Life. Moru Style.

Viviana with the traditional three stone fire, preparing to make lunch

It has dawned another scorcher.  Yesterday we looked at the thermometer.  That was a bit of a head-scratcher. All of us were drifting downward like wilting balloons giving in to gravitational pull . . . and it was telling us it was only in the upper 70s. That was when I realized that the glue that held the thermometer in place had long since melted, and it had dropped down a centimeter or so...putting us in the 70s instead of in the 90s where we belonged.

These days life revolves around Mama Viviana and her family.  Eating, sleeping, living, working . . . and living life as a Moru (or almost, at least, I have yet to carry a 5 gallon jerry can of water on my head). I wasn't quite sure what to expect. But I am thrilled to report that it has been nothing short of downright fantastic.

The week started off with mass movements of cattle down the main road, accompanied by their Dinka herders and their families, their heads piled high with sleeping mats, cooking pots, and other personal effects. Apparently the government has ordered all the Dinka back to their homelands since there's been so much trouble between them and other agrarian tribes (think lovely, placid gardens full of ground nuts and maize being trampled and devoured by throngs of ravenous cows).  Apparently enough is enough, and soldiers have been dispatched to escort them home. It all happened quite swiftly and orderly, though you had to really watch it on the roads what with all the fresh cow pies to dodge.

Viviana's grandson Bashir (blessing)

Life is moving leisurely.  I like that.  Not empty.  Not boring.  Not purposeless. But gently, not frenzied.  I like when one day involves one task.  Like picking ground nuts, for example. Last Thursday was spent in the garden, with all the family, picking ground nuts. We walked from Viviana's place to where our house is (about 15 minutes by bike, but I'm not sure how long it took "footing"). We pulled and picked all day, and then walked home with everything on our heads (including me with my stool and lemongrass). There's no frenzy to fit a bunch of things into one day. You do what needs to be done, until it's finished, and then you move onto the next task.  I can get used to this.

Mornings start with the crowing of the roosters, and the light bleeding into the sky bit by bit. I wash my face with a cup of water I dip out of our barrel and usually join Viviana to walk over to the church for morning prayers at 7am.  Then we come home and get on with tea.  Usually Mami (the 11 year old girl from Viviana's family that she brought to live here) has gotten the fire on - or gets some annoyed tongue clicking from Viviana if she's been off frittering around instead.  Then a stream of people show up at the door of the mud-hut kitchen with long bunches of dried grass, or a metal sheet of some sort for fire. Meaning they want coals from our fire, or to light their grass, or a match for their own fire. When I happened to comment on this, Viviana said, "you stop talking," an effort at not getting annoyed that the whole neighborhood is walking away with her charcoal and matches.

Asante and I waiting to take tea

We all sit on little stools in the tiny kitchen (madaba in Arabic). The coffee is put on the fire to roast, then transfered to a mortar and pestle for grinding, and then back to the fire for brewing. We gather a bunch of glass mugs on a tray and I pour in the sugar (three teaspoons for everyone else, and one for me) and another two spoons of milk powder. Then I take the strainer and tea leaves and pour the water for our breakfast. We drink our tea and eat a mandazi (small fried donut) or piece of bread as we sit around the tray.  It's always good fun...chatting, singing songs, discussing our "program" for the day.

The first night I was there, one of the ducks hadn't gone in the duck house and got bit properly on its neck by a fox. It must have put up a serious fight flapping and nipping, because it managed to get away with its life. The next morning, it was determined that it would not live, so Viviana's family member who was visiting chased the poor fowl across the yard and whacked it with a big stick before cutting off its head and plucking and drying it for the future. It flapped about wildly, despite the fact that its head was gone until the nerves gave out and it dropped to the ground. Just another day in the neighborhood. . .

Saturday, I walked up to our land with Viviana's family again.  They were off to weed their garden, and I was off to help Wani mud his hut.  It was AWESOME.  I can't tell you how much I love the glurch and squish of the mud when you mix it with the water by walking on the spot. When it's mixed to the right consistency, you grab chunks and flick them onto the wall, into all the little crevices between the rocks and sticks and beams. Then you press it in a bit, and continue on. It was brilliant. So satisfying throwing those clods on and seeing a wall emerge.  

We sang and talked, collected more dirt, carried it in basins on our heads to the hut, and mixed and mudded until we were hot, tired, and hungry and Rina called us to eat lunch.  I dug into the lentils and linya (sort of like grits or polenta) with my fingers and wolfed them down, along with Wani and the others. They were DE-licious.  And perfectly timed, because just as I prepared all my stuff to go back home with Viviana, the heavens opened up and a whole ocean of rain came clamoring down for the next hour. So I stretched me weary self out on the couch and had a good, long, COOOOOOL read.  It's amazing how it cools down with the rain.

And voila!  The finished product!

And with that, my time is up, and I am off to town again - back to Mama Viviana's compound (here is her house, with her daughter Joseline's just to the left, and Emmanuel's to the right (he's another son of the family that stays with us). This is the view to the left of my door, with the yard to the right.

This afternoon I am off to visit my sweet friend Aikoro, from church, as well as her daughter City (whom you may remember from previous posts).  Last Sunday was the first time I saw them since I returned. I wasn't sure if City would remember me since it's been 8 months, and she was only 2 when I left. Her mother pointed me out to her in church on Sunday. I looked at her and she looked at me.  All of a sudden, a massive smile of recognition bloomed across her face. I reached out my hand to greet (as is the Moru way), and instead she ran and put her arms around my legs!! None of the usual shyness that accompanies such instances with Moru children. My heart melted! I have been welcomed back with open arms, and brought in as family. What a blessing, what a sweet gift.

'Til next week . . . love from Mundri, thank you for praying - and please keep it up.  Thanks also, for the many emails I haven't been able to respond to - they are SUCH an encouragement to me, and I hope to get back to you just as soon as I can!

Asante and Äpi laughing with me at home