Break, Planes, and this African Life

Yesterday’s departure from Mundri for our break was like a scene out of Home Alone.  The one where everyone finds out they slept in because the alarm clock didn’t go off and they might miss their flight. They jump into a flurry of frenzied activity, throwing things into suitcases, running about the house getting this or that, and squeezing into the airport van hoping that they haven’t left anyone or anything behind.

24-ish Hours of Wow

It’s been a rare 24 hours indeed.  As I stood sopping wet from the shower getting ready to go to town for some errands, my friend Cici called.  Her very pregnant sister Maria was in labor, the baby sitting bum-side down, and things were not looking good.  Maria already has 6 children, and none of her labors have ever been as bad or long as this.  Cici asked if we might be able to help them get to the hospital in Lui (17 miles away - but an hour or so by car, owing to the bad roads).  'Of course!’

One minor problem.  Our main vehicle (Brown Sugar - the land cruiser that seats 11) had just been taken by another team to Mvolo.  Our other vehicle (White Bull - the water truck that sits 3 in the cab) had been taken by our friend Rooney to do a bore hole repair.  Someone had seen him pull back into town this afternoon, but he hadn’t shown up at our place yet.  And we couldn't seem to reach him by phone.

Ebenezer Totem

1 Samuel 7:12 "Then Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen and called its name Ebenezer [meaning 'stone of help'], for he said, "Till now the LORD has helped us."

One very fortunate advantage of living this crazy between-two-worlds missionary life is the frequent book-ends that mark and divide my time. Quarterly goal reviews with team leaders; yearly team vision retreats; the welcome trek back home to Philadelphia and Canada once a year; and the regular cadence of birthing projects and reporting back as the different seasons unroll themselves like ticker tape.

Olofo Ngwa Te (Lit: The Baby Was Taken Out)

Yawn. Yep, that was pretty much my sentiment when the clock went off at 6:15 to rouse me to yoga this morning. It was dark and raining (as it seems to be all the time these days). At 7:30 my eyes opened again and I attempted to shoot my tired body out of bed. It ended up more like a drag, but I made it out, and that's what counts on days like this! 

Tea, homemade yogurt and granola, starting four workers into their work on the compound, doing some dishes, getting in some reading in Genesis and Psalms, and I was off to Mama Viviana's house to celebrate!

Teaching Ag at BNTC

It's 6:39pm on the clock. I've been banished from my garden by a feisty afternoon rainstorm. I'm not complaining - grow cucumbers!  Grow radish!  Grow squash!  Grow tomatoes!  Grow! And actually, it's a good moment to sit down and share some exciting and much-overdue thoughts about BNTC.

Guor Marial

Last night we were invited over to the Bishop's house for dinner (we share a compound). A team from Bethany's church back in Philadelphia (Liberti) was here visiting and it was an opportunity for fellowship. The awesome perk was that the Bishop has satellite TV, and we got to watch the Olympic marathon!! (HOW did we not realize that he was getting Olympic coverage all this time?!*). I was scouring the screen for Guor Marial - a South Sudanese runner competing under the Olympic flag. An unfortunate sufferer of the recent civil war, Guor landed in the States through the UN refugee program. Not yet a citizen of the US, and South Sudan not being organized enough for an Olympic team of its own, he was invited to run under the Olympic flag. For those interested, his story is here:

For South Sudan runner, just reaching London was a marathon

Absentee Bloglord. Part Two: Team Fun

Following a month and a half of home-stay with Margaret's family during dry season, I moved back home to the team compound.  And here's a little snipet on some of the joys to be found therein.

