There 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
I ask people everywhere to pray and hope for peace here in this troubled part of the world.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Giving Blood
I 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Change in the weather
On 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.
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.
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!
I wish everyone a blessed Easter full of peace, hope and love.
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.
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!
I wish everyone a blessed Easter full of peace, hope and love.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
A 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.
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 The Blue Sweater 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.
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!
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 The Blue Sweater 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.
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!
Saturday, March 17, 2012
In the Que
One of the ways you can tell how long people have been in country is their behavior in a que, or line. It is one of the realities of life in the third-world that there is no concept of personal space like in the west. 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.
I recall visiting a bank a few months ago. There was a line of about two-dozen men waiting at one of the customer service desks. The men were all pressed against one another single-file. You could not have passed a piece of paper between them, they looked like a centipede, just all legs and arms. While I was waiting for a teller I saw in a different line a young western woman. The young lady was standing several feet back from the person in front of her and eying nervously the person standing closely behind her. “Newbie,” I thought. 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. 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.
The same is also true in terms of being served. 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. If you expect to stand politely waiting your turn western-style you will certainly starve to death if you are at a restaurant. It certainly takes some getting used to but once you get the knack it becomes second nature.
Washing hands before and after one eats is such a part of the culture here, all restaurants have washstands. 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. At first I wondered if this was because I was a kawaja, a white person, but then I noticed people doing this to others as well. I soon learned of the need to protect your space and to shove your body in front of those trying to cut-in. It’s not an aggressive, hateful thing as would happen in the US where angry words would be exchanged. Here it just more matter of fact: I allowed a tiny opening and someone took advantage of it, so what’s the problem?
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. 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. 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. 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.
The lack of personal space extends to transport as well. Riding in a matatu, 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. 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. Still, every bump was agonizing as we all crushed in upon one another.
I remember riding the bus from Stonetown to Jambiani Beach on Zanzibar in December, 2010. Here the bus was more like a small stakebody truck which had benches and a roof built over the rear section. Upon the roof were loaded dozens of bags of sugar and flour and other goods for shipment way out on the island. 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! 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. It’s an interesting experience to be the passenger no one wants to sit next to because of how you look.
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. I have now gotten used to throwing elbows in lines and pushing my way forward. 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.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Animal Tales
OK, 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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Bush Trails
I 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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