Thanksgiving in Sudan

I’ll be honest, I woke up Thanksgiving morning in a not-so-great mood. I’ve always had a hard time coping with being away from family on a holiday, but this time I felt particularly isolated since both of our ways to access internet had been down for the past 2 days. However, Francis’ attempts to cheer me and some reflection on the meaning of Thanksgiving helped reveal much to be thankful for. There obviously are many other things that I’m thankful for—family, friends, health, and limitless opportunities—but these are just some of the highlights specific to 2009.

Thank you for… a delicious feast with great people. Despite the nearest grocery store being 8+hrs away, the owners of the safari camp where we’re staying managed to pull together all of the fixings for a real American-style Thanksgiving feast: turkey, stuffing, gravy, potatoes, green beans and carrots, yummy butternut squash (made like mashed potatoes with garlic). When we first arrived in Africa (2 months ago!) I had imagined a feast like this, and bought the requisite ingredients (including a $17 box of Stovetop) while we were in Kampala. Since our stuff is still awaiting clearance, however, I had written a true Thanksgiving feast off as an unattainable dream. But to be presented with an excellent (and mostly traditional) meal, I was moved to tears. …and the most exciting part was that I wasn’t the only one excited about the food. There were 9 of us at the feast, and even for the 4 people who were experiencing their first Thanksgiving dinner, the idea of gathering around a big table and celebrating the full bounties of a harvest (rather than just rice and beans) was something appreciated by all. I think I have a much better appreciation now for how the pilgrims must have felt.

Thank you for… an opportunity to be back in the kitchen. Francis and I wanted to contribute in some way to the meal, and so were responsible for dessert. Given the limited availability of anything but the very basics (sugar, flour, butter), we opted to use walnuts and powdered sugar we had purchased in Juba (on a whim—thank you, Lord!) to make Mexican Wedding Cookies. Francis’ tools came to the rescue when we realized that the oven was calibrated using gas marks, not temperature, so he pulled out his multimeter and thermocouple to find the gas mark roughly equal to 350F. Against all odds, the cookies turned out pretty good (people even requested permission to take leftovers home). Despite being without a stove for 2 months, I have not forgotten how fun it is to be in the kitchen especially with such an able co-chef; I even have a soft-spot for doing the dishes afterward.

Thank you for…a growing family. Calm down, Mom; there’S no bun in the oven. However, the Mills family now includes a four-legged friend—Morty, or, more formally, Mortise the Tortoise. Since we arrived, the locals have been wondering when we’d get a goat, and the expats have been trying to pawn off dogs on us. We’ve even had someone offer to sell us a monkey (very sad). Francis and I aren’t really pet people, but on a whim I told one of his workers that I might be able to tolerate something like a turtle. Well, lo and behold, two days later, Stephen had managed to find someone who had a bed-pillow-sized leopard tortoise to sell us. Though tortoises are pretty common in our part of Sudan, they rarely get this big, often ending up on someone’s dinner plate when they are palm-sized. Not being a tortoise expert, I really don’t have any idea how old Morty is, but he’s certainly seen his fair share of the world. As you might expect, he’s been a little shy, but he’s gradually coming out of his shell, now feeling comfortable enough to keep his eyes on us, rather than completely hiding. After some internet research, I’ve learned that leopard tortoises like grass and aloes (neither of which are terribly abundant yet on our compound), and so we’ve been supplementing his grazing diet with cabbage leaves. I also give him a big dish of water each day which he’s gradually realizing is safe to drink. While we’re gone in Sudan, I’ve arranged to have my gardener care for him, promising him a bonus when I return if both the garden and tortoise are healthy and happy. I think he thinks I’m a little crazy…

PS. A very random note, but I always forget to mention: Dad, you’d love East Africa—they have toothpicks on every table and even serve them to you as part of your cutlery packet on airplanes!

Week 2 Round-up

Playing Avon Lady: Yes, this week I made door-to-door calls to the NGOs in Kapoeta. The purpose was twofold, both to introduce myself to make friends as well as to suss-out the job opportunities. I now have first-hand knowledge that the expat community in Kapoeta is small—roughly 15 non-missionary Americans and Europeans (the number is significantly greater if you count Kenyans and Ugandans). I believe, however, that there are some kindred spirits among them. …and I’m thinking that if nothing else, once our house is finished I can buy myself some friends, as most of these people are living in tents or converted shipping containers. They salivate at the idea of air conditioning, a real couch, and watermelon. On the job front, things look slightly less promising. Most are looking for people to go out into the bush, which would require regularly over-nighting somewhere else; something I’m not keen on doing. To be honest, though, a lot can change in a month here, and I’m expecting/hoping to be busy in December moving into the house and preparing for the holidays (I do have an idea for a Christmas tree, but it isn’t as easy as buying something off of a lot…).

