in his role.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was
going to be its maiden voyage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If that
was the case I felt sorry for the investors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The ship was nearly empty, probably no more than forty or fifty
passengers for a ship that could carry over 200. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My impression was that most of the passengers
were Iranian or some other type of middle-easterners who had come for the
prospect of gambling in the ship’s casino.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Swarthy, secretive men trailed by numerous silent women clad in
bhurkas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Westerners whose only
impression of people from Arab countries is from movies or television do not
appreciate the individuality that bhurka clad women are able to exhibit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Far from monolithic or dull they are highly
expressive in their accents and details in addition to the henna tattooing with
which married women adorn themselves.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Because this
was the ship’s maiden voyage the operators had gone to a lot of trouble to
arrange for local musicians decked out in African garb beating drums and other
percussion instruments to line the walkway to welcome the guests.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was somewhat gruesome, like someone’s
twisted version from an old Tarzan movie of what Africans should look and sound
like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, it was entertaining.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since I had arrived so early I was able to
retire to the upper open deck and sip a Coke and watch everyone else arrive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t cheap; my one night cost me $250
with everything included, but after nearly a year in <st1:place w:st="on">Juba</st1:place>
I was ready for some luxury and the ship was very, very nice.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
operators had requested that passengers dress for dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I always travel in a suit, something I
learned early on gets you far better service than dressing like a typical
American in ragged jeans and a dirty t-shirt, I arrived in the dining room
comfortably attired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Given the low
number of passengers the ratio between staff and customers was ridiculous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Throughout my dinner I was never surrounded
by fewer than four waitpersons who seemed to hang on my every mouthful and who
whisked plates away and placed new ones before me with astonishing speed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the end I wanted to linger over my coffee
but it felt so uncomfortable being stared at by so many staff I finally left.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgdHivJXK9bZlKq6bVu0_UN84tRiw-L4zfWDJfgzH_dbdZA0Kyrjtu3tJl5pOEi_iPn03UoKu6eDospW5xb09Ys6qFIpfu4LX9PTvES_62hyIrqrhb-12SmwNsXJeuIo2yn6dPVCaGjWMR/s1600/Stone+Town+Harbor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgdHivJXK9bZlKq6bVu0_UN84tRiw-L4zfWDJfgzH_dbdZA0Kyrjtu3tJl5pOEi_iPn03UoKu6eDospW5xb09Ys6qFIpfu4LX9PTvES_62hyIrqrhb-12SmwNsXJeuIo2yn6dPVCaGjWMR/s320/Stone+Town+Harbor.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When I
awoke the next morning I found that we were just arriving at <st1:placename w:st="on">Stone</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Town</st1:placetype>,
the capital of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Zanzibar</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I motored to shore and wound my way through
the famous narrow streets and alleyways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was heading for the guest house located adjacent to the Anglican
Cathedral.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had studied a map of <st1:placename w:st="on">Stone</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Town</st1:placetype>
in my “Lonely Planet” guide to <st1:place w:st="on">Africa</st1:place>, but it
was difficult to keep track of all the streets which were like walking through
a maze. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find it intimidating when I
arrive in a strange place like <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Zanzibar</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although you cannot help but be observed to
be a tourist, still you do not want to appear to be a complete sap being easy
prey for the touts and others who can cause trouble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The one thing I knew was that the cathedral
was located on one of the highest points in town and so I figured so long as I
kept walking upwards I would find it which I eventually did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Probably from the time I arrived on the
island until the time I reached the guest house had only been about ten minutes
but it felt like I had been walking for hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The air even in the morning was hot and humid.<br />
<div style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2q_-cG27KMXQSvZgEgRO0K8jR9EKQNPG7Vydm_wu-MrL15Lih6Xw_a1JhwXIsD4rtTn6g85D2GOgmNyG6MCxnWjau95VtjNkfAAClQdmDP_8sanogKBLgCER2_b6ZmAq-mLJsO1fkZiZn/s1600/Anglican+Cathedral,+Stone+Town.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2q_-cG27KMXQSvZgEgRO0K8jR9EKQNPG7Vydm_wu-MrL15Lih6Xw_a1JhwXIsD4rtTn6g85D2GOgmNyG6MCxnWjau95VtjNkfAAClQdmDP_8sanogKBLgCER2_b6ZmAq-mLJsO1fkZiZn/s320/Anglican+Cathedral,+Stone+Town.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
Anglican Cathedral in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Stone</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">Town</st1:placetype></st1:place> was built atop the
site of the last slave market.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Arab
traders had for centuries brought slaves captured all over the African interior
to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Zanzibar</st1:place></st1:city> for
sale.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the first Anglican
missionaries decided to build the cathedral right on the site, the altar being
built on the spot where the tree to which slaves were lashed was located.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a museum on the cathedral grounds
describing the history of slavery on <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Zanzibar</st1:place></st1:city>.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWRKHTXPGdyn4l8JDBctekD4T64lZT9ECRh4Zp6Ovv_nBPgseat7LSitv8RMBc_bLtkAroLj1PRZwSiCdpCg0yr8AYC_mPfbhETaFwwutipFLbNvOAS882QHaPlz_9JzK6605qm4pVoHbi/s1600/Anglican+Cath+Guest+House.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWRKHTXPGdyn4l8JDBctekD4T64lZT9ECRh4Zp6Ovv_nBPgseat7LSitv8RMBc_bLtkAroLj1PRZwSiCdpCg0yr8AYC_mPfbhETaFwwutipFLbNvOAS882QHaPlz_9JzK6605qm4pVoHbi/s320/Anglican+Cath+Guest+House.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anglican Guest House</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The guest house was a lovely two story
structure located next door, nestled amongst palms and flame-trees and covered
with bougainvillea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My room was charming
with cool tile floors and a four poster bed inset with decorative tiles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Zanzibar</st1:place></st1:city>
is predominantly Muslim and two mosques were located close by the
cathedral.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The muezzin sings out the
first calls for prayers at 5:30am which made for early mornings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even in <st1:place w:st="on">Juba</st1:place>
I know it is a tough night’s sleep when I am awake early enough to hear the
first call to prayer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People at the
cathedral with whom I spoke said that by and large Christians and Muslims got
along well, though I heard a few months ago that in reaction to some perceived
slight some Muslims had rampaged through <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Stone</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Town</st1:placetype></st1:place>
and destroyed a church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder if
having to wake up so early every morning puts some Muslims in a perpetually bad
mood.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTKp6_8FZaO30V65dbT4CBvjY76qSxu0X0uoSLAe20zh2Rj1pPk4bD0OyDFiPajkl9Cg01heFGHgHbmB-vqikv3Zek9viuQZYb5pqZiI57sgPYqT_nsFJThQHBqMVHTufRoPtjLrG-xATP/s1600/Narrow+streets,+Stone+Town.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTKp6_8FZaO30V65dbT4CBvjY76qSxu0X0uoSLAe20zh2Rj1pPk4bD0OyDFiPajkl9Cg01heFGHgHbmB-vqikv3Zek9viuQZYb5pqZiI57sgPYqT_nsFJThQHBqMVHTufRoPtjLrG-xATP/s320/Narrow+streets,+Stone+Town.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span><br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span><br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span><br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span><br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span><br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Stone</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Town</st1:placetype></st1:place>
is a walker’s delight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The heart of the
old central part of town consists of numerous narrow alleyways, wide enough
only for pedestrians or scooters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
can spend wonderful hours wandering through the alleyways admiring the
architecture, much of it Arabic in character.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Doorways in particular feature extensive decorative carving and
wrought-iron hardware.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found the
residents pleasant though non-committal, no one bothered me (other than touts)
but no one really greeted me either.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOz3l2hchGLqc2Imhix8kXtLZaV20b5RCRDyRoDTHPpGo41QkRaf_Fm8gTIKihLxpI_tG9cj23duVeQ2_7kOVlkeBuxg484ig4OagpAN4VK6GYSMD9Szz4AgrXCn03e-HA27Wtl32E1Sz5/s1600/Doorway,+Stone+Town.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOz3l2hchGLqc2Imhix8kXtLZaV20b5RCRDyRoDTHPpGo41QkRaf_Fm8gTIKihLxpI_tG9cj23duVeQ2_7kOVlkeBuxg484ig4OagpAN4VK6GYSMD9Szz4AgrXCn03e-HA27Wtl32E1Sz5/s320/Doorway,+Stone+Town.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span><br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span><br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span><br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span><br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I arrived
in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Stone</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Town</st1:placetype></st1:place> on a Saturday morning because I was
keen to attend Sunday services at the cathedral.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I understood that the main service was in
Kiswahili, of which I have a poor grasp, but that there was an English service
as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sadly, the English service was
attended by only about a dozen parishioners and rather than being held in the
cathedral proper was held in a small chapel next door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of my fellow congregants were tourists
like me, just passing through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One thing
that did annoy me though was that the service was at 8am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cathedral’s website said the English
service was much later in the day the result of which I delayed my planned
departure for the beach until Monday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But once I arrived and learned of the early morning service I regretted
that I would have to burn another day wandering around Stone Town – which
honestly, you can get a good feel for in a couple of hours <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>– rather than head to the beach.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>On Sunday I
purchased some plantains and locally made bread and bottles of water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The beach resort I was heading to was located
on an isolated stretch of beach and I was afraid supplies would either be
difficult to find or terribly expensive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I learned both the positives and negatives of human behavior that
