The times, they are a-changing

Where to begin? Shana’s visit really ushered in a whole new “normal” here.

Change #1: We are now a one-tortoise family. We arrived from picking up Shana at the airport in Kenya to find Clare, the first tortoise and the one that laid the eggs, dead in our backyard. For a couple days she’d been doing some serious hibernating, first on our porch and then on the edge of the tortoise pond. We try to let the tortoises do their own thing and so we’re not exactly sure when she died but she was pretty stiff (hence, the tortoise rigor mortis reference in the last post). I’m a little nervous now about caring for Morty, though he’s always been more active and at least once a week will eat up a storm on whatever grassy weeds are growing in the yard. If only there were a tortoise whisperer (or veterinarian!) in town to assure us that we’re not being bad tortoise tenders…

Change #2: The rains have come. Today marks the third rain in four days, turning this dusty town into a gooey mud bowl. Seriously, I have never experienced mud this sticky. The clumping of mud on your shoes is like walking around with 10-pounds on each foot. Since this mud is a sure way to kill a pair of flipflops (and makes for lots of dirt under your toenails) I’ve taken to wearing big rubber boots around—quite a fashion statement, I know. On the positive side, the rain thankfully has brought some relief from the heat and hopefully will keep the dust down in the house for a while.

Change #3: I am once again gainfully employed. Earlier this week, I started a job with an NGO organizing and overseeing emergency food distribution to 10,000 people living around Kapoeta. The rains never came last year, and so people have been running out of food. Today, I went to a boma (village) and found the grain stores empty; people have been eating these bitter almond-size fruits (like the ones on our Christmas tree) and tree leaves. It’s very sad. Most of this week I’ve been trying to pull together lists of people to receive the food, which included lots of meetings with government people and even a meeting with all of the local chiefs. [During this meeting, one of the chiefs indicated that he hoped after the program, his people would look “as healthy” as me. While at first I was appalled and embarrassed, I decided it better to take it as a sign of how lovely it is to be in a place where big is beautiful.] In the coming weeks, I need to hire myself a staff and work on putting together a system for efficiently and transparently distributing 970 metric tons (that’s 970,000 kg or about 2 million pounds!) of food. Needless to say, this food distribution job means that Francis and I won’t be having quite the gourmet meals we’ve become accustomed to while I’ve been playing housewife. But really, when you see people starving, even coming home to a peanut butter sandwich feels like a luxury.

A Q&A with Shana, our first visitor from the US

Q: What was your first impression of Kapoeta?
A: It is hot and in the middle of nowhere. Man, this is not like Yei.

Q: How hot is it?
A: Approximately 135 degrees Fahrenheit, regardless of the time of day. The heat is so hot it makes you sleep. You know it’s hot when your flipflops are sitting in the shade and they burn your feet when you put them on. You know it’s hot when you’re still sweating sitting inside of an air conditioned truck.

Q: What are the main differences from your trip to Yei in 2008?
A: It’s nice not having Joey’s workers all ask to marry me. Feeling safe enough to walk everywhere without being driven is pretty sweet, too.

Q: What was your favorite thing about the visit?
A: Seeing my brother and sister-in-law in the flesh. (Really?!) Oh, and having an entourage of people following me. And touching my muscles and my hair.

Q: What surprised you most?
A: How much Sarah has changed—she gets her hands in the dirt and she’s not afraid of bugs anymore.

Q: Any disappointments?
A: [said while waving a finger] The speed of the internet. Now I can understand why I can’t talk to my brother and sister-in-law whenever I want to. I am ticked.

Q: What was the saddest part of the trip?
A: It started with tortoise rigor mortis [details in my next blog] and ended with saying goodbye to Joey and Sarah.

Q: What was your scariest moment while visiting?
A: While you might think it was seeing the big military tank haulers, it was actually taking a long call (pooping) with a scorpion in the bathroom—at your house!

Q: What would people be amazed by?
A: The ability to make American food in this hell hole—just kidding, it’s not that bad. It’s just hot. Oh, wait, did I say that already? Seriously, it was some good eating.

Q: What three pictures would enquiring minds most like to see?
A. The pad.

The green garden—amongst this dry, desolate landscape.

The mountain view—not what you’d expect to see.

Q: What fixer-up would most improve the house?
A: Constant electricity and a closed-off porch so I don’t have to lock my room everytime I leave it, and a lock on the bathroom door so people don’t barge all up in your space. [Francis: “sorry”] …and maybe a tukul for the in-laws.

Q: What advice would you give to future visitors to Kapoeta?
A: Bring an umbrella—this joint ain’t got no shade. Also, bring some boxer briefs; this place ain’t suited for chub-rub. And pack clothes that hide the sweat, or no clothes at all and just sunscreen and the umbrella. Oh, and check your bedsheets before climbing under the covers—after my encounter with the scorpion, I reassessed the value of my life.

Q: How might a girl convince her brother to come visit?
A: One word: boobs. There are lots of them here. Oh, and they sell Smirnoff in town…

Q: How might we convince our mothers to come visit?
A: Have a baby.

…And on that note, the interview is done. Quite obviously, this girl is out of order, but was a VERY welcome guest, nevertheless.