Holy cow! Has it really been over a month since the last time I posted a blog?! Woah, I’m seriously slacking. Well, not really. I’ve actually been really busy—it’s amazing how quickly time goes by when you are working hard and playing Laura Ingals Wilder all at the same time!
So, on my last post, I talked about 3 changes—the passing of a beloved tortoise, the coming of the rains, and my new job feeding the masses. Well, as is wont to happen in Sudan, shortly after writing, all three things changed again!
Change back #1: Soon after Clare’s passing, we were given another tortoise. This one is tiny—about the size of a grown man’s palm—and he’s so cute! He is just small enough to fit between the house and the foundations for our air conditioning units, and so we call him AC. I like to think of it as a throw-back to Saved by the Bell and AC Slater—Francis is less keen on that idea. But anyway, AC it is.
Change back #2: So, it was apparently fake rains that came in mid-February. After about a week or so of sogginess and daily downpours, the rains stopped and were replaced by the “March winds”—I’ve been told there is a single word in Arabic for this phenomenon. These were serious sand-in-your-eyes, hold-onto-your-hat type winds. Crazy. Well, now at the end of March, it’s out with the winds and back with the rain. I’ve taken to carrying flipflops with me and just wearing my galoshes/wellies outside. The mud is so sticky that it turns any shoes into weights. Though my white boots make quite a fashion statement (I’ll try to post a picture soon), I figure it’s better than risking ruining another pair of flipflops.
Change back #3: So, I still have a job, but I’ve been seriously delayed in feeding the masses. For my project, we are supposed to be getting our food from the UN’s World Food Program (WFP) and essentially distributing it on their behalf. Well, because the hunger situation is so bad here, WFP has a mandate to get out a lot of food in a short time, and it really isn’t in their program to deal with us. We want to do things in an orderly, targeted way; they basically give the food over to a chief and let him distribute it however he wants (some do it fairly; some give only to family and friends). So anyway, we’ve been waiting and waiting for them to tell us when we get the food, and still no word. I’m used to Sudan and the waiting game, but this is particularly frustrating because #1 people are really hungry and #2 I’ve promised the chiefs that I’d feed their blind/lame/widowed people and I don’t want them to get mad at me!
Rather than stewing around here with nothing to do since I have no food to distribute, I took advantage of the lull in the project to travel with Francis to Kampala, Uganda. It was lovely to have good water pressure and not have to think a day in advance about what I was going to prepare for dinner (do I need to soak beans? Bake bread? Pick veggies from the garden or market?). Though I’ve never been much of a shopper, it also was lovely to stand in a grocery store and have 12 different types of (outrageously priced) cereal to choose from and stand in the canned fruit aisle dreaming of making peach cobbler. I even found Duncan Hines canned frosting! Though it was again outrageously expensive, I bought a couple cans for emergencies. And, I found a very nice Serbian hairdresser who knows how to cut khawaja hair! She even blow-dried and styled it! I felt like a queen!
Like all things in Africa, there were snafus. I think something died in our hotel room’s air-conditioner. Francis and I didn’t say anything because we were busy shopping all day and too tired to deal with it when we came back at night, but apparently guests were complaining (they thought we were stinky!) and so we changed rooms. Also, Francis had chartered a small plane to take cargo (and me!) directly home on Saturday. Well, it decided to fly half-empty on Thursday instead, so I had to make other arrangements. It included an overnight in Nairobi giving me a chance to get my long-awaited sushi, followed by fresh strawberries and cream, so all’s well that ends well.
I’m now back in Kapoeta alone for a week while Francis finishes shopping and I try to bust some chops (is that the right expression?) at WFP. As I told my mother, there’s no need to worry; there are six American men to protect me here on the compound. But after spending every day of the past six months within 2 miles of Francis (well, except when I was out in the bush, but thankfully I’ve always returned by dark), I miss him.