day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the main market in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Stone</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Town</st1:placetype></st1:place>
I purchased plantains and bread but had to pay inflated “muzungu” prices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember when I was buying the loaf of
bread the price the seller quoted me was twice what the local lady before me
had paid for the same item.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I
complained to the seller she merely shrugged her shoulders as if to say, “tough.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told her she should not engage in such
practices, it was dishonest. <br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But in the
small Indian owned shop where I purchased bottles of water and some other small
items, all I had were a few large Tanzanian notes and the owner said she could
not make change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This lady, who had
never seen me before in her life, allowed me to take my bag of groceries with
me with the promise that I would return later and pay her what I owed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was overwhelmed by her trust and kindness
and I made a frantic effort to break my large bills so I could return and pay
the shop what I owed.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In the
evenings vendor’s set-up grills all over the main square down near the harbor
where you can wander the stalls until you find what looks good and then order
your dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being an island there was
all manner of seafood which would be made into kebabs and cooked over the
flames.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had some fish and chicken
kebabs, it was great and watching the large crowds milling about the square was
a pleasant way to spend the evening.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkaghBCuDjJnXXl-BOd6bHL4rJ74-PKBJ48CSkhG2Cu-htuVcdvgEJHmEGxEB2vZMD5CeansDCbnxl5oZxx5VEvFIvoq7heOywFE0bquLjemsD_1UAsBaJT_JOFKuQeDUOdaxN-hmlwSl0/s1600/Buses%252C+Zanzibar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkaghBCuDjJnXXl-BOd6bHL4rJ74-PKBJ48CSkhG2Cu-htuVcdvgEJHmEGxEB2vZMD5CeansDCbnxl5oZxx5VEvFIvoq7heOywFE0bquLjemsD_1UAsBaJT_JOFKuQeDUOdaxN-hmlwSl0/s320/Buses%252C+Zanzibar.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buses in Zanzibar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I opted to
take the local bus to the beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you
want to get to know a place, take the local transport.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lonely Planet said Bus 309 would take me to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Jambiani</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Beach</st1:placetype></st1:place> and sure enough it did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bus park was located near the guest house
and I arrived on Monday morning after breakfast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were dozens of buses of all
descriptions heading everywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Decently enough, they line up in numerical order and although 309 hadn’t
arrived yet, it was easy enough to find the place where I should wait.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to fend-off numerous touts offering
taxis and many other items for sale.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At
one point a young Masai male arrived, decked out as they always are in red
plaid and equipped with his dagger and other accoutrements.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked so lost and terribly out of place I
was compelled to ask him if he needed help but he said he was ok, just waiting
for another bus.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After about
an hour bus 309 arrived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bus was a
mid-sized truck in which the box-cab in the back had been removed and replaced
with bench seats along both sides and covered with a canopy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A handful of us climbed in, and I sat towards
the front on the right side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
schedule required about three hours which I found hard to believe for a trip of
only around 30-miles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But not long after
we started we stopped in a commercial district along the main road where for
over an hour dozens of sacks of flour and sugar and other commodities were
loaded onto the canopy roof.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another
stop a few doors away added more freight to our roof and I realized that it was
the freight and not the passengers which really paid for this trip down to the
far coast of the island.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once we got
going we also stopped frequently to pick-up passengers who waved down the bus
and by the time we got deep into the countryside around two dozen people were squeezed
into the seats along with a pile of luggage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The seat next to me was the last to be occupied, no one wanting to sit
next to the “muzungu,” until there was no where else left to sit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So often in <st1:place w:st="on">Africa</st1:place>
I have been the only white person and it is an interesting experience, one that
teaches you about vulnerability and humility and kindness.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After
almost exactly three hours we arrived at my hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cost for the bus ride was 1500-shillings,
or a little over a dollar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By
comparison, when I returned to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Stone</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">Town</st1:placetype></st1:place> a couple of days
later opting to use the hotel’s car it cost around $60.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I actually overpaid on the bus, giving the
young boy who collected the money 2000-shillings, and he returned my change.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRxLafsafqtDPso2MaRSdud_WM9ukj2pycvcS0Az2GzM73E9hpFYrDrPWvWeoKa5Ga4poRwZaYsffk3CAp1escg0lC077Q1X-P3C2GmO0AxgkdbrCjiKE5Vvk6QADncn7sKKCRMGe0tI9h/s1600/Jambiani+Beach,+Zanzibar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRxLafsafqtDPso2MaRSdud_WM9ukj2pycvcS0Az2GzM73E9hpFYrDrPWvWeoKa5Ga4poRwZaYsffk3CAp1escg0lC077Q1X-P3C2GmO0AxgkdbrCjiKE5Vvk6QADncn7sKKCRMGe0tI9h/s320/Jambiani+Beach,+Zanzibar.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jambiani Beach, Zanzibar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I stayed at
the Blue Oyster Hotel, a fantastic hotel located directly upon <st1:placename w:st="on">Jambiani</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Beach</st1:placetype>
on the southeast coast of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Zanzibar</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was attracted to Jambiani from Lonely
Planet’s description of it as quiet and it was that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pristine white sand, turquoise colored
bathtub warm gentle water, swaying palm trees – it was the closest to paradise
I have ever been.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Blue Oyster was a
German owned hotel run with great efficiency.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My room was sumptuous located on the ground floor of a two story cottage
just off the beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I arrived my
bed was strewn with flowers and I felt immediately at ease.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really appreciated the opportunity to relax
and unwind.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj20IlEvwuAy67o4DaxIKCiQchyIAodlomfhMK9xHh_NQzWATCofkJ0EF7oykrJEwTwcmquYZNgYtfaApXBkOnHTNHFZb0YxNQreHvJ2IXiWOHNcZtKGN4VjT8OXlm2Hq4X6NAZJBkOYfM7/s1600/View+from+room,+Jambiani+Beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj20IlEvwuAy67o4DaxIKCiQchyIAodlomfhMK9xHh_NQzWATCofkJ0EF7oykrJEwTwcmquYZNgYtfaApXBkOnHTNHFZb0YxNQreHvJ2IXiWOHNcZtKGN4VjT8OXlm2Hq4X6NAZJBkOYfM7/s320/View+from+room,+Jambiani+Beach.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View out my door</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The hotel
offered entertainments such as visiting a nearby nature park or going out on a
small boat to the coral reef offshore to go snorkeling, but I opted to stay put
and relax, taking occasional walks along the beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At low tide the water recedes about a half
mile from shore and locals, mainly women, arrive to tend seaweed which they
grow in beds on the sea floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stakes
are driven into the ground about ten feet apart and string stretched between
the stakes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seaweed is planted at one
end and follows the string to create rectangular patches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The water is so clear the plants would
receive sunlight all day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The women come
out at low tide to collect the day’s harvest into large sacks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who buys it I don’t know, I couldn’t
communicate with any of the women to learn much.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Nearly all
the other guests were Germans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I met one
chubby German who was there with his family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He had lived in Dar for a couple of years working for a company.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said he loved it and would keep signing up
since it was much more pleasant than living in <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Germany</st1:place></st1:country> and it allowed him to
indulge his hobby of scuba diving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
only awkward social moment was when they had this special moonlight dinner on
the beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a great dinner sitting
on the beach on a warm pleasant evening under a full moon rising out of the <st1:place w:st="on">Indian Ocean</st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
I was the only person eating alone and they had stuck my table right in the
middle of the place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was hard not to
be self-conscious of eating alone.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgokjHnN9PYZjtdJqr1-r_TnJ0JLig38VI-wQSRHhTKgBtG3ZnzyfJbA4aXP6FdJ-Moorc2Uv_67Ya0xyPw4YwkjbAhXVw2YU4GMTH1nPc1kIjJWLQ6w4TZ8k4jneR0WdWQbVgynS0LDo0Z/s1600/Dar+ferry+dock,+Zanzibar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgokjHnN9PYZjtdJqr1-r_TnJ0JLig38VI-wQSRHhTKgBtG3ZnzyfJbA4aXP6FdJ-Moorc2Uv_67Ya0xyPw4YwkjbAhXVw2YU4GMTH1nPc1kIjJWLQ6w4TZ8k4jneR0WdWQbVgynS0LDo0Z/s320/Dar+ferry+dock,+Zanzibar.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dar es-Salaam ferry dock, Zanzibar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
ferry-ride to Dar was uneventful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had
intended to save $5 by buying a second-class ticket but the ticket seller
insisted I buy first-class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
thankful I did since first class was air-conditioned which in the great heat
and humidity was merciful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Getting onto
the ferry, I began to really feel more like an African.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In <st1:place w:st="on">Africa</st1:place>
there are no ques, you simply have to push and shove your way through the
crowd, and it’s everyone for themselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When I first arrived I found this intimidating but I remember smiling to
myself as I maneuvered my way through the crowd thinking that I was really
starting to fit in.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Like most
African cities Dar was a hole, a dirty, stinking hot sweaty place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Coming off the boat you are immediately
assaulted by touts offering taxis and hotels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I had already picked-out one or two hotels to try.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to be at the airport early the next
morning so I only needed a room for a few hours, long enough to catch a nap and
