Kaitlyn and Luke in Rumbek

Yenakan

2012-02-13T19:19:00.000+03:00

This is me, today.

I have been staring at this winking cursor for several minutes.

How does one write the last post? What words can wrap up two and a half years of challenge, beauty, pain, growth, anger, sadness, love, laughter? I'm not sure, but I feel like I should try - should use this forum to claim at least this bit of closure.

We left a bit quickly, somewhat unexpectedly. We haven't said goodbye. The things are in our house quickly being covered dust. Luke will go back to hug and pack; I will (most likely) stay here to continue to heal.

(The good news for those of you who aren't quite ready to say goodbye to kaitlynandlukeinrumbek, is that there is a good possibility of a Post Script blog post by Luke upon the conclusion of his pack-up-trip-to-rumbek).

I remember Luke in his second year of university living with our friend Mark at Grebel. I used to go there a lot, skipping my OAC classes so I could hang out with my university boyfriend. One day we were sitting on the fuzzy brown styrofoam-filled couch from his parents house and Luke said, "you know, someday I would like to do a term with MCC or something". We had been dating for about a year, and I remember thinking "someday I would like to do a term with MCC". This is the first time I thought that maybe this boyfriend of mine could become something more, and (spoiler alert!) turns out we did become something more, and we held each other to that conversation on that brown couch, and we went where we felt called.

And now we're back. We're still processing and can point to funny things about the process: being cold all the time, being overwhelmed with too many yogurt choices, looking in the cookbook and realizing that theoretically I could make everything in that book. Closing the book and making tomato peanut soup like we ate in Rumbek. There are good things to process like being enveloped in an incredibly supportive community, and there are hard things, and in all these things we are adjusting, but most importantly we are not walking this path alone.

We're back having learned many things and having found more questions than answers. We're back having made friends from all over the world, and with our "to-go-to" travel list exponentially expanded. This chapter in our life that we looked forward to, dreamed about, and lived, is over. We move onto the next chapters holding faith and hope that we will learn many more things and continue to ask questions (although to be honest I like answers now and then too).

I can only take so much processing, so much wondering of what's next. I have a finite ability to allow myself to think about where we've been, what we've seen, and what these things mean for our future. And the cursor will blink infinitely. It is waiting, impatiently, for me to type the next words, urging me to write more when I feel like I have nothing else to write. So this is it. This is the starting point for what is next.

Thank you for journeying with us. We are truly blessed.

Yenakan
(so be it)

Transitions

2012-02-08T01:17:00.000+03:00

On our last day in Nairobi, we took a taxi ride acrosstown. All along the way, I felt twingesof sadness as we passed places for the last time. The metal worker artisans who make beautifulwood and iron beds, and not so beautiful Kermit the Frog (rocking out on aguitar) lawn ornaments, the Junction Mall where we spent hours on end at Java House, Art Caffe or the newest hit in town, Planet Yogurt, and even the spot onthe road where traffic always backs up due to a set of speed bumps and heavy trafficcoming in and out of a strip mall/gas station.

This was interesting to me. I fully expected to feel sadness at leaving behind so many wonderfulrelationships with people. What I hadn’tthought about so much was the sadness that would come from leaving behindrelationships with the environment that we lived in. And this sadness wasn’t rooted in leavingbehind specific places that were especially unique. I can find the work of artisans here inCanada to appreciate, I can find bigger and brighter malls with bigger andbrighter chain restaurants (apparently there is a Yogurt Planet type place atKing and University in Waterloo), and I’ve already found Highway 401 trafficand seen Shell gas stations that look pretty much identical all over the world.

So then I guess the sadness comes simply from losing mysense of familiarity.

While in university I learned about something called “Tolerance for Ambiguity”. As I recall, it had todo with the ability to operate effectively in an environment where informationwas imperfect, where there was an element of chaos and unpredictability. In university we were talking about the workenvironment and the suggestion was that you needed to work at increasing yourcomfort with these sort of ambiguous situations in order to be more effective. Implicit in that line of reasoning was theidea that the natural desire of a human being is for less ambiguity, morecertainty, less chaos, more order. Yes,some people may have found ways to tolerate greater ambiguity, but we all needsomething to keep us anchored. And whilewe were learning about the work environment, I can see that this applies to ourmore general living environment as well. This sense of familiarity and comfort then may be what we mean when wedescribe a place as “home.” And for meit is the overarching sense of home that enables me to tolerate some ambiguityunderneath the arch.

In addition to the loss of relationships with many peoplethat we met across East Africa (yes there is still Facebook, but the pragmaticpiece of me acknowledges that we will probably only maintain a handful of therelationships we’ve built over the last 2.5 years), we’ve lost this sense of “home.” We are now in a strange land, one where waitstaff talk a mile a minute in an attempt to provide top notch service (maximumtips) while getting you in and out as quickly as possible, one where land linetelephones still exist, and one where a tragic crash that killed 11 is actuallyacknowledged as a tragedy rather than brushed off as a minor blip in a placewhere tragedy is an everyday occurrence.

I know that Kitchener-Waterloo has been my “home” for mostof my life. With the help of friends and family it will soon become my home again. But as we make this transition, it is goodfor me to acknowledge, appreciate, and commit to memory the sense of “home”that I’m leaving behind in Rumbek, South Sudan and surrounding areas. It was not an easy place to call home, yet itwas our “home,” and I will miss it.

Editors Note: This will most likely be my last entry(Kaitlyn has one more brewing). Thanksto all of you readers out there who have been following diligently or not sodiligently. I’ve received many words ofaffirmation and am thankful that this has been a good way to share ourexperience with others and also to process the experience for myself. Some have even asked that we continue towrite. In the words of my father “I onlyreally go on the internet to check email and your blog.” While I could probably continue to come upwith somewhat interesting thoughts here and there, I must also acknowledge thatthe Jantzis are no longer in Rumbek, and with the closing of this chapter inour life also should come the closure of this blog. I am also aware of the wisdom of heading offinto the sunset while still on top. Wedon’t want to hang on too long and have readers slowly lose interest and dropoff (Little Mosque on the Prairie???) Sowith that I will bid you all adieu even as I note another twinge of sadness atthe loss of something familiar. Thanksagain to you all for sharing in this.

PS: We’ll hopefully be making this blog into a book asanother way to remember our time in South Sudan. Public reading tour dates and locationsTBD. Private readings can be arrangedthrough Kaitlyn for the low, low price of a lunch at Ye’s Sushi.

Vicarious

2012-01-26T06:27:00.003+03:00

I think it was somewhere around grade six when I learned theword vicarious. All of a sudden my friends and I were “living vicariously”through each other all the time. Itwas a word that had mystery and adult appeal. We felt so mature. For us itmeant “I wish I could go to the movies with you and that boy but I can’t, so we’lltalk about it on Monday and I’ll re-live all the details with you and I’llpretend like I was there and not at home putting barrettes in my cat’s hair”.Vicarious living was fun. It was better than the lives we were living.

I have been teaching and talking and walking with manySisters as they work with and acknowledge less fun vicarious living, vicarious trauma,in their own lives. I have told themthat vicarious trauma is real and is not their fault. I have worked with themon simple, barely-scratch-the-surface-of-the-hurt-we-feel coping mechanisms andself-care mechanisms. I am pretty goodat telling other people what they need to do to take care of themselves.

I am less good at telling those things to myself. I havebeen going to counseling when we go to Nairobi and it has become clear thatsome of my own sadness is largely based in this very thing I teach about. It turns out that vicarious trauma is so muchless fun than vicariously going to a movie was. It turns out that while I cantell other people it is a real thing, the things I tell myself sound a lot morelike: “Why are you reacting this way? Thisdidn’t happen to you. You’re okay. You’re in a safe place. Stop being such awhiner” and more often “Stop feeling. Stop it. Right now.” What’s that unhelpful and not true sayingagain? Oh yeah: Those who can’t do, teach…. And as we know I am a teacher bytraining.

So while I can’t do it that well right now I can perhaps tryto teach myself by typing it out, by making it real, by allowing the communityof people who read this blog to support me and tell me that I am allowed tofeel how I feel, that my vicarious traumatic reactions don’t belittle or negatethe stories and the trauma of the people I care about, and that caring for meis an okay thing to do as well.

Here’s to trying to be honest about hard things on a reallypublic forum.

Heart-in-throat, eyes-cast-down,ashamed-though-I-know-I-shouldn’t-be, I sign off.

1-2-3 Train With Me (Formerly Titled Mombasa to Nairobi – A Journey to Remember)

2012-01-22T20:01:00.001+03:00

As promised, asummary of the train ride from Mombasa to Nairobi. As background information you should knowthat this train first ran in either the late 50s or early 60s and that nothingon this train has really changed since that time apart from the gradual decaythat one would expect over a period of 50+ years. Travel is overnight, with the train scheduledto leave the station around 7PM and arrive at its destination mid morning thenext day. You should also know thatprior to our departure we heard rumours of thieves lying in wait on the top ofcars and slipping in through your windows at night, of delays for track ortrain maintenance in the middle of the night that could last hours, and of theoccasional derailment. And you shouldknow that we didn’t tell much of this to our parents or sister until now.

An experience like this is hard to capture but I’ll attemptit with a few descriptive snapshots:

Mombasa Station: Actually not the station itself,which was pretty non-descript, but the little green space we went through onthe way in, with a sign announcing “Proudly brought to you by Kenya Railways.” Everyone is probably thinking this was a nicegesture on the part of Kenya Railways. Every big city needs a bit of green space available for public use. Unfortunately this green space looked like ithad been established around the same time the trains were purchased and with nomaintenance since that date. It wassurrounded by rusty barbed wire and the centerpiece was a concrete and steelfountain which had seen better days. Anymetal pieces still in place looked on the verge of disintegration and no signof water except for some stagnant pools in the bottom of the fountain growing afew different hues of green algae and providing a perfect breeding ground forfriendly neighbourhood malaria bearing mosquitoes.

The Sleeping Car: There are three classes oftickets. We were also told during ourresearch period not to consider purchasing anything but first class tickets –sound advice. At each station along theway we watched crowds of people boarding the third class cars. If you think our experience was an adventure,imagine a standing room only third class car for a few hours or more. Back to our luxury first class sleeper,berths were arranged for double occupancy with a door between each pair ofrooms that could be opened up. Kaitlyn,Emily and I shared a four berth room. Beds were bunk bed style, one on top of the other and covered in vinyl, whichwas cracked in many places and completely missing in others. With some patience water did arrive at the smallmetal sink, but not from the separate drinking water spout above it. An old metal fan in the corner of each roomgave us hope of some relief from the heat, but alas none worked. The door between our room and Emily’s wasjammed open, so thankfully we knew each other. This was preferred to the situation of some of our neighbours who wereasking around for screwdrivers, knives, sledgehammers or any other tool thatmight be used to get their door to the public hallway closed. Blankets arrived from a porter who threw twobig canvas sacks into the room. Theywere army surplus including, inexplicably, a pair of heavy wool blankets. Temperatures on the train at that point lowthirties with 100% humidity (I checked my handy pocket barometer). The porter did return shortly thereafter tofit the sheets and blankets on to our beds, this being a first class berth. The light in each room had three settings,Off, Incandescent and Fluorescent. Whilein the station all three settings were working well for us, but the Fluorescentand Incandescent options seemed to cut out anytime the train was at fullspeed. Meanwhile over in Emily’s room,the Fluorescent didn’t seem to work at all, but her other two settings seemedto be Bright Incandescent or Dim Incandescent. I guess Off might have been an option if she had borrowed the sledgehammer…but she was a real trooper and found a way to sleep in the gentle goldenlight that only an incandescent can provide. One final note on the Sleeping Cars: Sleeping was a real challenge. This was because:

a) It was really hot

b) The click-clack of wheels on steel rail lineswas romantic for a couple hours and then just noisy

c) The train stopped periodically at stations, andwith each re-start there was a loud bang that proceeded from the locomotivedown to the caboose as the slack in the connecting joint between each car wasremoved abruptly

d) Our car seemed to have about 10cm in verticalvariation and about 10 degrees in tilt to either side as it bounced along thetrack (hence the derailments)

The Dining Car: Wearrived in the dining car for the “early” sitting at somewhere around 8:30pm. There were rumours of proper silverware andchina place settings. I’ll admit I’mneither cultured enough nor attentive enough to give a definite answer on thesilverware (Mom can you help out here?) but the china had been replaced withgood, solid, unbreakable, melaminetype dinnerware. To a practical fellowsuch as myself this just makes sense, given that this car was moving aroundwith similar parameters to those described with regard to the sleeping carabove. What doesn’t make sense is continuingto attempt serving soup, yet serve soup they did, and we ate it without dumpingany on our laps (Hot soup also didn’t make much sense to my sister, who in additionto dealing with the weather related heat, was also carrying around a pretty badsunburn all down her back from a snorkeling expedition earlier that day).

The dining car seemedto have the same three lighting options as the sleeping cars, except that evenwhile moving the fluorescents were working well, keeping us fully lit. There was a row of old metal fans runningdown the centre of the ceiling and 75% of them, including the 4 nearest to ourtable (we arrived early, and alert to our surroundings) were whirring around inslow circles. A nice breeze was comingin from the screened windows. This wasbordering on real first class travel…for about three minutes. Then the lights went out. And then back on a couple minutes later togreat cheers from our table and a few others who were also of the less culturedvariety. Then back off again, at whichpoint the staff seemed to accept that there wasn’t enough power to run both thefans and the lights, so off went the fans, up went the heat, but at least wecould see the soup as we brought it to our lips. From here, all went pretty well to the end ofmain course at which point the rain started. It was a nice sprinkle and I found it quite pleasant as I received alight misting through the screen to my left. Then it became a heavy downpour and I found it less pleasant as thewater flow inside the car increased from misting to sprinkler-in-the-face. Three attendants rushed to lift the jammedwindow and succeeded after 30 seconds. Iwas reasonably happy to be soaked from the waist up.

Unfortunately I also noted that a darkreddish gray collection of rainwater was now to be found in my saucer. On its own this was not a problem, but fromthis observation I deduced that there was also reddish gray water mixed intothe fruit salad that I had just been served for dessert. Not happy to partake of only 4 courses of my5 course meal, I rationalized this problem away by guessing that the reddishtinge could be iron. I don’t eat a lotof meat in South Sudan so consuming this water may have helped to preventanemia. Yes it’s possible that there wasmore lead than iron in the water, butlet’s not go there.

The Toilet: The first thing I noticed whenentering the toilet was a sign asking passengers to please refrain from usingthe toilet while in a station. Thesecond thing I noticed was that the toilet was a squat pot and that the holedropped straight down to a blur of gravel flying by below. This explained the sign. It also took away the best opportunity to usethe squat pot given that this car also tilted back and forth and hopped up anddown without any sort of predictability. It probably would have been better not to think about what percentage ofwaste matter actually went directly down the hole. Thankfully I was born with a Y chromosome andtherefore had the option of standing up and keeping my nose and mouth as faraway from the hole as possible. Idetermined that the optimum positioning was to jam one foot against each wallof the compartment one slightly ahead of the other. I could then lean forward on my forearm withmy elbow against the left wall and my hand against the wall in front of me,forming some sort of a tripod type stance. I think engineers will tell you this is a stable position. I can confirm it. My efficiency rating was at least 95 percent.

So there you have it, in a very big nutshell. If any of you ever get a chance I highlyrecommend trying this once, and I’ll almost certainly never try it again.

Kaitlyn and Luke (and the rest of MCC Sudan) in Ethiopia

2012-01-15T15:37:00.001+03:00

This year we were very lucky to have our MCC Sudan retreat in Ethiopia. The retreat was planned by the magnificent Heather Ruthy and Joely Ricardo (who may or may not have posted a very similar blog to this one yesterday - apologies to the seven of you readers who follow both blogs). We were hosted, shuttled, and toured around by the equally magnificent Daniel, Karin, and Ada (that is a link to their mostly defunct blog - this is public shaming Kliewer/Leonards - write a new blog post!).

While in Ethiopia we ate delicious food, drank delicious coffee (me) and delicious avocado juice (luke), spent time on retreat from life in South Sudan, enjoyed wearing socks, hiked a gorgeous hike, sang, laughed, and reflected together. We played a lot of Carcassonne. In Addis we visited an MCC partner, and spent an evening gorging ourselves on delicious food while watching traditional dances from around the country. Luke and I avoided all forms of food poisoning (which cannot be said for all of MCC Sudan), and we tried kitfo for the first time - and loved it! I am beginning to think that with my love of sushi, kitfo, and carrot sticks (also available in Ethiopia) I may soon jump aboard the raw-food-train (pending the invention of raw pie, french fries and pancakes of course).

And here is a collage of some of the aforementioned wonders of the MCC Sudan Retreat in Ethiopia:

Family

2012-01-05T14:13:00.001+03:00

We just finished a family vacation with my sister, mother, and father who came to visit and toured with us around Kenya. There were many highlights which are likelymaterial for future blogs, but for now I want to share a more generalappreciation for my family.

The thing about family is that you’re stuck with them. Love ‘em or hate ‘em they’re there tostay; and on a two and a half weekfamily trip, they’re there to stay pretty much 24/7. Fortunately, I’m blessed with a family that Inot only love in a kind of “they’re family so I have no choice” way, but also afamily that I genuinely enjoy spending time with, even 24/7.

I don’t harbour illusions of perfection. I know that each of us has our faults and we were probably reaching the limits of peacefully co-existing in such an intense manner. But these are all really good people. I know that my parents have sacrificed a lotto support us in any way necessary, a pattern that continued as we enjoyed our2 and a half week vacation with minimal investment from the two of us. My sister continues to provide a great example of what intelligence along withmotivation and commitment can get you; already a doctor and practicing veterinarian at 28, who knowswhat she’ll achieve in the next 10 years.

I’m a lucky guy. Thanksfamily.

And for the rest of you readers out there, stay tuned forother details of our adventures, including the most likely topic to be covered:Mombasa to Nairobi by Train – A Journey to Remember.

Also, check out the link on Facebook or at the right side ofour blog for a photo summary of our time travelling around Malindi, Mombasa,Nairobi and the Masai Mara.

It's The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

2011-12-17T17:46:00.002+03:00

And I’m not talking about back to school shopping atStaples. I’m talking about Christmas,which in our world means vacation time and visits from family. My parents and sister will arrive in Nairobitoday!

Current location of the Jantzi family plane entering Sudanese air space

It also means a likely vacationfrom blogging, so for all you avid readers out there who can’t go a day withoutchecking to see if there is some new literary masterpiece from Kaitlyn, orwhatever drivel I throw up in between, you might want to break with routine forthe next little while.

Hopefully you too have some family or friends around to fillup all the extra time you’ll have on your hands.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good rest of December.

Eat Like We're There With You: The Spicy Boiled Groundnut Episode

2011-12-10T10:31:00.001+03:00

I have oft thought about posting recipes on this forum for some of the yum-tacular food we make in Rumbek. Our diet - heavy on the rice, lentils, and tomato paste, light on the veggies, fruit, and most things fresh - can leave something to be desired. However over the past 2.15 years Luke and I have learned some delicious ways to morph thesameoldthing into something a bit more tasty.

So without further ado, the first of a (possible) series entitled: Eat Like We're There With You.

This Episode: The Spicy Boiled Groundnut Snack

(North American Translation: The Boiled Peanut)

This recipe has been modified from somewhere off the internet, I don't remember where, but I thank the Google for the ongoing assistance it gives.

Step 1: Be gifted with an enormous feedbag of raw groundnuts (or procure some through alternative means)

Step 2: Wash groundnuts, scrub well. Do your best to pick out the ones that look like they harbour alien species you do not wish to ingest.