Progress on the compound: Well, this week, Francis managed to get a wire from the generator to the house, and so we’ll have power as soon as the contractor fixes the wiring in the house. Trenches for the plumbing and electrical supply have been covered. We’ve had some trees removed and are starting to establish more permanent driving paths. And I have a garden and gardener!!! The soil here is very sandy, and manure alone didn’t look like enough to help it sustain live. So, I hired Peter (the gardener) and a dump truck to go back to where we purchased aggregate and dig/haul some of the very rich topsoil. My general philosophy for the planting was to put in a bit of everything and then see what would grow. After removing rocks and staking out straight rows, I planted:
Sweetcorn (2 varieties)
Beans (3 varieties)
Peas (2 varieties)
Tomatoes (3 varieties)
Green onions
Eggplant
Beets
Peppers (4 varieties)
Squash/Zucchini (2 varieties)
Herbs (Basil, Thyme, Rosemary, and Oregano)
Strawberries (wishful thinking, considering I think a winter is required for proper development)
Watermelon
Cantaloupe

It’s not a huge garden (about 30’ x 40’—half of which is planted), but it’s probably the biggest residential garden in Kapoeta. Since it’s so hot, we’ve been watering in the morning and again in the afternoon. As of today (4 days after planting), ½ of the corn and all of the beans, peas, beets, basil, and cantaloupe have sprouted!!! Such instant gratification! I’m expecting to start thinning at the end of the week (otherwise, it will be in mid-December when we return from Nepal). It’s really quite fun watching the daily progress. I know that fresh veggies are still a few weeks out, but already I feel like a real farmer.

Church in Kapoeta: Today, Francis and I participated in our first Catholic Mass in Kapoeta. Services are held in the open air, beneath a sheet-metal roof; there are hopes to rebuild the church. The mass was held in English, though the readings and homily were also read in Toposa and all of the music was in Toposa (or Arabic—I’m not sure which). It’s an interesting mix of people that attend the service. It’s predominantly town people (some may be Kenyans or Ugandans), with a couple dozen out-of-town Toposa, and maybe 7 or 8 NGO folks. They seem to hold Sunday school for the children during Mass, as just after communion a few dozen kids came streaming in the doorway. Though it’s not quite as vibrant a celebration as in Juba, the music is not bad, and it’s really nice to start to be part of a church community again.

Outside the fence: Our compound is right in the middle of a main footpath connecting Kapoeta to areas south, and there is a public borehole (water point) just outside our fence. Therefore, there are ALWAYS people walking buy. The little kids in particular have enjoyed watching me as I work in the garden, calling out to me—I always greet them, and trying not to feel like an animal in a zoo being watched through the fence. This week, though, I felt like I was really in the middle of a zoo when a herd of camels (I counted 19—there could have been more) stopped just outside our fence to snack on the acacia trees. I was assured that the belonged to someone and weren’t wild, though I didn’t see the camel herder, and apparently I can expect them to come through every couple of weeks. It makes me realize I truly live in Africa!

Some random notes:
1. I was temporarily trapped in my shower when a bat (which lives in our veranda but had thus far been unseen) got disoriented and was blocking my path to our tukul door. I screamed; a neighbor heard me and kept a look-out while I made a run for it. It was scary. I hate bats.

2. My stick-shift driving skills came in handy on Friday when we tried to haul a load of steel too big for the truck. Francis jumped in the bed of the truck to steady the load while I drove through town. I rock.

3. Despite applying sunscreen both morning and afternoon, I got fried on Saturday. The sun in Sudan is hot—like, Hawaii-hot. In fact, the last time I was this crispy, was when I visited Katie and laid out on a surfboard trying to catch a wave. All I’ve done here is walk around our compound! Perhaps Sudan is even hotter!

4. “Yes, Sarah, we will be having turkey for Thanksgiving!” – the happiest news I’ve gotten since, well, I don’t know when. Additional details to follow.

Meeting the Toposa Aggregate Sellers

(if you click on the picture, you should be able to make out the roof tops on the horizon)


Today was my first real solo encounter with the Toposa on their own turf. To be honest, I wasn’t actually alone—I was accompanying Stephen, one of Francis’ employees, to go buy aggregate from the Toposa ladies. But this was significant as it was the first time that I was the only khawaja (white person) in such a new/overwhelming situation without Francis.

To get to this place, we turned off the main Juba road onto a two-track path and literally headed into the bush. Because this path sees such little traffic, it was actually quite smooth. And the landscape was incredibly beautiful! I’m not so into desert landscapes—scrub brush and sand and termite hills—which is most of what I’d seen of Kapoeta outside our current lodging. On this drive, we headed towards the mountains (volcanic remnants) about 30 miles south of town. All around us, the savannah opened up and it felt like I was driving through the set of The Lion King. I should have asked the dump truck driver to stop so I could take a picture because by the time we got to our destination, the view of distant mountains disappeared into mid-day haze (I live here now, so I know I’ll be able to go back and get a good picture…).