explore Dar some.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it was a few days
before Christmas and all the hotels I checked were full.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After the third hotel said they were full I
instead just took a taxi to the airport, difficult in the late afternoon
traffic heading out of town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It meant
about a ten hour wait at the airport but I didn’t care.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
just glad to be heading back to <st1:place w:st="on">Juba</st1:place>, back
home as it were.<br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450547326423135862.post-739395510547738082012-09-24T23:38:00.001-07:002012-09-24T23:38:44.449-07:00Juba days
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><st1:place w:st="on">Juba</st1:place> has been a little tough place to be as of late.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fuel shortages, specifically diesel fuel,
have made transport and power generation harder than usual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There have been several times at the office
where we’ve had to beg and borrow a jerry-can of fuel so we could run our
generator for the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many times our
drivers have had to wait in line for a day waiting to get fuel for our
vehicles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had one or two nights at
the Guest House where there was no fuel either, cooking and reading by
candlelight or solar powered desk-lamps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Two years ago such occurrences added to the allure of being in a foreign
place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now it’s just annoying and I grow
weary of it.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Security
too has been a problem, though I have been fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are a few parts of <st1:place w:st="on">Juba</st1:place>,
one area known as Gudele (“Goo-deli”) in particular, where nighttime robberies
and shootings have been rampant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At
first people thought maybe the police were involved because some of the gangs
who were carrying out the armed robberies appeared to be wearing police uniforms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later, when one of the bandits had been
captured and questioned, it turned out that some police were renting out their
uniforms for the evenings to criminals, a way of making a little something on
the side.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Though it
is not terribly common I do occasionally hear gunfire outside of our compound
late in the evenings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve come to
listen closely to the shots, waiting to hear if there is any reaction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I hear shots but no screaming or sirens
afterwards, then I know it is simply someone firing into the air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last week the latest crowd of police recruits
graduated from the police academy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That
night I could hear a party and loud voices nearby and then several gunshots fired
in celebration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The shots were so close
I half expected to find someone lying in the street when I came out the next
morning, but as I’d heard no screaming after the shots I knew they were merely
fired out of joy.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><st1:place w:st="on">Juba</st1:place> continues to be a city of rapid change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Buildings are being thrown-up at a frenetic
pace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One good development has been the
appearance of better construction methods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>While most buildings are still being made out of concrete hand poured
into wooden frames over pencil-thin rebar, the columns looking far too
insubstantial to hold-up their weight, I have seen at least two buildings
going-up built from all-steel framing, big I-beams being bolted and welded
together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It gives one hope for the
future that these buildings at least will still be around ten years from now.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> South Sudan remains a country of hope and despair. The problems here often seem insurmountable, just too difficult to ever be solved. But then you encounter a small miracle, a child who has been enrolled in school or a health clinic that has opened where people never had access to medicine before, and you are renewed in the hope that with time and effort, things will get better.</o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p></o:p> </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450547326423135862.post-89526314375446880652012-09-15T00:17:00.001-07:002012-09-15T00:17:13.085-07:00All OK here in Juba I've received a couple of emails regarding conditions in Juba in the aftermath of the anti-Muslin video and the violence it has spawned throughout the Arab world.<br />
<br />
First, I want to assure everyone that I'm fine and there are no protests or demonstrations of any kind occurring in Juba as far as I know. The percentage of Muslins here, though significant, is still small and I would fear more for their safety than anyone else's were a demonstration to get out of hand. I don't know what the main subject was at yesterday's prayers at the mosques in Juba, but no one took to the streets afterwards in protest.<br />
<br />
I have not seen the video, have no desire to do so and don't even know many details about it other than it has certainly has caused a lot of tragedy. The worst of all was the killing of the US Ambassador and other staff in Libya. Anytime adherents of a faith engage in killing it means they have failed the first tenent of belief in any faith which is protecting the sanctity of life. There is simply no excuse for such violence. One of the most worrying to me also is that the film has somehow been tied to followers of the Coptic faith in Egypt. Violence against Copts in Egypt has been common and I'm afraid this will spark another wave.<br />
<br />
I do remember twenty years ago the protests in the US when someone displayed as art a crucifix in urine and some other pretty bad images. Many American Christians demonstrated publicly against such images, it offended them deeply. While we can in no way condone the violence that has been committed, we can at least sympathize with their anger at any images which offend their faith as well.<br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450547326423135862.post-39264277433657758242012-09-03T06:51:00.000-07:002012-09-03T06:56:01.120-07:00Back in Juba<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I had the
feeling of being with a kindred spirit, a fellow sufferer, who was completely
alone, who had only his work and who, after seventy years, woke up each morning
to start afresh, regarding everything he had done as more or less a failure, an
inaccurate rendering of his vision, a betrayal.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>P. Theroux, <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Picture</i></st1:placename><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Palace</st1:placetype></i></st1:place><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">.</i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Back in “my
home in the old <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on">Sudan</st1:country></st1:place>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People don’t read Kipling anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a pity, he's a great storyteller.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You could wet yourself reading “The Village
that Voted the Earth was Flat.” But after six tumultuous weeks in American I
find myself again in <st1:place w:st="on">Juba</st1:place>.</div>
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Before I
left I was not even that keen to go, afraid to leave the security I knew in <st1:place w:st="on">Juba</st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At first I
didn’t see much purpose to going home, a bother really.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><st1:place w:st="on">Juba</st1:place> had
become all I knew and I was happy here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I had my work, though in my tiredness I had certainly become less
effective and less able to concentrate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I had created a modest social life with friends around town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it is impossible to get any rest in <st1:place w:st="on">Juba</st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Between the
endless heat and tedium of living, the schlepping to the market and cooking the
same boring meals from the short list of available ingredients, there is also
the constant press of work, people calling or stopping by even on weekends so
that you can never relax properly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
created in me tiredness so deep down in my bones that I didn’t know if I could
ever recover.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I convinced
myself that there was no purpose to going home, nothing for me there except
fast food and chocolate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t even
look forward to seeing family and friends, aware that seeing people meant a
constant whirl of travel and motion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
2011 I relished the fact that I was going to step off the plane directly into
the AFRECS convention and from there to missionary training in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Toronto</st1:place></st1:city> and then directly into a string of
presentations at churches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This year I
dreaded that I would be going anywhere other than a soft bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And as is typical for us visitors from overseas,
in my entire time at home I think I enjoyed only two or three unscripted days
so that I returned as or even more tired than when I left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A friend missionary in Mundri that is heading
home in a few days expressed the same feelings the other day, part of the job I
suppose.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The bigger
problem with my going was that I had convinced myself that there was nothing
for me back home, nothing that could match the excitement and purpose which my
work in <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Sudan</st1:place></st1:country>
offered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had completed my two year
mission: I had saved the Province’s finances from implosion, reestablished
links with our external partners and hired a local to replace me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A complete success!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could have departed but convinced that
there was nothing anywhere that could compete with this kind of life I opted to
return.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I chose the ease of the familiar
over the difficulty of the unknown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was a conceit, though hopefully not a terribly dangerous one; there is still
plenty of work to do here, even if the rush of newness and excitement no longer
remains.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>While home
I struggled to maintain my “Sudan-ness.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I rehearsed Arabic in my mind and felt guilty when asked to use prayers
that differed from those we use in <st1:place w:st="on">Juba</st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Under my breath I would say the prayers as I
had become accustomed to saying them in <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on">Sudan</st1:country>,
not wanting to betray my brothers and sisters in <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Sudan</st1:place></st1:country>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s so strange; in <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on">Sudan</st1:country> I try and remember what it is to be
American, and yet in <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country>
I wanted to remain Sudanese.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I was