Step 3: Put the following ingredients into a pot

- a bunch of groundnuts

- enough water to cover the groundnuts

- 2 or 3 cloves crushed/chopped garlic

- 3 hot chilies (more or less to taste)

- 2 Tbsps salt

- 2 Tbsps sugar

- 1 Tbsp all spice

- 1 Tsp ginger

- 1 Tsp black pepper

Step 4: Bring all ingredients to a boil. Simmer for 30 minutes.

Step 5: Remove from stove, leave in water. Go to bed.

zzzzzzzzzzzz

(that's you sleeping, although why you make a "zzzz" sound is beyond me)

Step 6: Sometime the next day remember about your spicy boiled groundnuts. Have a salivatory (root word: salivate) celebration while you drain the water off the little legumes.

Step 7: Eat them! For best results crack the shell between your teeth so that you get some of the yummy flavour juices into you mouth.

Step 8: Try not to develop an unhealthy dependence.

That's all for now folks. Hope some of you North Americans are able to get your hands on some raw gnuts to make this dish. It's a fan favourite in these parts.

Well, this was quite fun. Let's do it again sometime!

Handlebar Moustache and Carrots

2011-12-04T10:05:00.001+03:00

Movember is over. Females around the world are breathing sighs of relief. I was asked to participate but decided thatthe movement might not translate that well to Rumbek. People already think I’m strange enoughwithout me intentionally messing with my physical appearance. But as a tip of the cap to those who did gothrough the month long process, I shaved 2 or 3 weeks of beard into this sexylook which made one public appearance at our local Afex hotel/campestablishment for a few hours before disappearing later in the day.

On an unrelated but equally sexy note, we recently receivedtwo carrots imported from Juba by one of the other tenants in thecompound. Sorry no picture of this asthey were consumed within minutes of their arrival. Then just yesterday we heard that there werea few boxes of carrots in the Rumbek market. We haven’t actually seen them ourselves but we did get another carrot fromone of our friends here - also consumed immediately. The prospect of adding a new vegetable to ourdiet is exciting even if they’re being imported from Uganda like much of therest of our produce.

2011 Diocesan Women’s Workshop in Photos (and a few words)

2011-11-27T10:00:00.001+03:00

“We came as different people from different places. We havebeen together all this time and now, we are still different, but we are family.Women around the world are one. We have a purpose and we can change things. Wehave learned these things” – Mary Ayor Majok, Bunagok, South Sudan

You may remember my post about last year’s women’s workshop. It was the first gathering of women from across the diocese for aformal workshop. This year we were able to continue this vision of the latebishop; a dream of empowering the women in the diocese by bringing people fromdifferent regions and people groups together to learn, live, share, and dancefor ten days.

The 2011 theme was trauma healing and peace building.

“If you would have asked me before to answer the question ‘who am I?’ I wouldn’t have known how to answer you. Now I have an answer: I am a human being” – Teresa Adieu Angok, Cueibet,South Sudan.

Solar Fridge! Solar Fridge! Solar Fridge!

2011-11-23T16:52:00.001+03:00

That's Right!
That is Right!

More details, (and oohing, and aahing, and making things cold, and photos) to come.

Let us chant together one last time: Solar Fridge! Solar Fridge! Solar Fridge!

Music and Memories

2011-11-19T15:14:00.001+03:00

I will preface this blog by noting that it probably won’t benearly as interesting for you to read as it was for me to write. But we’ve also noted before that this blogisn’t all about you. Some of it is about us, processing both our newexperiences and, in this case, remembering some of the old ones that played arole (big or small) in getting us to this moment. So read on if you want a trip down my memorylane, (a pretty happening place in my opinion, maybe more of a boulevard) orskip this one and wait for something more interesting next week.

The impetus for writing this blog was a session this morningwhere I opened up iTunes, put it on shuffle, and enjoyed the music as it came(OK I skipped a bunch of it as well). One of the interesting developments as a result of digitalized music isthe way music can now follow me around very easily, so that my collectioncontains songs that I just copied from Joel Kroeker, along with songs from mychildhood, and from everywhere in between. In the age of vinyl, if you wanted a song from years ago you had to goto the shelf, dust of the old record, drop it on the turntable, get the needleto the right track and then go. If youwanted the next song from 10 years later, you’d have to go back to the shelf,grab another vinyl, or maybe now you’re into cassette tapes, get it set up, andpress play again. All very slow anddeliberate. With iTunes I can sit backand listen as the memories fade into each other. They say smell is the closest senseassociated with memory, but it seems sound is not too far behind for me.

A list of songs and the memories, however obscure,associated with them:

Boney M Christmas – Decorating the Christmas tree withfamily, and eating Russian fudge and rum balls. My sister Emily squinting at the tree to check that light density wasapproximately equal on all sections of the tree. Try it if you haven’t before. It really does work.

Anything else Boney M – A long weekend drive to Fort Francesand back for the wedding of John Eric and Lindsey Pardys where Boney M was oneof the only CDs we had, almost running out of fuel in the middle of nowhere inthe middle of the night, and being searched on the way back into Canada becauseapparently 4 young males crossing the border at 2 in the morning is suspicious.

We Rise Again, Rankin Family – Family camping trip out East. Setting up the tent trailer - by the endof the trip we resembled a pit crew in our speed and efficiency, and my Dadputting about $20 of quarters into a payphone at a campground to arrange for adeep sea fishing trip.

Everything You Want, Vertical Horizon – My basement,pretending to be Brett Hull as I shot tennis balls into a hockey net whilepining over whichever girl(s) I happened to have a crush on at the time.

Recruiting Sergeant, Great Big Sea – My time at 292 ErbStreet during university, playing East Side Hockey manager, and a pile ofcereal boxes approaching the height and width of our couch (heavy on ReesePuffs) from a time when Zehrs decided they were overstocked on cereal and soldthe big boxes for some ridiculously low price.

We Are the Champions, Queen – Any of a number ofchampionships for our minor hockey team including one where we got t-shirts andhats instead of trophies (we were unimpressed and crimped the brims of the hatsinto little waves in protest) and our Silver Stick championship in Forest,Ontario where we got to carry a full sized metal hockey stick (heavy) aroundthe ice – the closest thing I’ll get to the Stanley Cup.

Get Ready for This, Countdown Mix Masters – Hawkesville MennoniteChurch MYF youth retreat at Silver Lake, specifically setting up stools,mattresses and a broom handle into a high jump formation and pumping ourselvesup with this and other jock jams while we pushed each other to defy gravity

Shimmer, Fuel – Driving home from a hard day of constructionwork at Menno S. Martin in my (parents’) purple Ford Escort with racing stripe(a classy ride), wearing my fake Oakley’s bought in Washington D.C on a high-schoolfield trip and filling up the tank from empty for $20

Boston and St. John’s, Great Big Sea – Any time I leftKaitlyn or she left me during the 5 years she was away at Trent and Queen’s.

Linkin Park – Amanda Angle who let me borrow and copy herCD, and waking up in New Zealand to my little cousin Jamie playing Linkin Parkand throwing darts just over my head at the dartboard on the wall.

Funny what sticks in our brains. Makes me wonder what songs I’m going to associatewith memories of South Sudan. Leadingcandidates so far: Mumford and Sons and Adele, which have been acquired sinceour arrival here, and Raise a Glass by Pink which we got drilled into our headswhile we were home in April thanks to the pop channel on Sirius Satellite radio.

OK, enough. And sorryif you weren’t in any of the memories. Ihave 2,316 songs on my computer. I’msure you’re attached to one of them but I just didn’t have time to get throughevery song this morning. iTunes says Iwould need 6.2 days to do that. Nice wayto spend a morning though travelling down memory lane. I encourage you all to try it with your owncollection of music and see what memories come to mind.

Disarming

2011-11-09T10:46:00.001+03:00

Several weeks ago we were driving home from the market whenwe saw a gathering of soldiers in Freedom Square. Intrigued we hopped out ofour car and cautiously moved closer. We were welcomed, “come, come, takepictures, take pictures”. It was a public display of the arms gathered fromthree counties during the most recent disarmament campaign: [old] guns, grenades, and other assortedweapons were being loaded into three lorries. We came, we took pictures.

Since this disarmament I have seen less guns - more spears – but less guns. I have been told these guns will be stored in a safe place, will not be sold back to the common-folk at a premium, and will (despite my big dreams) likely not be repurposed into furniture or public art installments. Yet, I will not be talked out of hoping for modern Sudanese version of swords-into-plowshares (assault rifles into something lovely), and hoping that the gun I saw slung over that un-uniformed guy's shoulder the other day was one he had tucked away and not something he bought recently (at a premium).

Bells and Bile

2011-11-03T15:31:00.001+03:00

Sometimes it is a good practice to appreciate the smallamusements in life. Yesterday I lookedin my rearview mirror and saw this:

Maybe the bell is ringing to wake me up to the joys of life…

Then this morning I was reading the devotion to be sharedwith our Across staff and saw this:

OK, on any given day I can find some portions of the Biblemore or less appetizing, but this language seems a little bit strong.

Journeys with my Good Friend Justification

2011-10-27T18:27:00.002+03:00

When we were applying for MCC one of the aspects of living in South Sudan I was most looking forward to was the idea of living "off the grid". It's pretty easy, in fact unavoidable, to live off the grid in Rumbek as there is no grid to speak of. We have two solar panels, two batteries and three (working) lightbulbs in our house. We have enough power to keep our two computers charged (usually), and enough light to play games in the evenings at the kitchen table. We don't have running water and our toilets are pit latrines. Very little water is wasted and only human power is required for pumping. Looking at that I can begin to feel the tingles of self-righteousness in my toes. The I-am-living-such-an-environmentally-responsible-life-holier-than-thou-butterflies in my tummy.
Enter transportation.

We have bicycles. Bicycles which I am loathe to use. I can give you many good excuses: the road is sand - do you want to bike on a beach? Today the road is mud - do you want to bike in quick sand? It is so hot - I will melt, really, literally, I will melt - you didn't think that human flesh could melt but you've never biked here. So, the bicycles have mostly sat quietly judging us on our back veranda (until last week when they were stolen - another story for another day - bicyclic-karma I'm sure).

Our other source of transport within Rumbek is a larger than life toyota land cruiser (with the MCC logo proudly emblazoned on the side - it's for safety, our safety and I'm grateful for it, but it continues to be a little off putting. Do you know MCC? You know that simple-living NGO? Oh yeah! I've seen their landcruiser!) Here's where my prideful butterflies start to squirm (ever seen a butterfly squirm? my point exactly), but I can calm them down with clever justifications. We share this car-beast with the other MCCers. The roads don't allow for a smaller car, why just last week we had to pull another land cruiser-monster out of the mud-that-once-was-road. Driving here would be impossible in my mothers' hybrid.

As if the land cruiser weren't enough in comes another item that gets my pride-butterflies writhing with discontent: The airplane. Since coming to South Sudan two years ago I have been on approximately 21 flights*. TWENTY ONE! Luke and I just did a quick count, and Luke regretfully must note that he has been on many more than this. And now, as you suspected: Justification. We have no choice, the roads are terrible and overrun by bandits. We need to get out of Rumbek for our mental, physical and spiritual health and driving is not an option. They are mostly tiny flights. The airplanes were going/coming anyway.The flights were counted with each one way leg, so technically it's half that...right? On most of these flights I get physically ill - usually dry heaving, but with a few notable vomit sessions (I see this as penance on my part as well as Luke's as he has to sit beside me watching/hearing me heave and passing me the vomit bags). Did it work? Did I justify twenty one flights in twenty four months?

So now, my butterflies are dead. What happened to moving to Sudan, living the simple life and not being so connected to the evil-oil-gods? If I've learned anything living in Rumbek for the past two years it's nuance.

Simple living? yes. Cut off from the world of consumption? Certainly not. Better than other people? Not even a little. We're on a literal journey, from here to there and from there to way over there. Journeys are fun, adventures are fun, and many of our adventures have required the help of an airplane. So we fly, and drive, and justify. In the same way that I flew, and drove, and justified while living in Canada. I can't decide if it's worth it - is my carbon footprint less now than it was in Canada? I think so. Does it matter? I think so. We all use justifications and the question is whether they are legitimate or not. Is my living here, serving, learning, experiencing and growing worth twenty one puddle-jumping flights? Am I contributing more than I'm consuming? We're on a continual journey of being aware, or trying to be, and if a land cruiser and many-a-flight help to kill my butterflies-of-bragging then maybe they are in some way a valuable part of this journey as well.

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* The terrible flight tally... here's me being (grudgingly) transparent with our copious air travel (each "1" is a tick mark)

Juba to Rumbek - 1, Rumbek to Juba - 1111, Juba to Kampala - 1, Kampala to Nairobi - 1, Nairobi to Juba - 1, Juba to Rumbek - 111, Rumbek to Nairobi - 11111, Nairobi to Rumbek - 11111, Juba to Addis - 1, Addis to Juba - 1, Nairobi to Cairo - 1, Cairo to Nairobi - 1, Juba to Nairobi - 11, Nairobi to Canada - 1, Canada to Nairobi - 1, Nairobi to Zanzibar - 1, Zanzibar to Nairobi - 1

*note - this blog was originally written for MCC Ontario's Creation Care Crossroads. You should check it out... there's cool stuff going on there.

Sometimes ESL Provides Clarity

2011-10-20T15:24:00.000+03:00

As many of you will know, we recently spent a week inZanzibar. One evening we went to theharbour for some local street food. Yes theplace was a tourist trap, but we still ate for only a few dollars and theseafood was only hours out of the ocean.

Cane Juice Press

One of the standard booths was offering fresh sugar canejuice flavoured with local lemon and ginger. They had presses which squeezed the juice from the cane as youwatched. The same booths also offered upfresh mango/pineapple/watermelon juice and a variety of sodas. Here’s how the sales pitch went:

Do you want some cane juice? No (Editors note: we did have cane juice and it was delicious, but therewere about 20 different guys doing the same thing so we couldn’t say yes to allof them)

Do you want some fruit juice? No

With exasperation: Some chemical? Blank looks…

You know, Coke, Fanta….? Look of understanding, no definitely not that.

I know there are some very healthy things out there thatmight technically fall under the category of chemical, but soda isn’t one ofthem. We stuck to cane and fruit juicethat evening.

And now a few pictures from our trip. (Photo credit to one of Kathy, Ron, Lisa, Lora, Kaitlyn or Luke) For more photos click here.

Street Food

Endangered Tortoise (we saw one that was 150 years old)

We noticed this as we were exiting but the staff were handing out greens for feeding. Mixed signals to say the least.

Mantis sitting on Indian Cardamom during our spice tour

Sunset on the beach

Beautiful

The narrow streets of Stone Town. Could have been lost in there for days without my trusty Nafziger guides.

Spice tour paraphernalia made from palm leaves

Giant grouper BBQ on the beach. This was our entire lunch unless you count the limes we squeezed on top. The six of us finished about half of it.

Group shot right outside the back door of our house on the beach.

Tourism South Sudan: Rumbek Chapter

2011-10-11T13:51:00.000+03:00

This is a link to an album in which there are photos of my family visiting the fantastic city of Rumbek, South Sudan

This is a screenshot of the album in which there are photos of my family visiting the fantastic city of Rumbek, South Sudan:

This is the end of the blog post in which you can click on a link to see an album of photos of my family in Rumbek.

Note: This post was not sponsored or supported in anyway by the tourism board of Lakes State, South Sudan, however it will probably make you want to come visit us. You should probably listen to that small voice inside your head saying "man, maybe I should go to Rumbek...", that voice is telling you the truth, you should, in fact, come to Rumbek.

Kan Mamadie, Kan Babadie, ku Kan Nyankai

2011-10-06T15:40:00.002+03:00

Translation: This one is my mother, this one is my father, and this one is my sister

That's right folks... we have welcomed our first visitors to Rumbek! My dad, step-mom and middle sister are among the first tourists to this new country South Sudan. I have been introducing them all around town; dad braved the terrible roads with Luke out to Adol and got to experience some real life in South Sudan (ahem...the car broke down and had to be towed), we've strolled through the market, drank some delicious Northern Sudanese spiced coffee, visited the local blacksmiths, played a few games of Rook, and this morning we went out to a cattle camp (I am pretty sure they have all learned the dinkarabic word for 'take-a-picture-of-me' and will dreaming of cows tonight).

As I write this a pot of potatoes is cooking in the solar oven, and some stuffing is waiting to be stuffed into a chicken. We are preparing for the second ever Rumbek Thanksgiving. A little early yes, but that's because tomorrow we hop on a plane and fly to Zanzibar! Tropical, Tanzanian, and family filled (it will be a Nafziger girl reunion when we meet up with my eldest sister for a week of vacation).

More updates and many photos to come at a later date. For now, I must be off to go ogle the pumpkin pies (again).

Who's There?

2011-10-01T19:26:00.000+03:00

A week ago I was in Adol to monitor and assist with an endof project evaluation for our Across Health and Education programmes. Adol is a little further into the bush thanRumbek and I’ve generally noted increased levels of wildlife compared to whatwe see on a normal day in Rumbek. Thisvisit was no exception.

One evening I had wrapped up dinner and a game and washeading back to my room. Upon entering,I was greeted by a burst of noise and activity. As I ducked for cover, I was able to identify the source of the noise asa small owl which had made it’s way into my room. After a few panicked seconds, it percheditself on the pole extending from one of the beds, and calmly stared at me as Istood with my heart racing in the doorway.

I closed the door, hoping that some banging would encouragehim to hop out the window on the opposite side of the room. Instead it encouraged him to take flight andget himself wedged between my mosquito net and the wall. I saw my opportunity to claim territory onthe far side of the room, leaving the larger doorway as an exit point. I moved in cautiously and shook the mosquitonet until he was freed.

Owls are supposed to have pretty good eyesight so I thoughtthe gaping doorway would have been easily located as an exit point, but insteadthe little fella decided to land about a metre in front of the door. Looking around for projectiles to keep theprocess moving forward, I settled on my two flip flops. Number one came up a bit short on draw weight. Number two had a good head of steam andbumped into his legs. His reaction was asmall hop. Apparently this was going totake a more aggressive approach. Igrabbed my notebook and tossed it in his direction. This produced a slightly larger hop and gothim halfway to the door. Then I noticeda roll of toilet paper, relatively soft and light, yet easily tossed. I decided that this projectile posed littlerisk of injuring my new friend so I tossed it full speed and scored a directhit.

Out the door he went and I closed it behind him thinkingthat was the end of our game. Not thecase. He only went as far as the plasticchair on my porch, perching and allowing me to take a few more shots to capturethe moment. I tossed some rolled upballs of paper hoping to ensure he wouldn’t find his way back in through thebarred windows. Again no reaction. He was still sitting there when I turned outthe lights and closed my eyes. Bymorning I guess he had grown tired of my company and had decided to move on toother locales.

And now the story in picture form:

Who’s The Crazy One?

2011-09-26T11:31:00.004+03:00

Last week I spent three days teaching at Atiriu AgriculturalTraining Centre, one of the projects attached to the Across Peace Economyprogramme. Each day I left our house at8:00AM, drove the hour long (25km) drive to AATC, taught till 3:30ish and drovehome.

On Friday I was travelling home for the last time, with acar full of students plus one of our security guards, when a funny littleincident occurred. To understand thesituation it might be necessary to provide some background information: It’sthe rainy season in South Sudan. (Werecently had a night where it was 24C in the house! Almost needed a blanket)This is also bad road season. Roads gothrough a cycle in our area. At firstthey are beautiful two lane gravel highways. Then a few spots develop potholes. Drivers are creative and go around them utilizing the shoulders. As more potholes develop, more of theshoulder is put into action until eventually the shoulder becomes the primaryroute to get from point A to point B. Then the shoulders start to break down as well so you find driversdarting back and forth between the shoulder and the actual road seeking thepath of least resistance.