So, that’s the update here. The national elections in Sudan are in a couple of weeks, and so we’re still trying to figure out whether we will stay here or go on a short vacation—I’m voting either for a big-game safari experience or hiking the snow-capped Mount Kenya. I’m pretty sure that my project will take a break since there are only 5 staff members and I’m the only non-Sudanese (everyone else needs time off to travel to their home district to vote). But I’m not sure what Francis needs to do. Someone has to be around to run the generator and make sure all that (again, outrageously expensive) cheese we just bought in Kampala doesn’t spoil…
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Saturday, February 20, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, February 15, 2010
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.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
News from the frontier
As the newness of Sudan wears off and initially startling sights begin to become commonplace, it gets harder and harder to think of things that are noteworthy enough to write about. At the same time, though, I realize that the life I now lead is anything but ordinary. Francis and regularly reflect upon how our life here resembles that of pioneers: I bake bread and tend the garden, while he tries to construct and maintain our “homestead” with the most basic of tools. I like to think of myself as the modern-day Laura Ingals Wilder while Francis channels Speke or Livingstone, some of the early African explorers.
In coming up with fodder for this post, I realize I have neglected to mention that there has been some upheaval in the Mills’ pet situation. A couple weeks ago, we were driving through town when a dumptruck driver who has hauled topsoil for me flagged us down to tell us he had dropped off a tortoise at our house. Thinking that he expected payment, we gave him some non-committal answer, but he clarified that it “was a gift for madam.” After searching for a couple days (this new addition is MUCH quicker) we found our gift roaming around the powerstation grounds just outside our residential compound fence. Since we’d given up on using visual indicators to determine tortoise gender, we christened him Clare, either short for Clarence (an excellent name for a tortoise, don’t you think?!) or a nice female name. Well, two weeks passed and we found the old tortoise Morty laying more eggs, thus firmly establishing that “she” is a she. While I thought that Morty would still be ok (short for Morticia…), Francis insisted that we swap the pet names. So now the old Morty, the egg-layer with the cracked shell, goes by Clare and the new guy who is much less shy (he’s taken a liking to hanging out on the front porch) is the new Morty. It’s almost like a soap opera, huh?!
The addition of the second tortoise provided further impetus to construct a pond for the tortoises. Though they are accustomed to desert living and spend most of the day hiding in a shady spot, online sources say that leopard tortoises do like to have a shallow place to wade in and have a nice long drink. I had Peter do some excavation, and hired a mason to pour a shallow pond, and then Francis and I pushed some large, pretty stones in the surface of the wet concrete Cambridge-style. I then took LOTS of extra stones and put them around the concrete to create ramps for the tortoises to enter and exit. So far, the birds have gotten much more use out of it than Morty or Clare (in fact, I don’t think Morty likes water much at all), though Clare spent a good hour in the pond the other day. I have plans to plant bushes on one side to provide additional hiding spots and grass all around so they have something to eat, all in due time.
In other news, while I was out in the yard arranging the stones around the pond, I noticed a 10 or 12 year old Toposa girl outside our fence. Now, there are young Toposa girls passing by the compound all the time, but this one caught my eye because rather than staring in the compound at me, she was looking up at one of the trees just outside our fence. While I watched her, she picked up a rock and hurled it up into the tree canopy. An instant later, a crow-sized bird fell from the tree, which she promptly picked up and went on her way. Now, I know that for eons humans have been killing birds with stones, but I thought that it was mostly done with the aid of a slingshot. This wasn’t just a random happening—this girl was tracking her prey, aiming, and got it in one try! I was impressed. These people are tough.
In other news, we’ve now been officially moved into our house for about a week. On one of the first nights in the house, an American friend who we met in November at the safari camp was in town again, and so we invited him over for dinner, making him our first dinner guest. The meal, if I must say so myself (and evidenced by no leftovers) was quite lovely, but it was even lovelier sitting around on the couch after dinner, sipping tea (me) and port (Francis). It felt so civilized after months of living out of a suitcase.
Though we received clearance to move in, there were still a couple things around the house that the construction contractor needed to finish. As per Murphy’s Law, they showed up three days after this move-in. Even worse, it was the night before my birthday, and their top priority for the following day was to seal the grout throughout the house. So, I awoke on my 28th b-day on the wrong side of the bed, and watched as a team of people removed from the house EVERYTHING that I had just put in place. I was mad. I needed to get away, and it just so happened that Peter also had finally lined up a source for manure for the garden, and so I had a crappy (pun intended) rest of the morning collecting poop to feed my plants. The day improved a bit when I got a call that an NGO doing emergency food distribution out in the bush around Kapoeta (there was a drought last year and its effects are really starting to show now) wanted to interview me for a position coordinating distribution—more details later if it actually happens. The next step in the right direction was realizing that my sweetcorn was ready (actually, beyond ready) for picking! I’d hoped for corn-on-the-cob for a birthday meal, but didn’t really think it would be possible. Oh, what a harvest! Against all odds, I managed to reap about 4 dozen ears (only from those plants that I didn’t transplant—lesson for the future), a dozen of which Francis and I consumed off the cob and the rest which I cooked, cut off the cob, and have stored in the freeze for future enjoyment. The next day, I had Peter plant more (I’m thinking we’ll plant every two or three weeks, now that we know it works!).
