Esengo

Moving my Site

2009-12-20T15:35:00.001+03:00

My site is moving to a new location : outofokapi.wordpress

Getting Older, Growing Younger

2009-11-22T17:35:00.000+03:00

A few weeks ago I celebrated my birthday and, as I do every year, I took some time to reflect on what I have learned and the ways in which I have changed in the past year. In most ways, I am still the same old me, but there have, of course, been circumstances and experiences that have molded me in new ways.
I would like to think that I have gained a little bit more wisdom, nurtured the growth of knowledge in my life and become more generous, more loving and more hopeful. Unfortunately, as I look back on my year, what I often seem to find is that along with all the good changes in me, I have also amassed new levels of cynicism, skepticism and caution. While caution certainly has a wise foundation and skepticism normally stems from encountering too much of humanities nonsensical effusiveness, there is nothing that kills joy quite like losing the quiet trust that once held the place of prominence through childlike confidence and hope.
Life is certainly more complex than I ever imagined as a kid and yet as I grow older I am struck by my need to be growing more childlike in faith, hope and love. When I was younger I always dreamed of being on the front lines of helping those whose lives have been shattered by war. I wanted to be there to give assistance to those in need so that they could go back to rebuilding their lives. It seemed so simple.
Now that I am actually on the front lines of assisting refugees and displaced people, nothing is ever as simple as it once seemed. There are partners to chose for the work, corrupt officials to haggle with, seemingly unending needs and requests for assistance to sort through, locations to pick from, and the list goes on… . Delivering aid is never simple either. There is always someone who has been missed and someone else who has cheated the system, and of course there is always the chance that the very aid I am delivering will make the already traumatized people a target for yet another brutal attack. Then, there is the difficult task of getting people back to their normal lives once the disaster/conflict has run its course and people have grown accustomed to the aid. Nothing is simple and cynicism becomes “the soup of the day”. Questions like “Am I really helping” rage in the mind and disillusionment and despair set in. The problems will never end.
The knowledge and theories related to aid work only serve to compile the complexities of already complex situation and pretty soon the very people I have been called to serve become subjects of a great experiment and objects to be tossed about by the world’s tumultuous turning. Love, hope and joy go out the window.
Jesus told his disciples to have faith like a child. In childlike faith we see a Father who is greater than the universe we have imagined and we see Jesus who loves us desperately. We see people with hurt and needs, clambering for freedom from the bondage that has held us all for so long, and we know that we have tasted of that freedom and it is ours to share. We see not subjects or objects but people with names, faces and hopes.
It is so easy to have a job. It is another thing altogether to have a calling and to follow that calling the way a toddler wobbles toward her father’s outstretched and eager arms during her first steps. The footing isn’t so sure but the joy and the embrace of those arms is.
Another year has started for me. Pray that it will be a year of growing younger even as I’m getting older.

Photos from recent church seminars in Congo.

2009-11-20T12:42:00.003+03:00

When we arrived there was a welcoming song performed by a church choir. They followed us to the house we stayed at singing the whole way.

We had expected around twenty participants but the church was packed!

These women cooked some excellent food for us!

One of the participants.

The pastor's son.

The Ambiguous Life

2009-11-01T16:01:00.001+03:00

“They agreed that they were foreigners and nomads here on earth…They were looking for a better place, a heavenly homeland.” ~Heb. 11: 13, 16

Missionary Kids (MKs) and the broader genre of “Third Culture Kids” are often noted for their flexible, nomadic lifestyle. It is not necessarily a lifestyle that they have chosen for themselves but is certainly one that becomes woven into the fabric of their identity. As an MK I am not in the least bit ashamed to count myself as one of these global wanderers. This lifestyle does, however, pose certain dilemmas and comes with its fare share of fears and uncertainties. For example, my least favourite (and yes I spell it the British way) question is, “Where are you from?”
There are days I wish I had a good answer for that question, but the answer has simply become more complicated as I’ve grown older and taken jobs in countries that do not count as my residence.
Quite often I find myself longing for a place to call my own, and I am sure that at some point in my life that place might exist, but in those times of longing I am also reminded of Abraham and how God called him to wander and essentially go nowhere – which, by the way, also spells “now, here”. I am reminded that now and here I am called to live nowhere because my hope is set on a place, and more importantly a person, where all my longings will be filled.
It does not mean that the journey is easy or that because my hope is set on heaven I simply forget about what this world can offer. In fact, quite the opposite is true. I find myself struggling to be content with not knowing what tomorrow will hold; fighting the urge to just throw in the towel on this ambiguous lifestyle that I live for something more 9 to 5. Since my trip to the US a little over a month ago, I have frantically purchased relief items in the mayhem that is Kampala, Uganda, made one quick dash to Congo and back, been to meetings in Kenya and scheduled, rescheduled and rescheduled trips into Congo for various purposes. Hardly anything goes according to plan. I did not know until Sunday afternoon(today) if I would have a plane available for a trip into Congo Monday(tomorrow) morning that I had planned for over a month. The uncertainty of what each day might hold can be torturous at times. It can also be very joyous and exciting when I have surrendered my plans to the King.
Tomorrow I fly into Congo (at least that’s the plan) to try and meet with various partners and potential partners in our work there. I am more convinced than ever before that the battle ceased to be merely a physical one long ago, and that for reasons only the Kings knows, I have been thrown into this battle which at times seems like it will overwhelm the church and my feeble attempts to help it. And so I simply ask you to pray. Pray because we know that this battle is ours for the taking; the gates of Hell will not prevail over the Kingdom because the King has said so and his word is SURE. There is nothing ambiguous there. Pray for willing martyrs for the faith who will stand up as light in the darkness. We can no longer afford to be hidden, fearful disciples of a King who died for us when the darkness is so great and the world needs a “city on a hill” blazing out the hope, love and glory of the King. Pray for me that I will daily lay down the ambiguity and uncertainty that each day can bring and will revel in the surety of the presence of Jesus.
In my favourite children’s series, The Kingdom Chronicles, there is a part were the watchtowers of the Kingdom let out the call from tower to tower, “How goes the world??” and the answer comes back, “The world goes not well, but the Kingdom comes!” Yes indeed, the world is a messed up place, but thanks be to God, the Kingdom comes!