By the end of the rainy season, a driver must simultaneouslyassess four different lanes (two originals plus both shoulders) for the leastjarring route. In some places all fourare in decent condition. In othersyou’re down to half a lane that is still passable and that lane could be any ofthe four or often a combination. Rightnow there are actually long stretches where the best option is one set ofwheels on the main road and one on the shoulder, leaving passengers leaning oneway or the other.

Returning to my incident, I was darting back and forth andhad just arrived on the left shoulder (technically you are supposed to drive onthe right hand side in South Sudan) when I looked ahead and identified an oldman on a bicycle heading straight for me. As we neared each other he motioned, with some anger, for me to moveback to the right. In my vehicle mypassengers greeted this motion with a round of chuckles, guffaws and one personcalling the cyclist “a crazy man.”

Here we had an old man cycling (on the correct shoulderwhere he is supposed to be), a Big Landcruiser (driving two lanes over on theopposite shoulder from where it is supposed to be), and me, wondering who actually deserves the title of crazy man.

I eased two wheels back on to the main road leaving half alane for him to pass, then immediately returned to the shoulder.

Ponds and Forests; Knowledge and Power

2011-09-23T08:48:00.000+03:00

About a year ago our friends Peter and Melissa lent us a collection of WendellBerry's essays and since we have yet to return said book, and sinceaforementioned friends are continually traipsing around East Africa it seemedunlikely the book will be back in their possession anytime soon, and thus I figuredthe time had come for me to actually read this book (hey Morrisons if you'rereading this, you may as well know that you probably need to come back to Rumbekto retrieve it).

The opening essay is entitled "Damage". Berry talks about creating apond on his farm. He gets an expert, they plot out the pond, they dig the pond,and then a few months later part of the surrounding bush, heavy from rain,slips into the pond scarring the landscape and irreparably damagingthe woods. And then he says this: "The trouble was the familiar one: toomuch power, too little knowledge. The fault was mine."

I was reading this while on a parish visit, after a day of talking abouttrauma, of teaching some simple healing actions. We talked about breathing,about moving, about mourning. Lying on the bed, my flashlight restingprecariously on my head I re-read that line "too much power, too littleknowledge", and I felt a sick sensation. This is exactly how I feel. Often.Having white skin, a university education, and coming from 'outside' gives meincredible power here. I am shuffled to the front of meetings, I am asked formy opinion (even when I don't want to give it); my power is so disproportionateto my knowledge it is embarrassing. Yes I have knowledge, I know some things,but most of the things I know are deeply tied up in my own biases and culturalunderstanding. My knowledge of Dinka culture, language, traditions, andvalues is only two years old.

I have moments where I expect someone to call me onthis knowledge/power imbalance. When I'm talking about trauma, to havesomeone say me, "what do you know about our trauma?”When I'm talking about human rights, and they say "yes, but how?" (asthey do) and I say "It is not for me to change your place, it's for you torealize your value and to live into that value" (as I do), and forthem to look me in the eye and say "well that's crap" (which theyhaven't yet).

This feeling, this experience, while heightened for me in Sudan, is not unique. Only a few years ago it was my first day of teaching, and I remember all those little eyes lookingat me and believing I was a teacher. I kept waiting for one of them to noticethat I didn't really know what I was doing. To point their fingers at me andsay "heyyy, wait a minute - you're not a real teacher",and all chaos to break loose. But somewhere along the way, their believing in meturned me into a "real teacher". I suppose adult life is a lotmore 'fake it 'til you make it' than I anticipated. I suppose that this is a journey weattempt to navigate semi-successfully holding our knowledge and power lightly, praying that not too many forests slump into the ponds of our making.

Joyous Nothing

2011-09-16T14:41:00.001+03:00

Editors Note: I wrote this blog about seven months ago, and never posted it. Not because I am too busy, no, but rather because I am too forgetful. And now, for your reading pleasure, a look at what was going through my brain half a year ago.
Editor's Second Note: It's no longer the hot season! High five to that!
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I could blame it on the heat, the oppressive stifling heat which slows down every thought and action, or I could congratulate myself for personal growth. Either way this past year and a half I have learned the joy of doing “nothing”.

Evenings and weekends are slow moving events. We read, play games, do crosswords or sit. We host a weekly supper club. Sometimes we watch movies or TV shows on our computer. We spend a whole day baking bread in the solar oven. We relax in the shade with friends. Last year we were tracking our book consumption and it turns out I read about 55 books in 2010.

At this pace days slide into weeks, into months, and somehow these days have slid into almost a year and a half. A few years ago GEEZ magazine had a campaign to “de-motorize your soul.” Turns out for me that de-motorizing my soul means stillness.

It means noticing the fantastic night sky, stopping, and gape-jawed staring until my neck hurts. It means sitting outside with a book and waiting for the warm breezes to remind me about the wonder of sweat. It means I now notice that after a day spent primarily on the computer I find myself anxious, needing a break. I have tasted the sweetness of stillness, and I don’t want to go back.

I’ve been ruminating on this blog for a while (sitting and thinking about it if you will) and while its been in the rising I have come across wisdom from others. In the same way as when you learn a new word and then for the next few weeks you hear this word everywhere; I have been again and again reading and hearing and seeing thoughts about stillness and nothingness.

Joel has this as his computer desktop (found on this website):

The other morning the Bishop opened our assembly meeting by reading this Psalm 131: 1b-2a:

"I don’t concern myself with matters too great, or too awesome for me to grasp. Instead, I have calmed and quieted myself..."

Madeline L’Engle’s words came into my inbox as a part of the God’s Politics RSS feed I subscribe to:

“I sit on my favorite rock, looking over the brook, to take time away from busy-ness, time to be… it’s something we all need for our spiritual health, and often we don’t take enough of it.”

Several years ago I wrote a poem; a friend and I sitting on a porch swing, white hair swirling, mingling with the steam from the tea cooling on the arm rest. The last line of that poem is “by then we will have learned how to sit”.

While I don’t have white hair yet, I have learned to sit - at least when it is over 40 degrees.

Rainy Season Travel

2011-09-11T15:52:00.001+03:00

The rains came late to Rumbek this year. But now they’ve come and they’re not messing around. Last Tuesday evening it began raining at around midnight and didn’t stop until about noon the next day. This led to a couple of issues.

The first was on Wednesday morning when I had to travel to Adol to attend a location meeting. It is a 36km trip one way and took about an hour and a half. During the trip, we passed over the temporary bridge that has been put in place at the river Bahr Naam (the old bridge got taken out when a truck carrying tanks last year underestimated the width of its load and slammed into the side of it) The temporary bridge has three main culverts and water was about 6 inches from the top of each of them. Another heavy rain and the new bridge might wash away leaving a whole range of new logistical difficulties.

The second was when I was supposed to travel to Juba on Thursday. The Rumbek airstrip is supposed to be all weather (meaning rain or shine, I don’t know what they’d do with an ice storm). Until Thursday, I had never heard of a plane choosing not to land. In fact on Wednesday planes landed and took off successfully, and on Thursday morning planes landed and took of successfully, but on Thursday afternoon the WFP plane approached the runway, saw some water, and just kept on going to Juba. A book we read prior to coming to South Sudan referred to WFP as standing for “Where’s the _____ Plane.” This might not be without merit. Suggestions for why the pilots chose not to land: They heard the Afex (hotel beside the airport) buffet was mediocre that day, one of them had a hot date in Juba and didn’t want to be late, or maybe they were just following the “better safe than sorry” strategy. I’m guessing this a probably an encouraged strategy for all pilots.

This unfortunate event delayed my arrival in Juba by a day and meant cramming two days of interviews (for two new Across positions in Rumbek/Adol) into one day. Thankfully we were able to recruit some Juba staff to sit on the interview panels so that nobody had to participate on both panels.

And another travel item of note. Last week we received a bag full of random canned food and other goodies gifted to us by a UN staff who was on her way out of Rumbek for a new position in Nairobi. This is a tradition we have noted among NGO staff, with those on the way out dividing up everything that they don’t want to take with them. A year from now we’ll probably do the same thing. Being here for three years though, we’re going to receive a lot more than we give. While these little gifts are always great, the most recent one is causing me a bit of a problem. The goodies arrived in a nice medium sized bag. It’s the size of bag we’ve been coveting for trips like this current 5 day trip to Juba where our big backpacks are excessive but our other backpacks seem a bit small (mostly for the return trip after shopping for other goodies). The only problem is that it’s a Canadian Forces bag and touting a message of peace while carrying a bag with “Forces” down one side is a bit inconsistent. Your comments are welcome, but you should know that I have it with me in Juba right now.

An Almost Translation Train Wreck

2011-09-02T09:21:00.004+03:00

While I like to think my Dinka is improving and is now at a ‘low yet passable’ level (read: I can tell when people are talking about me, but not exactly what they are saying about me) I still rely on translators when doing any sort of significant work with groups.

Last weekend Heather and I went on a few parish visits, and this time we were invited out to one of the ‘chapels’, about a 15 minute drive into the bush outside of Yirol. There we were greeted by singing and dancing , including a wonderfully eccentric old man in a jalabiya (sp?) whose English consisted of singing a song with these lyrics: “somebody are working very hard, somebody are doing nothing” (I will sing this for you someday – it’s incredibly catchy and usually running though my head).

Heather and I go on to lead a workshop teaching some of the things we learned at our capacitar workshop back in May, including some acupressure points to help manage pain and traumatic stress. Enter almost translation train wreck… thank goodness for the ‘almost’.

Kaitlyn: So, if you are pregnant or if you are travelling in a vehicle and you are feeling sick, like you need to throw up, here is something you can do…

Young-In-His-Twenties-Male-Translator: (Turns to me with a confused/nervous look) Sorry, um? If you need to have sex?

Kaitlyn: Ah! No! No, no, no, no… um, no. If you are sick. Like nauseous. Sick, you need to throw up. Um.

Sister Immaculate (from the back): VOMIT!

Kaitlyn: Yes! If you need to vomit!

All English speakers in the room laugh, and I am grateful for a translator that seeks clarification.

Like Ants to Honey

2011-08-25T15:20:00.002+03:00

Over my time in South Sudan I think ants and I have reached a point of mutual respect and appreciation. Ants are not like mice. Set a few mousetraps, and the collective will of the mice population is broken. Set a few ant traps and your house will be flooded with more ants than could ever be killed by those traps. Knock some termites off a tree and ants one quarter their size will swarm and carry them away. They are impressively organized and are a formidable foe.

Interesting Fact: The estimated weight of all ants on the planet is 900 to 9,000 million tonnes. The estimated weight of all humans is 335 million tonnes.

Last week I noticed an increasing level of ant activity on the set of shelves where most of our food is kept. After a day or two of randomly squishing ants, and of spraying the base of our shelf with bug killer, I decided to see if I could get to the root of the problem. My investigation yielded a container of icing sugar, left open and swarming with ants. I moved the icing sugar to the counter, banged off all ants that were crawling on the container, and sealed it up to be sifted at a later date - it remains on our counter.

A few days later my removal of the sugar hadn’t produced a noticeable reduction in ant population, so back to the shelf I went, looking for ant bait number two. This time I identified a bottle of honey, also with a loose lid. Honey is stickier than icing sugar. As a result, the honey container had accumulated a layer of ants approaching one centimeter in thickness, drowned or drowning in the sticky mess. What a way to go…

I got out a new container and our little sieve, poured the honey through it, sealed up the container and put it back on the shelf. Problem solved, but not the end of the story. Left on our kitchen table was a sieve full of ants glistening with fresh local honey. They looked delicious. After some moments of hesitation, I could resist no longer. A took a pinch of ants and honey and dropped it into my mouth.

Soda bottle (original container), strained honey, delicious ants

An alternative explanation for my snack: In traditional Maori culture (I'm half Kiwi, not at all Maori, though I do have Maori aunt and cousins), after a battle, warriors would eat the heart of one of their slain enemies. It was an intimidation tactic and I imagine it worked pretty well. Ants are really small so I didn’t think it was practical to locate an individual heart. I figure I must have consumed at least 15 hearts. Let this be a warning to all ants. (any biologists out there are free to identify what organ an ant might have that resembles a heart)

What do ants taste like? Well these ones tasted remarkably sour. I even took the time to get one or two in between my teeth and crunch into them to confirm that the source of the distinct flavour was the ants themselves. This surprised me and has me pondering between two possible explanations:

1. 1. The honey in the bottle has quite a citrus flavor. It is possible that the ants, in eating a lot of honey, were able to somehow concentrate that flavor within their bodies.

2. 2. Awhile ago, when I was chatting about eating ants with my good friend Bear Grylls, he explained to me that ants can contain high levels of formic acid, which is actually poisonous. Maybe formic acid is sour tasting? Either way, this discussion was helpful as it reduced my temptation to go back and finish off the remaining ants in the sieve.

A Morning in the Life (With Third Person Narration)

2011-08-22T12:40:00.001+03:00

It's always fun to see how others see your life/work. Here's a blog entry written by the MCC East Africa Directors about a visit to Rumbek and specifically their 'sitting in on' on a morning workshop that Heather and I were facilitating.

Here's the link again in case you missed it the first time: http://zimmherr.blogspot.com/2011/08/south-sudan-hope-and-challenge.html

A Day in the Life

2011-08-18T12:54:00.004+03:00

We’ve been in South Sudan for almost 2 years now. Our life here has become normal, which makes it harder to identify daily happenings that might be noteworthy for those of you following back in North America. To keep you up to date on some of what our normal life looks like here is the first in what might become a series of daily activity summaries.

Monday/Tuesday, August 15^th/16^th:

7:12 – Wake up! Breakfast consists of a mixture of bran flakes and muesli (cereal is our biggest import by weight from Nairobi) with yogurt on top. We (almost exclusively Kaitlyn) are making yogurt daily. Originally started from a package of bacteria, now we just mix a little bit of leftover yogurt with warm water and milk powder in a thermos and let it sit. Over night it magically transforms into delicious (and usually creamy) yogurt over and over. We also recently had a yogurt miracle where we opened it in the morning and had only a watery mess. Not wanting to waste, I drank a bit of it and saved the rest to add a little zip to my lunch meal. Some scoffed at this action though I don’t want to openly name my wife. When I opened it at lunch (4 hrs later) it had turned into some of the best yogurt to date.

7:58 – Set up under the mango tree for an email download session. My Canar internet system is not working right now so I borrow the flash drive modem that Kaitlyn has which works on the cellphone network. It is really slow under the mango tree and doesn’t work inside our house. Once I’ve downloaded my email that is it for internet connection until Kaitlyn returns from work in the evenings.

8:32 – Arrive slightly late for devotion, which is fine because I’m still one of the first. We’re doing a series of devotions right now that are being written by our Across head office. I’m in charge for our location which means if the person on the schedule can’t share I’m the one. This was one of those days. Devotion is half an hour and starts with a couple of songs in English and one in Dinka followed by the sharing I was just discussing.

9:15 – Leave for Afex. Because my internet is down I was having trouble keeping up with the emails coming in through Friday and over the weekend. Friday was an especially bad day because it was the deadline for external consultants to submit proposals for end of project evaluation of our Health and Education programs. My inbox had over 10MB of mail backed up translating into somewhere in the range of 70 emails. Spent a couple of hours responding to the rest of the email and scanning the news which I also hadn’t seen for a few days.

11:18 – Started to organize the proposals received from consultants. 16 different proposals arrived, ranging from 5 pages to 86 pages in length. I would guess about 500 pages in all. We’re hoping to have a consulting team here for Sept 1^st so timeline is pretty tight. Scanned them all, summarized very briefly the experience, cost and any other relevant details for each proposal into a chart.

12:41 – Break for make your own sandwich lunch. This sandwich deal at Afex used to cost 4SDG. We knew that was too good to be true and were there as often as possible while it lasted. Then it went to 6SDG. Still too good to be true. We were still there as often as possible. Then it went to 10SDG. A more reasonable price. The urgency to attend was gone, but still a nice break from regular lunch which for me is a white bun with peanut butter, an apple, a handful of cashews and a square of dark chocolate (last two items imported from Nairobi) Then a couple of weeks ago it went to 20SDG per sandwich. Now too expensive to go on a regular basis but if I need to be there for email I still partake. At 20SDG I have to make sure I’m getting full value so I pile on the meat and other toppings as high as possible. OK, I have done that ever since they were 4SDG. Probably I’m the reason why they’re up to 20SDG.

3:12 – The rest of the MCC gang is also at Afex doing work and other email (side note, it is now Thursday, I’m just getting back to this now so my notes for the rest of the day might be a bit more prone to inaccuracies), and they’re ready to go so I wrap up my review of proposal number 13 and save the other three for a little treat later in the afternoon.

4:45 – I’ve completed my review and sent out an email with my top 6 recommendations for feedback from the heads of each of the programmes involved. After some logistics work I’ve also managed to put the actual proposals on to a flash drive and handed them to one of our staff travelling back to Adol, where these programme heads reside. Sending them by email would have been almost impossible both from the sending and the receiving side. To get the flash drive on to the departing vehicle I actually broke into a jog for a few steps. Outside of Frisbee this is a highly noteworthy event.

5:20 – Wrap up replies to various other emails, then head off to Frisbee, a twice a week event which helps maintain my sanity. This is an example of inaccuracies. Frisbee didn’t actually happen on Tuesday because it was pouring rain, but it sounds more interesting than what we actually did. I think it was watching some TV shows. Probably 30 Rock and a new one that Joel just introduced called The Misfits. It’s British and recommended by a British friend so it’s OK that you haven’t heard of it. Also might have watched Joel play the skateboarding game that he has found on his new Mac. I see this activity as sort of consulting role.

7:25 – My chronology is a bit off because the TV shows probably happened post dinner, but let’s not get caught up in details. For dinner I’m sharing our Wednesday night meal which was a bachelor affair since the ladies left us to visit one of the parishes. Joel made biscuits, cooked in a frying pan. These were topped with bbq sauce, mustard, honey, and Marmite (only Joel, I struggle to avoid nausea when in the presence of Marmite/Vegemite, all toppings imported) I made a salad with cabbage, tomato, green pepper and fresh garlic. It was topped with a dill dressing also containing olive oil, apple cider vinegar, salt, pepper, and some homemade hot oil. Only the salt and the hot oil are local supplies. Major errors on my part: I didn’t add either onion or fresh basil which is growing quite well outside our front door.

9:38 – Bucket bath finished, teeth brushed and flossed (I’ve been flossing almost every evening for the last month!) and Kaitlyn and I have retired to our mosquito net sanctuary. I’m in the middle of The Count Of Monte Cristo. My first year with MCC I read War and Peace, I’m 350 pages from finishing The Count for year 2, and I’m open for suggestions on what epic, ridiculously long piece of literature I should tackle in year three.

10:17 – Night, Night.

The Super Spectacular South Sudan Stoplight

2011-08-09T14:36:00.001+03:00

Hey... remember that? The old 'stoplight' we were all so fond of? Remember how before we went to Juba for independence they were plastering over this little gem? Remember how Luke and I hypothesized that it was going to be turned into a monument for the SPLA? Well folks, our hypothesis has been proven wrong, and proven wrong in the best possible way ever... the stoplight was not turned into a monument, no, not even close. It was instead turned into a SUPER SPECTACULAR SOUTH SUDAN STOPLIGHT! Check it out!!

