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

wonder woman

"...Although her gentle smile and delicate frame disguises her strength, Hawa knows about tools and explains that she has learned to disassemble a hand pump, untie the heavy iron parts, and put the whole thing back together again."

Read Hawa's story here...

too hot

Another blog all about me, but I’m so hot this week that I can’t think about anything else.

My body is radiating. My arms and back and legs are on fire. For a few days this week I honestly believed that I had a fever, the insanity and fear of which has driven me to start taking my malaria pills. I don’t have a thermometer, but I’m beginning to think that after 7 weeks of insanely raging temperatures my body has reached its heat saturation point. I give off heat like an electric blanket on a cold night. I hide in the shade but even in the shadows I sweat through my clothing. My skin cannot take in anymore heat or my blood will begin to boil. It is scorching, blistering, blazing, boiling and sweltering.

I feel better after writing this… maybe I just needed to let off some steam…

It has done me good to be somewhat parched by the heat
and drenched by the rain of life.
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

reflections from the field

My head is still spinning from spending the first week of June out in the field. I’m working to make sense of all I got to see and do, but as someone famous enough to be quoted once said, “If I could think, then I wouldn’t write”. In lieu of having my thoughts sorted out and packaged up to properly to share, here are some very random snippets from my journal along the way...



…Driving into the field. The color of the sandy landscape has mutated to look like bread in its early stages of being covered with mold. The green fuzz is grass and it is hard to believe that this is the same sandy barren landscape that I had crossed days before. It is a wonder what one little rain can do to the desert. Today’s little drive included a tour of a huge IDP camp, sitting on a camel, my first spotting of Arab nomads, one flat tire, and one goat accidentally sacrificed under the wheels of our new LandCruiser on its inaugural field voyage. We actually didn’t kill this goat, just maimed and traumatized it- broke 2 of its legs, and paid the little girl who was herding the flock 5,000 Dinar. About 20$, what we paid for the price of our recklessness, was more than the animal’s value I was told by one of our local guys- especially since it will live… But the goat was pregnant and the people who owned the animal were displaced and very bad off, and it was a way we could help, he told me. I left the crime scene thinking about how these people really do care for one another. There is a lot of generosity and hospitality, and even joy, I might add, in the midst of the life-snatching poverty all around. It made me think of the beatitude ‘blessed are the poor in heart, for they shall see God.’ I wonder if the poor don’t get a better view of God than we do sometimes because they have so little to block their vision.

…I am ushered into the base and introduced to Zum Zum, an old woman with strong creases in her face and a half dozen fetish charms perfectly circling her neck. Her head is wrapped in a black chiffon like scarf- the sun radiating through its sheerness and elegantly framing her national geographic like features. If I could speak, I’d ask her story.



… We spent the afternoon after arriving in the village of Kamoon just across the wadi from Um Tagouk. Already the wadis are starting to fill with water and soon our trucks won’t be able to cross the rushing rivers. How can this actually be? Our nutrition team is working to set up a new feeding center in this village because many people walk a few hours to our other center to receive rations. We spend hours there weighing children in a scale that hangs from a branch in the shade of a tree. The organized, disorganized fashion of the whole operation reminds me a little bit of screening day. I have no translator, but I manage to entertain myself for the hours that I can’t be of much help. I have mastered in Arabic the friendly phrases “is mak manu” (what is your name), “umra come” (how old are you), “sakin wen” (where do you live) and “e-tal come” (how many children do you have). These provide a few minutes of entertainment, generally followed another longer period of my use of the phrase “dee-shanu” (what is this) in pointing to everything imaginable. A lackluster village trip turned into a friendly vocabulary lesson for me and a comedy show for the people gathered around me laughing as I attempt name everything in site flip flop, earring, braid, bracelet, watch, tree. I am certainly acquiring the most random of Arabic vocabularies.

… I just got the best night of sleep ever since arriving in Sudan. Um Tagouk is cold and the stars are incredible- almost like being at sea. I woke up somewhere in the middle of the night and realized that I was curled up in my sleeping bag. I think I must have smiled in my sleep. In Geneina I usually wake up in the middle of the night soaked in my own sweat- feeling like I have malaria again. I can’t wait to go to sleep again tonight.



…It is Monday morning, and I am on the “Um Tagouk Toilet Tour” as I call it for lack of something better to refer to my mission du jour. Today I am tasked with visiting villages which have built pit latrines and finding some creative way to express this to the rest of the world which doesn’t frequently include the phrase ‘open defecation’ in their daily discussions.
I’m traveling with our sanitation project manager Ananias, a 62 year old amazing southern Sudanese man who knows this ‘crap’ (bad pun intended). He talks about human excrement with an eloquence and dignity that reminds me of Ken Hilton, super-plumber of the Anastasis. He’s nearing completion of his task to oversee the construction of 1725 latrines in our 3 project areas. Digging a hole is just the start of the task I learn- the greatest dimension of the project is guiding the people through the change in their belief system. I think about it for a minute. People have been taught their whole life to “go” far away from their compounds and villages in the open area, and then suddenly someone tells them to dig a hole in their house and crap in it. Leaving my own knowledge behind, from their point of view it does seem preposterous. Its truly an amazing project I see as I continue my tour with the team, taking pictures of holes in the ground, avoiding the flies, and all the time wondering what words I will possibly use to share this adventure.