pleased to find that my room remained intact.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Before I’d left the Guest House manager had been suggesting he might
have to move me around to complete “renovations” to our house, or more
accurately “my” house since I am the last missionary here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before I left the manager, who rarely hides
his loathing for my existence for what he views as my “stealing” a room that he
could otherwise lease out, had decided to use the other two rooms to house
bishops that would be in Juba on long term assignment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This caused me to joke that my house was the
“House of Bishops.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Anyway, my
room was intact as was the kitchen, which really pleased me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was even able with great effort to save the
refrigerator and gas cooker so I could continue to eat at home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But all of the living room furniture was
removed, the comfy chairs and tables.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“You don’t need them,” said the manager.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I managed to squirrel a plastic table which I could use for dining and
working but the manager came and took that away after a few days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You don’t need this.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No
renovations had been attempted.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>They had
somehow screwed-up the wiring while I was away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It used to be that we could switch from town power to generator power by
throwing a switch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But while I was away
someone had made it so we could not longer access town power, not the entire
Guest House compound, just our house suffered this problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Normally this was not a problem since for
most of the past year there was no public power at the Guest House – or at our
offices either which caused me to have to constantly scrounge for money to keep
a generating going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But apparently since
the anniversary of independence in July there had been a reasonable flow of
town power, even to the Guest House.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How
frustrating it was for several nights after I returned being forced to sit in
the dark while the rest of the Guest House was lit up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally after several days of complaining the
manager had the problem fixed and I enjoyed one brief 36-hour period of town
power, a short idyll before town power was exhausted and we were again limited to
a few hours of power in the evenings.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I had
managed to give away all of my chickens before I left. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sadly, nearly all of them have died, their new
owners not taking the care of them that I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My next-door neighbor James moved a small flock into my chicken coop
during my absence, one rooster and a couple of hens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mangy things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This new rooster is so much more annoying than the Bruce.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like the new fellow Bruce also would rip off
a few crows around 5:00am each morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But the Bruce would then have the decency to quiet down until closer to
7am before starting up again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But this new
fellow just keeps at it all morning and more than once I’ve wanted to go out
and wring his scrawny neck.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Settling
back into life in <st1:place w:st="on">Juba</st1:place>, I’ve received warm
welcomes from my co-workers and friends around town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As someone who has spent over two years here
I am one of the longer serving people, and old timer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have begun jogging again, something I had
to abandon owing to an injury to my left Achilles tendon incurred during a 10-k
race back at the end of May.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
afraid I’d ruptured the thing but an x-ray obtained while I was home proved
otherwise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just need to be more
careful about stretching.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it’s nice
to be active again, even if the purpose of the activity is unclear.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450547326423135862.post-45721605462386686262012-06-19T02:08:00.001-07:002012-06-19T02:08:24.167-07:00This is Kinda Weird It is really cold here this morning in Juba. Last week felt so hot, like dry season heat. A friend in Mundri emailed me that it was hot there also. But over the weekend it clouded-up and it rained some. This morning dawned so dark and cold, and it has been raining all morning. This is a good thing since it hasn't really rained much this rainy season, not like the last two years. People coming in from the countryside are complaining of the lack of rain and how this is affecting the planting and growing of crops. In a country with no excess production any loss of crops means hunger later on, so we are thankful for the rain.<br />
But I have noticed that I have been needing to urinate more than usual this morning, which is kinda weird. But then I remembered a friend mentioning how when she leaves Sudan for Nairobi, where it is much cooler, she has to get used to urinating again more frequently. Normally Juba it is always so hot that moisture simply evaporates out of your body. During the dry season I rarely urinate more than once a day no matter how much water I drink. I know it's kinda gross to talk about this, but it is an interesting phenomenon, something you don't know about until you live here!<br />
I'm supposed to go out to dinner tonite with friends. I might actually have to take a jacket with me if it remains cold! Part of the problem is my body is so used to living in Juba, any temperature below 80-degrees and I start feeling cold. This morning it was probably in the upper 60's so it felt like the depths of winter.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450547326423135862.post-43792792924862228592012-06-08T07:24:00.001-07:002012-06-08T07:24:08.894-07:00I didn't do it There have been some news reports that some $4-billion in oil revenues that should have gone to the government of South Sudan have gone missing over the last few years.<br />
<br />
I just want to go on record as saying I was not involved in any way with the disappearance of these funds, despite any comments to the contrary.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450547326423135862.post-48165985524777924102012-05-20T12:24:00.001-07:002012-05-20T12:29:14.138-07:00Next Big Thing?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m rapidly
approaching the end of my two-year term of mission. I cannot believe how quickly the time has
passed. It would be incredibly difficult
to try and explain here, now, all of the things I have witnessed and
experienced, how this experience has altered my life in so many, many ways. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Many of the
things I have witnessed are mundane happenings and merely different than what
I’ve experienced at home but otherwise hardly remarkable other than their being
exotic compared to what I’m used to. But
other things, especially in the way people view their lives and each other, are
amazingly complex and will require from me further consideration and reflection
before I will fully understand them.
People here can at once be so very considerate and then again so very
brutal with one another, at once incredibly generous and the next surprisingly
greedy, but there is a genuine difference between our sensibilities, those of
us from the west and the people of Africa and yet the people here are aware of
the world and want very much to be a part of it without losing their
Africaness, as it were. One of the
biggest challenges I observed is the struggle within the people here of
adapting to western ways while still retaining their intrinsic sense of shared
community. There are some people here
who gladly wear western dress and grab everything they can with both hands, by
methods both fair and foul, while others still retain the village concept of
shared wealth. In the end I’m certain
the more western attitude will prevail.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of the
difficulties I face is what to do after being here in Sudan. While I’ve been here I’ve been privileged to
observe the Referendum in January, 2011, which then led to the creation of South Sudan on July 9, 2011. I’ve witnessed this new country as it tries
to grow and develop but also while it struggles with internal conflicts such as
tribal warfare and insurgencies. It has
been an amazing time to be present here and I don’t know what could top this in
terms of world experiences. But on a
more personal level, I have been able to become part of a great community
within the Church and also within the ex-patriot community here in Juba. I’ve created
a life here that I enjoy, in which I’ve become competent and useful, and I
don’t believe my work here is done.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve tried
to imagine going home but I cannot picture what in the world I would do for employment. My work experiences have been so varied and extreme;
I’ve almost never had a “normal” job, which has been both my delight and
terror. It’s difficult to imagine what I
would be deemed suitable for back home while here in Africa
I’m viewed very highly as a person with badly needed skills and
experiences. I miss home, I miss my
friends and family, but I’ve also settled into a life here and now when I’m at
my most experienced and capable it seems a shame to abandon all I’ve achieved.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I do not
want to continue working as the finance manager for the Province, of that I’m
sure. After two years I am exhausted
from the continuous daily grind of trying to keep the Province going. I believe I can look back with some pride at
the fact that I was able to pull the Province back from the edge of financial
abyss, certainly in terms of its international partners who had all but
given-up on the ECS, and that I was able to raise the level of general
financial management somewhat from what I found when I arrived. But now it’s time to turn things over to
someone with stronger administrative skills than I possess. I’m fortunate in that I was able to hire to take
my position someone much more capable than myself in terms of creating
financial controls and who has a better vision for how the Province’s financial
systems can be organized. I always found
myself so busy trying to put out fires and keep everything going that it was
difficult to find time to see where this tottering ship was heading or create
better systems of control.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have
applied for a handful of jobs around town, and though I was being considered
for one I haven’t made any progress with any of the others. One problem I’ve had is having enough time to
send off applications. By the time I get
home in the evenings, cook dinner and clean-up it’s usually already pushing 9pm
which doesn’t leave a lot of time for going on-line and completing applications. I’ve been so busy lately that I haven’t even
applied anywhere in a month.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of the
areas in which I was very interested in working has been in the field of
micro-finance, helping people to do what I did back home which is to save money
and start their own small businesses.
Access to credit, to banking tools such as establishing savings and
checking accounts is incredibly limited here.
If you consider all the ways in which people are able to access credit
in terms of debit and credit cards, ATM machines and regular banks, there is
probably greater access within one mile of a busy roadway like Route 3 back
home than exists in all of South Sudan.
I’ve long realized that creating a network of community banks in which
people can access credit is one of the greatest challenges facing this
country. Doing something about this
problem has interested me for a while.