Because it's so awesome, I think we should look at it again:

Before/After

Moderately Excellent/Magnificently Excellent

I would be willing to say we now have the best fake stoplight in the world! Yep, I know, a bold statement, but one I dare you to prove wrong .

High Five to you South Sudan!

Positive and Negative Feedback

2011-08-02T19:19:00.004+03:00

Nope this is not about a new performance management appraisal system. That discussion will be saved for tomorrow, in a meeting, not in a blog. Unless there is high demand for that sort of material. If you are really craving appraisal info please let me know and I’ll post the minutes of what is sure to be a scintillating event.

Instead this post is about ecosystems, intelligence, complexity, and probably a few other things. I was recently asked a bunch of questions by a relative back in North America, which fell broadly under his interest in grassland sustainability. These questions included items like:

1. Is there traditional wisdom in place that allows the grass to recover from grazing or is it pretty much continuous grazing of the same land?
2. Is there any evidence that wells/boreholes might increase desert growth of an area because larger populations of people would be in the area?

And many others.

I won’t bore you with the detailed responses, but as I was drafting my still relatively uninformed opinions into some sort of a reply, I started to realize something: The harder we work to control our environment, the harder we have to work to control our environment. Nature has a way of regulating systems so that they stay in balance. This regulation is simple and requires no great intelligence on our part. If there is a lot of grass, cows will be healthy, re-produce rapidly and increase in number. If there are a lot of cows, grass will run out, and some cows will succumb to hunger, disease etc. Which is all well and good, except that sometimes us humans, being the intelligent beings that we are, decide that we don’t like this balance. We don’t want our cows to die, so we re-arrange things to suit our needs. And the more we re-arrange things the harder it gets to predict what the results are.

We keep our cattle alive through irrigation, building dams, fertilizing our fields, genetically engineering our crops, medicating our animals etc. These strategies allow us to feed ourselves which is good, but lead to a host of other problems which are bad. Medication keeps the animal healthy which is good, but some medications cause side effects in animals/humans which are bad, so we do more research and find new alternatives, which are good etc.

The Dinka haven’t done a lot of re-arranging. They’re just getting started. If it doesn’t rain here cattle still die, which is bad, or is it good? Sometimes the answers aren’t as simple as they appear, or maybe they are. The world is full of intelligent people. We better make sure that our intelligence can keep pace with our ability to make things more complex.

Nice to Greet You!

2011-07-28T09:26:00.001+03:00

Of all the things I like about Dinka culture I think I like greeting the best. This could be because I believe that I have, unequivocally, mastered greeting in Dinka. I mean, I am good. Walking in the market? I’ll greet you with the three most common phrases, smile and move on. After church? I’ll shake your hand, use my greeting words, ask you about your children, smile and move on. During church across the sanctuary? I'll whip out the two hand wave. Hello there friend/stranger! It's Two-Hand-Wave-Time! After seeing you 10 minutes ago? I will shake your hand and smile use my greeting words “still healthy in your body? Luck still with you? Anything bad?”, smile and move on. And of course my favourite greetings situation: a reunion after not seeing each other for a few weeks.

It starts with a handshake, then pulls into ‘side-to-side’ hug - which is similar to the French/Italian kiss-kiss thing, minus the kiss. All this time you are exchanging the usual greetings with enthusiasm and gusto “hello, hello, hello, are you well? How's the luck?Hello, hello, hello”. The hug stops and you smile at each other while continuing the greeting words, now you take the hands that were holding for the handshake, shake a little more and then pat the other person with joy. Rinse and Repeat (with special emphasis on the handshake-pat combo).

Last night we had a little going away gathering for our friend who is finished his job and flying the Rumbek-Coop. He’s South African, and partial to the one hand-handshake-pull-into-hug-with-single-cheek-kiss greeting. Also in attendance were kiss-kiss-Italians (I still don’t know which way to put my head first), firm-handshake-Macedonians, huggy Americans, head-side-to-side-huggy Kenyans, and a mish-mash of people whose general greeting I can’t pin down as of yet (UAE, Slovakia, Hungary, Germany, North Sudan, that one person I didn’t greet at all – sorry pal!) It was a world of greeting last night, and as handshakes merged to hugs and kisses were or weren’t being given, the complex systems we set up around how we greet and are greeted were mashed up into a delicious potato salad of greeting (plus a few sort of awkward moments of "I’ll put my head to the left, oh, no, ok, you put your head to the left”, and “oh what? Handshake into a hu – oh! And now we’re hugging!”)

This has made me realize that while I have mastered greeting in Dinka I’m not sure I’ve mastered it in my own home culture. I know the basics: first time meeting handshake (or hug if it’s someone who you feel like you’ve met before… or is that just me?), and long-time-no-see big tight hug. But apart from that I’m not sure. There is far too much grey area. I think I might stick to the Dinka way. When in doubt shake a hand. Enter a room shake all hands (including babies). We’ll see what happens when we move back to Canada, but don’t be surprised if I start for a handshake then pull you in for a side-to-side dance of handshaking, patting, and smiling maniacally. Like I said, of all the things I like about Dinka culture I think I like greeting the best.

Fear Only Standing Still

2011-07-22T12:58:00.005+03:00

This has been a bit of a sad week as we learned that Bishop Caesar Mazzolari, the Bishop of the Diocese of Rumbek, passed away. Yesterday Luke and I spent all day (8:30ish-3ish) at the funeral. Bishop Mazzolari was my direct supervisor, he was the heart behind the Women’s Desk, and it was he who sought out the partnership with MCC.

There is a Chinese proverb I came across recently that says “Do not fear going forward slowly, fear only standing still”. Life and work in South Sudan (much like life and work in Southern Sudan) is a lesson in patience, in “amath, amath” (slowly, slowly). Bishop Mazzolari committed his life to this slowly, slowly culture and while there were many challenges there were also many beautiful results. I haven’t committed my life to this place, but I have committed three years. We are (slowly) approaching the two year mark and I continue to struggle with trying to be present in this place. I struggle with the question of why to work here with language and culture barriers when there are great needs at home. I struggle with the idea that we are presenting ourselves as “doing so much good work”, when it usually just feels like trying to move forward slowly and not stand still.

Bishop Mazzolari worked in Sudan for decades, and yesterday as they presented an entirely incomplete list of his work I was blown away by the impact one person of faith, vision, and passion can have on a diocese and even a country. It is easy to get discouraged here; it can be hard to find hope amongst the hurt. Yesterday hope prevailed.

With the death of Bishop Mazzolari I find myself drawn again to the words of another Catholic leader, Archbishop Romero, whose beautiful prayer I have shared on this blog before. His words remind me that I must try to take the long view, to remember that the kingdom is not only beyond my efforts but even beyond my vision. I must remind myself that I cannot do everything but I can do something.

I am reminded we were not brought here alone, we do not stand here alone, and we are surrounded by a cloud of witnesses. Bishop Mazzolari always greeted me with a smile, a hearty handshake, and "Oh, Kathy! So good to see you!" (Thanks to what I believe to be an Italianized-misnomer many in the Diocese do believe my name to be Kathy). His life was a testament to his faith in God and in people, and I have been blessed bear witness to a small part of this journey.

Birth of a Nation

2011-07-13T15:04:00.002+03:00

We've just experienced what it feels like to celebrate new nationhood. It's exhilarating!

We gathered with a number of our friends from around Juba area and shared in a potluck BBQ including some delicious chicken cooked on a charcoal grill, and some fantastic cookies which I managed to access in their batter form despite security that rivaled Juba town as the dignitaries flooded in.

But the real fun began as darkness descended and the rhythms started to rise. Salva Kiir and others had called for drums to be beaten starting at midnight, and in a most rare of occurrences, the South Sudanese were early. To be fair the birth of a nation is also a rare occurrence so I think they were entirely justified. A few times during the evening, I stepped out the back of the house we were at, and just listened to the beat of drums all across the capital city. Each time the chorus was louder, the heart of the nation beating stronger and stronger, ready to explode from the chest. For me, the whole experience was almost surreal, and I was just a guest. It is difficult to imagine what was going through the hearts and minds of those who have been waiting decades for this moment.

At midnight we cheered, failed miserably at getting a picture of us jumping from chairs (this is apparently a Danish New Years tradition and we had two Danes in the crowd), and then wandered out of our compound to the main road nearby. This was one of the few tarmac roads that remained open (see note on security and dignitaries above) so it became a favourite for all of the local revelers. Even when celebrating among themselves, a group of khawajas are still exciting (and rare as most larger NGOs and UN staff were confined to their compounds), and upon arrival at the main road we were immediately swarmed by a group of 10 or so who had hopped off the top and the side of a Landcruiser to shake our hands. They draped a new flag over our shoulders and then ran back to the vehicle. We had been looking for a flag for a couple of days without success so this was a major development. Ten seconds later one sheepishly came back and asked if they could hold on to their flag for future use. We'll get a flag some day.

We found a spot with another group standing outside a little shop and cheered and danced with them as the cars, motorcycles and groups of pedestrians continued to fly by. Horns were blaring, flags and people were similarly draped all over vehicles, pedestrian groups danced and drummed on whatever they could find. One of the women we were standing with ran out on to the road and joined any group that came by. If there was a break in the action she ran out by herself dancing and cheering in a voice that had already gone raspy from overuse. And if this wasn't enough excitement, I got some audio on our camera of Celine Dion's Titanic theme song blasting from within the store we were standing in front of.

The South Sudanese are full of excitement, hope and dreams for their new nation. I can't help but hold this up against what I see in Canada (insert US or many other countries) in terms of civil engagement. Voter turnout for the South Sudan referendum is estimated as high at 97.5%. Voter turnout for Canada's most recent election was 61.4% and this was actually an improvement over the previous election due to an "exciting" campaign. While the South Sudanese dare to hope and dream, I can't help but feel that most Canadians lost this feeling years ago. Many people, myself included, expect that there will be disappointment as the reality of life in South Sudan doesn't change drastically in the coming weeks. But I have to ask myself what is better: To dream big and then find disappointment in some areas, or not to dream at all? I know possibilities are less varied in a mature democracy but surely our policy experts can find something more interesting than a few percentage points on corporate income tax rates and a few hundred dollars a month in income support for senior citizens. It seems we have lost the ability to dream of something better and are now mostly concerned with how to ensure we don't lose what we have. While the South Sudanese work to assemble a shiny new vehicle despite many occupational hazards, Canadians seem to be struggling just to keep air in the tires.

The challenges ahead for the people of South Sudan are enormous but so are the possibilities. Thanks for inviting us along for the ride R.O.S.S.

For more on independence check out the pictures and thoughts Kaitlyn just posted here, or head on over to our fellow MCCers blog here. As usual, they're more on the ball than I am.

And here is a new map of the world with South Sudan highlighted:

South Sudan! Oyee!

2011-07-11T16:33:00.002+03:00

Hey guess what?! We live in a new country! A brand new country! The 54th country in Africa and the 196th country in the world*! Welcome to the map baby South Sudan!

It's an impromptu midnight (1am,2am,3am,4am,5am) parade of celebration!

At midnight on July 9th we went out to the streets to celebrate with the people of Juba, the new capital of the new country. There was cheering, and hugging, singing, and dancing. We stayed up celebrating until about 3 am. The next morning we walked six kilometers in the blazing heat with tens of thousands of people to the Garang Memorial Site....Now three days later I am awake long enough to post a few photos, but not yet awake enough to truly blog about the excitement. You'll have to wait for Luke's forthcoming thoughts on that one.

lots of people taller than me at the Garang Memorial

Can't wait for Luke's blog and want more? There's about 30 more photos of the night/day celebrations in our web album!

Can't wait for Luke's blog and want even more? Heather wrote blog about the birth of South Sudan

A Collage of Our South Sudan Celebratory Shirts

* depending on how you count

T - 3 Days

2011-07-06T16:11:00.004+03:00

South Sudan! South Sudan! South Sudan!

(to be chanted)

We have arrived in Juba and the city is plastered with signs announcing and celebrating the country’s upcoming independence. Three days until we are living in the newest country in the world! Sure, there are approximately a million and one problems which are going to face this new country, but I am going to try, at least for the next few days to get swept up in the excitement and say to the naysayers (truthtellers?) “talk to the hand, my friend, I am here to celebrate!”

Rumbek 'Stoplight'. Sadly, it is no more.

In the last week Rumbek has been a hub of activity. The new anthem is being played incessantly by radios and marching bands, trees are being painted, roundabouts are being re-modeled; our lovely "stoplight" is being refashioned into a monument (we're guessing to the SPLA - but we won't know now until we're back in Rumbek). Greatest of all, a grandstand is being built in Freedom Square; it'll be the second (maybe third) two story building in Rumbek. Yes, indeed South Sudan is going to be a different country than the semi-autonomous state of Southern Sudan was (at least it will be less of a mouthful).

This morning we landed at Juba airport and were ushered into the arrivals hall. This hall, usually busy, was practically bursting at the seams with all the people. Flights were arriving from Nairobi, Khartoum, Rumbek, and Entebbe. As a part of what I can only assume is supposed to be heightened security Juba International Airport has ditched the dudes who usually stand at a table with pieces of chalk. You see, historically, you would enter the arrivals hall, go to the table, be greeted by the dude-with-chalk who would then thoroughly or un-thoroughly, depending on his mood, search your bags for things he deemed unworthy of Juba. He would then take the chalk, make a mark on your bag, and you would then go on your merry way. Today was different.

No chalk men but instead a scanning machine. Yes! One scanner. One. For emphasis I will say that again: one. One machine for all of the baggage from all of those flights, some two hundred or so people, pushing up to the tables to find their bags which had been scanned and dropped into an enormous pile. I maneuvered my way through the crowd until I was in the second row of people. Standing on my tip toes for about ten minutes, I learned two things: 1- tiptoe standing is good calf exercise, 2 – there was nothing to be seen beyond the shoulders of the enormous Dinka men in front of me.

I moved around the room, squeezing between people, and found myself at the “drop point”, the place where all the bags came after being scanned. Please see the excellent and detailed diagram below:

The green dots are people – more likely than not very tall people.

The red dots are me.

The red dot by the yellow blobs is me at the drop point.

The thin purple line is the bag route – through the scanner, pushed down the tables (at this pushing point the arrivals hall resembles something similar to wall street – a bag held high in the air, people putting their hands up yelling things. The bag eventually goes back on the table, is pushed along by bored-looking staff until it reaches the end of the table and is added to the mount of luggage).

Myself, a Kenyan woman, a German guy, a Chinese guy, and an American Dinka Guy (from South Carolina with the accent to boot) started tackling the mountain of luggage. Despite being hot, despite the pervasive smell of urine, we started to have fun. I told the Kenyan woman I didn’t think they had a very good system. She responded “You cannot fault this system. There is no system at all.” Well said. The American Dinka guy said, in his southern drawl “well, I haven’t been in an airport much like this before” and we all wondered when RoSS (that’s Republic of South Sudan) was going to put us on the airport payroll.

Long story, less long: our bags were found and we made our way out of the airport and onto the newly paved streets of Juba – the soon-to-be newest capital city of the world.

Visual Aids

2011-07-06T14:48:00.003+03:00

Want to see us in the (digitized) flesh? Check out our new photos: some here and some others here!

Unintended Consequences

2011-06-29T20:41:00.002+03:00

Kaitlyn and I have always been MCC fans. While on this assignment we've really appreciated all the support we get from MCC staff back in Akron and other areas. We've met many wonderful people working for MCC Sudan and in various other country programs. We've been well taken care of when we needed medical attention, or just a break from the stress of Sudan. And they even give us free stuff. Every year we get new calendars, and at the beginning of our term we also received a few stickers, posters, and cards. Alright quick confession time (anybody in Akron please skip this section), when I say received, I am using a liberal interpretation involving us checking out the supply room in Akron after hours and deciding that it would be nice to have a few little things to hand out when we arrived on assignment. I can assure you all they've been put to good use promoting MCC on our laptops and in various other locations.

Back to the primary point of this blog which relates to the calendars. Despite all of the great support, MCC can also be incredibly cruel. The picture featured in June is a row of strawberry pies smothered in whipped cream and just begging to be eaten inhaled immediately upon purchase at whatever Relief Sale they are from. We have our calendar posted in the kitchen right beside our water filter. Every time I cook something or go for a drink I see these pies. They haunt me in my sleep (or maybe that's the Mefloquin), and they torment me all my waking hours. Thankfully it is June 29^th. Can't wait for July and the much more reasonable picture of bannock. Still delicious but not so utterly unattainable.

Quest for Diesel

2011-06-20T20:57:00.006+03:00

A week ago, we (the MCC car sharing quartet) decided it was time to get some diesel. In Canada when I make a decision like this I stop at the nearest pump, stick in my credit card, move the nozzle in the appropriate ways and then return to my vehicle all gassed up and ready to go. These days in Southern Sudan, the process is a lot more complicated…

Down to about a quarter tank combined between the two tanks in our vehicle, it was time to take action.

Background info: Rumbek gets most of its fuel from the northern part of Sudan. About a month ago, the North closed its borders and stopped shipping fuel, food and all other goods to the South. Shortly after that decision, the situation in Abyei exploded but that is another story. No fuel from the North means no fuel in Rumbek, sort of. We headed off to the market to check out the 2 or 3 stations that are usually operating there. No fuel at any of them. But there were a few guys sitting around at one of the sites so Kaitlyn got out to chat. Conversation apparently went like this:

Kaitlyn: Do you have any fuel?

Guys: No

Kaitlyn: Are you sure?

Guys after some delay to assess the situation: Sit down.

Many phone calls and discussions and then: We still don't have any fuel, please give us your number and we'll call you if we get some.

One hour later:

Guy: We have some fuel, it's ridiculously expensive. Do you want it? Tell me right now.

Kaitlyn: Yes

Guy: OK, come to the station immediately. If you don't come right now we will sell it to somebody else.

So off Heather and I go in a search for this rumoured illicit fuel. We arrive at the station and the guys explain that the fuel isn't there. There is no fuel on this side of town (general motioning to the east). We have to go to the other side of town. (general motioning to the west) In climb three Darfurian guys and off we go. I've noticed that many people around here don't use left and right when giving directions. This can make directions, especially coming from the back of a vehicle with a language barrier, difficult to understand.

Eventually we made our turns and arrived to the outside of a non-descript bamboo fenced compound. The entry was complicated by the huge tree branch inexplicably placed in the alley in front of their gate but we made it in and pulled up next to an old, battered Datsun pick up with 4 200L barrels of diesel in the back.

Next problem: How to move a 200L barrel of diesel without any tools for assistance. 200L of diesel is really heavy (I suppose a little more than 200kg with the barrel thrown in). We strained and struggled. Then I suggested our tanks were mostly empty and that siphoning some gas directly into the tanks would make the job easier. They had a hose and things were looking pretty good. But apparently these purveyors of diesel and petrol don't know how to siphon fuel….OK neither do I, but I'm not in the fuel business. Not that they didn't try. Two different guys filled their mouths with diesel before they admitted defeat and we went back to plan A. Siphoning experts out there, please feel free to add your comments on the proper technique. The barrel we were siphoning from was higher than the tank. Seemed to me it should have worked. I think their problem may have been with getting pockets of air in the hose…

So, we gathered every male on the compound (4) and one willing female and heaved until we eventually had the barrel lying on it's side in the back of our vehicle. Great, except that the cap was loose and there was diesel streaming on to the floor of our Landcruiser. A couple of rocks, a couple of random metal vehicle parts, some empty plastic containers and more heaving and we had the barrel propped up a bit so that the diesel only spilled out when we hit a bump. Roads in Rumbek are bumpy….

