Sunday Catch Up

There’s a great thunderstorm happening here in Isohe tonight and once again I find that I am trapped in my tent. Eventually I am going to have brave the weather if I want to eat tonight, but for now, I’m content. Today (Sunday), Jeff, Michele, Barbara, and I skipped Mass (sorry, Hank and Laurie) to follow the river up the mountain to see what we could find. We usually head to an awesome spot (about a 20 minute hike from Isohe Center) at the end of the day just to play in the water and take a break from the heat, but today we planned to make a day of it and see how far up we could get. There this fantastic idea held by everyone in this general vicinity that at the top of one of the mountains close to Isohe there is a crater lake. And in the crater lake is a white stone that spins around constantly and dictates which side of the mountain it rains on. People here are so adamant about the existence of this lake that they even draw it on maps, yet I can find NO ONE who has actually seen the lake in person, but everyone insists that it is there. So, bottom line – by the end of the summer the AVSI staff has made it a priority to find this lake. We all very much enjoy the occasions we have to go in search of it. Especially Michele. He’s a riot. First of all, who brings a swim cap to Sudan? Secondly, what made him think it was ok to wear shorts that short. EVER. Italians. He makes me laugh everyday.

Today was our first attempt, and though we were unsuccessful at confirming the existence of the crater lake, we had an awesome day. It was sunny and hot for the hike up – through fields and remote villages, past the new water catchment system, then up the river climbing over huge boulders and through some awful thick vegetation (this undergrowth was my least favorite part of the hike…lots of prickers and thorns and loose rocks and overgrown weeds – things that uncoordinated people like myself find difficult to navigate while trying also to look at the scenery). Thank goodness for the Terrano soles on the Chacos!!It was hot and sunny right up to the point where we decided to stop and play in the water and eat lunch. Then, ominously over the mountain crept the thick dark clouds that we have come to know so well in this region. They come on fast with little warning, and though they don’t last for long, they bring lots of rain with them. The hike back was beginning to look wet at best, but more likely, dangerous. I began recounting the day Jeff and I hiked Old Rag in the Shenandoah Valley. How we got to the last portion of the hike consisting entirely of boulders that reached to the peak, and then, suddenly, it began to pour. Not only was it freezing outside, but with the rain, the rocks became so slippery. I can’t remember how many times I fell on my butt and skinned my elbows. Other than the fact that it will never be that cold anywhere in Sudan, I was having flashbacks of the rocks at Old Rag and the premonition of a sore rear end. But today we got lucky and the clouds managed to pass around for the most part, leaving us with only a few sprinkles and for my lily-white complexion these days, some much welcomed shade. So, here are a few pictures of the team playing in the river…it was one of my favorite Sunday’s ever. It’s no Myrtle Beach, Dave and Jen, but Jeff did manage to get in a water aerobics class for the four of us, and for that we were so grateful!

I think this one will go in the next AVSI newsletter with the caption: “AVSI Education Team in Isohe, Sudan. Working hard to improve the intellectual lives of the greater-Isohe community and beyond.”

Hyala Funeral

So the day that we found Monica’s long lost father in Hyala, we also got to witness a pretty incredible tribal ritual. An elder of the community (in this case it was a very old women) had recently died, leaving behind TWELVE daughters and scores of other family members. Funerals, as I have learned, typically last 3 days here in Sudan. Most seem to be accompanied by large crowds of people drinking and dancing until well into the evening, but more than anything they are joyful celebrations of the person’s life rather than a mournful ceremony of their death. We caught this funeral dance on the third and final night. Before we left Kitgum, Pietro briefed Jeff and me on some security matters. He gave us a number of precautionary measures to take, but for this account, two specific points that he made kept popping into my head with big exclamation marks; 1. If you find yourself in a situation with a lot of people and a lot of guns, do NOT stay there! Get out as fast as you can; and 2. The third day of a funeral gets pretty crazy – stay clear of the area where the ceremony is taking place because you never know what might happen. Like I said, exclamation marks all in my head, but you only live once, right? And who knows when I’ll be in Sudan again to see something like this. I decided to take my chances, and since I am still alive to tell about it, I think it was a very wise decision. We’ll just not tell Pietro.

Since we were with Masimina and Charles (Monica’s father), and they seemed to have their run of the place, we had front row vantage points for the whole thing. We parked ourselves in someone’s front yard in the middle of the action. I considered this to be both good and bad – you know, like going to a boxing match and having seats next to the ring. You get to see all of the action up close, but you also take the risk of getting sprayed with sweat and blood and spit – mixed blessings. In this case, I was far more concerned with our proximity to the guns and spears the men were waving around than anything else that I might have gotten on me. (Since Hyala is right outside of Torit, a major city in the area, it was used as a large military base of operation during the war, and still today there is a large presence of soldiers in the village, not to mention a number of abandoned TANKS that the kids in the village enjoy playing on…riiiight…just like the jungle gym I used to play on outside First Presbyterian preschool in Concord). But, this front yard was the place we were told to go, so we sat behind a small fence that made one wall of the central square where the ceremonial dancing was taking place. There I remained in a state of anxiety and awe for the next hour.

