portraits of darfur at wanderingzito.com

Check out the new wanderingzito website featuring the Portraits of Darfur series, links to galleries from other fabulous locations, and the new wanderingzito botique where you can get a copy of a fabulous print or purchase some other zito-crafted miscellany.

50% of proceeds from Portraits of Darfur prints go back to Sudan to support projects in the areas where the photographs were taken. Proceeds from the other fab items will support the wanderingzito travel fund in order to enable the capturing of more fantastic photos.
More coming soon....

chile 070707

chile 070707
Originally uploaded by wanderingzito

toronto skies

DSCN7461
Originally uploaded by wanderingzito.

Portraits of Darfur

If you came here curious because you've stumbled upon my photos of Sudan somewhere- this is the link to follow for more: portraits of darfur

Lisboa

I heard a familiar sound last week that made me want to blog again- an oddly comforting noise- the echo of ink on paper shattering the silence of the immigration hall. A sacred aria, music to my ears: alas, a passport stamp.

Not that I’ve been counting, but after 518 days on my own side of the sea- a passport stamp was long overdue. With the cold blue leathery cover of the passport warming in my grip I stepped into the arrivals hall of the Lisbon airport with perma-grin.

Lisbon- I was going there for a meeting for work, but I couldn’t help but reflect on the fact that I’ve been there once before: October 2004. One day off the Anastasis, looking for some solitude to begin to ponder what I might do with my post-ship life, I hopped a plane from Hamburg to Lisbon and took a little road trip down to the Algarve. I chose Lisbon back then because I needed a place to figure out my next steps and launch my new beginning- and it didn’t hurt that I had a friend there who offered me the use of their seaside villa. This time I didn’t choose Portugal, it had been chosen for me, but I couldn’t help but dwell on the fact that my thoughts had nearly come full circle. February 2007: what am I going to do with my life?

That same week in 2004, prior to walking down the Anastasis gangway for the last time, my friends had authored small slips of paper with all kinds of advice for my future: one little yellow slip I remember proposed the challenge “stay in one country for one whole year”. I stuck the paper in my journal and scoffed at even the notion- as the one thing contrary to the nature of wanderers is STAYING.

It may have taken 3 years and another 30,000 miles, but I did it. Isn’t that one of the funny things about life- those things you never think you’ll do- the things you swear you’d never do- somehow edge their way into your path.

So here I am again… nearly 3 years later, walking the hilly streets, lingering in the mosaic patterned plazas and staring at the blue skies and narrow buildings with their colorfully tiled facades. A wanderer back on the map. Next destination: TBD.

where did my blog go??

I don't know

one in a million

I haven't said much about darfur in a long time. Perhaps because I haven't said much at all lately, perhaps because I'm a million miles further from Darfur than I was in my dusty sheets this time last year. But the reality is that Darfur is still there. The people in those pretty pictures I sent are still there. There are still millions of people living in camps, and all those terrible things in the news are still happening.

I'm learning in my new little life here, that even if I can't be in Sudan to tangibly touch the hurting, there are still things I can do to make a difference for my friends over there in that far away dusty world.

Alot is going on right now in the states to advocate for the people of Sudan and to put pressure on the government to stop what is happening there. This week we all have a chance to say something and speak up for my friends in Darfur. The Million Voices for Darfur campaign is asking a million people to send postcards to President Bush to not turn a blind on Sudan. The best part is that you don't even need a postcard to do it. You can just click right HERE. This isn't a ploy to add you to a mailing list or send you spam, it is just a way to let your light help shine in the darkness of Darfur.

Don't do it for me. I'm asking you to speak up because I know that Fatiah, Fatma, Khadea, Halima, Akhmed, Munira, and Nadir would thank you for it.

Be one in a million.

"Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves,
for the rights of all who are destitute.
Speak up and judge fairly;
defend the rights of the poor and needy."
-Proverbs 31:8,9

neighborhood snow

DSCN6553
Originally uploaded by wanderingzito.

no need to worry about terrorists anymore- we've got the angels protecting the hill.

half way ‘home’

I would venture to say that most people think of “home” as the geographic place where they lay their head at night and find shelter with their own people.