I’ve prayed about it and thought about this work for a while and hoped
that an opportunity would open up.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thus I was
surprised when about two weeks ago my friend Raj – who’s real name is something
like Nyana-Raj but whom I always called Banana-Raj which he good naturedly
didn’t mind – came to me to ask if I’d take over his microfinance project. Raj, who is from Chennai in India, has been
here for about two months heading up a microfinance project that has been
working in our Juba Diocese for about a year.
Like most microfinance projects this one began with helping interested
people to have a safe place to save their money while educating them about
business and management and then when a sufficient pool of money had been
established and some good ideas presented making small loans to help people get
their businesses off the ground. So far
the results have been very good, the repayment rate is somewhere around
90-percent and most of the businesses are doing well. Juba,
fortunately, is a fast growing city and there is strong demand for almost all
goods and services and businesses which are well run and which pay attention to
providing good customer service – an alien concept here – can succeed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What I’d
like to do is to take this small project and make it a Provincial project so it
can be expanded throughout as many of our dioceses as possible. One of the lessons I have learned from my
forays out to the dioceses conducting training is how desperate some of our
people are to start their own businesses if they can be well trained and if
some start-up capital can be provided.
Few people here have any experience managing a business or of being trained
in how to manage finances. But I believe
that within every diocese there are a few people capable of managing who could
create businesses which would provide employment and income where none existed
before. To my mind, this is a far better
idea than any bottomless aid program which teaches only dependency.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, where I
am now is trying to decide if this project is the gift it appears to be, an
answer to my longings, or if I would be better-off returning home and standing
in the employment lines or keep sending out applications here and hoping
something materializes. I knew when I
got into all this two years ago that I wanted to spend the next decade of my
life involved in international development work in some way. One of my motivations was reading Jacquiline
Novogoratz’s book <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Blue Sweater</i>
describing her experiences working in third-world countries, mostly in Africa, helping people to create their own small
businesses. I really think this is what
I’d like to do for a couple of years and it seems like my experiences here to
date have prepared me for this opportunity.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When he was visiting here last November Bishop Suffragan of Virginia, Rt. Rev. David Jones said he didn't know what God had in store for me next but based upon my background and what I'd experienced in Juba he was thinking it would be amazing! That's pretty heady stuff and it has made me conscious of wanting my next move <i>to matter</i>. It's probably silly, but I feel the weight of the bishop's statement and it has encouraged me to be thoughtful about whatever I do next. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh, and
just in case anyone wonders, yes this IS a paying job, a salary plus housing
and living allowances so I will cease being a poor missionary and once again
enter the world of the gainfully employed.
If I decide to do this I will probably go home for a month when my term
as a missionary ends in early July and then return around the beginning of
August. There is a rule that so long as
you are not in the US for more than 30-days in a year any income you earn
overseas is not taxed, so that will influence the amount of time I stay at
home. Just long enough to get my laundry
done, fatten-up a bit and say hello to folks.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We’ll see, but I'd really appreciate people's opinions.<br />
<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450547326423135862.post-74987392116015158642012-05-20T12:15:00.001-07:002012-05-20T12:15:28.713-07:00Naked Guys<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One of the more interesting phenomena I’ve witnessed in Juba has been the appearance every so often of naked guys walking around town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is Africa and I expected, having grown-up with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">National Geographic</i> magazine, that I would encounter a higher level of nudity than one experiences back home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And this has been true, especially when you pass by places like the Nile River where people regularly go to bathe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Public water is scarce so having places like rivers and streams in which to bathe are important.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve sometimes seen dozens of people, mostly men, bathing at the riverside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Along the Nile in Terekeka there was a “men’s section” and further downstream a “ladies and children’s” section for washing-up.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Breast-feeding in public is also much more natural and open than is done back in the US.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then this corresponds with the general view of breasts here which, unlike in the west where female breasts are viewed as sexual objects and used for advertising everything, here they are considered merely milk delivery devices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Sudan, a woman with large breasts is considered no more sexually appealing than another, but she is deemed potentially better able to feed many children, something which is done very openly anytime, anywhere.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But the phenomenon I’m talking about is the appearance every so often of fully grown men walking around naked or mostly so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are about four or five men, all of whom appear to be if not directly related certainly belonging to the same clan or tribe, who wander around different sections of Juba in various states of undress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They all have a dazed, wild look in their eyes, unkempt hair and since they seem to live on whatever they can scrounge, are on the lean side though in general they appear to be remarkably fit.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I hadn’t been here long when I spied a young man, looking to be around 18-years old or thereabouts, a wild look in his eyes, nonchalantly walking along a nearby road completely naked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I got home I mentioned this to the others I lived with and they all started telling of their encounters with naked guys around town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I began to notice that I would see this particular fellow around our part of town, and that I would see other naked guys regularly in other parts of town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was as if these fellows had divided-up Juba and each decided to occupy a particular section of town.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The fellow I used to see around here I now see mainly over in Konya Konya, and there’s now a different, slightly younger guy I see near home and who regularly walks past our office, same vacant dazed look on his face and the scraps of clothing he has managed to obtain hanging off his body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The oldest member of the group I see over in Malakia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Malakia is an area crammed with retail shops owned mainly by Arab merchants for whom personal modesty is important.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no way of knowing but imagine the merchants of the area persuaded this particular fellow to wear shorts, or at least the front section of shorts, which are held-up by a piece of rope and completely open in the back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember driving over to a merchant in the area with one of my housemates who upon observing his bumm (she’s English) opined, “he seems very firm.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I once saw a woman who appeared to be from the same group, having the same general appearance, but she was fully clothed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s an odd phenomenon, nudity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where it is appropriate such as in bathing or swimming, it raises not the least interest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But where it is inappropriate such as in someone walking around town or in any other casual setting it is widely frowned upon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s hard to explain but it makes sense if you appreciate first, how practical people here are; one can hardly wash-up if dressed, can you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And second, how also generally conservative people here are, a legacy of the decades of Arab occupation which is one reason while in public most people here are fully covered in long sleeves and trousers or skirts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The lady I encountered was fully clothed because were she not one, she’d be the object of advances and two, it would be considered entirely inappropriate for her to be seen undressed.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>About a month ago my housemate and I were walking home after work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we passed by the crosswalk on Unity Avenue in front of St. Joseph’s Catholic School we saw a fellow standing in the crosswalk completely starkers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The funny thing, well, in addition to his being completely naked, was that he was standing in the crosswalk and in between moments of looking up towards the sky and motioning wildly he was attempting to direct traffic along the busy road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In this he was actually a little more successful than the crossing guards who occupy the same place in the morning because motorists were certainly slowing down to look at this naked man standing in the middle of the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>School fortunately had already let out for the day; there were only a handful of students still around who had to witness this spectacle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This fellow didn’t look anything like the other naked guys around town, well, other than being naked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But we speculated he might have slipped-out from Juba Hospital located across the street, perhaps ill with some sort of brain fever which deprived him of his senses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like the other naked guys, no one seemed to bother him or yell anything at him but just pretended like he wasn’t there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Never a dull moment in Juba!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450547326423135862.post-26553715295575217922012-04-20T05:39:00.002-07:002012-04-20T06:02:53.348-07:00Waiting for the Bombs to FallThere is a lot of heated rhetoric right now between the government of Sudan (the northern part of the country) and South Sudan (the new country in the southern part of the country.) I'm in the southern part of the country.