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.