There were men with big drums in the middle of it all and then varying numbers of concentric circles of dancers (depending on the drum beat that was being played) creating outside rings that moved in opposite directions. Our friend Veronica, who is also an elder in the community, dressed in the typical ceremonial outfit of an unmarried woman with a short (excessively short) skirt made of awesome tassel beads that went around her waist. Those women who are married wore a type of diaper looking thing made of animal skin. I liked the beaded tassel skirts way better. (Carolyn, imagine the “Stacey Dance” in a skirt made only of tassels!! Such possibilities!) The men danced around the circle with guns and spears and acted out dramas of war. This was what made me anxious. Having guns pointed in our direction or thrust up in the air while people drank and danced did not bring me comfort. On at least four occasions, these guns were fired into the air, and on at least four occasions I was ready to get the crap out of there…only problem was that to leave meant walking through the middle of everything…such a dilemma. Each time, though, Monica assured me that we were fine, but I was not convinced. One thing that very much interested me was the role that the old women played in the dance. They just hopped around the circle with handfuls of flour and put it all over (especially on the faces) of the men and young boys. Then they made this high pitched screaming noise…I’m pretty sure this was some type of blessing ritual, but not sure of the significance of the flour. With in 30 minutes, there was flour everywhere and in most people’s hair and entirely covering their faces. Why though, all of this warring drama at a funeral?? I wish I could have found out more. Right before we left, the twelve daughters of the deceased woman arrived in shiny bras and lots of beads. When they entered, the drums got very loud and then came lots of screaming and a whole new dance began…unfortunately, Michele arrived from Torit to pick us up just after the daughters got to the funeral so we didn’t get to see what I suppose would have been the best dances. But fortunately, Michele did actually arrive and we were able to gracefully leave before things got too dark and too out of hand. All in all, it was a great day. None of us got shot and I don’t think I will ever forget the scenes or the rhythms of the funeral dance.

Sketchy Beef Tips

Another sweet thing about that day in Hyala was the fact that we were treated, by Veronica, to a pre-funeral meal of beef tips (I call them that, but really they were just chunks of beef – I have found that 1. “butchers” here (anybody really could be a butcher – you just have to kill the cow and then you are a butcher…sort of like doctor – you just have to stand in the hospital and act like you know what you’re doing to be called doctor here…man, if it were only that easy in the states! No need for grad school!) don’t know how to cut a piece of meat. There is no such thing as a rib eye or filet in this country…they just cut. Fat, meat, whatever, you get to eat it all. And 2. Cow meat is VERY rare to find in these parts. For some reason they just like to walk the cows up and down the road and trade them for wives. They don’t even milk them. They don’t make cheese or butter. And they don’t kill them for beef except on very rare occasions. I can’t figure out why. So weird. I want to start a butter making operation. Can you imagine NEVER having tasted real butter!!! What a shame! Same with chickens (but they do kill the chickens). They don’t collect the eggs from them. The chickens just roam around being totally useless. There is no coop for them to lay eggs in, so if they do happen to lay eggs in some random location, a lizard or snake just eats them and I get no scrambled eggs! Why?? Very interesting place we live in.

I find myself asking the question,” WHY??!!!” at lease 11 times everyday. Some things just aren’t logical at all. I mean, they aren’t logical from my perspective. I am sure there are lots of good reasons for them, I am just bad at figuring them out. Jeff and I were talking last night and decided that the one thing we wished most of all was for the ability to get into the heads and understand the perspective and the mindset of the people here. It’s so hard when you think you are approaching a situation from what I would call a reasonable perspective, and then have no one here take to it. I can’t figure out what the logic is behind so many things that happen here. For instance, since there is no consistent electricity, we have a small refrigerator up at the Father’s place that runs on kerosene. Well, every month the fathers order food and supplies from AVSI to be brought in from Uganda. The refrigerator keeps running out of kerosene, but kerosene is NEVER on the list of supplies that AVSI receives. So then the thing stops running and the fathers just say, “Oh, the kerosene got finished. The refrigerator is not on.” BUT THEY DO NOTHING ABOUT IT. They don’t notice that it is running low and send a message to bring more in before it is completely gone. They just let it run out and then deal with having no refrigerator until someone from AVSI comes to refill it. So frustrating. Don’t get me started on my thoughts regarding NGOs enabling dependence of developing populations. My republican side gets very animated when I think about these things. Barbara, who has been a wonderful sounding board and confidant here, is constantly asking “why” as well. We just look at each other sometimes and shake our heads in wonderment. But then she usually mutters some Italian curse word as well. But I digress. Bottom line, the beef tips were an exciting addition to the day. Veronica let me help her cook too. I got to make posho (this cornmeal and flour mixed with oil, I think, and water, and maybe some other things. It is supposed to be like the bread that goes with their meals (every meal, actually). It doesn’t have a ton of taste, but everyone here eats it. I got to mix it in the big pot over the fire with a long wooden stick until I was sweating and it had the consistency of really thick oatmeal or something similar. It was fun to cook with the women. They were super amused by my desire. After we cooked, we all sat outside Veronica’s hut, amid the chickens and goats, and ate beef tips and posho with our hands (still something that I am trying to get used to…but they never have napkins here. It’s really a messy thing to eat). And then, that night and well into the next day I was sick as a dog. But it was worth it to finally eat beef (even if it was tainted) and posho that I helped cook. The warm welcome into Veronica’s home and the experience of the meal was fantastic…Good times in Hyala. I like those people so much!