<br /> Like a couple that had a bad break-up and still has some unfinished business to resolve, the split between these countries though seemingly peaceful enough was actually fraught with a lot of unresolved issues. Thanks to the north's aggressions there has been an almost constant series of low level clashes along the long and unresolved border between these two nations. Northern troops have dropped bombs and attacked in small numbers places all along the border. The south has demonstrated pretty remarkable restraint in resisting these constant provocations but two weeks ago the southern army decided finally to strike back. As a result of its actions the south actually ended-up taking the town of Heglig and some area north of there. Heglig is significant because it was a major oil producing area for the north. As if the tensions between the north and south owing to cultural, religious and every other kind of reason weren't bad enough, the fact that there is oil lying under the border area makes a rotten situation even worse.<br /> As a result of these events the northern government through its leader Omar Bashir, a man indicted by the International Criminal Court for war crimes, has denounced the south and threatened to bomb Juba and replace the "insects" which govern there. People around Juba have taken to referring to one another as "insects." On a more sinister note though, people in Juba also think that Bashir referred to the leaders of Juba as insects possibly to justify the use of chemical weapons.<br /> It is surprising and I think hurtful to the South Sudanese people how quickly the international community has condemned South Sudan for its taking of Heglig. The world community tsk-tsked and pooh-poohed when Sudan invaded Abyei, and invaded Khordofan/Nuba, and Blue Nile chasing out a democratically elected governor, and dropped bombs in southern territory including on schools, hospitals and refugee camps. And throughout all of this South Sudan did not respond militarily. But when finally pushed to the limit the South struck back the UN and other bodies have started howling about South Sudan's "aggression" and labeling it a bad state. In response some people on the ground here have begun not to take the international community seriously which is a bad result.<br /> I'm hopeful that cooler heads will prevail and that the two countries will not again fall back into all out war. There has been so much progress in the south over the last couple of years, so many buildings and schools have been built, so many lives rebuilt, it would be a shame to see all of this destroyed.<br /> I ask people everywhere to pray and hope for peace here in this troubled part of the world.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450547326423135862.post-87443867739053065672012-04-20T05:31:00.000-07:002012-04-20T05:33:24.927-07:00Giving BloodI gave blood here for the first time a couple of weeks ago. I’d been meaning to for a while, but my schedule is always so busy and I would forget. Now that I’ve been to Africa the blood donation system in America considers me a pariah. I’ll have to wait at least a decade before I can ever donate in the US again if ever.<br /> Juba Teaching Hospital, where blood donations are made, is just across the street so I have no excuse. I’d actually made an appointment once and got as far as the front gate of the hospital only to have the gate slammed in my face because a fracas had broken out. Seems a person from one family had stabbed someone in another family and now both families were battling to settle the score. I saw one lady try and take a security man’s nightstick which caused another security man to raise his nightstick I feared to crack this lady’s head open but fortunately the man hesitated long enough for someone to pull the lady from harm’s way.<br /> The melee went on for a while; myself and many other people stunned watching the events unfold in front of us. The hospital security men pulled people from the heap and eventually got to the bottom of the pile. Even though order was restored things around the hospital were still in chaos and the gate remained closed. The technician I was to meet called and we agreed we’d have to reschedule for another day.<br /> Juba Hospital has been in the same place for decades. I’ve read that some of the first work that was done on the Ebola virus was done there years ago when the disease first emerged not far away. Although South Sudan has diseases of biblical proportions – leprosy, polio, plague! – still, I haven’t heard of any Ebola around since I’ve been here. That my second floor office is directly across from the hospital means I have a good vantage point from which to observe the happenings.<br /> A person admitted to the hospital here is entitled to a bed and some degree of medical attention. But the person’s family has to provide the patient with bed-linens, food, bathing and other bodily needs. I’m not certain but given the general lack of medicines I suspect that patients are given prescriptions but that the patient’s families have to go out to one of the pharmacies which surround the hospital and actually buy the medicines. All day long I see family members of patients gathered patiently, in the Sudanese way, sitting in the shade preparing food or washing clothes or attending to their children. Almost no Sudanese is ever really alone, there is always family about or people from a home village who can help. Unlike in western families, no one here would hesitate to drop everything to go to the hospital for days to attend even a second cousin or any type of relation. Family and tribe ties here are simply too strong to ignore any call for help.<br /> From what I’ve been told most patients in the hospital suffer from malaria, typhoid, dysentery or some other type of treatable disease of misery. Accidents are common; I cannot recall how many times during my walk to work which includes the quarter-mile past the hospital I have seen people walking covered in bandages over their heads or with arms in slings or on crutches. Precious few Sudanese can afford anti-malarial pills or have been fortunate to receive typhoid immunizations like we westerners have.<br /> Sadly, most of the diseases from which Sudanese suffer and from which they die are preventable with either simple medications or better sanitary conditions. So much of the misery people here endure stems from either a lack of knowledge about safe hygiene or a stubborn refusal to adopt the lessons they are taught. In some cases illnesses continue only because authorities cannot be bothered to distribute donated medicines since there is no financial incentive for them to do so. One particular type of blindness caused by bacteria and easily preventable with regular doses of donated medicines endures and tons of the medicines rot in warehouses every year because people are not paid to distribute the pills. A friend that works in public health policy has had surreal conversations with people who claim they would rather suffer from blindness than work for free.<br /> Death is common across the street. A regular part of the funereal customs is for the women of the family to wail and shriek and I hear it often. I remember hearing one lady scream for an entire afternoon for a deceased family member. My flat mate and I learned of the passing of the brother of the man that lives behind us when late one evening we heard the women of the family start wailing.<br /> Except for very high ranking persons for whom a proper church funeral is required, weather conditions here mandate that deceased persons be buried as soon as possible. The families will hold prayers for the dead later, often a series of prayers at different times after the death up to the one year anniversary. For families from villages far away the cost of transporting bodies’ home for burial can be devastating let alone the costs for hosting the hordes of mourners. I attended funeral prayers in Terekeka for someone’s deceased mother that attracted several hundred people all of whom had to be seated, fed and given something to drink. Usually there is a collection taken-up to help the family defray the expenses, but appearances here are important; a family which doesn’t give someone a good funeral would be considered as not being respectful of the deceased. Still, the costs of an expensive funeral can cripple a family financially for years.<br /> I hadn’t been here long when I noticed that several times a day a pick-up truck would drive past with people in the back shaking percussion instruments and, I thought, singing. It seemed to me like it was the same people and I asked someone in the office if these folks were celebrating. No, I was informed, these were people heading to the cemetery to bury someone. Sure enough, next time I heard the sound of the shaking gourds filled with seeds I looked carefully and I could see the shrouded corpse lying in the bed of the truck. I still believe that I see the same people often doing this work and that they are professional mourners, but no one else in the office will believe me.<br /> When I finally made it across the street to donate I was met by a young technician studying to be a doctor. He walked me through the paperwork and the preliminary tests you have to take to give blood: blood pressure, hemoglobin count, etc. I saw the refrigerator the hospital has for storing the blood. One refrigerator, that is all for a city of a million people and a country of between 8-12 million. Just one refrigerator for storing blood. I’m not surprised by this; there are so many basic medical devices we take for granted in the west which do not exist here. For example, there is not a single dialysis machine in South Sudan. This has real concerns for us in the ECS because one of our senior pastors’ wives requires dialysis. This woman is forced to remain in Khartoum where she can receive dialysis even though as a southerner she would rather move to South Sudan. If this lady moves south to enjoy political freedom she will die without treatment. Yet if she remains in the north there is a real possibility since southerners in the north may lose their rights to government services that she will likewise cease to have access to treatment and will again die. It is a terrible stress under which these folks live.<br /> The biggest concern about giving blood in Africa is the cleanliness of the equipment. Given the high prevalence of HIV/AIDS and other life-threatening communicable diseases anyone donating will naturally be concerned about this issue. I requested to see the equipment before the procedure began and I was pleased to see that the storage bag, hose and needle were all contained as one unit inside a single use sterile bag. There was a bit of a problem when the procedure began using my left arm. I don’t normally like to give blood using my left-arm, it doesn’t seem to go well and this was no exception. There was some type of blockage in the hose leading from the needle to the storage bag and after five minutes the bag was still only about one-fourth full. This needle and all was removed; I was pleased to learn that the blood would not be wasted but would be enough to help a child. The procedure began again using my right arm and with all new sterile equipment and this time I had the bag filled in about two minutes. The technician praised my veins and overall good health.<br /> I treated myself to a Coke during the procedure and to a package of biscuits afterwards. The snacks and juice is the best part about giving blood but here I was forced to devise my own rewards. But it felt good to finally be able to give again. I believe I should be able to give one more time before I leave which I will try to do. It’s nice to think of my blood going to help some people here.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450547326423135862.post-91342844056387098882012-04-02T05:40:00.004-07:002012-04-02T06:00:43.409-07:00Change in the weatherOn Saturday the weather finally started to break a little from the unbearable heat we have been enduring here. I know I have whined about it a couple of times now, but the temperatures have been horrid for weeks, everyone in Juba has been drained by the heat and rising humidity as we approach the rainy season. Sleeping at night - for the majority of us who don't enjoy air conditioning or even electric power - has been very hard without so much as a fan blowing over you. It is nauseating waking-up many times during the night in a pool of sweat. The simple act of rolling over - I'm a side sleeper - causes my entire body to erupt in a torrent of fluid, so gross.