But since we wandering souls often lack that geographic stability, I guess we more of less consider home as the places we most feel like we belong.

Home: (n), 1. a place where a person lives, or where a person is comfortable to be. 2. A base or place where you are stationed from where missions start and end. 3. A residential dwelling broader than a physical dwelling. 4. a place of refure and safety where worldly cares fade and where things and people one loves becoming the focus.

It doesn’t matter whether home is a ship in the middle of the sea, a mattress in the open desert an airport you’ve been through one too many times, or the and the princess and the pea bed in the family guest room.

I guess I’m thinking about home tonight because I find myself oddly at home while being between homes. Tonight I’m sleeping in Atlanta. The city has changed a lot since I packed up my Braves hat for Asia in 1997, but there is still a familiarity in being here. Perhaps I’m reminded of home, because I remember the strong ties of friendships felt here. Desoto homes, piedmont blading, law school musings, 7^th Street poetry, the big scary lot and crescent commuting. I still sometimes find home in the memories.

I guess it is also weird in a way because I left home today too. I emptied out the closet in my dad’s house in Tampa this morning. Although the sunshine state has always been a place for my temporary stopovers, somewhere in the mix of 2005 it became a home to me too. As I watched the bay fade into the distance behind me today I thought about my family here, my fun Tampa church, and all the friends and strangers who’ve supported me through my transitions and trauma months with hugs, kind words and smiles. Café con leches, bayshore miles, poolside airshows, and wireless unemployment.

Although it is sort of strange to both be home and leaving home, I guess that I’m actually on my way home too. This week I’m moving to Washington DC. For the next year I will make this place my home. I’ve just taken a job working for World Vision and will unpack my bags on 8^th street, a few blocks from the capitol. Although I’ve never lived in DC before, it seems like this is where I belong for this season. Although I haven’t really arrived yet, I’m anticipating the new home and the new family that awaits me there.

Perhaps finding home wherever we are is the key to the journey, because I guess the reality truly is that none of these places where we abide in this life are really our real home anyway. I guess it is all about finding comfort and relationship in the places where we are, remembering that we were made for something greater, and always remembering to look towards our eternal home sweet home.

“Where we love is home,
home that our feet may leave,
but not our hearts."

Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr.

a year in review

America...England...Sudan...Kenya...Zanzibar...Tanzaniza...
Kenya...Scotland...Switzerland...Lichtenstien...Switzerland...
Scotland...England...America...???

Was it just the end of 2004 that I left my sailors life? I feel like the past year I've been trapped in a global spaghetti junction of transitions looking for the right exits and following all those orange detour signs.

Aaaah... 2005. It is almost over... Finally!

I'm still not sure that I know which way that I'm going. And it is frustrating to find myself right back where I seem to have started this year. I guess that is why I needed to look back at the year and see where I've been. To see that while I've been frustrated going nowhere, I've been all over the map.

It's all in the journey.

If all difficulties were known at the outset of a long journey,
most of us would never start out at all.
-Dan Rather

orange seasons

DSCN5946
Originally uploaded by wanderingzito.

khalas

Finished. No More. The End. Done Done. Closed. End of Story. Gone. Khalas.

Perhaps my detour diaries were a little too enigmatic for some as there seems to be some lingering confusion of my current whereabouts. To set the record straight, I’m done with Darfur and back in the states. My Sudanese adventure is khalas.

Khalas (read: ha-la-s) is one of the remaining words of my small Arabic vocabulary that has integrated itself into my everyday English. Perhaps khalas got stuck in my brain because it seemed to be dropped in every other sentence. Perhaps because it can mean so many things.