Our “destination” was a stretch of land with 25+ small piles of rocks, with a compound of a couple dozen thatched-roof buildings about 100 meters away (you can just make out the roofs in the background of a couple of pictures). As the dump truck rolled up, little kids and women began streaming out from their homes. By the time I got out of the truck, there were probably 15 women and 25 kids crowded around the truck, the women negotiating with Stephen about the price for the aggregate (Francis had already negotiated the previous day, but the women were trying to change the terms) and the kids (particularly the very small ones and the teenage girls) checking me out.

Most of the time, I was just a wide-eyed observer. Not knowing any Toposa or Arabic outside of “mata” (the greeting, roughly translated as “How are you?”), I was useless in the negotiations. Since each of the women had her own pile (or 3) of rocks, there was quite a scafuffle about who would gain control of the two wheelbarrows. At one point, a very old man came into the melee, presumably to settle a dispute between some of the women. In the process, he also came over to give me a piece of his mind (all in Toposa), perhaps for causing such unrest between his wives/sisters. I was also befriended/harassed by a woman who was unhappy that she couldn’t gain control of a wheelbarrow. She kept literally pulling me over to her pile of rocks, pleading with me take them—again, all of this was done in pantomime since I couldn’t understand her and I don’t think should could understand me. She didn’t seem to like my shrugged shoulders or pointing at Stephen, directing her to talk to him, but there was nothing I could do. If anyone knows a universally-understandable way to convey to someone that you understand them, but are powerless to change their situation, please let me know. It would be helpful both for this situation as well as for the couple of times each day when people put out their hands for money.
Anyway, back to the story. In the end, it seemed that the oldest women and the strongest young women won the battle for the wheelbarrows. Once most of the bickering stopped and I’d had my fill of helping to heft wheelbarrows full of stones onto the back of the dump truck, I really wanted to get a couple pictures. There was one teenage girl in particular that I wanted to photograph; she was sitting on a pile of rocks out of the fray, working on an intricate beadwork necklace—the person I’d probably be if 13 and Toposa. Knowing, however, that Francis warned me in Juba that the Sudanese were leery about getting their picture taken, I thought that I ought to first ask her if it was ok. After two times trying to convey my question and pulling out my camera, chaos again ensued. Within seconds, the girl and all of her brothers, sisters, and cousins were lined up for a group photo. As soon as I snapped a shot, they all rushed around me, grabbing for the camera to see the image. I can’t explain the joy that showed on their faces when they would recognize themselves on the tiny screen. One woman insisted that I take a family portrait, yanking her children from among the mob and lining them up. If only it were practical to have a photo printer here! I know I could make tons of friends!

(close up: notice piercings, beads, the tribal scarification on the boy, and the piles of aggregate in the in the background)

(a toposa family portrait: the skirts the little girls are wearing are identical to those worn by all women)

Observations from Week 1

It’s now been a week since I first arrived in Kapoeta, and I am certainly beginning to see it through rosier-colored (sun)glasses. Don’t get me wrong; it’s not exactly paradise. It is, however, quite picturesque, the people (both locals and expats) are pretty friendly, and the accommodation is better than you’d expect for a place that was ground-zero in a generation-long civil war.

I think I could write for days on the peculiarities of this place, and then write for another week on the experience of uprooting one’s life to live in a foreign land. I’m realizing, though, that I don’t really have the right words or know enough yet to do either of these topics justice. So instead, you’ll get another laundry list of random observations.

Favorite thing about Kapoeta: people watching. The Toposa people are SO interesting. I feel like I’m driving through National Geographic every day. Just like Francis described, women wear short pleated plaid shirts, beaded necklaces, and metal arm bands. Some tie a piece of cloth around their upper bodies. It took me a few days to realize the purpose of the watermelon-sized gourds the women carry on their backs; there’s a baby under there—the gourd is providing shade for the infants! The dress code seems to be significantly less strict for the men; some where khakis and collared shirts, others jeans and tee-shirts, and others shorts with the draped cloth over one shoulder. The young men (aged 18-30) seem, however, to have taken to a particular fad of the 1970s: leaving a pick/comb in their afro. Now, no one here has a true bushy afro; most men, nearly all kids, and about ½ of the women completely shave their heads—hair is hot! But these young men manage to get the pick to stay in 1/2” or less of hair. Amazing.

Thank God that: there are no ant-borne illnesses; based on the number of ants that I’ve ingested and have crawled on me in the last week, I’d surely be dead.
Why doesn’t someone: sort out the winter coats before sending bundles of second-hand clothing to Africa? Seriously, every couple of days, a new shipment of donated clothes arrives and roughly a quarter of it is puffy-marshmallow-type winter coats. I’m guessing that the coats are utilized for a purpose other than apparel, but it just seems like there are places where they would be much more appreciated.

Critter sightings this week: One very ugly hairy spider (reportedly poisonous, killed in the dining hall by Francis’ co-worker); 2 bats (flying around the dining hall every evening, terrifying me); bushrat (dead and stiff as a board); 2’ long snake (in our new front yard!!! I put a 20 pound bounty on it, but no one was able to find it after it disappeared into a dead tree), a couple tiny lizards (including one in the shower), a few dozen “cockroach-moth mutants” (including one in our bed!!!), and millions of ants.