Anyway, back to the birthday story. So, things improved with the sweetcorn, as well as with the mudslide that I had for dessert. To top the day off, I went online to find an overwhelming number of emails and facebook messages from family and friends, leading me to wonder who died and made me so popular?! I also opened physical birthday cards (sent earlier with Francis’ colleagues) from Mama & Papa Mills (Thank you!) and my parents (who would have thought that your voices would be heard in Africa?!). It turned out to be a lovely day.
Later in the week, the contractors finished up on the house, and Francis and I made our way to Juba where I’m writing this post. He has a work meeting and needs to do some shopping for the project, and I had my interview (went well, I think) and need to pick up some groceries. We also met up with the 5 American linemen who have been contracted to do most of the actual construction of power lines, and we’ll all be traveling back “home” in a couple days.
I expect lots of excitement in the coming weeks, not the least of which is a visit from Shana (Francis’ sister). We’re due to get the heck out of Sudan in the next couple weeks (actually, Juba was a welcome change of scenery, even if it is a dump), though I’m not sure that a trip to Nairobi or Kampala will be possible if I get this job—there is LOTS to be done in a short time. Anyway, stay posted for the latest news and don’t worry if I don’t post; just means that I’m back to being a boring pioneer...
In coming up with fodder for this post, I realize I have neglected to mention that there has been some upheaval in the Mills’ pet situation. A couple weeks ago, we were driving through town when a dumptruck driver who has hauled topsoil for me flagged us down to tell us he had dropped off a tortoise at our house. Thinking that he expected payment, we gave him some non-committal answer, but he clarified that it “was a gift for madam.” After searching for a couple days (this new addition is MUCH quicker) we found our gift roaming around the powerstation grounds just outside our residential compound fence. Since we’d given up on using visual indicators to determine tortoise gender, we christened him Clare, either short for Clarence (an excellent name for a tortoise, don’t you think?!) or a nice female name. Well, two weeks passed and we found the old tortoise Morty laying more eggs, thus firmly establishing that “she” is a she. While I thought that Morty would still be ok (short for Morticia…), Francis insisted that we swap the pet names. So now the old Morty, the egg-layer with the cracked shell, goes by Clare and the new guy who is much less shy (he’s taken a liking to hanging out on the front porch) is the new Morty. It’s almost like a soap opera, huh?!
The addition of the second tortoise provided further impetus to construct a pond for the tortoises. Though they are accustomed to desert living and spend most of the day hiding in a shady spot, online sources say that leopard tortoises do like to have a shallow place to wade in and have a nice long drink. I had Peter do some excavation, and hired a mason to pour a shallow pond, and then Francis and I pushed some large, pretty stones in the surface of the wet concrete Cambridge-style. I then took LOTS of extra stones and put them around the concrete to create ramps for the tortoises to enter and exit. So far, the birds have gotten much more use out of it than Morty or Clare (in fact, I don’t think Morty likes water much at all), though Clare spent a good hour in the pond the other day. I have plans to plant bushes on one side to provide additional hiding spots and grass all around so they have something to eat, all in due time.
In other news, while I was out in the yard arranging the stones around the pond, I noticed a 10 or 12 year old Toposa girl outside our fence. Now, there are young Toposa girls passing by the compound all the time, but this one caught my eye because rather than staring in the compound at me, she was looking up at one of the trees just outside our fence. While I watched her, she picked up a rock and hurled it up into the tree canopy. An instant later, a crow-sized bird fell from the tree, which she promptly picked up and went on her way. Now, I know that for eons humans have been killing birds with stones, but I thought that it was mostly done with the aid of a slingshot. This wasn’t just a random happening—this girl was tracking her prey, aiming, and got it in one try! I was impressed. These people are tough.