Khalas can mean that something is not available. The water jug is khalas (empty), the electricity is khalas (not going to come on tonight), the cookies in the cupboard are khalas (someone ate them all before you). However, khalas can also carry the connotation of a deep finality. The cook got caught stealing and was khalased (fired) or the guard got shot by bandits and is khalas (dead). There is a bit of room for confusion, and as you might imagine, I frequently was corrected for my misuse of the word "khalas" during my days in Darfur.

For example. The small "shop" on our corner in El Geneina had no official operating hours. When the ship keeper Anoor showed up with key to the padlock, the store was open, when he closed the door and went for a nap, the store was closed.

"Anoor is not here, the store is khalas" I said to my friends who sold bread under the tree one day. "La la la" (no no no), they laughed. If the store is khalas, it will never open again. The store is only “gafil” (closed for now).

So I guess that I am right saying that geographically, my time in Sudan is “khalas,” but I have to admit that in my mind it is more like Anoor’s store on the corner- open and closed and opened and closed as frequently as my thoughts of Darfur come and go.

This isn’t a bad thing, big pieces of my heart and many people who I love dearly are still daily wading through the difficult trials of life in Sudan. Although my feet aren’t on there ground there anymore, I hope my wandering tales have peaked your interest enough that your wonderings and prayers for the people of Darfur won’t be khalased either.

Perhaps God will lead my feet back to the dusty streets of Darfur someday. Perhaps the book is closed, but not khalas. Perhaps this ending is just the forward to the sequel.

For a long time it had seemed to me that life was about to begin -- real life. But there was always some obstacle in the way. Something to be got through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, a debt to be paid. Then life would begin. At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life.
– Fr. Alfred D’Souza

detour diaries

Sometimes life drops you in the oddest places when you least expect it. It isn’t that the place itself is odd, it is just too surreal that you are there. One minute you know exactly where you are and which direction you are headed, and the next minute you find yourself somewhere completely out of context with your feet and your head seeming to occupy different planets.

Although the silence of my long writing hiatus may have you thinking that life has dropped me off the face of the planet altogether, I’ve just been lost on a long detour.

Detour: (n) 1. roundabout way, a roundabout road, especially one that is used temporarily while a main route is blocked. 2. A deviation from a direct course of action.



Carberry, Scotland: I pinch myself often. I hang my hammock in giant beautiful ancient trees and run barefoot through vibrant green grass of the expansive castle grounds. How did I get here? I'm supposed to be living in Sudan. I stop and smell the flowers in the sculptured rose garden on my way to breakfast where they serve yogurt everyday. On a sunny day it seems like paradise compared to Darfur, but Paradise was six weeks ago watching the sunrise over crystal blue waters off the fabulous coast of Zanzibar.



Zanzibar,Tanzania: Was I really there?? Another pinch. I have the pictures to prove it, so it must be true. Hammock napping over pristine white sands. Real coffee with liquid milk waiting on my terrace at sunrise. Wandering the narrow streets of Stone Town and swimming with sea turtles and schools of iridescent fish. Zanzibar moments were barefoot paradise. Drinking in every shade of blue horizon between sunrise and sunset in attempt to quench the thirst in my sea-loving soul after 13 weeks of brown dusty Darfur.



Nairobi, Kenya: Nairobi was the transit city on my r&r itinerary. A place I planned to pass through and visit friends, to drink coffees at the java house and to catch planes and buses to my places of rest. Unexpectedly, Nairobi was where my random detour began. I returned from paradise and had barely washed the Zanzibar sand out of my hair when my life took a hairpinned curve toward hell in a split second. The story itself won't be recounted, but I learned first hand why the city is notoriously referred to as "Nairobbery". I learned that despite watching all 3 seasons of 24, I'm not very much at all like Jack Bauer. I learned that sometimes you can't control when life sends you on a detour and that mostly you can't understand it. Was it an unfortunate roll of the cosmic dice? Simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or was it the age old reality that lots of evil exists under the sun and sometimes bad things happen to good people?