Join Me For Life at Margaret's

Meet Christina. That's her church name. At home and among her friends she goes by Koba. I share a hut with her. Older, and never having had children of her own, she lives here with her one remaining brother (of an original 10). Hard working, she doesn't complain when she gets up and down and her rheumatism twinges something awful. She's no-nonsense. Direct. And would probably strike you as rather brash at first glance. We first met on a bench outside of church. I was talking with a bunch of ladies, and she was sitting next to me. She kept grabbing at my arm to get my attention, telling me that I was going to teach her English, and animatedly engaging me in conversation. At other times, that could have bothered me, but in her case, something about her matter-of-fact way hinted at a beguiling mix of soft-hearted sincerity and honorable fighting spirit just below the surface. And I've loved her ever since.

It's 4:10pm. Where has the day gone? I came back to our compound to get some stuff done. But I think I've spent more of my time chasing ornery goats out of my garden. God used them, as He does all things if I'm aware enough to catch on, to clue me in a little more to His own heart today. After the third time running like a lunatic through the compound hurling stones, I walked all the way down the path behind our house to our closest neighbors to have a "chat" about the goat situation. The situation is that our neighbors have stopped tying the goats because good pasture is harder to come by in dry season. Now the charming animals have decided that my house is their favorite hang-out - which aside from their free eating of months of my work in the garden, they stink, they're loud, and they're constantly hounded by one rather virile beast that can't keep his eyes off the ladies. I'd had enough.

Peeks Into Past and Present: Seasons

I love my house. My little hobbit hole. Nestled in the gardens of the Shire.  ha ha With the end of October, the rains left us. For a month the land gave it its best shot . . . and then gave in resignedly to dry season. Crazy the difference of a little water makes to the landscape. Here's the same house, just a couple months later. And it'd probably be even more dead were I not to water a few little prizes round the house. . .

Reprieve

6pm.  The sun slips away from the scrub of papery straw and dust beyond my window.  Gentle.  Quiet.  A bird or two twittering in the bare tree just to my left.  Empty.  But not lonely.  I breathe out a dry swill of content.

Cruising the Highways and Byways - Part One: To Garia

Fine Dining with the Fam

Staying with Mama Viviana and her family has been an exercise not only in language and social custom, but also in the culinary arts - such as the refined skill of commanding the charcoal cookstove. Lest you scoff at the assertion and suggest that any old person can use charcoal to cook - I challenge you to cook an entire meal (and I don't mean hot dogs) from scratch; lighting your own charcoal from the embers of the last fire; using no measuring cups or spoons; getting the rice perfectly done (and not burnt); making sure you didn't use too much charcoal; using as your utensils a knife, a ndeṛi (wooden stirring stick), and a small metal sppon; and not burning your fingers in the process. It's more difficult than it seems.  I assure you.

Braiding, Bullets, Gnuts, and Pumpkins

Meet Äpi.  Son of Kenyata.  Grandson of Mama Viviana. This week as we were back in Viviana's garden picking the balance of her ground nuts, he informed us that he was going to marry Christine (my roommate who had come to take our photos last time we were in the garden.) "But where's your house, and your job?" the other women asked. "I'm going to school," he replied, satisfied that he was on the right track. ha!

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.

I'm Off!

I leave for my first Sudanese home-stay with Mama Viviana and her family this morning!  So exciting!  Please pray!  I'm completely discombobulated...or as Wani said to me yesterday, "it is mingling my mind."  HA!  But I live close enough that I can come back and sort out everything I forgot later.

Please pray for:
1. grace, fun, and ease in slipping into their family and routines.
2. supernatural help with language learning - both intentional, and by osmosis.
3. ways for me to bless and help their family, hopefully including things like song, painting and drawing, story telling, as well as the usual cooking and cleaning, etc.
4. helpful insights into Moru life and thinking.
5. freedom from fear - of any kind - bugs, standing out, not understanding, awkward cross-cultural interactions, etc.  And the ability to LAUGH and not be overly sensitive or self-conscious.
6. me not to be eaten alive by mosquitos!

Thanks!  Can't wait to tell you all about the first few days next week . . . I'll be coming back home for team meeting on Wednesdays, but other than that, I'll be without computer or internet.