Not so bad: the cold shower. It’s sweat-running-down-your-back-hot here, and a cold shower helps to provide some temporary relief.

Harder than I thought: living the life of leisure while my husband works 80+ hours a week. To be honest, it hasn’t been all leisure for me—I’ve been a very active volunteer for the project, helping to survey foundation excavations, establishing driving paths, identifying things to be fixed in the house and office. And this week, the in-person job search will begin. But there is really nothing that can keep me busy until 10 or 11 pm at night while Francis catches up on office work after a day in the field, and no one really to talk to. It’s lonely.

Quote of the week: “You do not look like a farmer to me”—the proprietor of the hardware shop/shack where I bought two hoes fitted with American-length (i.e. longer than 2’) handles so that I could garden. No one—including my mother—thinks I can pull off this gardening thing, but my love for red peppers and sweet corn is greater than my distaste for getting dirt under my fingernails. A farmer I shall become.

Runner up: “Do you have two children or three?”—Rebecca, a local woman who has been hanging around our new house, looking for a job as a housekeeper (I’m actually looking forward to having a house to clean again!). On learning that I am childless, she wanted to know why. I told her that I’d just gotten married. I like Francis’ answer better: “Kids are expensive”. By the way, Rebecca, who doesn’t look older than 25, has 4 kids ranging in age from 10 to 2. I explained to her the American expression “the terrible twos”.

I know you want pictures, and I have taken some, but we're sharing a cellphone-based modem and it is s----l----o----w. I'll try to get something up soon; worst-case, I'll upload when I'm in Nepal. Oh, yes, and on a closing note, please pray that the paperwork is completed soon for our shipment of personal effects from the States--if it's not here in a week, I really don't know what I'm going to wear to Nepal. The Himalyas in the winter require are a bit different wardrobe than Sudan! While you're at it, please also pray that paperwork for our appliances and furniture get cleared pronto, too. I'd really like a comfy chair to sit on...

A No-Good, Very Bad Day

In Sudan more than anyplace, some days are good, some days are bad, and some days are just plain ugly. I sure hope that there aren’t any days uglier than the 10th of November.

In all of the discussing that we’d done prior to getting on the plane to move to Sudan, Francis warned me that Juba was a mess and any place in Sudan was better than Juba. Though we’d need to pass through Juba to register with the police and get ourselves driver’s licenses, I was under the impression that if I could just survive the short period in Juba, things would only improve. Having found Juba to be very dirty, but on whole, much more pleasant than I expected, I had high expectations for Kapoeta. Alas, when expectations are high, there is much room for disappointment…

I found out over breakfast before leaving Juba that there was no hot water at the place we’d be staying in Kapoeta while our house was being finished. Francis had told me that we’d be sharing a communal toilet (2 flush toilets have recently been added, mostly for our benefit), but didn’t mention that there was no hot water in the camp. I remember (not too fondly) the cold-water-only showers at Camp Tawanka when I was a kid. They were bearable for a week (or 2, max). I already wished I’d lingered a little longer in the shower in Juba...

After breakfast, we arrived at the airport. We’d be flying in a small 10-passenger prop plane to Kapoeta, and I knew that careful balancing of the cargo and passenger weight was important. I didn’t realize, however, that I’d be ask to step up on one of those big carnival-like scales so that they could best determine where to put me. You’d think visual inspection would be enough…

I think it was after our luggage was all checked in that it first hit me that once we got on the plane, we’d REALLY be in the middle of Africa—we’d have to wait a week for the next flight to Juba, or make a grueling 8-hour / 150 km drive back (though Lokichoggio, Kenya, is closer, our passports are in Juba awaiting transit visas for our trip to Nepal and so we can’t leave the country). Perhaps it was all of this nervousness inside of me (or maybe it was the half-liter of water I drank earlier) that made me realize that I needed to use the bathroom. I will not recount the horrors that I encountered in Juba International’s ladies restrooms; I mention this only as a warning that, should you find yourself in this airport, peeing your pants would be a more hygienic option than using their facilities. Seriously.

The flight to Kapoeta was (thankfully) uneventful. We flew at 11000 feet, and since I had a window seat, I was able to see for myself that there is really very little between Juba and Kapoeta—flat savannah land with scrub brush and thin trees and an occasional seasonal river (they are dry now), with a rocky mountain (volcanic remnants) every now and then . We flew over two or three tiny (50-60 houses) towns before landing on Kapoeta’s dirt airstrip. There is no terminal building in Kapoeta—for the 3 planes that land here each week (2 from Juba, 1 going back to Juba), there’s really no need. Even before the pilot killed the engine, little kids came running up to see who would emerge. The local police were also there to greet us, and insisted upon opening our bags; mostly they just poked around, but I was less-than-amused that they wanted to open and inspect my wallet.