Lausanne, Switzerland: I contemplate these questions and many more from my hammock haven overlooking Lake Geneva in the world's safest country. The sun lights up the alps. I drink french vanilla coffee, pick blackberries in the field and relish the solitude in my own personal wood between the worlds under the care of my own personal angel. I wonder at the quaintness of eveything Swiss. Wealth, beauty, efficiency. The perfect green fields, stunning mountains,crystal lakes. Could there be a place any more opposite than Sudan? How do such differences coexist on the same planet.

Although the last time I had words to share I was longing to get out out out of Sudan, now I’m just dreaming about going back. Could I possibly be missing the dust in my bed, sweaty nights, sandy bread, the rat in my room, and the intolerable heat? Definately not, but I do miss sitting with the bread selling ladies under the tree, sleeping under the stars in the desert, learning new Arabic words from my friends in the kitchen, and wondering on the smiles of the brightly colored people who still find reason for joy in the midst of living smack in the middle of one of the world's worst humanitarian crises.

After many weeks of wrestling with the decision to return to Sudan or not, it seems for the time being that my detour journey won't be going via Darfur. The next stop on my fly-by-night itinerary will be in the USA where I will regroup and find my way again.

Perhaps this blog raises more questions than it answers, but life is sort of that way right now. I am comforted though by something a far away angel reminded me of recently: There are no detours for those who are in God's path. Even though I feel so confused and lost, I'm thankful that someone up there knows the answers and the way. I am not wandering alone.

You make your plans and then a great wind comes along...
-Sabrina Ward Harrison

the silence in between

Why is it when there is so much to be spoken, there are often no words.
I struggle to find the things to say to share the last 2 months of my journeys but nothing seems to fit.
I reach deep inside and come up speechless.
The words I do find seem to only be noise.
They mask the quiet but don't resonate with what's inside.
I can't seem to reconcile my full head with my empty page.
Yet perhaps these are the moments when silence is most important.

I will give in to the silence. I will let it speak.
I will be quiet for now and when the words come back I will still be here.

silence is very important. the silence between the notes are important as the notes themselves.
-wolfgang amadeus mozart

Inshallah...

This morning I woke up the happiest person in Darfur, but by lunch time I'd suffered a mood swing so severe it could register on the richter scale. My flight out of Geneina and into Khartoum for my R&R was supposed to leave this morning... Inshallah. Yet it is now 4pm and I'm still sitting at my desk. Let me explain:

Inshallah- (in-sha-allah) 1. n. the will of God; 2. n. the probability that something will or will not happen; 3. v. a polite way to say that something is never going to happen without anyone actually having to say no. synonyms: you wish, whatever, fat chance, nevermind

In Thailand I learned mai pen rai, in Gambia no problem. I think more often than not developing countries have some sort off phrase to brush off inefficiency. In Sudan, I've learned quickly that it is "inshallah".

Everything that happens, or doesn't happen more often than not, is the will of Allah.

If someone comes on time for a meeting it is Inshallah. If they don't come at all, then it is Inshallah too. If the flight is delayed, if it is cancelled for a week. If your packages arrive, if they have what you are shopping for at the market. Ishallah. Inshallah. Inshallah.

Will there be rain tonight? Inshallah
Will this year's harvest be good? Inshallah
Will there ever be peace in Sudan? Inshallah

If you don't have time to learn Arabic before coming to this country, you can just learn this word, it will get you pretty far. or sometimes no where at all.

Setting aside my frustrations of being here and not there, I have more thoughts about Inshallah. Somedays I am truly curious: Do people in this world around me believe that everything that happens is really all in God's plan? Is this a coping mechanism for existing in a world where nothing is reliable and things don't work more often than not?

I like the part of this faith that believes that God cares so much about little details, because I think He does. Yet sometimes it bothers me that the god of Inshallah can't ever seem to get anything to work.

I'm not sure if it is God's will that I'm stuck here today, or if it's just a coincidence of everyday Sudanese Inshallah, but I am thankful for one thing. My God has promised me that He will not give me more than I can bear- when His will is stretching, His grace is deep.