… I’ve moved on to Kera Village, another tiny place on the outskirts of Um Tagouk. There are about 250 people gathered around a square in the clearing. Although the space is immense, they are clustered together under a few spaces where there is any shade from a tree or a little thatched awning. Men in one place, women in another. They have been here all day and waiting for their name to be called, have their finger stamped purple, and to walk away with a bucket, 2 big jugs, 10 bars of soap, 2 blankets and one tarp. This is the first distribution of about 10 that our hygiene team is doing this week. My mind is wandering in 1,000 different directions. It is hot and hard to be engaged because I’ve been sitting here a long time, the show is all going on in Arabic and my camera battery is dead. Apart from reading body language, without a translator, all I can do is sit here and make observations… Observation #1. There are many reasons that I wouldn’t want to be a woman born in Sudan (thoughts on the harsh life of women to follow another day). The sole benefit of being a woman here is the amount of color that women to have. Men wear all white all the time. The women live in a vivid world. The vibrant colors that hide them from the world are beautiful and energetic, clashing with such elegance that even normal oranges could never attain. Does color compensate for oppression though? Do they know they are oppressed? …Observation #2 The blankets and tarps that we are distributing are stamped in an enormous poster size font “A GIFT TO YOU FROM THE AMERICAN PEOPLE”. I ponder the purpose of this declaration. Is it written there like a big to/from gift tag so the illiterate beneficiaries can decipher the blankets origin upon completing their literacy program? Is it written in an aid organization staking your territory sort of way? Perhaps it is just written there so hot and bored and cynical aid workers like me can see where all the money they paid in taxes went last year. It isn’t just America though, everyone stamps their stuff, but today I’m wondering why. Thanks to all my fellow Americans for the blankets from the people of Kera Village- they can’t read, but they carried their goods away with smiles, and they’ll be thankful to be covered up when the rains come.



… The days in the field are long and hot, but they are truly precious. The evenings get so cool and the sun is falling so delicately right now on the mud brick walls that mark our compound. The sky is so blue and the thatched roof of the tukul (mud hut) looks as elegant as any thatched roof ever could in the golden glow.

… I feel like I’m in a zoo. I’m sitting in the back of the new LandCruiser Buffalo which is windows all around, and there are dozens of faces pressed against the window staring in at me. Literally, on all 4 sides. I’m in Karda village in Um Tagouk. I’m with the nutrition team again and they are frantically rushing from village to village to see how many people they can possibly register for the expansion of their supplementary feeding program before the rains turn things in Darfur to chaos. In my opinion, this morning is already chaos which is why I’ve abandoned the crowd and sought refuge away from the masses here in my little fishbowl. One of the nice faces banged on the window and handed in a pot of super sweet tea, I’m trapped inside getting my sugar fix for the morning.



… Halima Mohammed Abdulai (the middle one). She is 9 ½ months pregnant according to her calculations. Her smile when she laughs as I try to say her name is almost as big as her belly which some of her local friends assess could possibly contain twins due to its enormity. Although you can't see her size hidden under her billowing tobe,I can’t imagine being as pregnant as Halima is in this unbearable heat. I can also not fathom that the reason she claims she doesn’t know if she’s having twins is because she has never seen a doctor in her whole pregnancy. I think of my friends with their 3D ultrasound pictures of their unborn babies on their fridges, and the contrast of Halima growing bigger by the day in her village where there is no accessibility to prenatal checkups of any type. Halima Mohammed Abdulai, I say her name again and again. I want to remember it so when I return to her village I can meet her new born baby, or two…



… The drive home I managed to land in the only vehicle without AC. There is enough wind to keep me cool as our convoy moves across the open road, but I am slowly completely covered by dust. The only casualty of the trip was yet another sheep- this one not so lucky to make it out of the meeting alive. It did make for an interesting pit stop however, as the animal was owned by a nomadic family who we had to go visit in order to make restitution. Despite all that I’ve seen and all that I know, I am still amazed that there are people who exist as nomads in the day and age of our starbucks world. Back to Geneina- our little primitive town that seems like a bustling big city coming from out there. Just a few more weeks until I get to go back out- the place will probably be as green as a city park by then, and I’m already looking forward to it!

Is 32:16 - Justice will dwell in the desert, and righteousness live in the fertile field. The fruit of righteousness will be peace, the effect of righteousness will be quietness and confidence forever. My people will live in peaceful dwelling places, in secure homes, in undisturbed places of rest.

hope of sudan

Saturday June 4 is the 10th annual Worldwide Day of Prayer for Children at Risk. Join us to pray for the Children of Darfur and see what World Relief is doing in Darfur to invest in the hope for a better future in Sudan.

Arise, cry out in the night, as the watches of the night begin; pour out your heart like water in the presence of the Lord. Lift up your hands to him for the lives of your children, who faint from hunger at the head of every street. - Lamentations 2:19

hometown views

the view from the hill with the dry riverbed behind