As we were ready to begin the maneuvers required to exit the premises, guy number 5 appeared and not with joy on his face. I have no idea what he was saying, but he clearly wasn't in agreement with the current position of one of his drums of diesel within our vehicle. I assessed the situation, quietly moved to our back door, and locked the vehicle in case that might somehow prevent them from removing our hard earned prize. Heather was apparently examining the bamboo fence looking for weak points we could bust through, like the true action heroes that we clearly are. A few of the women motioned for us to just go which we might have done if it were so simple, but we were wedged between a tree and the Datsun, and with a very tight turn to avoid the branch on the way out. Eventually we did begin those motions while the guys continued their argument. As we were getting aligned for our move out the gate, something suddenly became clear, and guy number 5 walked up to our window with a smile on his face and announced "Mafi mushkala" (Arabic = no problem). Our best guess is that it finally registered with him the ridiculous amount we were paying. This theory was supported by his next action. As we were through the gate and getting on our way, he ran after us. "Would you like to buy another drum?" Ummm…no I think this will be quite enough for us today.

Even this was not the end of our adventure, but in the interest of saving time and space let me summarize the rest of it quickly. We had to return the empty drum by the end of the day. 120 or so litres went into our tanks directly. The other 80 had to be pumped into a 20L jerry can, a 10L jerry can, about 4 5L milk tins, 2 3L cookie containers, a 2L seed tin, and a plastic bucket that probably took another 5. And the fun continues. As the fuel is burned we set up our funnel and hose and empty another cookie or milk container back into the tank. In these containers, food for us has been replaced by food for our insatiable Landcruiser.

When the fuel crisis hits Canada 100 years from now, we'll be ready!

Hey You Guys... Look Over Here!

2011-06-16T16:08:00.000+03:00

There's a lot of talk about the "international community", but to be honest I feel like this terminology cheapens the value and symbolism of community. Frankly the response, sorry lack of response, the "international community" is having towards the conflict(s) in Sudan right now is downright embarrassing.

The impetus behind this blog post was when I went to my google news page and saw that none of the world news stories were related to Sudan. The first story was this one stating that the Syrian conflict has caused almost 9000 people to flee into Turkey. This is serious, and any single person being forced away from their home is a terrible thing, but to give some comparative perspective I offer up the following facts: as of the 7th of June in Abyei alone over 100,000 people were displaced, while a separate conflict brews in South Kordofan displacing 60,000 people. There have been calls for the UN security council to institute a No-Fly zone to stop the reported ethnic cleansing in Nuba and nothing is happening.

What's the deal international community? Our MCC advocacy team here in Sudan is not the only group advocating for some attention on behalf of this less-than-a-month-away-from-being-the-newest-country-in-the-world but there is little press. I know not everything can make headlines all of the time, I know that the world is small and there are increasing pockets of terrible violence that deserve media-face-time but it is beyond frustrating to be on the other side of the media's flirting interest. I guess I think we could all do for a little less press on the Stanley Cup and a little more attention paid to this the, for-now, largest country in Africa.

Aljazeera Proves Me Wrong

2011-06-09T16:29:00.003+03:00

well... either proves me wrong or supports my point.

In my post yesterday (not the one about the palm tree, the other one... I know - too many posts in short succession - maybe I'll take a little hiatus after this) I talked about being annoyed with hearing only one narrative in relation to the conflicts in Sudan.

The day before that Tendai Marima wrote this excellent piece for Aljazeera: Sudan: Half the Horror Remains Untold. It is very much worth reading. The tag line (is that what you call it? I don't know, I'm not a journalist) reads: "As the south prepares to declare independence, western media incorrectly frame current violence as entirely one-sided."

Further quotable moments include:

"[A]udiences suffer from War Attention Deficit Disorder - a Sudan conflict story has a life cycle of thirty seconds"

and

"And more specifically, conflict reportage is often constructed through the limited lens of "good vs bad" - and for Sudan, the baddie's role has already been taken by the "car-azy Ay-rab Mooozlim" in the north, so it would be difficult to start framing the "Dinka Christian dude" as a baddie, too."

and

"An African proverb says: When two elephants fight, it is the grass that suffers. In southern Sudan it seems as though there are ten elephants tussling and trampling on the population, continually dashing all hope of South Sudan's secession ever being peaceful"

Thanks for shedding light on a few of the complexities Tendai, I surely do appreciate it.

Palm Tree Pyrotechnics

2011-06-07T11:09:00.001+03:00

You may have already read this on Heather and Joel’s blog, and indeed the photo below was taken by Heather, but I thought this was too Sudawesome to overlook.

Last week, just outside our fence, we saw fireworks Sudan-style. A palm tree on fire! Spraying fire! And nobody was hurt! And no forest fires started! Pure unadulterated Palm-Pyrotechnical-Prowess, it was phenomenal! (it’s better if you pronounce that “penomenal” for my personal alliterative amusement)

Those in Khartoum

2011-06-07T09:47:00.006+03:00

After the elections last April and the Referendum in January, it felt like southern Sudan – and especially our area – went through a honeymoon period. There were high hopes, big dreams, and smiling faces. Violence went down, petty crime decreased. As we near the July 9^th independence day it seems in my (admittedly short-sighted, under-informed, and over-voiced) opinion that the honeymoon is over.

First, and most obviously, there is the fighting north of us, the recent clashes in Kordofan, the take-over of Abyei, as well as the continuing blockade of food and fuel from the North to the South.

The thing that frustrates me about this is not just the violence, but also the stories that accompany this violence. In the last few months here in Lakes State there has been increased fighting; a sudden seemingly-renewed interest in revenge killings, in cattle rustling and in random acts of violence. This is Dinka on Dinka violence I speak of, intra-tribal conflict that is killing hundreds of people, and terrorizing countless more. But the rhetoric I hear, and read, is largely ignorant of this violence. It is mostly about the North, it’s about the Us vs. Them, the Arab vs. the African, the Muslim vs. the Christian. We like binaries, we like black and white. But in reality these binaries are only useful if we want to understand a small part of the story, and if we want to know where to point the finger of blame. Here in Rumbek people are upset about the intra-tribal conflict but they recognize the nuances. The discussions I hear (and far too often read) about the North-South issues are conspicuously nuance free.

I am sitting in my living room right now, taking a tea break from my working at home (still no fuel). I hear birds outside my window, at least four different kinds. I hear crickets and children playing. I hear men moving their cattle for grazing; the constant gentle encouragement which is reserved for those most prized of livestock. I am sipping my tea: lipton green tea with mint, packed in the UAE, purchased in the Rumbek market. This is true. It is also true that my friend Deborah’s sister had a baby last night. A healthy boy named Dheng (which means rain – it was pouring for most of the day yesterday). It is true that a few weeks ago Nyantoc (who works for St. Monica’s) went to talk to a group of women from a different Dinka clan. She was told “you shouldn’t go, those people will slaughter you", she went anyway and was warmly welcomed. It is true that Maria is 17 and arrestingly beautiful. Maria grew up in North Sudan, in Khartoum, and moved to Rumbek a few months ago. She is applying for university. When I was surprised and impressed that she had already finished secondary school one woman who also lived in Khartoum for many years said, “Those in Khartoum they send their girls to school from when they are very small. They are not like us here, they are very good in that, those in Khartoum.” Our humanity is our nuance.

The Dude Sits Alone

2011-05-31T09:45:00.002+03:00

The Dude is our car.

I returned to Rumbek just over a week ago to reports of a Rumbek fuel crisis – an embargo from the north. There was the likening Rumbek to the Gaza Strip which, personally, I think is a little premature, I mean 3 days without fuel and we're the Gaza Strip? Really?

Anyway. There was also this piece of astute journalism which, when I posted the link on Facebook, our fellow MCCer in Juba commented “cars grounded? You guys had flying cars in Rumbek?”. Why yes Jacob, we sure did. I wondered.

Almost 2 weeks in I still wouldn’t say it’s Gaza-Strip-Blockade-Bad, but the fuel crisis is problematic. Our favourite khawaja haunt said that if they didn’t get their fuel truck yesterday their generators wouldn’t be able to run (remember generators and solar power is all there is around here), which means we run the risk of not being able to eat pizza – and I think I speak for all expats in Rumbek when I say that not having pizza is equivalent to hooking us up to a collective IV and slowly sucking the life-blood out of us. Then having that life blood pour out onto the floor, out the door (if this occurred indoors) and encroach on the roots of the trees. Then having the trees die from this toxic-expat-life-blood and the birds having nowhere to sit. So they begin sitting on termite mounds filled with snakes, and the snakes can easily then eat all the birds, and we lose the entire avian species in South Sudan and there is no one to blame except the fuel crisis.

Apart from the potential no pizza, it also means I am spending the day working at home. I could have biked into work but the tires needed pumping and I’m feeling lazy (haven’t had pizza in a while). There are four gas stations in town and the other day we heard someone got fuel in the market for seven pounds a litre (used to be just over two), so we drove to each of these stations. At one there were probably twenty motorbike-driver sets looking forlornly at the pumps covered in plastic. At the next three we encountered a lovely sense of camaraderie as we pulled up and were given sad “no fuel here” hands and eyes from the staff (and fellow motor-vehicle drivers also seeking this mythic seven-pound fuel).

We did manage to find twenty litres of fuel last week. I know a guy who knows a guy, but so far our gas-man hasn’t materialized again. All of this is putting a hitch into my parish visit plans, into the power situation at the home of fellow MCCers, and into the possibility of getting a cool soda in the market. There is also just the general concern of never knowing when the fuel will come again, but that said, I do think it’s a good experience to have. It’s good for all of us to realize that we are dealing with finite resources here, and that even though I feel really important it’s unlikely that all the birds will die if I don’t get my pizza. It’s good drive slowly and less. It’s good to bike to work or work from home. It’s good to be reminded that even though we try to pull away from the petrol-beast we are still very much entwined in its sticky web. It’s good to (re)recognize that my Sudanese friends don’t have the privilege I do and a fuel crisis for me is annoying, but rising food prices for them is unbearable. So we don’t know when the fuel will come, if the borders will stay closed, or if I will have to stop being lazy and pump up my bike tires, but I do know that today I will sit at home, using my solar power, doing some work and resting in the fuel-crisis imposed slow.

UPDATE: Just after I finished writing that blog I received news from our local radio saying the fuel crisis will end in ten days. I am skeptical, but we will see…. It also said that a litre of fuel is now up to fifteen pounds (well technically it said a “litter” of fuel is up to fifteen pounds, so there is the possibility I am misinterpreting the facts).

Sometimes It Takes a Drunkard

2011-05-23T15:02:00.001+03:00

A few days ago I was reviewing the Across handbook given to all new employees. Among the bits of cultural advice was one that read "when you enter a room, don't sit down until you have shaken the hand of every person present." Sometimes this isn't practical but it is true that as a general rule when meeting a group of people here in Southern Sudan, I will go around and shake each hand. Not just the hands of the big men, not just the hands of men, but the hands of all who are present. Sanitary concerns aside, I really like this. One simple custom but in carrying out this act, I acknowledge the humanity and the importance of each person present.

The next day I was sitting around chatting with some Across staff and a visitor who told a story about his commute in Melbourne, Australia. He gets on and off the train at pretty much the same spot every day, sees many of the same people every day, and yet they rarely say anything to each other or even acknowledge each other's presence. Instead iPods dominate the conversation. Then one evening as he was travelling home, a drunk man wobbled his way into the car, sharing a general greeting and then breaking out in song. I can't remember the actual song, but it involved a part where the lead singer is quiet and a band of back up whistlers take over. When he arrived at this point, he was quiet and waited expectantly for his band of fellow travelers to take over. When nothing happened he mildly berated those sharing the car with him and then started over with his song. Again he reached a point of quiet, and this time he was not disappointed as a few brave souls filled their lungs and whistled the required part. I can only imagine the combination of humour and awkwardness as passengers glanced around at each other and at the man with his mostly empty bottle of unidentified alcohol.

This situation could just as easily have occurred in North America and I'm sure in Europe as well. What does it say about our societies that it take an inebriated man to bring a bit of human interaction and fun back into our lives. I certainly hope I'm not headed for a place where it takes alcohol for me to treat others as real, animated human beings. And I guess I'll be thinking a bit about what kind of choices I can make in life to ensure that I don't ever get to that point.

Salute the Sun, Disturbing Dishes, Tumple Drying, and Burnt Toast

2011-05-18T11:03:00.003+03:00

The Morning Nile in Juba Photo Credit: Sr. Genvieve

This last week Heather I participated in a capacitar workshop with two of the Sisters who are leading women's groups in the DoR, and 36 other women from across the dioceses in South Sudan. This was a trauma healing workshop, a ToT (training of trainers as the popular lingo goes in these parts). We were lead by a Belgian Sister in tai chi movements, holds for ongoing trauma (like flashbacks or overwhelming emotions) acupressure, and other equally awesome things.

Salute the Sun

People told bits of their stories and over the four days; mentions of being abducted by the LRA as a child, and of living in Juba during warfare. The workshop was really aimed at those women: the ones who had lived through terrible trauma. They were gaining physical skills of how to deal with and relieve some of the traumatic tension in their bodies. Many of the participants said that over the four days they didn't have any nightmares or flashbacks. For myself it was a time of learning, I was excited to learn hands on techniques (quite literally) that I can share with the women's groups in the diocese. Trauma healing is one thing I always want to address but is not the kind of thing that can be worked on in a two day parish visit ("hi! let's talk about all the horrible things that have happened.... okay, oh.. yes, uh hu... oh! okay, well, sorry.... time's up, gotta run! byebye!). For this reason learning acupressure points to relieve depression, anxiety and crisis seem like exactly the kind of professional development I need.

Beyond P.D. however I did find myself incredibly moved during the workshop. I realized that I often don't allow myself to feel the impacts of living in a culture with low grade violence all the time. I realized that I sometimes think because I haven't experienced even an iota of the pain and trauma which most Sudanese people live with on a daily basis that I shouldn't be allowed to feel sad or upset by what does go on. It was a workshop of learning, listening and doing tai chi led by a Nun beside the River Nile. What more could a girl ask for?

Oh and speaking of Nuns and Sisters... You may recall my blog post Nuns (and Sisters) Rock in which I outlined my then-recent learning regarding the differentiation between Nuns and Sisters... well it turns out that there is not an complete consensus on this definition - which I suppose is not shocking as it is difficult to find a complete consensus anywhere. However what is funny and small-worldy is that the sister mentioned in the article I reference is very same wonderful woman who organized this fantastic workshop. Which is to say that I stand by my previous statements of "Rocking-ness" in regards to sister and nuns (or whatever the preferred terminology is).

And because I find the following images amusing I am also including them in this blog post. All the photos (except for the first one were taken by the incredibly talented Heather Ruth Peters)

1. Disturbing dishes: note the pretty lady with the finger on her lips.

2. Tumple Dry! I often love misspellings - especially when they are ADORABLE. I am incorporating tumple into my vocabulary. And equally as awesome is that this beautiful scarf was made by a Catholic Women's Association in the Diocese of Yei! My dreams are getting bigger for the women's groups in the DoR!

3. Burnt Toast: Our friend and colleague in Juba was struck down with Typhoid (she's feeling much better now, thanks for asking) and I wanted to make her a yummy treat of grilled cheese (YES! THEY HAVE CHEESE IN JUBA) which I promptly forgot about. Please note - this is the second photo we had to take because in the first one the black bread was impossible to see as it was in front of my black shirt. yes, it appears I burnt the sandwich (but do not fear, we still ate the cheese from the inside).

Underpants Update/Analysis

2011-05-10T21:20:00.001+03:00

While at home I was reminded by a number of people that I've been lax in my undy tally updating. Some even went so far as to insinuate that I might have lost it forever. While I acknowledge that this update could have arrived a little bit earlier, you should all know better than to doubt the staying power of the undy tally. Like a cockroach or a pigeon, the undy tally finds a way to survive.

Also, for those who need a refresher, or those who are seeing the topic of underpants for the first time, feel free to check out these previous entries here, here and here, and realize this is an ongoing issue of the utmost importance.

And with that introduction complete, the updated tally:

Kaitlyn à 23

Luke à 16

Those of you who have been following along will note that the race is getting closer, as I slowly overcome Kaitlyn's significant head start. An in depth analysis of the factors contributing to this trend reveal the following:

My smaller initial supply evokes feelings of sympathy/pity in the general population leading to higher replacement rates for my underpants than for Kaitlyn's.
Kaitlyn's initial supply included one very large cohort of very old items (from before we got married) which are now reaching the end of their lifespan. Data from the current cull support this statement as I removed only 2 pairs from circulation while Kaitlyn dropped 6 all dating back to the same purchase date and indeed the same purchase location.
I apply a more liberal interpretation of what constitutes an acceptable condition for underpants to warrant further wear. For instance, I have two pairs from within my 16 which are almost devoid of elasticity, which is different than the culled pairs which were completely devoid.

Also, because of the harsh conditions in Sudan, and due to the fact that we are actually paying attention, we have noticed some significant differences in the ability of various underpants to stand up to Sudanese conditions. The items Kaitlyn purchased en masse prior to our marriage are fading but have lasted 5+ years. She can already see underwear purchased just before the trip heading down the same road. For myself I retired two pair of boxers, the ones I purchased to wear on my wedding night (4 years ago) along with a pair purchased just prior to our trip here (1.5 years ago).

For the complete consumer report (brand names included) please send me an email and forward $ 4.99 to my personal expenditures account. Instructions on that process can be found through a link at the top right corner of our blog.

The continued success of our tally at attracting undy donations has also led us to consider posting new tallies such as the "New Gore-Tex Rain Jacket" tally, the "Tesla Roadster" tally, and the "Solar Fridge" tally. Feedback on this idea would be greatly appreciated.

Going Home and Coming Home

2011-05-05T16:23:00.004+03:00

Two and a bit weeks of whirlwind family and friends reminded us that we are truly blessed. We hadn't really questioned the fact but nevertheless were reminded of it again and again (and again and again). We are back in Nairobi, en route to Sudan, trying to fight jetlag and getting in our last days of good internet and cool weather.

If I could sum up our vacation in four words it would be this: joy, tired, joy, joy,

In four other words it would be: babies, food, babies, food

In seven other words it would be: family, friends, joy, tired, babies, food, bliss

If I could some up our vacation in 35 photos it would be this:

snow! (we were assured that we were the only people in Southwestern Ontario to celebrate this fact)

... although Maelle seems pretty happy with the snow too.

Peyton and "kittykat"..uh I mean "mommy"

pocket bird anyone?

the best easter shirt ever. ever.

Dear Max Oliver Winter: Thanks for coming while we were home!

please note emily in the background. love it!

Thanks for filling up our love-trunks. It was a good vacation indeed.

The Jury is In: Kaitlyn Prefers Squatties!

2011-04-13T08:45:00.002+03:00

Well folks, upon returning to Nairobi this time I realized a very important thing.... I am no longer a fan of perching upon the porcelain precipice of pooping. In fact I would much prefer to use our pit latrine than expose myself to this "marvel of civilization". And this is not just a personal opinion (while it is an important and life changing paradigm shift) and to prove the point to my doubting colleagues I found some information to say that squatting is da bomb..

Just thought you'd like to know.

p.s. we're heading home to canada tonight at 11:34 pm and thus will be out of the blogosphere for the next coupl'a'weeks. Later Skaters!

Re-Connecting With the Planet

2011-04-10T11:51:00.004+03:00

We've just arrived in Nairobi where the weather is mostly sunny and in the low to mid 20's. The last two weeks in Rumbek we were experiencing low to mid 40's almost every day. What a relief!