<br /><br /> On Saturday evening the skies turned cloudy, windy and a little cooler. I was out at the HASH run out by Jebel Kajure, which was an absolutely brutal run up the mountain but the subject for another blog, and mercifully the air turned somewhat cooler making the run bearable. By Sunday the skies were quite cloudy and gray and the wind was strong all day. By evening I and my flatmate were actually feeling cool, like temperatures had dropped into the 80's! You have to understand, there has not been a moment cooler than 90 for weeks, not even at night.<br /><br /> We're approaching Easter here in Juba. This has been a difficult Lent season for me. I have been feeling the effects of exhaustion, a combination on endless heat and continuous work. I never get a day off here. I have people contacting me about church business seven days a week. The tiredness reaches down into my bones. It effects my mood to where everything is annoying and it is hard to find joy in anything. Normally I am able to focus upon Lent, pray more and even fast at least once, but here, this year, it has not been possible for me to remain focused properly upon the season which I regret. I revel at times in the lack of distractions here, that I am able to focus more upon my work and mission. But the same lack of distractions makes getting away from my everyday life hard. I understand now why all the NGO's are continuously giving their staff time-off. I have often thought it ridiculous how much vacation people get here, but you really do need to get out of this environment, got out of country to get a proper rest. One disadvantage to working for an indigenous NGO, and a poor one at that, is that even if can take time-off I really cannot afford to go anywhere so I just sit in Juba and keep working. I am looking for work with an international NGO. You can best believe I will be checking out those NGO's vacation programs seriously!<br /><br /> I wish everyone a blessed Easter full of peace, hope and love.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450547326423135862.post-52108394223703278132012-03-24T03:47:00.001-07:002012-03-24T03:47:46.853-07:00A Small Thing There has been a workshop taking place in one of the meeting rooms at the Guest House, where I live, this week. In order to provide the workshop participants with light, fans and power for their equipment the Guest House has had to run the generator during the day all this week. We normally only have power in the evenings, from 7pm until mid-night. Power only used to last until 11pm, but a few months ago it somehow got stretched to mid-night, which was a great improvement.<br />
Since there is power during the day I have taken to making myself two cups of coffee in the morning. Last time I was home my brother-in-law mercifully loaned me a french-press in order to make coffee. It was so terribly frustrating to live on the continent that gave us coffee and be forced always to have Nescafe!! Everywhere you go in Africa people are drinking Nescafe, it's awful. I remember reading Novogoratz's <i>The Blue Sweater</i> and her commenting upon the same experience in Rwanda. Surrounded by some of the world's finest coffee and being forced to consume instant because of a lack of brewers or electric power.<br />
Anyway, this week I indulged by making two cups of coffee, really nice Kenyan Blue Mountain coffee, drinking one and putting the other into our refrigerator! It was so wonderful coming home at the end of a long, hot day knowing there awaited me a cold, creamy sweet cup of iced-coffee!! There are no workshops scheduled again for a while, so I enjoyed it while I could. But that simple cup of cold coffee was more of a treat than anyone can imagine! Pure bliss!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450547326423135862.post-16609620900746115132012-03-17T12:41:00.001-07:002012-03-17T12:41:26.264-07:00In the Que<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One of the ways you can tell how long people have been in country is their behavior in a que, or line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is one of the realities of life in the third-world that there is no concept of personal space like in the west.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone waiting in line in America will keep a few feet back from the person in front of them but here people will be pressed check to jowl. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I recall visiting a bank a few months ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a line of about two-dozen men waiting at one of the customer service desks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The men were all pressed against one another single-file. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You could not have passed a piece of paper between them, they looked like a centipede, just all legs and arms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I was waiting for a teller I saw in a different line a young western woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The young lady was standing several feet back from the person in front of her and eying nervously the person standing closely behind her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Newbie,” I thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve been here long enough and have gotten used to the way things are that I am now comfortable standing right behind the person in front of me and don’t mind the person behind being equally close.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sure I am going to have to re-adjust myself upon my return to the US else I will cause offense and make people needlessly nervous.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The same is also true in terms of being served.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unless you are prepared to push and shove your way to the front of the line and demand to be served you simply will not be served.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you expect to stand politely waiting your turn western-style you will certainly starve to death if you are at a restaurant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It certainly takes some getting used to but once you get the knack it becomes second nature.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Washing hands before and after one eats is such a part of the culture here, all restaurants have washstands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hadn’t been here long and was waiting patiently in line for my turn when someone just cut directly in front of me, they just jutted in as I was about to wash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At first I wondered if this was because I was a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">kawaja</i>, a white person, but then I noticed people doing this to others as well. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I soon learned of the need to protect your space and to shove your body in front of those trying to cut-in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not an aggressive, hateful thing as would happen in the US where angry words would be exchanged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here it just more matter of fact: I allowed a tiny opening and someone took advantage of it, so what’s the problem?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Setting-up a copying machine on the sidewalk or side of the road where you can find power and then charging for copies is a very common small business here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One day I desperately needed to make a copy and there was no power at our office (surprise) and so I was forced to use one of these street copiers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But as I was waiting my turn these short ladies, nurses from the hospital across the street, kept jutting in under me and pushing up to the copier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Realizing that I would have been kept waiting all day, and as I was taller than the ladies, I simply reached over then and shoved my document into the hands of the guy running the copier.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The lack of personal space extends to transport as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Riding in a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">matatu</i>, one of the Toyota minivans that have been adapted to hold 15 or more passengers, you have to be prepared to be pressed tightly against the person next to you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Riding from Yambio to Ezo last month I was squeezed into the rear of a Toyota Landcruiser with 19-other people, a third of them mercifully were children who didn’t take up much space.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, every bump was agonizing as we all crushed in upon one another.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I remember riding the bus from Stonetown to Jambiani Beach on Zanzibar in December, 2010.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here the bus was more like a small stakebody truck which had benches and a roof built over the rear section. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Upon the roof were loaded dozens of bags of sugar and flour and other goods for shipment way out on the island.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although we started out with only a handful of passengers, because we stopped often soon the back was full except for the seat next to me!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one wanted to have to sit next to the white guy until the very last passenger, number 24 I think, came aboard and there was no where left to sit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s an interesting experience to be the passenger no one wants to sit next to because of how you look.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"> It is so difficult as a westerner to get used to this, it goes against every notion of politeness and decency and yet it is the way things work here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have now gotten used to throwing elbows in lines and pushing my way forward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is one of those traits which it will be hard to drop once back home, like passing cars anytime or considering motorcycles as anything other than annoying pests.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450547326423135862.post-74874618078844751712012-03-09T05:58:00.002-08:002012-03-09T06:22:06.104-08:00Animal TalesOK, this is kinda weird. I run with a group known as the HASH Harriers on Saturday evenings. The HASH runs were supposedly started by some British ex-pats in Singapore or Thailand? as a way of getting together, having a little exercise and A LOT of alchohol. I've heard the HASH referred to as a drinking party at which some running occurs. <br /><br /> Although I've been in Juba nearly two years now I'd avoided participating in the HASH. I don't really like to drink that much, and I was afraid it was just going to be too silly English-school boyish. Plus, I don't really associate with that many ex-pats, not the general NGO types anyway. But I've been to the HASH two weeks in a row now and have had a great time. Plus, the friends I have made here have turned out to be useful in my work, so it has been a really good thing and I regret now not participating earlier.<br /><br /> Anyway, about the runs: The runs are several kilometers in length going through different parts of Juba. The trails are marked on the ground with dots and arrows through the use of white flour. The only problem is there are so many goats around Juba and they LOVE white flour! So the trail markers will always say something about how they were out marking the trail followed by a herd of happy goats lapping up the flour! In truth, we've never not been able to find a trail because the goats have eaten too much flour, but you can see where they have nibbled-up a lot of the markings. Weird, but just too funny!<br /><br /> Juba is a city of a million people, about 300,000 goats and maybe a couple of thousand cats and dogs. People don't really keep pets here. Dogs and cats are viewed as little more than carriers of fleas and people normally just shoo them away. Small packs of scraggedly mangy mutts live around town living on garbage and handouts. The cats are more stealthy but possibly more mangy - if that is possible - and seem to live off whatever they can catch. Since rats are a problem here I think people tolerate cats a little more, plus cats are pretty quiet and unobtrusive as opposed to dogs. When the dogs get to fighting, or one of the females is in heat the howling and noise from the dogs all night can be horrible. There are a couple of little packs that live in our neighborhood and I am often woken during the night by the various howlings of the dogs.