News from Kapoeta

There hasn't been much of note going on recently, and so I thought I'd report some of my observations of the mundane, Garrison-Keilor-style. Here goes ...


It's been a quiet week in Kapoeta, my (new) hometown at the edge of the dry savannah.


The November rains have finally come-albeit a little late-providing some respite from the heat and greening the landscape. While most of the rains have been occasional mid-day sprinkles, on Friday there was a heavy downpour. I'm not sure if it was the impact of the raindrops on the earth or steam from cool rain hitting soil, but all of Kapoeta was blanketed with a white, misty fog; it's as close to snow as this town gets. Within an hour, the usually dry and passable riverbed was full of rushing water, impassable to all but the intrepid (or foolish) for the next 5 hours. (To get a sense of these river crossings, I've posted a picture of one of my favorites on the drive to Loki.)a white, misty fog; it’s as close to snow as this town gets. Within an hour, the usually dry and passable riverbed was full of rushing water, impassable to all but the intrepid (or foolish) for the next 5 hours. (To get a sense of these river crossings, I’ve posted a picture of one of my favorites on the drive to Loki.)


On Sunday at the Catholic Church, the Toposa lector for the first reading was a middle age woman, straight out of the bush. Now, St. Mary's Catholic Church in Kapoeta is no stranger to topless women, but this was the first I'd seen of it at the lectern. This lector also doubled as a liturgical dancer, standing up in the center aisle anytime music was played, occasional sashaying over to dance in front of the choir or right in front of the alter. While I'd been told that music is a key part of Toposa culture, this was the first I'd witnessed dancing, mostly swaying and bopping to the drum beat, and occasionally rotating shoulders and arms so that the arm bands with 2 'long grass tassels would flip up over and around the dancer's biceps. Later in the week I passed an entire troupe of dancers, presumably practicing for Christmas festivities.


Christmas is a big deal in Kapoeta. There are no visible signs to mark its coming, no light strands or tacky lawn displays; not even an advent wreath in the church. However, its coming is palpable in the air. In town, I've noticed more people wearing new wraps, the clean material striking in dust-coated world. Many of the shops in town have new stocks of thin linoleum to be rolled out on the dirt floor of a tukul. The atmosphere at the worksite reminds me of May in high school, anticipating the end of the school year. All of the boys are itching to be done, talking about their holiday travel plans to see their mothers, scheming about ways that they might be able to skip out early. Francis and I have begun distributing Christmas cards to some of the regular workers. While I can't say it is the first time they've received a Christmas card, the look on their face after receiving an envelope with their name written on it reveals that this is certainly not an everyday occurrence for them.


Christmas came a little early for the Mills family this year. Our shipment of personal effects arrived from the US on Monday. Since the contractor is still making repairs in the house and we don't yet have shelves to unpack the boxes onto, most of the things have remained wrapped in their packing. We have pulled out the CD case to start playing some Christmas tunes, though (I think part of my malaise has been due to a lack of music) and I've identified some of the boxes that we'll want to have access to in order to celebrate Christmas. Now that our camping gear has arrived, even if we don't have furniture, we intend to wake up in our house on Christmas morning.


With each passing day, the house gets closer to being moved into. On Tuesday they fixed the shower, and so I was able to take my first flip-flop-free, hot-water shower in Kapoeta. It was heavenly. The garden out back is also going full-tilt. Peter and I transplanted the tomatoes on Wednesday. I tried to get him to give some of the extra plants to the workers, but he insisted that I transplant all 50 + plants, noting that no one else has ready access to water to keep them thriving. Seeing his point, I reluctantly agreed; even if I give all of the workers tomatoes, something tells me I may still have enough to set up a vegetable stand.


Well, that's the news from Kapoeta, where the women are poised, the men are often absent, and the children are all half-naked.