Last week I was having a discussion with one of my co-workers talking about the coming of the rainy season. As you can guess from the temperatures reported above, it hasn't really arrived yet though there have been a few small showers. He talked about the need for rains to come soon to avoid crop failure. He also talked of memories of a serious drought many years ago where people were forced to eat cow leather just to survive. The end of the dry season is also the most challenging time for inter-tribal conflict as cattle herders crowd their cows into smaller and smaller spaces searching for any remaining grass.

Dry Season

Rainy Season

This morning around the breakfast table I had a discussion with fellow MCCers working in Kenya, Jacob and Elvira Stern, a couple with a wealth of knowledge in the field of agriculture and passion and energy that is an example for us all. Among the topics discussed this morning were a list of seven drought resistant crops and a recent study done on maize production in Africa analyzing the effect of temperature increase on yields. Simplified conclusion: even a small increase in temperature will have huge negative impacts on overall maize production, especially for days where the temperature is above 30C. Throw in a little bit of drought and the impacts are much larger.

Now let me try to connect these little bits of information in a way that makes as much sense on paper/screen as it does in my head. The people of Sudan feel changing seasons in a way that most North Americans don't. When the temperature is in the mid 40's people slow down, avoid the sun, sleep outside at night etc. When the rain doesn't come, crops don't grow, cows die, and in cases of severe drought, people die too. During the dry season, water sources get contaminated and diarrhea cases rise. During the rainy season, mosquito populations explode and malaria cases surge. In North America when the rains don't come we have to water our lawn more, or maybe watch it turn brown. The price of orange juice or bread might go up slightly. If it gets really hot we pay a bit more for A/C, or for those without A/C we may even have to sweat a little bit while preparing supper or sitting in our office cubicle.

It seems to me that this is the reason why we have a difficult time grabbing on to the issue of climate change. We can read a report on the severe negative impact of even small increases in global temperatures but we can't feel it in our bones because we've done such a good job of insulating ourselves from these impacts.

So what might we do about it? Sending everybody to South Sudan might push the land beyond its carrying capacity, plus it isn't cheap to get there. But I think there are little things that people can do to remind themselves that they are still part of the global ecosystem.

Go camping, and not camping in an RV that is basically a copy of your house on wheels. Out in the wilderness you can feel the rain dripping into your tent, you notice that there is very little firewood available around your campsite, and you get to compete with chipmunks and bears for access to your food.

Turn off your A/C for a day. Your body is actually incredibly well designed to deal with heat so that you can function in temperatures above your own body temperature through the miracle of sweat and evaporation. (Please consult your local physician before trying this at home, I don't want to be responsible for heat stroke or dehydration)

Grow a garden, or even a few small vegetable plants. I guarantee you'll notice and appreciate rain more if it means that you get a day off from watering.

Or do something else that reminds you about the bigger picture. I'd be interested to hear suggestions from others as well.

Extreme Makeover Requested (Picture Bible Edition)

2011-03-28T14:23:00.003+03:00

When we were in Yirol we went to Mass in the beautiful new Cathedral there. The crowning glory of this cathedral is that all around the sanctuary are paintings of familiar Bible stories; as I was looking at the paintings I realized that if I would have seen these as a child I am not sure I would have recognized the protagonist.

I had a Picture Bible as a child. I remember one Halloween wanting to dress up like Delilah because, to me, she was the most beautiful of all of the women of the Bible. Big gold dangly earrings, a flowy dress; she was no dowdy Martha or "woman-at-the-well". Delilah, and all of the other characters in my picture bible, looked like people I knew, albeit the boys were wearing what appeared to be dresses. I did however have some understanding that Jesus' fashion sense was timeless, and if any man could pull off wearing a dress it was He.

So growing up I knew I was created in the image of God and I had a pretty good idea in my head of what this image of God looked like.

In Yirol there are children who have never (or very rarely) seen the depictions of Jesus that I grew up seeing. For these children it is very possible that their “go-to” image of Jesus is going to be a tall slender Dinka man. A man who changed the water in the clay pots into wine, who ate the last supper seated around a large drum, and who at his birth was attended to by cattle camp kids – the ones with the yellow hair and the ivory bracelets.

I’m not sure that there are many places in the world where this could happen. I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing that I grew up seeing images of God looking like people I could relate to but I think that such an opportunity should exist for all children ( and it is a problem that those are the only images I saw for a long, long, time). I am reminded of a Christmas story book my family has that has beautiful Nativity scenes depicted in many different cultures. Hey, Picture Bible People – why not make a Picture Bible that shows Jesus in many ways? Let’s open up that can of “God’s Race/God’s Gender/The Way God Looks in Traditional Clothing” with some excellent pictures. It might be just me but that tunic-and-flowing-brown-locks look, while classic, is getting a little well-worn.

P.S. Please someone – comment and tell me that such a picture bible exists! That would be A to the Mazing!

Fun With Homonyms

2011-03-20T21:31:00.001+03:00

Life has a way of keeping you humble. Recently I'd been starting to have thoughts about how I was getting close to a point of comfort with Dinka culture and my general living environment. Then this little situation happened:

There are three of us in a small room, myself, Janet (Dutch) and Simon (Dinka). Janet needs a pen to sign something for Simon. Simon goes to his office next door to get one. I realize that I have a pen with me and offer it to Janet. Simon returns with his pen. Simon, like most Dinka people, is quick to laugh at just about anything. (Side note, I will soon take part in an emcee job at a wedding for our good friends Darren and Christina and I'm honestly concerned that I might not know what is actually funny anymore because pretty much anything I do in Sudan is laugh worthy as long as I say it with a smile on my face) Back to the story, I fasten a grin to my face and announce to Simon that "I beat you." Simon doesn't seem to understand so I repeat. Again I'm not seeing the light come on so I explain in other words. These I can't remember but let's say it was "Simon, I gave Janet a pen before you did." At this point even in Sudan, my attempt at humour has fallen flat and Simon simply heads out the door and back to his office.

I'm not too concerned because these kinds of unclear conversations happen all the time. Then Janet points out to me that I probably should be more careful with the word "beat." Turns out the reason Simon wasn't understanding me was because his only translation of "I beat you" involves violence. A reminder that I still have lots to learn here. I hope that some day Simon and other Dinka will know "beat" as a word to denote order of finish rather than violence.

Here's to You Wet Blanket

2011-03-14T10:49:00.001+03:00

You may recall my homage to wet socks. Life AWS has continued joyfully. During the rainy season we stopped putting wet socks on our water bottles, but in the last few months it has again become a necessity – and again it is fantastic.

Our house has solar power. Enough to keep our computer and phone batteries charged (usually) and to have some lights in our house. Not enough for fancy electronics like toasters or fridges, alarm clocks or irons, or most sadly of all, fans. Not enough power for fans (or air conditioning – but I figure an astute reader such as yourself has already ascertained as much)

In the dry season we practice “no dry bathing” this means coming out of the evening bucket bath without drying yourself at all; Putting on your sleeping clothes sopping wet and getting into bed. You dry off in about 5 minutes but for those 5 minutes you are cool, the sheets become wet and cool you and you can’t really tell if the reason your hair is wet is because of sweat or your bath; turns out psychologically I appreciate laying in water more than my own sweat. Who knew?

Last year we joked (dreamed?) about full body socks. We would wear them and dip them in water and they would cool us like they did to our dear sweet water bottles. This year we have turned a corner – no full body sock (yet) but sleeping is becoming easier thanks to my friend and yours, the Wet Blanket. Well technically it’s a wet oversized hand towel but it serves the same magnificent cooling purpose. How did we not do this last year?! Oh Wet Hand Towel. How I love thee. I love thee on my forehead, on my belly, on my neck. I love thee on my knees, on my forearms. You have saved me from sleepless sweaty slumber. The best part of this new discovery: waking up in the night, sweaty, thirsty, hot, feeling the sheets beneath you radiating heat and thinking your usual semi-lucid litany of self-pity. At the moment somewhere between “the moon is conspiring with the sun, it’s the only way it could be so hot at night” and “if the body is 90 something percent water and I sweat this much I must be close to non-existence… I am literally going to evaporate into nothingness”, you remember! You reach over and find that still damp hand towel. I now know, with absolute certainty, that Handel’s inspiration in penning that Hallelujah Chorus could have been nothing other than this.

Hope is a Thing with Feathers

2011-03-09T13:57:00.002+03:00

Yesterday was the 100^th Anniversary of International Women’s Day.You may be interested to know that according to my Peace Calendar in 1911 more than a million people attended the first International Women’s Day with rallies in Germany and Austria campaigning for women’s right to work, vote and hold office. This was actually on March 19^th, but March 8^th was chosen because in 1913 on the eve of World War One women across Europe held peace rallies.

March 8, 2011 - Luke Watches the Sunrise in Adol

I love celebrating (in fact there is a blog post to this degree brewing in my mind – stay posted), and celebrating women here in Sudan is an especially important task (I am celebrating another great woman, Emily Dickinson, with my title – thanks for the well chosen words)

Last year I had the chance to celebrate on a bridge with hundreds of women, this year I was on a parish visit. Parish visits are one of my favourite parts of this job. We (Joel and Heather – Peace and Justice Coordinators for the Diocese and I) go out into the bush (or to another town) sit around with the priests and sisters, we talk, we tell stories, we laugh. I visit the women’s groups and usually give a little seminar on something or other. I check in with the personnel who oversee the women’s groups. We brainstorm new ideas and where the ever elusive funding could come from, dream, celebrate accomplishments and sympathize over hardships.

On the 7^th I visited Bunagok, a parish that is just starting a women’s group. I facilitated a mini-dreaming-session, asking “what would you imagine a women’s group could be here in Bunagok?” The first answer was the need for space, a need to have a physical location for the women to meet and gather. The second answer was from Veronica, wife of the former commissioner, a woman with some education and quite good English: “We have skills amongst ourselves, things we can teach each other, if we have a space to meet we can encourage each other in these ways”.

I have spoken to many women’s groups in my time here and this is the first time that the women looked inward, recognized their own power and skills. Women in Sudan have a long road to walk; I am here to walk alongside and (maybe?) help some women to see their significance. When I meet a woman like Veronica who sees herself as having value, something to teach, and power in a culture that denies these things I can almost touch the small bird of hope; this tiny mass of feathers. More often than I like to admit I too am complicit in believing it cannot survive, yet somehow it grows.

I want to share a snapshot of one woman’s story. This woman is from the small bush village of Agangrial. Through a partnership I have cultivated with the fantastic donor Mercy Beyond Borders the Women’s Desk has been able to fund some adult education programs in a few parishes. This is Debora Awutcock with two of her children. She is a participant, a student, a teacher; one who nurtures hope.

Debora is blind in one eye. Her husband left her alone with four children after marrying another wife. She has always wanted to go to school but never had enough money. Last year when the literacy program started she was the happiest of all women. She is very punctual and attentive to the teachers. Every day she shows up first and begins preparing the classroom for the other students.

Since beginning classes Debora has begun to care more for herself; her personal hygiene and that of her children. Debora has learned that she is a valuable human being, someone worth much more than many cattle. She used to travel through the village begging but through the classes she has learned how to run a small business of selling small fish house to house.

As a side note, I visited Agangrial not long ago. After a seminar Debora approached me and gifted me with a chicken. I have never been given anything on a parish visit before; let alone something of great value such as a chicken.

I hold this hope; this story of power and growth, of recognizing humanity within ourselves. I hold this hope close to my chest so I can feel its breath.

Nyantoc Talks About the New Country; The Baby Named South Sudan

2011-03-04T09:59:00.003+03:00

“We have been pregnant for a long time. We have been waiting for this child Freedom to be born. When we were pregnant we dreamed of this baby. We dreamed of who this baby would grow up to be. We laboured for a long time, pushing, pushing, and then the baby was born. It is a beautiful big baby. But now if we don’t pay attention to our baby it will die. We need to care for the baby; we need to protect our child. We need to teach our child to love, and not to seek revenge. We need to teach our child to work independently. I see people sitting under a tree not working; our child needs work in order to grow into an adult. Our child doesn’t need revenge or hatred, our child needs forgiveness and compassion”

Nyantoc is a friend of mine and a member of St. Monica’s Women’s group in Rumbek.

An Ode to Stay at Home Parents

2011-02-27T11:55:00.001+03:00

Stay at home parents are undervalued in modern society. I recently finished a book called Affluenza (dealing with the ills that plague our consumption based society, a little too much psycho babble for me). Mostly it was preaching to the choir for me but one interesting section of the book was on parenting.

There was an public service announcement campaign in Ontario a few years ago with the tag line: "the years before 5 last the rest of their lives." From what I can tell this statement has at least some scientific basis. There are strong indications that children who spend their early years under the personal care of their parents tend to be more confident and better prepared for the adventures that life brings.

Not too long ago it was normal for Dad to support the family financially and Mom to stay at home and raise the children/manage the household. One of the points that the book argues is that the gains that women have made toward equal treatment has had the unfortunate negative effect of elevating the status of paid employment at the expense of the unpaid work of a stay at home spouse. When the question is asked "What do you do for a living?" what is more impressive, "I work as a corporate lawyer" or "I'm a stay at home parent?" Even the question itself insinuates that you must be doing something for which you will be remunerated in cold hard cash. Or another common phrase "I'm going to sacrifice my career for my children." What you don't hear so often is "I'm going to sacrifice my children for my career".

Yet I wonder what is really more important, 5 years of corporate lawyership, or 5 years of caring for your child. If the world had a few less hours of lawyering would we really be worse off? Of course lawyers are an easy target, so insert the accountant who finds you a way to save on your tax return, the construction worker who remodels your home because you were bored with the old look, the person who runs a pet shop where you can buy 50 different types of dog food, and I think the answer is still the same. We can survive as a population without many of the paid working positions that currently exist, but I think we run the danger of wiping ourselves out if we let generations of kids spend their formative years in overcrowded daycares and in front of the TV.

Side note: The book recommended that for those who can't be happy staying at home a one on one nanny was a reasonable option, and I know some daycares are certainly doing their best to provide excellent care, however the problem is that a daycare just can't provide care in the same way that a mother or father can. Also, I should make it clear that from what I can tell, the gender of this stay at home parent is not important, and I should acknowledge that the reasons for a shift from single to dual income families are much more complex than simply women wanting to claim their right to choose outside the home employment. Many families are financially unable to survive on one income, or even two, but that is a discussion for another day.

Now that I've covered those complexities back to the main topic: As my friends start to have children, I'm going to make every attempt not to down play the importance of their work if they choose stay at home parent as their current employment status. And as I look back to my first 5 years of life, I have to thank both of my parents for finding a way to survive on one income and providing a great foundation for my life.

Crazy Dreams Are Fun

2011-02-20T17:45:00.001+03:00

Though we are not physically present in the lives of our friends and family back in Canada, it's nice to hear that every so often we make an appearance in your subconscious. This is an email I recently received from my sister. If you're feeling creative I'd love to hear some interpretations on this one.

Last night I dreamt that you guys had twins. Luke birthed the babies and there was a boy and a girl. You named the boy Garfield and the girl 22nd Highway. You agreed 22nd highway was a unique name, but a bit long, so you would call her 20 for short, obviously. The babies were born looking like 1 year olds, so the next morning I took one to work to show it off. It was my first day at a new job, so I rode the ski lift to work over the cobblestone streets. I dropped my keys while on the lift because I didn't want to drop the baby.

Throw Away Culture

2011-02-16T19:53:00.002+03:00

When we were in Cairo MJ took us for a tour of “garbage city”. Thousands of people live and make their living in garbage city; it’s a place where the city’s garbage is sent, subsequently sorted, and eventually recycled and sold. MJ told us that over 80% of Cairo’s garbage is recycled in this way. Seems like a great plan to me: reduce waste and produce income.

Here in Rumbek there is no “garbage city”, there are plastic bags and bottles littered all over. While garbage is, and will continue to be, a problem here (especially for my western aesthetic) I am constantly faced with the insipidness of my throw-away culture when I notice that many people here automatically reuse and re-create what I see as waste.

Tires are re-crafted into sandals, the name in Dinka for these sandals roughly translates as “you’ll die before they do”, children re-craft USAID oil tins into cars to play with or “piggy banks”, old broken jerry cans are turned into sled-like devices in which a little child sits while a bigger and kindly indulgent child pulls them joyfully around. When our car tire was punctured a kid fixed it, easy peasy lemon squeezy (to quote my former elementary school teacher self). Woven plastic bags are re-created into bowls and baskets. Joel has a pair of plastic sandals that recently broke and so rightfully assuming that someone would be in the business of fixing cheap plastic sandals, he forayed into the market and had them stitched together for about two dollars…good as new (probably better than new).

Every time I come across something like this, like the idea of fixing a cheap plastic sandal instead of tossing it, I am faced with the reality that in my culture stuff is so disposable, so replaceable, that I will buy things that I know will not last, and when they don’t I am unconcerned.

Garbage in Rumbek is piled up and eventually burned. That which we do not use sits on roadsides and in corners of compounds until it is converted into toxic fumes; we breathe it in, we watch the flames. While Rumbek is not exactly leading the way in environmental sustainability, there is much I continue to learn. I know that this wrapper I am throwing out will go into the garbage heap on our compound. I can go to this garbage heap and look at all the garbage my lifestyle is accumulating; there is something freeing about stepping outside the western world of sanitized waste. What I do not reuse or recreate is thrown out. I can see that, and I have to acknowledge it.

I have been sitting here trying to figure out how to close this blog, but I am going to admit defeat, and probably blame it on the fact that it is breaking 40 Celsius, so please insert your own snappy/insightful/clever ending here. Over and Out.

The Day We Were Almost Very Important and Almost Heard a Very Important Announcement

2011-02-08T14:24:00.002+03:00

Yesterday the results of the referendum were released! Heather, Joel, Jano and I decided to join our friend Father John Mathiang at the celebratory announcement in Freedom Square in Rumbek. The result were supposed to be announced at nine am, Father John suggested we arrive around eleven. We arrived and approached the big podium/stage thing to the blaring bass of hip hop music. Every now and then there was a lull in music from the massive speakers and you could hear the songs of the three different women’s groups who were dancing and singing. As should be expected (but wasn’t by me) us four khawajas were quickly escorted to the front of the festivities. We were given chairs and told to sit down in the blessed shade in front of some very important looking men. We tried to say no, but at a certain point saying no and walking away is considered ruder than our late arrival and subsequent front row seat-age. Everyone was in jovial spirits, even the important looking men and the riot police, so we relaxed. Heather and Jano pulled out their cameras and we anticipated being a part of this historic day (photos are forthcoming).

A man came to the podium. He said something that, to me, seemed like “when I say hey, you say ho… hey” “ho” “hey” “ho”… but was more likely “today we are announcing referendum results”[loud and raucous cheering] “I said, today we are announcing referendum results” [loud and raucous cheering]…or something like that. He then proceeded to tell us all – first in Dinka, then in English that the announcement of results is postponed until seven that evening (“I said….today we are announcing referendum results but not until seven tonight” [less cheering]). The hip hop music started again – with a live singer this time – and we left our important seats.

So we were almost very important and we almost heard a very important announcement. At seven last night, while Freedom Square was again full of people eager to celebrate, we were sitting around a supper table, wishing each other “happy new country” (or at least happy new country announcement - the actual day of independence will be July 9th). I asked Father John what he thought would be different a year from now. Father John, the youngest Dinka priest in the diocese, looked at me and replied “well one thing is certain, this time next year it will be 2012”. Full stop. I didn’t push him beyond that, we laughed and wished each other (for the hundredth time) “happy new country”.