No flights tomorrow either. But they did say that maybe Thursday there will be a plane. Inshallah.

'maybe it will come tomorrow.'
'Inshallah"

It was helpful at this early stage of my trip to be reminded of the conflicting meanings of inshallah, which are: 'We hope' and 'Don't count on it'.
- Dark Star Safari (Paul Theroux)

needed: r&r

I always say that you know it is time to leave somewhere when your grace for the place begins to run out. This morning it happened… It is time to take my R&R.

I woke up too early from my restless night under my stuffy mosquito net and looked towards the open door to see if the dawn had brought enough light to wake up and read without my headlamp. Although there wasn’t enough light to wake me up completely, there was certainly enough to illuminate a strange figure running across my floor. In my sleepiness I calculated. It was too small to be the hedgehog that lives in our compound, yet, it was too big to be a lizard. I waited for it to move again. Wide awake now, when the animal got brave enough to cut across the room, I reached my arm out from the safety of my mosquito net and threw a shoe. It rolled up into a little ball- the harmless baby hedgehog- I was relieved… And then I watched as a rat ran by from the other direction. There are rats in my room… It is time to take my R&R.

I escaped to the outside world (which is relatively about 10 feet from where I was attempting to sleep before) and decided that since I was up early on my day off anyway, I’d boil some water to make some pseudo-coffee in my french press which is being held together by duct-tape (I’ll get a new one on R&R). I entered our “kitchen area” which my housemate and I generally refer to as typhoid corner, and fired up the stove (think what you take on a camping trip, not what is in your kitchen). The gas had been left on too high and my arm was nearly engulfed in a flame that singed all the fine little hairs off my right hand… All this for a cup of bad coffee when today I could really use a good latte…It is time to take my R&R.

I opened my laptop to capture these thoughts and was greeted by a big dried smashed bug just next to my Pentium 4 sticker- almost like a “windows Darfur” seal of approval. Something crunches when I hit the right arrow key and it sticks- what makes those small hard bugs want to get inside my keyboard anyway? … Daisy needs and R&R too.

I hung up the 12^th weekly inspiration card from my Tuesday Angel on my cupboard door this week, signifying that I’ve almost reached the half way point of my time here in Darfur. Thankfully it also signifies that I have earned my R&R just in time to correspond with my evaporation of grace for the roaches in the bathroom (which make the Anastasis wildlife seem mild), the flying ants that attack my face at night, and the cloud of flies that swarm around me even as I sit here typing at 7am… My 13^th week is R&R.

Today I will spend my day off doing my laundry by hand with the mystery blue powder soap and eat some ramen noodles- my luxury Friday food. But really I’ll be dreaming about next Friday when I will be feasting on yogurt and olives and sipping a latte at Nairobi Java… because my mind is already on R&R.

weekend prayers

The people of the United States should take a moment this weekend to remember those suffering in the ongoing conflict in Darfur according to a declaration of the US Congress designating this weekend of July 15-17 a national weekend of prayer and reflection for the people of Darfur.

The resolution “encourages the people of the United States to observe this weekend by praying for an end to the genocide and crimes against humanity" which have claimed an estimated 400,000 lives and affected more than 2.5 million more in the past two years.

Join the nation in praying this weekend for lasting peace in Darfur

• Pray for the Sudan peace process and the repercussions that the installation of the new national unity government in Khartoum last week will have on the peace of Darfur.
• Pray for the Darfur peace negotiations that will resume in August and that the government's recent promises to end the conflict would become a reality.
• Pray for a return to the peace and unity which once exist between the coexisting African and Arab populations in Darfur.
• Pray for the elected officials for the United States and the leaders of the world to recognize the crisis and engage with wise responses.

Pray for the suffering people of Darfur

• Pray that the insecurity of the region will not prevent international and national aid efforts from reaching the needy people.
• Pray for the hundreds of thousands of displaced people who don't have adequate shelter to keep them dry during the rainy season which has now started. Pray that the rains would not prevent aid from being able to reach them.
• Pray that the rains of the season would be adequate to grow good crops and to replenish the water supply so that there will not be drought or continued famine in the seasons to come.