In other news, we’ve now been officially moved into our house for about a week. On one of the first nights in the house, an American friend who we met in November at the safari camp was in town again, and so we invited him over for dinner, making him our first dinner guest. The meal, if I must say so myself (and evidenced by no leftovers) was quite lovely, but it was even lovelier sitting around on the couch after dinner, sipping tea (me) and port (Francis). It felt so civilized after months of living out of a suitcase.
Though we received clearance to move in, there were still a couple things around the house that the construction contractor needed to finish. As per Murphy’s Law, they showed up three days after this move-in. Even worse, it was the night before my birthday, and their top priority for the following day was to seal the grout throughout the house. So, I awoke on my 28th b-day on the wrong side of the bed, and watched as a team of people removed from the house EVERYTHING that I had just put in place. I was mad. I needed to get away, and it just so happened that Peter also had finally lined up a source for manure for the garden, and so I had a crappy (pun intended) rest of the morning collecting poop to feed my plants. The day improved a bit when I got a call that an NGO doing emergency food distribution out in the bush around Kapoeta (there was a drought last year and its effects are really starting to show now) wanted to interview me for a position coordinating distribution—more details later if it actually happens. The next step in the right direction was realizing that my sweetcorn was ready (actually, beyond ready) for picking! I’d hoped for corn-on-the-cob for a birthday meal, but didn’t really think it would be possible. Oh, what a harvest! Against all odds, I managed to reap about 4 dozen ears (only from those plants that I didn’t transplant—lesson for the future), a dozen of which Francis and I consumed off the cob and the rest which I cooked, cut off the cob, and have stored in the freeze for future enjoyment. The next day, I had Peter plant more (I’m thinking we’ll plant every two or three weeks, now that we know it works!).
Anyway, back to the birthday story. So, things improved with the sweetcorn, as well as with the mudslide that I had for dessert. To top the day off, I went online to find an overwhelming number of emails and facebook messages from family and friends, leading me to wonder who died and made me so popular?! I also opened physical birthday cards (sent earlier with Francis’ colleagues) from Mama & Papa Mills (Thank you!) and my parents (who would have thought that your voices would be heard in Africa?!). It turned out to be a lovely day.
Later in the week, the contractors finished up on the house, and Francis and I made our way to Juba where I’m writing this post. He has a work meeting and needs to do some shopping for the project, and I had my interview (went well, I think) and need to pick up some groceries. We also met up with the 5 American linemen who have been contracted to do most of the actual construction of power lines, and we’ll all be traveling back “home” in a couple days.
I expect lots of excitement in the coming weeks, not the least of which is a visit from Shana (Francis’ sister). We’re due to get the heck out of Sudan in the next couple weeks (actually, Juba was a welcome change of scenery, even if it is a dump), though I’m not sure that a trip to Nairobi or Kampala will be possible if I get this job—there is LOTS to be done in a short time. Anyway, stay posted for the latest news and don’t worry if I don’t post; just means that I’m back to being a boring pioneer...
Friday, January 15, 2010
Flat-pack queen and garden goddess
It has been a week now since the truck with our furniture and appliances arrived from Uganda, and since then we’ve been spending no less than 12 hours a day (some time 14 or 15) trying to get things in order to move in. The bulk of my time (and the bane of my existence) has been putting together loads of flat-pack furniture—you know, Ikea/Target-style press board dressers, etc. Back in the States, I wasn’t too keen on this stuff because there is inevitably at least one piece where the holes are drilled incorrectly and, let’s be honest, I certainly don’t have the wrist strength to drive in a gazillion little screws to make the thing all fit together. It’s even harder here in Africa when the diagrams for assembly are incomprehensible (even to a reasonably intelligent engineer). After a week, I have 3 of 4 wardrobes completed (the first took 2 days to assemble!) and 4 of 8 desks put together. I also expected to put together bed frames, but we quickly realized that the store had shipped us queen-sized bed frames and California-king-sized mattresses. Since it’s not like we can go down the street to do an exchange—shipping them back to Uganda would cost more than they are worth—we’ve just been sleeping on the mattress on the floor. But since it’s the first time we’ve had a spring mattress to sleep on in 3 months, I’m not complaining!