Something Old and Something New

2011-02-05T13:42:00.002+03:00

…some things lost but new stuff too.

Lost: At our MCC orientation in Akron we closed our time with an opportunity for staff and fellow service workers to tie pieces of string to the wrists of those heading away to various locations. This was a blessing and a reminder of the support we have back home. I had a bunch on each wrist. Probably 12 or so in all. They were dark brown in colour. As time passed they absorbed sweat, oil and whatever else seeps out of my skin. The moisture also attracted dust, dirt, ash, salt and whatever else was floating around in the environment, so that they welded themselves together into two masses. Colouring also changed: from dark brown gradually they faded until they had adopted the tone of the surrounding flesh. Then they started to fray. Right wrist first, one by one, they would peel off. For the last week I've been down to one strand and this morning I awoke to find nothing. Somewhere in my nocturnal thrashing around, seeking the ever elusive cooler position, I had torn the final one. So goodbye decorative reminders of support. I'm thankful that you were not my only reminder.

Lost: My attention grabbing bisphenol A filled bright yellow Nalgene. This was the only down side to my first class trip (see previous blog) and I didn't want to mention it in that blog since it's a bit of a downer. I fully expected our first class flight attendants to shower us with a variety of drinks throughout our flight, so I left my water bottle to the care of my dear wife back in Economy. Unfortunately, in a fit of subconscious jealousy, she neglected to check her front seat pocket as she exited. I hold no grudge. The bottle served me well. I believe it was gifted to me by my sister, along with a smiley face sipper accessory 6 years ago when we went for our backpacking trip around Europe, and an excellent travelling companion it has been. I still maintain that its long history meant the cancer causing substances were fully leached so that it was causing no further harm to my body. Camping trips won't be quite the same without it.

New: Free T-shirts! In my youth I found that for the most part I could survive without purchasing t-shirts as part of a clothes shopping trip due to the steady stream of "free" t-shirts arriving from two main sources: sporting events and church events. Favourite sporting event source: Roadbreakers Road Hockey Tournament. Some readers will know it well. Others may not know that "road hockey" is ice hockey played on pavement with a tennis or similar sized ball. It was the biggest tournament in Kitchener-Waterloo and our crowning achievement was a consolation championship one year. No matter how we did, we could count on the free t-shirt which was part of the entry fee. Worst sporting event source: Port Perry hockey tournament. If everybody received one no problem, but this was a prize for winning the tournament. Note to any minor hockey tournament organizers. Kids want a trophy (bigger is generally better) or at least a nice medal. Moving on to church events, youth conferences could generally be counted on to provide multiple different shirts. Favourite source: the shirts at Nashville conference that were shrink wrapped into tiny little car shapes. Close second was the retro shirt we got as counselors at Hidden Acres one year. Worst source: those same shrink wrapped shirts. Due to our conniving and the fact that the shirts were too big for the females in our group I ended up with 3 or 4 and they really weren't very nice looking shirts so they mostly took up space in my drawer.

Fast forward to Sudan and the free t-shirt lives! I think this has been mentioned before but you may not understand the scale of this endeavour. We've been collecting and I have big plans for wearing Sudanese referendum t-shirts to the Kitchener Market on Saturday mornings. Here is the collection as it currently stands:

PS: As I reviewed my wardrobe, I noted that in addition to t-shirts received here I also have, a Run For Relief shirt that Mark and Allison so graciously provided so that our rainbow collection would remain up to date, an Argos shirt that came as a throw in on a ticket deal to an Argos game, a Blue Jays shirt that came in exchange for my vital information (accuracy of information provided unclear) on a credit card sign up sheet at a Jays game, and a running shirt that came out of a cereal box and was gifted to me by my sister (such a generous soul). Maybe the free t-shirt has always been alive and well and I just didn't notice.

Five in Three Days and then Silence

2011-01-27T12:45:00.006+03:00

When we were in Nairobi I saw my very first 3D movie. It was superb! Cars were flying at me, explosions were enveloping me, and I got to wear super cool glasses. We saw the animated move “Megamind”. In this movie there is a good guy and a bad guy both endowed with superpowers. They have this life-long rivalry when (SPOILER ALERT) the good guy dies and the bad guy wins. Now at first the bad guy is surprised, then cautiously optimistic, then super excited. As life continues, however, the bad guy realizes that life is no fun and kind of boring without his arch nemesis popping up around every corner.

Depending on whose perspective you take when observing our life-long (for some) rivalry with the mice of our house, we are either the good guys or the bad guys. We have definitely had the more sophisticated methods of destruction, although I would argue their “leave nothing un-pooped on” mentality has been an excellent physical and psychological attack tactic. When we returned home after our lovely time in Kenya and Egypt the Mice had solidly staked their claim in our kitchen, bedroom, bathing room, and spare room. They ate through an old bag of flour (don’t tell the folks who came over for pancakes last night), they nibbled through a plastic container of Blue Band (a nasty alternative to margarine) in order to allow their allies, the Ants, to thoroughly overtake the edible oil product. The Mice ate most of my barley and left the husks all over the kitchen. In their usual fashion they defecated on every available surface with special emphasis on cutlery, plates, and cups. To add insult to injury they tore apart a few tea bags and started building a nest on my tea tray.

With these images in your mind please play through a fastforwarded movie montage of Angry Kaitlyn cleaning and bleaching, gagging and cleaning and bleaching, shaking her fist at the air and cursing all things Mouse. After this montage has finished the camera should then pan across the room and rest on the backpack which sits waiting to be unpacked. Irate Kaitlyn tears through the backpack while the opening riffs of Thunderstruck by ACDC begin quietly in the background. She pulls out of the backpack two, no four, no six mousetraps; mousetraps that travelled from Canada to Egypt to Kenya to Sudan waiting for this exact moment. The music should now be reaching its crescendo as mousetraps are set up all over the house. You’ve been Thunderstruck! (of course nothing at this point has actually been thunder or otherwise struck but I think the scene of placing the mousetraps and jubilantly fist pumping at the anticipated victory deserves the song).

In the next three days five mice are caught by the traps and subsequently eaten by the cat, which may now officially be the laziest cat in Sudan (dead mouse? sounds good to me! Less work! Yumyumyum) and then… silence.

Nothing.

No visible mouse droppings. No peripheral mouse sightings. Nothing.

So at first we’re surprised, now we’re starting to feel cautious optimism. I can’t quite believe that only five mice were wreaking that much havoc on our house, and I can’t quite believe they’re gone. We’re edging on the super excited; the elation that Megamind first felt when he realized he won. At this point I don’t think I will miss our nemeses, but I don’t think Megamind thought he would miss his either. I suppose only time will tell, but if this is truly the end, I would like to say farewell to our furry foes. I hope someday we meet again outside, in passing, and far, far away from my kitchen. I hope you are frolicking in long grass and chasing butterflies; the memory of an epic interspecies rivalry generations forgotten.

Travelling In Style

2011-01-23T15:27:00.005+03:00

I have flown quite a bit in my life time, but never in first class. So you can imagine the excitement that coursed through my body when I arrived at Luxor airport and heard the news that I had been upgraded along with another two of my travelling companions (unfortunately not including Kaitlyn). Actually what was coursing through my body was a number of painkillers dancing along beside some nasty little bugs that had left me in bed for most of the day, but that is beside the point.

Immediately my mind jumped to visions of a luxury business class lounge where I could relax and take in the brushed metal fixtures and bar, pot lights, a variety of international newspapers, editions of The Economist magazine, and of course delicious drinks, pastries, caviar…you get the picture. The excitement grew when we heard that one complimentary drink was included in the upgrade.

After heading through the baggage check area we peered into the distance hoping to spot paradise. A couple of doors showed some promise but the closest we got was a prayer room, ( a potential route to paradise I suppose) but not what we were looking for. Instead we made our way to common area, equally accessible for all ticket holders, that is best compared to a mall food court. Still with the promise of complimentary drinks on our minds we wandered around in search of a delicious frappe, latte or something of the sort, before confirming that our complimentary drink would be a pop/soda or water. I rarely drink pop so I was generous enough to donate mine to the three common folk who were tagging along with our party.

Please note our varied attempts at being "business class" classy

After some time enjoying a football match on the TV, we made our way across the room to the gate. Surely here I'd start to reap the benefits of my upgraded ticket. Nope. After a few more minutes of waiting there was a general call for boarding and the stampede to the exit door started with urgency as it always does. As a person of class I decided to remain seated until the commoners had moved through the gate while imagining my seat which would lie flat, and hold a waiting glass of champagne and a menu full of more delicious food to be ordered as I pleased.

Nope. We boarded the plane, and I located my seat near the front while determining that it was exactly the same as every other seat on the plane. Not even an aisle seat for me. However, We did enjoy the pulling of the curtain which separated us from economy class…. Actually I've never quite understood that move. Is it so that the economy class passengers don't get jealous of all the extra service? Or so that the business class passengers have privacy? Maybe it is a general concern from business class about catching economy class diseases.
After all of these disappointments I was beginning to think that my upgrade was more of a lateral move, but then came the good news. In business class not only was I getting a juicebox like everybody else, but I was also receiving a mediocre piece of cake. This of course was documented so that we could show our economy class friends.

The First Class Fare

The Commoners Course

After this the benefits kept coming. When exiting the plane we boarded a shuttle to take us to the terminal. Much to our surprise the shuttle took off with only the business class passengers aboard. We could afford to turn around and move side to side. I even briefly considered turning the hand hold straps hanging overhead into my own personal playground. To be honest we laughed at how ridiculous the whole thing was as we were pulling away, and at least one other family had the same reaction; clearly also upgraded when they arrived at the airport.

We arrived in the terminal first and got to choose the prime seats, from among a selection that could hold most of the passengers on the plane, while waiting for our priority tagged luggage to come down the carousel at the front of the line. I would guess this saved us at least four minutes on our departure time as we headed from Sharm El-Sheikh to Dahab. I hope nobody actually paid extra for that experience.

Now We Wait

2011-01-18T10:11:00.003+03:00

The voting is finished and preliminary results are starting to trickle in:

97% of South Sudanese in Egypt voted for separation

98% of South Sudanese in Kenya
voted for separation

96% of South Sudanese in Juba
voted for separation

Tomorrow I head back to Rumbek. I am looking forward to getting back into work and seeing friends and collegues. It would be lying to say I am not a little nervous about the future of the South. We are hearing stories of food and fuel shortages in Rumbek. The Sudanese pound is losing value and American dollars are scarce.

There is a lot we don't know. There is a lot we hope for. I am a person who likes to make plans, and to make contingency plans for my plans. This time of unknowing has been hard for me, but I'm sure in some way it's been a good learning experience as well. Plans and plans and contingency plans are not always possible no matter how much we wish they were.

That being said, when I see something concrete (or Semi-concrete, or Sudan-version-concrete) I cling to it.
So for my fellow planners out there here is a timeline of referendum announcements from the Southern Sudan Referendum Commission:

15-17 Jan - Announcement of results at referendum centres
20 Jan - Announcement of Counties results
20 Jan - Announcemnt of results of Referendum Centre Committees in Northern Sudan
23 Jan - Announcement of States results
23 Jan - Announcement of Countries results
26 Jan - Announcement of Other Locations by SSRC
30 Jan - Announcement of Southern Sudan Results
2 Feb - Preliminary Result for Referendum declared by the Commission
5 Feb - Last day for submission of appeals
7 Feb - Final Results (if no appeals)
12 Feb - Last day for disposal of appeals
14 Feb - Happy Valentines Day! And Final Referendum Results.
9 Jul - Official day that the South could become it's own country (with a new name, flag, anthem, and in best case scenarios some demarcated borders and oil revenue plans)

This Coffee Shop Has Super Fast Internet

2011-01-14T18:45:00.000+03:00

So even though I have posted twice in the past two days I will post again now...

Videos from Rumbek!

Don't feel obligated to watch all of them (yes, I really posted nine videos), or any of them, but this is the fastest internet ever and so use excessive bandwidth I will.

Video 1: What To Do For Fun in Rumbek

Video 2: Deborah Teaches Luke to Snap

Video 3: Panorama in a Rumbek Cattle Camp

Video 4: The Cat Jumps Through the Door

Video 5: Dancing at the Loreto Girls School

Video 6: Jano Speaks Canadian

Video 7: Accidental Video of Kaitlyn Doing a Workshop

Video 8: The First Rain After Installing our Eavestrough

Video 9: St. Monica's Women Singing on the Road to International Women's Day

(This is driving on the main street of Rumbek during the dry season)

Hope you liked that little moving window into our lives!

The End

Kaitlyn and Luke in Egypt

2011-01-14T12:54:00.001+03:00

This past year-and-a-bit Luke and I have had opportunities to travel around way more than we expected when we signed up for this three year volunteer experience. It's been exciting and illuminating; we've hiked, swam, danced, and eaten all over East Africa and last week we got to add another destination (and another 300+ photos) to our list of amazing opportunities.

I have added a photo album of our excellent Egyptian experience on the side bar or you can click here

Here's a camel...

and here is a completely unrelated photo of me - this is an outfit I had made while I was in Egypt and received when we got back to Nairobi...I just felt like showing it off because I think it's pretty. It's my first foray into clothing design. I drew the picture and then the incredibly talented Ruth made the shirt/skirt combo from my drawing design (to be honest to calling a design is generous as it might be more aptly named a stick figure drawing... but we all have to start somewhere)

BBC Africa Writes and Illustrates My Blog

2011-01-13T09:13:00.001+03:00

Thanks BBC Africa for doing such a bang-up job covering the referendum.

There is a lot of info out there about the referendum, so I thought I would share some of the maps and words my good friend the BBC has compiled.

Map: Geography (to find Rumbek please place your finger to the west side of Juba, then rotate said finger northwards. We are about two finger widths away)

Currently we have a BBC correspondent in Rumbek... here's what he says:

Turnout has been high in Rumbek, the thatch-hut capital of Lakes state.

Some of those turned away because of long queues on the first day returned the next carrying plastic seats, determined to cast their ballots.

Support for separation is overwhelming - during the civil war this dusty town was the southern rebels' capital.

But it is also the heart of cattle-herding county, and many herders have moved long distances with their cattle in search of fresh grazing and water since they registered in November.

Now they are moving back to the same centre to vote. One man had cycled for two days to vote on Monday. Some of those travelling from the cattle camps had arranged for relatives to look after their cattle before rushing back and swapping so that others could travel to vote.

Map: Ethnic Groups (your finger measuring should have you in the Dinka area)

Map: Infant Mortality

Map: Water and Sanitation

Map: Education

Map: Food Insecurity

Map: Oil Fields

For all you news hungry people out there you can find even more information here.

Resource Blessing?

2011-01-09T17:47:00.003+03:00

One of the many theories floating around in the area of development economics is that of the Resource Curse. In summary, the theory suggests that the presence of substantial natural resources within a developing country can actually have a negative effect on overall growth due to such varying reasons such as increased corruption, lack of economic diversification and increased levels of conflict.

As the Southern Sudanese begin voting today in the much anticipated referendum on secession (check here for current summary of that event from our MCC co-workers Heather Peters and Joel Kroeker) it is clear that resources have played a key role in the historical conflict. Oil revenues account for 98 percent of the Southern Sudanese budget and 45 percent of the budget for Sudan as a whole. The current Comprehensive Peace Agreement dictates a 50-50 sharing of oil revenue between the two governments for all oil originating in the South. The North receives 100 percent of the revenues from oil sourced within its borders. Current estimates of oil reserves put somewhere between 60 and 75 percent of the remaining oil within southern territory and a fully independent South could conceivably expect to receive 100 percent of the revenue from the remaining oil.

With all of these numbers floating around, it isn't difficult to see that how to divide the oil becomes one of the central issues to be resolved in order to bring peace to the region. While the rest of Southern Sudan votes this week on independence, the border region of Abyei with many of the currently operating oilfields will not be voting despite an agreement that they would also get a referendum on whether to remain with the North or join an independent South. Should Sudan return to violence, this region is the most likely flashpoint.he

There is a new twist on this story though when we examine the current oil infrastructure in Sudan. This is because while much of the oil is in the South, the pipeline and refinery run all the way through the northern region exiting at the Red Sea. Any return to open conflict is likely to reduce or stop the flow of oil out of Sudan and the flow of money into Sudan with devastating consequences for the South and a huge impact on the North as well. Financial considerations tend to be a major deciding factor in our current global economy. A diverse range of international energy companies including representation from China, India, the UK, France and others are also heavily invested and would lose in a return to conflict. Could it be that the presence of oil will actually be a force for peace? For a more detailed article click here.

Please note we've been travelling through Egypt with limited internet access. Blog topics have been piling up. Stay tuned for Luke Flies First Class, Ode to Parents, General Egypt Highlights/Pictures and much additional riveting subject matter.

Merry Christmas!

2010-12-24T10:21:00.004+03:00

Our second Christmas in Africa is in Nairobi hosted by Mennonite Guest House. Yesterday we got together with some EMMers and MCCers here in Nairobi for a christmas/birthday party.

The stealy-gift game was played and enjoyed. Homemade pretzels were created and eaten (including one I worked hard on, "sweet baby Jesus" a cinnamon sugar pretzel), and then, randomly, feats of physical strength and gymnastics were undertaken. There were headstands and broom tricks and many assorted flips. Luke and I learned a new one (fingers crossed this video upload works! come on nairobi-internet, give us a Christmas miracle).

Today (for me) began with sunrise Christmas Eve yoga on the grass in my barefeet, and will be a relaxing day with Scrabble, singing of carols with the MCCers who are here, and talking on the phone to loved ones at home. Tomorrow we're heading off to church and then relaxing for the day.

In this second Christmas overseas I am able to enjoy the slow place; the time for reflection and rest. The hubbub I associate with Christmases in Canada is not entirely absent (see juggling santa's at a shopping mall),yet I find myself enjoying the calm. We have one more Christmas in Africa after this one, and while I look forward to the day when I am with my family and the joyful chaos that ensues around this season (special shout out to playing family games, eating hors d'oeuvres, making apple fritters, and general Nafziger sister shinanagins) for now I will rest in the calm and the reflect on a peace that passes understanding, and a God born to us. My mom has been sending advent poems and I am going to share the most recent one here. We are grateful in this season for our friends and family both near and far, and for God whose love is embodied in humanity.

The Sun Never Says

Even

after

all this time

the sun never says to the earth,

"You owe

me."

Look

what happens

with a love like that,

it lights the

whole

sky.

Hafez

MCC/EMM East Africa Retreat In Photos

2010-12-20T16:46:00.003+03:00

together again.

Shadrack loving the doughnuts

and more loving the doughnuts

the quilt room

budding musicians

family games- our winning team!

The crater at top of Mt. Longonot. The view after a gorgeous and steep hike.

Luke is political in his referendum shirt (and his toque from Ethiopia)

back at the retreat centre I revel in the veggies

swahili carvings

Talent Show!

Chris reading his inspired poem "Computer Lab Chicken" (he has promised the text will come to a blog near you soon. unfortunately you will miss the dramatically fantastic reading of said poem)

The MCC bring-cool-stuff-from-your-country-and-sell-it-fair. I brought Lulu Lotion made by St. Monica's and it sold like teaballs at the NHMRS

Tanzanian Country Rep Maggie and crafts

with treasures

enough BBQ sauce to swim in (In Honour of Jano)

Heather-the-Fractured. Ever-the-Trooper.

Luke, Simon and Joel

Team Sudan.

Not Pictured: games, games, games (including a very serious Rook tourney), great conversation, my first communion since coming overseas, a fantastically beautiful and moving four part hymn and carol sing, rest, soul-nourishment, teaching Sudanese and Kenyan people to play Dutch Blitz and the joy of feeling cold.