Margaret, a Ugandan civil engineer who has been overseeing construction of our house and Francis’ office, met us at the airstrip and drove us to our temporary home. Now that I’ve been here for a couple days, I can see that the camp is actually very pretty and peaceful. They have a deer and some goats that graze, lots of trees that attract beautiful bold-colored birds, and pretty good food (though no condiments). What I saw when I first arrived, though, was a room furnished with nothing besides a bed, small table, one plastic chair, and a fan, and bugs. Lots of them. Again, this place is very clean, so it’s not that they have done anything to attract bugs. Sudan (and perhaps Africa more generally?) is just full of bugs. Huge wasp-looking things (we’re unsure if they actually sting); giant cockroach-type things; and millions and millions of ants (mostly small, but some ½”+ long). In Juba, I got used to little ants making their way to the drinks table, and they would occasionally decide to come into our room. But here in Kapoeta, the ants are everywhere and they travel in convoys—literally, yesterday, Francis and I observed an ant super-highway, two solid ½” wide ribbons of ants moving in opposite directions stretching for 50+ feet (well, that’s how far we chose to track them). After having an expectation that this place would make our Nile-side camp look like a dump, I was crushed.

After we settled in and had dinner, I tried to get online to check on things back home. I was informed that the satellite internet was down, but thankfully, Francis had a cellphone-based modem that we could (and continue to) use. It was then that I learned that, after a brave struggle with cancer, my cousin, Holly Rose Cousino, had finally been granted eternal rest. Had I been back in the States, this would have been hard news to hear—how do you grapple with the death of someone you grew up with, spent every holiday with playing silly games only us cousins could understand, and who you expected would have children that would be the playmates of your own children some day? But being 8000 miles, and a 3-day journey away, makes it an even more crushing blow. I would like nothing more than to be back in Michigan with my family to celebrate Holly’s life, to hug my Aunt Trish, Uncle Kevin, and cousin Heather, because that way I might not have to come up with words to express what my heart feels. Instead, I must live with the choice that I have made that has brought me to this less-than-ideal place thousands of miles away from family.

If you are sensing that the 10th of November was a day of second-thoughts for me, you are right. It forced me to ask myself (both aloud and deep within) what in the heck I’m doing here. It’s something that Francis and I have asked eachother a number of times since first dreaming up this move. It’s more than for a job, or for adventure, or for the opportunity to be with eachother more; I’m certain it must be because we could have each of those things in a very different setting under very different circumstances. The ultimate answer to “what am I doing?” though, isn’t quite clear to me. I feel, however, like I’ve been in a similar situation before: 9 years ago when I first went to Villanova. I remember 2 weeks into school when I realized that my choice in universities had put me in a place where I had no friends, a cruddy roommate, and forced me to miss a Banas family Labor Day party. Though it wasn’t apparent at that time, I know that sticking with Villanova was a wise choice, and so I’m hopeful that this Sudan chapter in my life may yet pan out.

Please pray for me, and please join me in praying for the Cousino family.

The Southern Sudan Drivers License Application Process

This is a public service posting--not so much to inform friends and family about the drivers license application scavenger hunt which I have just navigated, as much as to inform other kawajas new to Southern Sudan who may stumble across this post when searching google for guidance on the process. As far as I can tell, this is the only publicly available written record of how to apply for a driver’s license in Southern Sudan. Though still without paid employment, I am happy that through this posting I am able to contribute something valuable to society.

Applying for a GOSS Drivers License in Juba

Step 1: Collecting necessary documents
Persons wishing to apply for a GOSS driver’s license should make copies of their passport, GOSS travel permit, and any valid driver’s license(s). Presenting the actual documents is unacceptable. Applicants should also bring 2 passport photos. Also, if you'd prefer not to have your blood drawn in Juba, you should also bring a doctor's note or Red Cross card identifying your blood type.

Step 2: Obtaining the form
Applicants must first locate the Traffic Police post near the mosque in Juba town. This building may have an address but it is unknown to the author. Even if it did, there are no street signs in Juba and so knowing a street and number would be completely useless. Everyone knows where the mosque is; the traffic police post is located just to the northeast of the mosque.
Once you enter the traffic police compound, proceed to the metal shack located to the left (west) of the main building. [see map at end] You're looking for the door that is nearest the very-low-hanging utility line (anyone over 5'8", please duck). Once inside, the man seated at the desk will ask you for copies of your documents (step 1) and one of the passport photos. He will then transcribe and translate into Arabic your personal information onto this form.
COST: 20 Sudanese pounds (SDG)
NOTE: If you have an interest in keeping a copy of your details written in Arabic, make a photocopy of this form before completing step 5; your license will be issued in English and this form will not be returned to you.
NOTE 2: Even if the man at the desk raises his eyebrows, insinuating that women need not apply for drivers licenses, female applicants should not be intimidated; if you have the money, a license will be issued to you.