With the truck of goodies also came everything to make a functional kitchen. I spent an entire day on Thursday washing dishes and trying to find a home for the pots, pans, and small appliances, no small task considering that I have approximately 6 square feet of countertop space and about half enough cupboards. With everything in place, I then set out to make a birthday dinner for Francis—though his bday is the 4th, since I had no means to bake a cake or good meal, we opted to observe his birthday 10 days later. It was so nice to be back in a kitchen with a handmixer, measuring cups, and frying pan!!! I’d planned on making frosted brownies and was lucky to find fresh eggs in the market. I also made a tomato and pesto lasagna, with basil from my own garden. The food was almost as good as the enjoyment of making it!
Speaking of the garden, everything is “going gangbusters” as my padre likes to say. We have enough green beans for a meal about every three days, the first batch of peas should be ready to pick any day, and there are four cucumbers that should also be ready soon. We have a few marble-sized tomatoes and some golf ball-sized watermelons. I’m expecting the beets also to be ready
soon, but I think the carrots and onions need some more time. The eggplant and peppers look healthy, but still no signs of fruit—it seems, though, that it’s a late bloomer ( and I’ve only planted it 2 months ago). I’m not sure what to make of my sweetcorn—it all looks healthy, but I’m afraid that it tassled too early. The tallest stalks are about 5’ tall, and even some of the 3-footers have full tassles. I have been warned that the 12-hour days (as opposed to the Midwest’s 16-18 hours of summer sun) may not be enough to produce full ears, but the thought of crispy, sweet corn-on-the-cob is worth the effort of trying. The only real disappointment (outside of my strawberries which never germinated) is my zucchini; the plants look healthy and they get huge yellow blossoms, but so far absolutely no fruit! Now that we’ve begun to see what grows well, the gardener and I are working this week on expanding the garden by about 50% so that we can get the next batch of crops in. Now that we’ve had crunchy, fresh veggies, we want to ensure that we will always have some!
[Above: Peter the gardener with our 3rd batch of beans]
Not too much else to report here. Furniture assembly has delayed my job hunt a bit, though I did have a pretty promising talk with an NGO the other day. I’m hoping that by the end of the month the house will be in good enough shape to throw a party for all of the kawajas in town …and not let anyone leave until someone agrees to hire me.
With the truck of goodies also came everything to make a functional kitchen. I spent an entire day on Thursday washing dishes and trying to find a home for the pots, pans, and small appliances, no small task considering that I have approximately 6 square feet of countertop space and about half enough cupboards. With everything in place, I then set out to make a birthday dinner for Francis—though his bday is the 4th, since I had no means to bake a cake or good meal, we opted to observe his birthday 10 days later. It was so nice to be back in a kitchen with a handmixer, measuring cups, and frying pan!!! I’d planned on making frosted brownies and was lucky to find fresh eggs in the market. I also made a tomato and pesto lasagna, with basil from my own garden. The food was almost as good as the enjoyment of making it!
Speaking of the garden, everything is “going gangbusters” as my padre likes to say. We have enough green beans for a meal about every three days, the first batch of peas should be ready to pick any day, and there are four cucumbers that should also be ready soon. We have a few marble-sized tomatoes and some golf ball-sized watermelons. I’m expecting the beets also to be ready
soon, but I think the carrots and onions need some more time. The eggplant and peppers look healthy, but still no signs of fruit—it seems, though, that it’s a late bloomer ( and I’ve only planted it 2 months ago). I’m not sure what to make of my sweetcorn—it all looks healthy, but I’m afraid that it tassled too early. The tallest stalks are about 5’ tall, and even some of the 3-footers have full tassles. I have been warned that the 12-hour days (as opposed to the Midwest’s 16-18 hours of summer sun) may not be enough to produce full ears, but the thought of crispy, sweet corn-on-the-cob is worth the effort of trying. The only real disappointment (outside of my strawberries which never germinated) is my zucchini; the plants look healthy and they get huge yellow blossoms, but so far absolutely no fruit! Now that we’ve begun to see what grows well, the gardener and I are working this week on expanding the garden by about 50% so that we can get the next batch of crops in. Now that we’ve had crunchy, fresh veggies, we want to ensure that we will always have some![Above: Peter the gardener with our 3rd batch of beans]
Not too much else to report here. Furniture assembly has delayed my job hunt a bit, though I did have a pretty promising talk with an NGO the other day. I’m hoping that by the end of the month the house will be in good enough shape to throw a party for all of the kawajas in town …and not let anyone leave until someone agrees to hire me.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Green Beans and Girl Friends
Living in Sudan is all about seeing life in its rawest form: naked (literally), unrefined, un-cushioned. Rather than fighting against nature, the Sudanese, whether out of necessity or immense wisdom, have learned to not fight against the harshness of the world, but rather to live with it. There is no such concept as a “well-sealed” house. This is an indoor-outdoor living culture with usually only sleeping done under the protection of a roof. Kids aren’t coddled but rather are expected to work for their keep. Even the smallest toddlers wander around lugging jerry cans. By the time they are 5 or 6, girls are expected to care for weaned infants, carrying a baby half their size around on their backs. Animals are valued solely for the meat that they can provide or the dowry they can buy. Goats are pulled around by their horns or hind legs, while chickens tend to by carried around upside down by their feet or (not too uncommonly) by just one wing. (Boy, do I have stories for PETA). It’s a place filled with acacia trees and their accompanying slightly-toxic thorns.