Pray for the continuing work of World Relief in Darfur

• Pray for wisdom for medical staff and hygiene promoters during the critical time of the rains when malaria and water borne illnesses are at their peak.
• Pray for increased strength and health for the 400 malnourished children under five years old and the 600 pregnant and nursing women being served in World Relief’s supplementary feeding program.
• Pray that the efforts to supply 35,000 people with access to water will ease the tension that lack of water causes in the dry and sun scorched land of Darfur.
• Pray that the staple food crops recently planted by more than 8,000 families through the food security program would grow to yield a plentiful harvest for the coming year. Pray for the security of the women and children as they travel distances their villages to tend their crops.

“Merciful and compassionate Spirit
Be present to the suffering people of Sudan
Shelter the widows and the children
Comfort all who are weary and afraid
Bring relief to those who hunger and thirst
Center our thoughts with those who suffer in silence
Move us to recall our shared humanity
Unite us in our determination to respond to injustice
May we never forget! May we never forget!
Hear our prayer. Make our action swift.”

-From the United Nations

yankee in darfur

july4
Originally uploaded by wanderingzito.

I think these watering cans that I found at the tree nursery this morning are the closest I'm going to come to a picnic and fireworks today.

happy fourth of july.

belated prayers

This morning I was persusing the webpage of Food for the Hungry, one of the partners in my project here in Darfur. I was excited to see that their prayer country of the month is Sudan, and that their prayer guide for the month had alot of great information and great points. Then I suddenly realized that today is June 30. Better late then never. Check it out while it is still there, and keep praying for Darfur and for Sudan, and for me even though its July.

sepia skies

I’ve watched my fair share of grey skies sweep across the ocean at sea, I’ve seen the harmattan descend on Sierra Leone to hide the cotton trees and hills from my view, and the other night I sat on the hill overlooking my new little hometown and witnessed my first real dust storm moving in from the desert to paint the sky sepia tone.

In the evening I often wander up the small “mountain” that overlooks El Geneina in an attempt to find a breeze and escape the four walls of our compound which sometimes seem to hold my spirit captive. There is something about having the wind blow in my face and wisp the sweat from my arms and legs that is liberating and renewing- even when the wind comes in the company of a cloud of dust.

On occasion the Darfurian sky is blue, but lately it seems that the heavens above Sudan only come in the same shade as the dirty white milk powder we use here as an inadequate substitute for dairy products. The creamy sky nearly matches the colorless sandy expanse that stretches out from the edges of the city beyond the mango trees as far as the eye can see until melts into the equally colorless horizon. I watch.

An orange brown cloud forms in the distance, and the storm comes quickly. They call it a haboob, and the immediate weather change it brings is similar to someone suddenly switching on an industrial strength fan in your sauna. The cloud gathers and darkens and picks up momentum until it grow into a steadily advancing wall of darkness of dust and debris. My company on the hill comments that the sky looks a little bit like Armegeddon, and I agree.

The local children are perplexed that we would actually want to stand on the top of the hill and watch the storm roll in. “The wind is coming”… “The rain is coming”… “Go home… go home.. go home…” They try to warn us in Arabic, convinced that we do not comprehend that we will soon be enveloped in dust, and possibly soaked in the rain to follow. It comes… I am cooled…. I close my eyes to enjoy the breeze and try to forget that I am being showered in dirt.

The storms come like clockwork almost daily now, bringing momentarily relief from the heat, and leaving sand in my eyes, in my bed, and every crack and crevice of my world in their wake. I fought the dirt for awhile, but think I’ve finally resolved myself to living my life under a layer dust in Darfur.

I am learning that dust in the eyes doesn’t always cloud the vision: Sepia skies are beautiful- almost orange.

Every moment is a golden one for him who has the vision to recognize it as such.
Henry Miller