<br /><br /> The dogs here are mostly small mangy things, tan colored - they all look like they came from the same few original dogs. I've actually seen some basically hairless dogs, dogs where I suppose because of mange and whatever other diseases exist have lost their hair. How they survive in this intense sunshine is beyond me. Flies are forever around the dogs and all dogs have bloody places where the flies have made a mess of their flesh. Virtualy all dogs here, the place where their ears fold over, this is a bloody mess where the flies feed and maybe lay eggs. It's pretty gross. For a while it seemed like hardly a week went by where on my walk to work I wouldn't see one dog that had been run over. Because of the heat and action of the maggots and whatnot the bodies didn't last very long. Within a few days there would be hardly anything left. Equally gross.<br /><br /> I've only ever seen a few people here - ex-pats mostly - who keeps dogs or cats as pets. Veterinary services are scarce and I'm sure things like regular shots are non-existant so maintaining a healthy pet would be difficult. I've heard that vets from other countries occasionally make visits to Juba. There is an organization called "Veterinarians Without Borders," kinda like the human Doctors without Borders, but I believe they deal primarily with livestock and not domestic animals. Anyway, I've never seen a dog or a cat here that I would say is older than maybe 3-years old. I don't think the life expectancies are that great. But then again, the same is true for people here as well.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450547326423135862.post-73234018305025119372012-02-26T09:48:00.004-08:002012-02-26T11:10:17.721-08:00Bush TrailsI have been running pretty regularly here for the past six months or so. I used to run a lot but hurt my achilles-tendons training for a half-marathin back in August 2009. I tried running again here a year later, but after a few weeks had to give it up, my tendons were not ready yet for running. I wrote about running in Juba in an earlier blog entry.<br /> I used to walk all over Juba which I thought was good exercise but was probably, unbeknownst to me, continuing to aggravate the tendons injury. After the other American missionary left last April I "inherited" her car and started driving everywhere all the time. I do have a Sudanese driver's license, the obtaining of which would make for a humorous blog entry in and of itself. I remember when I was home last June so badly wanting to get pulled over by a policeman so I could show them my Sudanese license so I could see their reaction. But anyway, driving our little Toyota Hi-Lux pick-up truck everywhere made me incredibly lazy, but was in fact allowing my tendons to heal finally.<br /> Around October of last year my tendons felt good enough to try running again. It used to be that I would wake-up every morning and as soon as my feet hit the floor my tendons would be so sore for the first 15-minutes of the day. But after all the driving by last October I could get out of bed pain free. I started lightly jogging around the compound and within a few weeks was back up to a few miles every other day. I have for years tried to limit my running to every other day, trying to give my body a chance to recover and to avoind injuries from overuse. I want to be able to run for life, not just a few months. It is tough with my nature, I keep wanting to push myself to run further and further, I really like distance running. I like runs of around 5-7 miles every time I go out but it takes time to work-up to that distance and I tend to try and get there too quickly.<br /> I have been running really well now since last fall - well, it's always summer here, isn't it?! - even through the hot, dry season which started at the beginning of November. I prefer to run in the evenings after work. I refuse to wake-up early to go running. It's so strange, after 15-years of working night-shifts and early mornings I now rarely look forward to waking up but find myself sleeping in later and later every day! If it wasn't for the damned chickens waking me up every morning I'd probably sleep until 10am.<br /> Running in Juba is not for the thin skinned. Very few Sudanese exercise, they consider it undignified. Also, many of them - mostly the women - work so hard I think they would be insulted if you suggested that they exercise and expend more energy. But running through the streets you get howled at, folks yelling all sorts of things, some insults, some just the equivalent of "look at the white man!!" Most people also just laugh at you. I think it was Paul Theroux in "Dark Star Safari," who said an Africans' initial response to something they didn't understand was to laugh and I know this well every time I run. People howl with laughter when they see me running. I also have a fair number of random people just start running with me. It used to frighten me at first, I'd just be running along and then some random Sudanese would just start running with me. I didn't know if they wanted to be friendly or kill me. I tried to picture how this scenario would play out back home if some random African American just started running with me. But the people have always turned-out to be ok, they just wanted to enjoy a funny moment with this crazy white man running. Children especially will run with you squealing with laughter and it's impossible not to delight in their joy.<br /> During my recent month-long excursion out through Western Equitoria where I was conducting finance training, I took along my trainers (sorry: that's running shoes for those of you who don't live with Brits) and kit and managed to get in at least one run in all 8 of the dioceses I visited. I had a lot of fun running out in the country, especially when I got on bush trails running out in the tall grass away from civilization. But if I thought the people of Juba were unfamiliar with seeing me running, it was nothing compared with people out in the dioceses I visited. Entire towns of people would come out to see the crazy white man, everyone howling with laughter. In Maridi people were taking pictures with their cell-phone cameras, wanting evidence in case their friends could not believe their fantastic tale of a crazy white man running through town.<br /> I am often tense when running through Juba. This is partly because I have to always be on guard against the careening cars which make all travel in Juba horribly dangerous. But also because although most people's insults towards me are fairly mild, and I normally ignore them although I have occasionally given single fingered salutes to the worst offenders (hey! I spent over a dozen years living in New York, some things you don't outgrow! fuggedaboutit) I'm always worried some drunken idiot will decide to escalate things by hurling a bottle or trying to grab me and my mind often plays out various scenarios of my getting into fights. I found in the country I could relax more. People living in the country here see fewer white people and my presence was more unexpected. People were more likely to howl with laughter when they saw me running, but they made fewer rude comments and in fact were more likely to yell "hellos" or give me waves than happens in Juba. In fact, I found it often hard to concentrate on my running because every person you pass - and walking is so common here that the roadways are always full of pedestrians no matter where you are - wanted to greet me.<br /> My favorite runs were in Mundri and Rockon. In both places I was able to run on remote bush trails. These are narrow trails that meander through the tall grass. At this time of year, late in the dry season, the grasses are about 6-feet tall. The trails are all single file. I think it was Dineson in "Out of Africa" that commented on the African tradition of walking single file and it's true, I've seen it everywhere here. The trails are single file as they wind through the bush. When you are on them the trails seem not to be straight for more than a meter but seen from the air they often look arrow straight; it's an odd phenomenon. The trails meander about including going through family compounds. You'll just be running along and suddenly you are in the middle of a family's compound, a few tukels on one side of the trail, a few on the other. The families would be sitting there in the afternoons, chatting when I would just run through. They would always howl with laughter at the sight of me but offer friendly waves and whatever the local greeting was. There's nothing you can do but be equally friendly back. In Mundri this one young boy, well, not too young - about 10 or 12 - yelled in fright and dropped his armload of cut sugar-cane when he saw me emerging from the bush, a lone white man running from no-where. His family howled with laughter at the boy for being frightened, and howled at me for running through. In a lot of places I was sure I was the most entertaining thing that folks had seen in ages.<br /> It felt during my trip that I would have one good run and then one not so good run. My run in Maridi was so-so, I was howled at more than usual and I was tired. But then next run in Mundri was great. Same again with Lui and Rockon. I think the runs where I was less certain of where I wanted to run, or where the trail wasn't that great made the efforts more taxing. But I was also training people all day before going out for a run so I could have just been tired, though I don't normally allow that as a possibility.<br /> In Yambio this Ugandan soccer player who was out for his training run - unawares, we actually started near the same location heading in opposite directions and met at the mid-point of each of our runs - decided to turn around and join me. I don't normally like to run with people but he was friendly and we were pretty evenly matched, even though I was maybe twice his age. Anyway, we had a great run back to our starting point. In Ibba the bishop wouldn't allow me to run on the bush trails out of security concerns. I thought about ignoring his advice but it's hard to ignore a bishop. I ended-up having a tiring run along the main road through town a couple of kilometers out to the local airstrip. This was the only place I ever had a problem when a local cowherder shook his whip at me and yelled at me to get away from his cows. I was seriously tempted to pick-up a rock and throw it at one of his cows to start a stampede, but you always feel so outnumbered here that you cannot be your normal smartass self but have to always give-in.<br /> In Ezo, in the extreme southwest of South Sudan, I wanted to find the border of South Sudan with Congo and Central Africa Republic (CAR). All three countries meet-up there and I wanted to run from country to country. As I was out running I did stumble into the local UN compound where I caught-up with this Canadian guy heading out for a run. There are a lot of Candians over here doing all kinds of work. This guy was from the Royal Mounted Police and was in Ezo training the local police. We ran together for a couple of kilometers. He showed me where CAR was - I'd already run past the border - and told me where to find Congo. I'm still not certain I found Congo, but I was really close, close enough for me to believe I ran in three counties in one evening!<br /> That's one of the great things I love about running: it allows you to see so much more and at ground level and close-up. And in a place like South Sudan it allows you the chance to meet more people and - since I'm dressed only in running kit - in a non-threatening way that allows the locals to feel at ease. I mean, I look so silly in my running shorts and t-shirt, just an expanse of white flesh like what they are not used to seeing that it is comical and makes for a non-stressful encounter which gives me the chance to interact in a more intimate way than when I am dressed in work clothes.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2