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)