Step 3: First meeting with the Deputy Director
Applicants should next proceed, application form in hand, to the front of the main traffic police building. Upon entering, you'll join the queue formed on the right outside the door marked "D/Director". Once entering the office, the man behind the rather imposing desk will scrutinize your papers, perhaps making a brief note or two on them, and then write you a note instructing you to the Juba Teaching Hospital to find the Medical Commissioner. Even if you have your blood type, the medical commissioner is the only one who can put that information on your application; there's no point in asking the deputy director.
Cost: Free

Step 4: First meeting with the Medical Commissioner
Applicants should then make their way to the main street leading to the airport, near St. Joseph Catholic Church; you'll have to drive (or rather, have a driver drive you, since you aren't technically supposed to be driving yet in Southern Sudan). The Medical Commissioner isn't actually in the Teaching Hospital, but rather in an office across the street and slightly north of the Hospital's main entrance; there is a sign that is easy to miss, and so asking around is a good idea. You should enter a screened-in porch lined with benches (the waiting room). When he is around, the commissioner sits in the middle office (again, unmarked). If you don't see him, ask one of the ladies in the office nearer the road-- they'll likely tell you to wait in his office (not the waiting room) until he arrives. [see map below] Upon presenting the medical commissioner with your application form, he will then write you a "prescription" to the Juba Teaching Hospital for an eye exam and (presumably) a blood type test. The author also presented a doctor's note with her blood type which the commissioner (thankfully) accepted as sufficient.

Step 5: Eye Exam
Applicants should take the medical commissioner’s note across the street to the Juba Teaching Hospital (enter at the gate near the "Breast Feeding Awareness Week" banner). The Eye Clinic is located directly behind (south, not west) of the Dental Clinic. Upon entering, the receptionist will direct you through the double doors to an inner room. The man at the first desk on the left will direct you to the man at the desk at the back of the room. While waiting for this man, study the eye chart on the wall very carefully, particularly the line marked 6/6 (measured in meters, rather than feet, this is 20/20 vision). After handing him the prescription, he will ask you to sit on a stool in a closet across the room from the eye chart, cover one eye (and then the other) and identify the orientation (up, down, left, and right) of the E's. He will then take your payment, mark your performance on your prescription, and direct you to the receptionists' desk to have the prescription stamped.
COST: 10 SDG
NOTE: It's likely that the closet in the stool is farther than 6 meters from the eye chart, so even those with excellent eyesight should study the chart carefully before beginning the test. If you want to be all honest about it and not cheat (of if you just didn't think about giving yourself a leg-up), the eye examiner might give you a couple chances to identify the correct orientation.

Steps 6-8: Paying the Medical Commissioner (but not personally), Second Meeting with the Commissioner, and Getting the Commissioner's Stamp
Applicants should return to the complex housing the medical commissioner and join the queue for the office on the south side of the complex nearest the road (NOTE: this should not be confused with the office accessed through the waiting room where the ladies sit). The man behind the desk will take your money and issue you a receipt. You should then return to the commissioner and present him with this receipt, your license application form, the prescription with your eye exam results, and the doctor's note with your blood type. The commissioner will transcribe the results onto your form. You will then proceed next door to the room with the ladies. Present your application form and receipt to the lady sitting at the desk on the far left, and she will in turn stamp your application.
COST: 30 SDG
NOTE: Applicants may bypass the droves of people waiting in the screened-in waiting room to see the commissioner, and proceed directly to his desk. The bulk of those waiting are having their birth certificates/ages verified to that they can register to vote. Applicants should, however, wait in line in Step 6 to pay for the commissioner's stamp.

Step 9: Second Meeting with the Deputy Director
Having completed fulfilled all health-related testing, applicants should return to the traffic police and again wait to speak with the deputy director. After presenting him with the application form, he will look over all of the attached papers (copy of passport, existing driver’s license, etc). At this point it seems he has two options: either to honor an existing license as proof that you are capable of driving or require that the applicant undergo an interview and driving test. The author’s State of Virginia license seemed to pass muster, and so I am unable to inform readers the exact process that occurs if your licenses are similarly honored. If you are lucky like me, read on.

Step 10: Paying for a Learners Permit and Ministry Fees
After finishing with the deputy director, applicants are then directed to the Accounts office to pay for a learner’s permit and fees to the ministry of finance. Though there is only one “accountant,” there are three separate lines. The one intended for driver’s license applicants is the least accessible—but most Sudanese—of the three. To find it, exit the main traffic police building, and bear right as if you were returning to the shack where you first received your form. You’ll pass a bunch of motorcycles on your right, and see a small broken-out window near the inner corner of the building, beyond a few broken traffic signs. This is where you should form a line, if one isn’t already started. Once you crawl over the broken concrete and traffic signs, you should lean down and pass your application through the bars of the broken window to the accountant. Once it is your turn, he’ll write out two receipts; one for 30 SDG for the learners permit, and another for 60 SDG for the finance ministry—there are two separate line items on this second receipt, but it is unclear what they are for. You should hand your money through the window.
COST: 90 SDG