His Lordship

2010-12-17T18:02:00.002+03:00

Back in Canada I attended a pretty laid back church, Hawkesville Mennonite. The current pastor refers to his occupation as "somewhat irreverend minister of religion and social construct." So one thing that has been interesting for me is seeing the difference between my church in Canada and the more formal churches here in Sudan. Both of the large denominations in southern Sudan (Catholic and Anglican) follow a much more "high church" format with a lot of liturgical reading and a highly standardized worship service.

A recent "enthronement" service got me wondering a bit about the wisdom of all this formality. How did we get from the original Jesus walking around in sandals, to the extravagant outfits that church leaders wear to any important service here in Sudan? Is it really necessary for me to address a leader as "His Lordship" in order to convey my respect for a position? What are the advantages of this type of service that I will miss when I return to Hawkesville?

I have no theological training so maybe I'll leave it at that and invite those who know what they're talking about to comment if they wish.

Pancake Parlance

2010-12-07T10:35:00.008+03:00

Pancakes have become a prominent part of our diet here in Rumbek, and without the amazingly delicious local maple syrup of our youth we have made many a topping to go on our varied pancakes (as Luke previously mentioned - #9 on this list). Since pancakes have become so important to us I decided to post some pictures and comments of some of our pancakey good times. Read on, get hungry - then go make yourself some pancakes!

First up we have sourghdough pancakes. The sourdough starter originated from a little packet that was sent from my sister in Alaska to us here in Sudan (via the kind people who collect our mail in Kenya). We have been growing and nurturing this sourdough for the past 3ish months, and eating sourdough pancakes about 3 times a week... the lack of refrigerator requires we eat and refill our sourdough more often than sometimes desired. We regularly top these pancakes with non-certified organic peanut butter (ground nut paste called "mukwanga" that is a staple to many meals around here) and locally harvested wild honey (doesn't that sound better than me saying "we put peanut butter and honey on them"). On this day they were topped with a yummy homemade chocolate sauce. Chocolate mornings are some of the best mornings.

Topping: Pineapple and Hibiscus sauce

Then we made savory pancakes. Instead of cinnamon in the batter we put sage, rosemary and thyme. We made this creamy herbed tomato sauce to put on top. It was an experiment and I have to say it was quite yummy!

These wonderful valentines pancakes were filled with coconutty goodness (a culinary delight from Extending the Table)

Topping: apple compote with caramelized bananas. I had to link to a page that explains compote because when I say to Luke "I want to make an apple compote" he says "oh, yum, apple compost!" I have this thing where I like to talk about the food I am making as if it were in a food magazine; it makes it more delicious and it's a fun game. Luke likes to mock my game. But please compare: one - apple compote with caramelized banana and two - mashed cooked apple saucey-stuff with cooked bananas on top. The former is much more awesome. Indeed I would probably say it is much more awesomer. That's right, it's so much more awesomer the rules of grammar flee.

Potato pancakes with a spicy peanut sauce (rumbek market top-up chili sauce mixed with peanut butter - so much more delicious than it sounds)

Whole wheat buttermilk pancakes (thanks More With Less) with homemade yogurt (turned out a little runny - but we're learning), honey and bananas on top.

The End.

Go Forth and Pancake.

A Musical Ride

2010-11-30T14:48:00.003+03:00

Sorry, no Mountie references herein. But if the musical ride makes you think of dapper red-clad men on horseback then you are more than welcome to hold that lovely image in your brain while you continue reading.

Our car was in a tiny little accident over three months ago requiring a few new parts. These new parts have been ordered incorrectly four, count em, FOUR times (this in itself is a blog post waiting to happen...the reason it has not yet happened is that on this web-log I generally try my best to appear as a moderately well-adjusted person; not a crazy, angry, bitter person. Thus the aforementioned post must wait).

Since our car has been out of commission I have been cycling to work. The 10ish kilometer round-trip is on a sometimes sand, sometimes mud path/road. Every day the children run and scream and greet me. Some days I find them adorable, more often I am in a zone, it is hot, and I do not feel like being the centre of attention. Usually I ache for the days when I could just cycle around and not have my skin colour screeched out to me every 5 meters (I recognize this is probably penance for the fact that most of my life I never considered my skin colour – that in itself an enormous privilege). Apart from the children there are the men...there seems to be no social problem with howling at women, snapping, clapping, or yelling. Sometimes biking to work feels like 5 kilometers on display in front of a never ending stereotypical (foreign language) construction site.

Enter iPod.

Before we left for Sudan people were really generous towards us, one of the many lovely gifts we were given was a refurbished adorable little iPod. I've never owned one before (okay that's not quite true, in university I signed up for a bank account at TD so I could get a free iPod shuffle - but it met an early end which I figure is technology karma because I neither wanted nor used said TD bank account). I have intentionally been one of those people who do not wear headphones on a bus or train. I feel like sticking headphones in our ears and giving ourselves personal soundtracks just adds to our overly individualistic society; further separating ourselves from real life, and disconnecting us from the potential friends sitting shoulder to shoulder to us (yep, still an extrovert). It’s like sitting on a tiny plane and not giving a smile to the person whose side-bum-cheek you are touching with your very own side-bum-cheek. You’ve gotten that intimate, you might as well nod – otherwise you are frozen in this trance of willing yourself not to move so that they don’t notice that your side-bum-cheeks are in fact touching. Then when the inevitable flinch happens you feel awkward and sort of like you somehow violated your neighbour, or they you, and this debilitating shame spiral begins rendering you unable to move for the rest of the flight (except when the flinch happens again and the spiral quickens and continues) Then, when you finally land you are unable to look your neighbour in the eye but end up making awkward smile-small-talk (minus eye contact) while trying to squish past each other on the way out; much more awkward smile-small-talk (minus eye contact) than would have been endured if the original nod would have occurred. Or maybe that’s just me.

Tangent aside I think I can say with confidence that this soundtrack of my commute has unequivocally saved my sanity.

Insert contented sigh here.

Now I have music playing and I see the children but I can only - just barely - hear their yelling. Now they are beautiful, their waving harmless. Now I practice my subway stare while zooming past the foreign language construction site pretending that I can’t see or hear their ogling and focusing on the lyrics of whatever music may have shuffled up.

Yesterday morning the deck was especially shuffled. I thought it was a funny mix and one thing led to another and this very posting was born. Dear Music-Snobbery friends: I hope this shuffled mix doesn’t make you think I am less of a person. Personally, I thought it was maybe the most awesome mix EVER.

Set the scene: It was a Monday morning which is “the first pancake” of days of the week (you know the one that never turns out quite right and you usually want to just toss but you still eat because you feel bad about throwing out food), and a somewhat overcast day (hooray!). The children and leering men were out in extra force and the road/path was dusty and sandy – somewhat like biking on a beach… and then, this glorious set of songs accompanied me on my way to work.

Paul Simon – Graceland

In my books nothing from this album could ever be wrong, and it reminds me of the three day road trip we did on the South Island in New Zealand with this as our only cd.

DC Talk - I Luv Rap Music

Blast from the past! And too funny that these guys were once considered “hardcore” (at least by me… I remember going to this DC Talk and Michael W Smith concert at the Skydome when I was a wee pup and only wanting to hear M.W. Smith because these DC Talk boys were too rock and roll for my style…later of course I was down with the DC Talk, d-d-down with the DC Talk)

Caedmon's Call - All I Need

A song that gets me thinking, especially in this context. Plus it brings me joy as it reminds me of my dear friends Cara and Adrian, because Adrian used to always play Caedmon’s Call on his guitar when we lived in Peterborough.

Feist – Mushaboom

Joy-filled. I can’t help but bop to this fantastic lollypop of a song.

Ben Harper – Everything

This is the part of the commute when I was loving everyone. I even made eye contact and smiled at some of the leerers.

Christina Aguilera – Fighter

I’ll say it… I pretty much love all things Christina Aguilera. The voice! On such a tiny person! Incredible! And always so catchy…makes you want to dance…even on a bike.

And then I arrived at work. Ready to greet the women at the women’s group outside my office, ready to practice my Dinka, then head to the office for some lovely Monday morning working. Thank you iPod for that lovely Musical Ride.

Water

2010-11-28T10:53:00.006+03:00

The borehole on our compound is broken. We have to drive our pickup to a hotel and fill two 200 litre tanks with water almost daily to keep up with demand (household and garden) on our compound. To think that we can go through 400 litres a day with only 4 people living on our compound seems a bit incredible. I was discussing this with my Sudanese co-worker James who commented that standard Sudanese expectation on water consumption is one jerry can (20 litres) per person per day.

At the time that didn't strike me as strange, but later on I realized the relevance. James knows how much water he is using per day. That got me thinking about how much we are using. We have a 100L barrel in our house. During the week our housekeeper is around and fills periodically, but we have a good 48 hour span over the weekend when we can get more accurate data. The barrel is always filled to the brim when Deborah leaves on Friday afternoon. By the time she returns on Monday morning it's usually pretty low but we don't run out. That means we're actually sticking to the 20 litres per person per day as well. OK, we don't do many dishes on the weekend, and rarely do any laundry so we're cheating a bit but probably over a full week we're at 25-30 litres per person for all our household needs (drinking, cooking, bathing, handwashing). In addition to that, any water not entering our body is used a second time to water various plants around our house. I've even read articles about how urine is an excellent fertilizer so we may soon be re-using 100 percent of our water.
You can probably guess where this is going because the next step for my curious mind was "How much water was I using when I was in Canada?" The most interesting thing for me is that I couldn't estimate with any kind of accuracy. Maybe some of you have a better idea. Most of you are probably waiting for the answer. For this I turned to the ever faithful internet to get some stats. According to Environment Canada, Canadians use, on average, about twice as much water as Europeans and pay half as much for it. Per capita household use was 343 litres/day in 1999 second only to the US at 382 litres/day. (Sorry about the old data, the internet is faithful but really slow and/or expensive so we take what we can get) One source suggested that for basic sanitation, food preparation and bathing needs a person requires a minimum of 50 litres per day and preferably 60-80. So, what to think of these numbers?

A few things come to mind. First, I seem to be surviving here and meeting my basic needs at about 30 litres per day. What basic needs am I missing out on that would be provided by the other 20-50 litres that are recommended? I've been here for a year now and seem to be surviving. I hope this continues. Second, if I were to move back to Canada today I might try to change some water usage patterns but I can guarantee I wouldn't be able to resist the urge to have a long, hot shower once in awhile. Maybe, as with the Europeans, we need to pay a little bit more for our water. Third, the reason that I wouldn't be able to resist the urge to have a long, hot shower, is that the water is just sitting there waiting to flow at the turn of a tap. As with many other things, we have become so detached from the reality of what inputs are required to maintain our lifestyle that we can continue to use excessive amounts of ____ (insert resource here) without a second thought. A ten minute shower uses about 80 litres of water (regular flow shower head, you can use your faster internet to find out some low flow shower head data). If my wife (men are not to be involved in water fetching duty here) had to walk for 15 minutes to the nearest borehole, stand in line for 15 minutes, then walk 15 minutes back with a 20 kgs of water on her head, and do that 4 times in order for me to have my shower, I can guarantee you I'd either cut back or lose my wife. Sure we've found ways as a society to provide water more efficiently, so the comparison might not be totally fair, but the point remains the same. Finally, sometimes visuals are more effective. This is our 100L water barrel. If I was back in Canada I'd be using almost 4 of these per day, 11 or 12 times what I am using here.

P.S. We’ve been asked by our good friend Darren Kropf to contribute to the blog that he runs as part of his Creation Care position with MCC Ontario. This entry might eventually make it to his blog as well. Check out all of the good stuff he’s posted at creationcarecrossroads.blogspot.com

Of Mice and Men (Part 2)

2010-11-21T10:56:00.001+03:00

Yesterday Luke and I were talking and realized we both had things we wanted to blog this weekend, Luke's topic: mice, and mine: people. We decided to give a little nod to our friend Johnny S. in titling our postings... here's mine, but don't forget to look at Luke's from yesterday.

Of Men (and women):

Last week referendum registration kicked off in full force; last night at about 9:30pm there was a pickup truck with huge speakers driving around our “neighbourhood” revving people up for this registration. The referendum, planned for January 9^th, is expected to create the newest African Nation: South Sudan. Recently a high-ish ranking politician from our area said something to the effect of “people are welcome to campaign for separation or for unity, that is okay, there is freedom of speech here… but we all know that everyone in Lakes State is voting for separation. It’s what the people want”, ah yes. Freedom of speech.

Walk into any village now and you will see a big tree surrounded by caution tape and a lot of people including several police officers and soldiers. There has not been an accident – this is where the registration is happening. A good thing, in my opinion, is that the registration cards are a huge step up from the election registration cards in April. In April people had a little piece of paper about the size of a raffle ticket, super easy to lose, get wet, or forget about. The referendum ones are the size of a credit card and, get this, laminated! There’s some serious forward thinking – I applaud it. And they have a fingerprint. So, I suppose, theoretically when a person goes to vote for the referendum with a stamp of the finger one could compare that finger print with the one of the registration card.

Reading the news and words from political analysts the potential for violent outbreak after the referendum is high, but talk to any Joe Blow (or in our parts Deng Majok) they will say that after the referendum South Sudan will be a country and everything will be perfect! The inter- and intra-group fighting that is a constant will immediately end. Peace, prosperity, and oil will flow, and theoretically – this prosperity and oil won’t get stuck in the pockets of some high ranking official. Who says theory isn’t fun?

Heather and Joel were in Tonj and spoke to a non-Dinka woman about the referendum. She said she wasn’t registering because “if I vote for unity I am asking for an Arab to rule me, if I vote for separation it will be a Dinka”.

Unfortunately the issues of the referenda are not as simple as unity or separation; it’s not as simple as this plus this equals peace, or this plus this equals war. I think hope is good, important and that creating a peaceful future begins in a large part with imagining and hoping for it. But I wonder about hope that is only embodied in the vision of the (potentially soon to be) majority. I wonder about cycles of violence, of oppressed becoming oppressors, of “us vs. them” rhetoric. I wonder about the validity of political posturing and about the potential back room dealings of which I know nothing. I, too, hope for peace. I pray for peace; for some outcome of this referendum that will acknowledge and empower the humanity and personhood of each one in Sudan. We are living in a history-making time. Sudan is approaching a fork in the proverbial road. I’m not sure how many prongs this road-fork has, but we are moving towards some clefted junction, I guess that’s all I can say with confidence.

Of Mice and Men

2010-11-20T13:22:00.002+03:00

Kaitlyn and I both had blogs that just had to come out this weekend so we're doing a double installment. Please stay tuned for part two tomorrow.

Of Mice: The more diligent readers among you will remember a previous blog involving food, mice, cats, glue and scissors. If not you may refresh your memory here. As a Mennonite, I generally try to stay away from the language of war which can glorify terrible acts, minimize human impact, separate "us" from "them," etc….but in this case I have found it unavoidable. I hope you can forgive me.

Much has happened since this first edition of what has become a gradually expanding and intensifying turf war. Clearly both the mice and I have claimed the structure we are inhabiting as "home" and with that claim comes strong attachments for each of us. I wish we could sit down with a third party and organize some sort of peace agreement including details on resource sharing. Unfortunately the language barrier is too great to overcome and the sharing lessons I learned in kindergarten don't seem to extend to quite this scope.

Both mice and (hu)men(s) have been busy since our initial face to face encounter. A list of major victories for both sides:

Mice: Expanded territory of operation significantly. First spotted in our extra supply cupboard in the spare bedroom, they have since been seen popping up to say hi in our "office" (the bed/desk in one corner of our house), in our bedroom (only once), in one of the attached guest rooms (seated on top of our solar equipment), and most devastatingly, in our kitchen where they have gained what appears to be an almost permanent foothold. They have marked their new territory (all of our kitchen shelves) with extensive amounts of droppings. While in the kitchen, the mice have gained access to Weetabix, chocolate bars, sesame bars, granola bars, crackers, Tim Hortons hot chocolate mix, potatoes, tomatoes, chick peas, granola, and seeds that we had set aside to dry for planting. This list comes in no particular order but please note that apart from minor samplings of potatoes and tomatoes the rest of the items on the list are precious foodstuffs imported from Nairobi under the constant 20kg luggage limitation. Clearly these guys are trying to hit us where it hurts. As further evidence they also ate their way into our paper Christmas tree, which from what I can tell has fairly limited nutritional value. We think it might still be salvageable but some of the decorations are a bit frayed at the edges. In addition to the actual food consumed/contaminated, the mice have eaten through two plastic containers, including one faux Tupperware container, damaging them to the point that they had to be discarded.

In response the (hu)men(s) have tried: Putting all of the good food near the ground so that the cat can reach it. Putting all of the food near the top so that the mice have more difficulty reaching it. Raising the curtain that covers our shelving unit 6 inches off the ground after watching a mouse climb down it. Putting prized foodstuffs into sealed plastic containers. (see above for effectiveness of this one) Rat traps. Mouse glue (see below for more on this one) And our most recent innovation, taping plastic bags to all of the shelves and laying them underneath the shelf. This one is new today and is based on the theory that mice don't like the sounds that are inevitably created when they tread on these bags. At very least this will give us hunters a heads up if food is disappearing from under our noses.

And then we must update the list of casualties. So far thankfully there have been no injuries to humans and only a small amount of fur lost by a cat. On the mouse side things aren't looking as pretty. At last count we have witnessed our cat consume 4 adult and 4 baby mice. How many he has tracked down without our knowledge is uncertain. With an assist from the glue, I have dispatched 5. And with an assist from both the glue and one of our guards, Kaitlyn has disposed of one (this happened while I was away in Yei). If this continues much longer we may have to consider adding a mouse tally under our underpants tally.

A sample mousetrap

Appropriate Technology and Capacity Building

2010-11-13T21:10:00.001+03:00

We hear these two terms thrown around a lot over here. While sitting around having tea on my trip to Yei, I heard two quick stories about appropriate technology (condoms) and the training that went along with them (capacity building).

Number 1: Apparently the demonstration of how to put on a condom sometimes involves use of a thumb. One day a young man came in to my co-worker quite upset saying that despite using condoms his wife was now pregnant. When asked for more details he showed how he had been wearing a condom on his right thumb every time he had intercourse. He then went further and explained that sometimes to be safe he covers his left thumb as well. Trainers have started bringing along models of the appropriate anatomy.

Number 2: One day a young man came in to my co-worker quite upset, saying that despite using condoms his wife was now pregnant. When asked for more details he divulged that he was being extremely careful and had chosen to wear the condom all the time.

"So you have it on right now?"

"Yes"

"How do you urinate?"

"I cut a very small hole in the end."

In other news, I gave my first Dinka speech a week ago. It was at the graduation of our class of agricultural extension workers. A big event, bull slaughtered, bishops, government officials, local chiefs and anybody else who heard about the event were in attendance. I must say it went quite well except for the fact that it was 6 hours long…..

English translation:

Thank you (pl.) all for coming here.

My name is Luke and I work with Across.

I have one year in Rumbek.

This year I have learned 4 things:

One: The land of the Dinka is good.

Two: Dinka are strong.

Three: Dinka have very many cows.

Four: You (pl.) have all you need to cultivate grain, grass and children of trees (fruit).

The crowd loved it. They don't know that it took 30 minutes and Kaitlyn's help to get it all down on paper. Anyway, it softened them up enough that I could deliver the rest of my speech which can be summarized as: You can't farm if you're fighting, turn your AK47's into ploughshares, nobody wins a war, some just lose more.