It’s understandable, then, why Sudan is a difficult place to love. What I’ve come to discover, though, is that such an atmosphere allows you to really appreciate simple joys.
…Like green beans. Fresh out of the garden, warm, crunchy, green beans. Today Francis and I enjoyed the first fruits of our garden. After two months of (kidney) beans, rice, and fried potatoes, the fresh, crisp flavor of the green beans was like candy. I had vowed to take a picture of my first harvest, but once I started eating the green beans, I couldn’t stop. Maybe you’ll get a picture of the second harvest.
…Like having a girlfriend. Someone you can sit across the coffeetable from with your feet curled under you, and chat about whatever is on your mind: recipes, frustrations of being stared at by Toposa women, which stores in town sell the best bread. Not that Francis’ company isn’t lovely (seriously, I would have already bought a ticket back to the US if I didn’t think so) but having someone to have girl-talk with is something that truly is a blessing.
…Like drink mixes. Tang, Kool-Aid, Crystal Lite. In such a climate, your body requires A LOT of liquid. But seriously, you can only drink so much room-temperature water. What a joy it is to tip back a glass and have sweet liquid tickle your tongue! Thank you NASA or whoever it was that came up with Tang and all of the other powdered drinks after it.
So, that’s what I’ve got right now. No huge news this week. Our stuff is still not here so we are splitting our time (and meals) between our empty house and the safari camp. With everyone returning from Christmas, I’m back to supervising crews doing excavations/leveling around the compound and plan to resume my job hunting. Wish me luck…
It’s understandable, then, why Sudan is a difficult place to love. What I’ve come to discover, though, is that such an atmosphere allows you to really appreciate simple joys.
…Like green beans. Fresh out of the garden, warm, crunchy, green beans. Today Francis and I enjoyed the first fruits of our garden. After two months of (kidney) beans, rice, and fried potatoes, the fresh, crisp flavor of the green beans was like candy. I had vowed to take a picture of my first harvest, but once I started eating the green beans, I couldn’t stop. Maybe you’ll get a picture of the second harvest.
…Like having a girlfriend. Someone you can sit across the coffeetable from with your feet curled under you, and chat about whatever is on your mind: recipes, frustrations of being stared at by Toposa women, which stores in town sell the best bread. Not that Francis’ company isn’t lovely (seriously, I would have already bought a ticket back to the US if I didn’t think so) but having someone to have girl-talk with is something that truly is a blessing.
…Like drink mixes. Tang, Kool-Aid, Crystal Lite. In such a climate, your body requires A LOT of liquid. But seriously, you can only drink so much room-temperature water. What a joy it is to tip back a glass and have sweet liquid tickle your tongue! Thank you NASA or whoever it was that came up with Tang and all of the other powdered drinks after it.
So, that’s what I’ve got right now. No huge news this week. Our stuff is still not here so we are splitting our time (and meals) between our empty house and the safari camp. With everyone returning from Christmas, I’m back to supervising crews doing excavations/leveling around the compound and plan to resume my job hunting. Wish me luck…
Monday, December 28, 2009
Our First (Kapoeta) Christmas
When it’s consistently 90 degrees outside and you live in a place where people can’t afford even the cheapest holiday decorations (and you have no house in which to unpack your decorations), Christmas has a way of sneaking up on you. But, as the world over, Christmas did come to Kapoeta, and Francis and I made the most of our first Christmas as a family.