Step 11: Paying for your license
After crawling back over the broken concrete and road signs, you should continue on to the back side of the traffic police building. There you will find another series of windows (these, unbroken) through which you will conduct the final transactions. After handing the attendant your application form, two receipts from the accountant, and the all-important 2nd passport-sized photo, he will then ask for your information in English (keep in mind this information has already been translated from English to Arabic on the application form; that form, though, will not be used to make the license). After handing over 100 SDG for the license, depending upon the hour, you will likely be instructed to return the following day to retrieve your license. Reasonable accommodation may be (and was) made for special circumstances, without having to pay for expedited service.
COST: 100 SDG

Step 12: Retrieving your new license
At the hour indicated, the applicant should return to this back-of-building service window to retrieve his/her license. You will need to present the final receipt (for 100 SDG), at which point the attendant will indicate delivery by slightly tearing the receipt. He’ll hand over this marred receipt and your shiny new license.
NOTE: If you find, as did the author, that they have incorrectly transcribed information such as your blood type, phone number, etc., the author recommends that you not mention it. Let’s be honest, you’re unlikely to need/agree to a blood transfusion in Sudan, anyway. And in the case of the phone number, in true Sudanese style, you’ll likely lose or break your SIM card within the next three months, requiring a new number anyway.

Total cost: 250 SDG (about $100 USD)

Total time elapsed: For the author, 78 hours (NOTE: do not start the process on a Friday morning; you’ll undoubted be delayed until Monday for the right people to be in the office.

Disclaimer: Like everything in Southern Sudan, this process is liable to change at any time. According to our licenses, we were the 741st and 743rd people to successfully navigate this process, so it's probably due to change sooner rather than later.

Map of Traffic Police Complex

Map of Medical Commissioner's Office Complex

Jubalicious?! Uh, not quite.

For three years now, I've been hearing from Francis about the challenges of Southern Sudan, not the least of which is the horrible state of Juba, its capitol city. Usually any discussion of Juba concludes that it's a "trainwreck" with horrible roads, a complete lack of hospitality-industry amenities, and utterly non-sensical public services. Well, he certainly didn't sugarcoat anything, but whether it's the inevitability of time and billions of dollars in donor money, or just a more forgiving interpretation through my slightly less jaded eyes, Juba isn't quite the dump I expected it to be.


The roads are terrible; like beyond-words terrible. It is something that you really have to experience to understand. The best description I can think of is that they remind me of moguls in skiing--an endless stretch of undulations. There is the occasional SUV-sized pothole, but usually previous travelers have already carved out a path around this huge pit, turning otherwise straight roads into winding paths. Each time we drive on the roads, I'm afraid that I'm going to break the seat belt or else it is going to slice my neck open. Lest any readers include people working on Juba's infrastructure, on the positive side, Francis has been amazed at how many more roads have been paved since his last trip (late spring 2009). There's still, though, LOTS of room for improvement.


In terms of Juba's hospitality industry, I don't have too much of a reference group, but from what I understand, we are staying in one of the nicest places (a camp with little cottages), right on the Nile. And it is nice and safe, and has above-average food. But the Ritz it is not, despite a $200+ per-night price tag. Most of the places in town are hotels made from shipping containers (think train boxcars), less-than-structurally-sound motels, and (literally) tents. Again, the silver lining which Francis did not tell me about is a growing restaurant industry. Tonight we went to an exquisitely decorated restaurant serving both Chinese and pizza--Francis had the former and I the latter, and both were VERY good. There are rumors of a good steak place in town that we're hoping to check out sometime soon. Again, considering this is a capitol city, the pickings are horribly slim, but there are options beyond the buffet offered by the camp.





I certainly haven't been in the country long enough to speak about the general state of public services, but I have started the process of applying for a driver's license, so I can speak to that. Guys, if you think the DMV/Secretary of State is bad, think again. Sure, there is undoubtedly a wait, but there is generally some published information (online or in the waiting area) that tells you which documents you need, how much it will cost, when you can expect to receive your license, etc. Not so in Southern Sudan. The process first started in a little unmarked tin building; we waited in line to learn that presenting our actual passports and drivers licenses wasn't acceptable; we needed copies. Once copies were made, we paid $10 each just to get an application. We were then sent out to talk to the director (of what, I don't know) who informed us that before we could get his stamp (for a mere $250) we actually needed to go 2 miles away to the hospital to have the chief medical officer transcribe the blood type from our Red Cross cards onto the form. [The medical officer was gone for the the weekend when we arrived at 2pm on Friday, so we'll find out on Monday how much money that step costs]. We've been told that other steps in the application process MAY include an interview, driving test, and having the form entered into the computer with fees up to another $100, but none of this has been made exactly clear. I'm praying that no driving test is required--95% of the vehicles here (including those for Francis' project) are stick-shift--though I have practiced in Juba's learners' lot just in case... Anyway, if this is any indication of the inefficiencies and costliness in dealing with the Sudanese public sector, it's going to be challenging to say the least.