On Christmas Eve, we spent the morning at our still-empty house. I was determined that
I’d wake up Christmas morning to a hot shower, something other than crepes for breakfast, and to some place that felt a little more like home. So, we set up an air mattress and the camping stove, and pulled out the small box of Christmas decorations that we’d sent from the States. While I hung our stockings and some ornaments from the still-empty curtain rods, Francis scavenged the brush pile for a suitable Christmas tree [he opted for what he later identified as a Desert Date—it did have thorns, but not nearly as many as some of the other options]. Later in the afternoon on Christmas Eve, we were invited to have snacks at the house of an 
American missionary couple [they are about the same age as us and have three little boys. Though our paths have seldom crossed since we arrived in town, the wife and I have exchanged many emails over the last few months. She really is a kindred spirit (alleluia!) and so I’m sure you’ll hear more about her in future posts.] Though not exactly a traditional Christmas gathering (there was pepperoni pizza, beefy cheese dip, and fudgy brownies!), it was so nice to commiserate with others who are craving some of the same American goodies that I miss, experimenting with gardening, and (even more importantly) struggling with the reality of being someone who “has” in a land of “have-nots”.
[Pictures: my attempt at decorating an unfurnished house; gifts for the American boys (poptarts in bubble wrap]
As advertised, we woke up Christmas morning in our new house, though not without some glitches. First off, the air mattress that we had borrowed had sprung a slow leak, and so we woke up at 4am essentially sleeping on the tile floor. Around that same time, we realized that even the nighttime in Kapoeta is hot—we’d shut off the generator (and thus the air-conditioner and any fans) at bedtime, but the house still managed to absorb heat. I re-inflated the mattress while Francis turned on the generator, and we went back to sleep for a bit before Francis was awakened because one of the compound guards hadn’t shown up for duty. When he returned from handling that situation, we had our first meal in our new house (cereal, juice, and some bread made by my new friend), and opened cards and presents. Then we headed for church. Now, as I’ve previously reported, Mass is typically 2 hours long because everything is done in 2 languages, and so I’d prepared myself for an extended service. We arrived to the church 20 minutes early to find it 75% full—it was 100% over capacity by the time mass started and there were even more people outside the church when we left. I was at first embarrassed when we were ushered to the VIP seats (plastic Africa chairs on the side facing the altar, rather than the typical backless wooden benches), but realized it was a blessing after sitting through a nearly 3-hour service (plus, it provided an excellent view for people-watching). The church itself had what I think were the only Christmas decorations in town (if you don’t count my imported stash)—a 3’ fake tree with some lights and lots of foil decorations on the altar, and prayer-flag-type streamers strung throughout. I was slightly
disappointed that there wasn’t the pageantry and costumes that I was warned about. But it wasn’t without excitement. Mass was interrupted at one point by a parade of people marching (and singing) through the back of the church. There was a crazy old man wrapped in a mosquito bed-net who regularly stood right in front of the alter waving his (only) arm and admonishing little kids to be quiet. In the middle of the homily, the priest led the (predominantly non-English-speaking) congregation in a rousing rendition of “Number one, Jesus is number one...”. And announcements included 30+ minutes of speeches from politicians (and political hopefuls) who were back in their home district for the holiday, and eager to talk to their constituents, many of whom I’d imagine rarely make it into town. After mass, we visited some friends at the Pentecostal mission (they fed 500+ people after their Christmas service), made phone calls to the family (our Christmas night; their late-morning), and then joined the same friends at the safari camp for a turkey dinner (which was very juicy but served, of course, with French fries, rice, and a bean medley).
The day after Christmas (Boxing Day, as our British friends call it) was our first anniversary. We headed back over to our house, fired up the generator, and had a lovely day simply relaxing. I’d gotten Francis a book on East African trees, and so he spent the better part of the day identifying which species we have on our compound. I caught up on some of the news (via podcast) and cross-stitched. In the evening, we made dinner on the campstove (couscous with artichoke pesto and sundried-tomatoes). It’s amazing how quickly a year goes by, but also how much can change in just one year!
[Pictures: This year and last]
Thank you to everyone who has sent holiday and anniversary well-wishes, particularly since I’ve been delinquent in sending any sort of Christmas greeting (electronic or otherwise). My New Year’s resolution: to do better. Enjoy the winter weather for me!
On Christmas Eve, we spent the morning at our still-empty house. I was determined that
I’d wake up Christmas morning to a hot shower, something other than crepes for breakfast, and to some place that felt a little more like home. So, we set up an air mattress and the camping stove, and pulled out the small box of Christmas decorations that we’d sent from the States. While I hung our stockings and some ornaments from the still-empty curtain rods, Francis scavenged the brush pile for a suitable Christmas tree [he opted for what he later identified as a Desert Date—it did have thorns, but not nearly as many as some of the other options]. Later in the afternoon on Christmas Eve, we were invited to have snacks at the house of an 
American missionary couple [they are about the same age as us and have three little boys. Though our paths have seldom crossed since we arrived in town, the wife and I have exchanged many emails over the last few months. She really is a kindred spirit (alleluia!) and so I’m sure you’ll hear more about her in future posts.] Though not exactly a traditional Christmas gathering (there was pepperoni pizza, beefy cheese dip, and fudgy brownies!), it was so nice to commiserate with others who are craving some of the same American goodies that I miss, experimenting with gardening, and (even more importantly) struggling with the reality of being someone who “has” in a land of “have-nots”.[Pictures: my attempt at decorating an unfurnished house; gifts for the American boys (poptarts in bubble wrap]
As advertised, we woke up Christmas morning in our new house, though not without some glitches. First off, the air mattress that we had borrowed had sprung a slow leak, and so we woke up at 4am essentially sleeping on the tile floor. Around that same time, we realized that even the nighttime in Kapoeta is hot—we’d shut off the generator (and thus the air-conditioner and any fans) at bedtime, but the house still managed to absorb heat. I re-inflated the mattress while Francis turned on the generator, and we went back to sleep for a bit before Francis was awakened because one of the compound guards hadn’t shown up for duty. When he returned from handling that situation, we had our first meal in our new house (cereal, juice, and some bread made by my new friend), and opened cards and presents. Then we headed for church. Now, as I’ve previously reported, Mass is typically 2 hours long because everything is done in 2 languages, and so I’d prepared myself for an extended service. We arrived to the church 20 minutes early to find it 75% full—it was 100% over capacity by the time mass started and there were even more people outside the church when we left. I was at first embarrassed when we were ushered to the VIP seats (plastic Africa chairs on the side facing the altar, rather than the typical backless wooden benches), but realized it was a blessing after sitting through a nearly 3-hour service (plus, it provided an excellent view for people-watching). The church itself had what I think were the only Christmas decorations in town (if you don’t count my imported stash)—a 3’ fake tree with some lights and lots of foil decorations on the altar, and prayer-flag-type streamers strung throughout. I was slightly
disappointed that there wasn’t the pageantry and costumes that I was warned about. But it wasn’t without excitement. Mass was interrupted at one point by a parade of people marching (and singing) through the back of the church. There was a crazy old man wrapped in a mosquito bed-net who regularly stood right in front of the alter waving his (only) arm and admonishing little kids to be quiet. In the middle of the homily, the priest led the (predominantly non-English-speaking) congregation in a rousing rendition of “Number one, Jesus is number one...”. And announcements included 30+ minutes of speeches from politicians (and political hopefuls) who were back in their home district for the holiday, and eager to talk to their constituents, many of whom I’d imagine rarely make it into town. After mass, we visited some friends at the Pentecostal mission (they fed 500+ people after their Christmas service), made phone calls to the family (our Christmas night; their late-morning), and then joined the same friends at the safari camp for a turkey dinner (which was very juicy but served, of course, with French fries, rice, and a bean medley).The day after Christmas (Boxing Day, as our British friends call it) was our first anniversary. We headed back over to our house, fired up the generator, and had a lovely day simply relaxing. I’d gotten Francis a book on East African trees, and so he spent the better part of the day identifying which species we have on our compound. I caught up on some of the news (via podcast) and cross-stitched. In the evening, we made dinner on the campstove (couscous with artichoke pesto and sundried-tomatoes). It’s amazing how quickly a year goes by, but also how much can change in just one year!
[Pictures: This year and last]
Thank you to everyone who has sent holiday and anniversary well-wishes, particularly since I’ve been delinquent in sending any sort of Christmas greeting (electronic or otherwise). My New Year’s resolution: to do better. Enjoy the winter weather for me!
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