So, I started this posting by saying that Juba "isn't the dump I expected it to be." It's true that most of the things Francis warned me about aren't quite as bad as he'd prepared me for. What he didn't tell me about, though, is that Juba is covered in trash--it is literally a dump. Now, I've been to other developing countries before, so I've seen my fair share of trash. But this is unlike anything I've ever seen. Everywhere you look, there are water bottles, cans, broken pottery, and blue and white striped shopping bags--filling potholes in the road, along fence lines, floating in every body of water. As far as I can tell, there is absolutely no means of dealing with trash in Juba, and so it just accumulates wherever people leave it. Some of the larger piles are burned; goats and dogs rummage for any edible scraps in the rest. But largely it just sits there. Now, I know I'm not the first person to realize this is a problem because the other day I spotted a trash barrel in town encouraging people to "Keep Juba Clean". I think it's too late, folks. Juba is dirty. Period. The only blessing is that electronic equipment and appliances are scarce enough and valuable enough that they haven't yet made it to Juba's street-side garbage heaps.

There are many, many stories to tell, but not nearly enough time (or rather patience on my part). Maybe someday over a nice glass of wine... Also, there are many, many scenes I'd like to capture, but the Sudanese (especially in Juba) are very suspcious of photographers and so you'll have to just settle for the few shots I get or come to visit me to see for yourself...

And so instead, I'll leave you with a few random thoughts:

• The Nile is large and very fast-moving, but pales in comparison to the vastness of the Amazon. Maybe it's larger 3000 miles north, nearer it's mouth?


• Lizards (I think these creatures are too large to be called geckos) are everywhere, clinging to walls, on trees, camoflaged on fence posts, and they scare me. I think there was one in our air conditioner the other day while I was in the room alone; I was not amused.


• Some body language is universal. For example, raising ones' eyebrows. In applying for drivers licenses, two different officers asked whether I wanted to get a license. When I told them "yes", I got back a sly grin and raised eyebrows...


• Most of the school-age kids I've seen here do wear shoes. Not always a matching pair, but most have flipflops, mary janes, loafers, or some combination of these covering their feet.


• The crash of mangoes falling on a tin roof is initially unsettling, but can eventually just blend into the background. The crash of mangoes falling on a solar water heater; now, that's something else.

A casualty of falling mangoes; thankfully, we still manage to have hot water for showers.

Playing tourist in Uganda

An unexpected extention of our stay in Kampala meant that we had a day to visit some nearby touristy spots. It was a much-needed break for Francis (who had been working 12-15 hour days since we arrived), and an opportunity for me to experience Uganda beyond the downtown shopping district.

We started out the day at the Namugongo Martyrs Shrine, built in the 70s after a visit by Pope John Paul. I was told that Catholics from across East Africa walk hundreds of miles to celebrate Martyrs' Day each June, remembering the 30 baptized Christians who sang as they were burned alive in 1886. Similar to my experience attending Mass in Kampala the previous Sunday, the crowd at Mass far exceeded the capacity of the church and so overflow seating was set up outside. The service itself was very similar to Mass in the States--even more similar than I remember of Mass in the UK. The music was upbeat, accompanied by both organ and drums, and each mass included at least one hymn that I knew.

Our next stop was at the Mabira Forest Reserve, central Uganda's last old-growth rainforest that hasn't been cut down for charcoal or to make room for sugarcane. An ecotourism organization runs a nice camp that offers guided tours. The highlights: within our first 10 minutes in the forest, I saw 3 red-tailed monkeys and no snakes! Though we made it there before the daily rain, the red-mud path was EXTREMELY slippery. Not wanting his musungu charge to wind up covered in mud, the guide held my hand for about half of the journey and made an extraordinary save as I slid on a particularly mucky section. In the end, my feet were covered in mud and he insisted he "run an extra mile" (his words) by washing our feet and shoes; another hubmling experience that continues to make me uncomfortable.

Our journey then took us to Jinja, Uganda's second largest city and largest tourist destination, known for white-water rafting and its grid-patterned streets. Jinja sits on the Nile River, just as it exits Lake Victoria and begins its 4ooo mile journey through central Uganda, the length of Sudan, and Egypt. There are a number of musungu hangouts along the river, where 20-something Americans, Europeans, and Australians come to kayak and raft the Bujagali Falls. Rather than taking to the river ourselves (being rather accident-prone and 100 miles from good medical treatment dissuaded us), Francis and I instead took in the views and some lunch from one of the resorts. We then headed to the "Source of the Nile"--think Niagara Falls tourist trap in Africa--where a dance troupe performed for us and a guide tried to get us into a boat to go out and see the now-submerged spring that early British explorers and Ugandans claim as the Nile's source (the real headwaters are somewhere in Rwanda or Burundi, flow into Lake Victoria, and then flow out into the Victoria Nile). Anyway, ominous clouds and choppy waters served as a sufficient excuse for not getting in the boat, and instead we headed back home.

An overturned truck blocking the Jinja-Kampala road turned our 90 minute journey into 4 hours. As we sat in traffic, I was very thankful to be sharing the backseat of a Land Rover with Francis rather than squished shoulder to shoulder in one of the 4 benchseats of the minibus taxis. Listening to the country music on the radio also made me smile.

On the road back, I spotted a USPS box at a vegetable stand on the side of the road!