Informative Article

2009-10-30T10:07:00.002+03:00

Here is one of the best articles I have read summarizing the activities of the LRA in the past year.

NEW Statesman Article

A Sparrow Falls

2009-10-12T10:07:00.000+03:00

Tiny hands, tiny fingers too
sister is crying on the floor
brother beside her is scratching
the bites, the sores, festering.

What is their name?

Orphan child,
forgotten,
forget.

The world is a cruel place
the wars, the hunger, lingering.

They are the first we forget

to their plastic cup with a spoon of mush
to the dirt floor, to the damp rain
huddled together, sharing warmth, diseases.

Brother wonders what the boys will say
their collared uniforms, his tattered tee,

Sister is tired
of fetching water,
the crying, the tears, unrelenting.

Mama? Who is mama today?

…or who isn’t?

Tiny fingers keep grasping
but the air is too hard to hold
its emptiness too big, too impossible, exhausting.

She will live without regret
there was nothing to forget

A sparrow falls.

Safe???

2009-09-26T22:47:00.001+03:00

“Aslan a man!” said Mr. Beaver sternly. “Certainly not. I tell you he is the King of the wood and the son of the great Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea. Don’t you know who is the King of Beasts? Aslan is a lion –the Lion, the great Lion.”
“Ooh!” said Susan, “I’d thought he was a man. Is he – quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion.”
“That you will, dearie, and no mistake,” said Mrs. Beaver, “if there’s anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking, they’re either braver than most or else just silly.”
“Then he isn’t safe?” said Lucy.
“Safe?” said Mr. Beaver. “Don’t you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.” – C.S. Lewis The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe

It is before dawn, light still has not sprung from the eastern edges, but day has begun regardless. Maybe it is the mosquito buzzing near my rickety cot, the rooster crowing outside or perhaps I’ve just tangled in the net meant to keep the bugs from spending the night with me, but either way I am awake. It is hard not to be sensitive to the noises of the night in a place so unfamiliar to my habits.
As the sun rises through the muggy morning I find enough water to splash my face and brush my cotton mouth away. I am greeted by the questions of the morning: How did you sleep, how was your night? I am offered some steaming, sweet tea and a few bananas; the day is in full swing. I wander out to see the world and am followed by pastors, community leaders and a man with a gun. For the first time I realize, I have a bodyguard…

I have been traveling around the US for a little over a month now, trying to rest up and get ready for the challenges that await me as I return to Congo for another year. One of the things that has stood out to me as I have visited with friends and family is the number of times I have been asked about my safety or told to “be safe”. While I am extremely grateful for the concern and the sentiments of caring that have been extended to me by many along the way, I feel it is important to point out that as a disciple of Jesus I am not called to “be safe”, I am called to followed him wherever he might lead.
The call of Jesus is a far cry from a call to safety(by the world’s standards). Jesus never said, “Come follow me and I will make your life easy and safe”, instead he said, “Pick up the cross and follow me”. The cross, in my mind, is about the most unsafe place to be. To be clear, I am not saying that as a Christian I am going out looking for danger - that would be lunacy. I am, however, saying that regard for my personal safety is of no consequence when the King calls me to follow him; my life is in His hands. Following Jesus may cost some of us our very lives (and for many it has) but we follow willingly and joyfully, knowing that this world is not our home. Is the journey at times very frightening?? Of course it is!! But that is exactly why we are walking with Jesus in His surety and not down some path of our own choosing. Complacency and a life of “safety” would be the death of an intimate, trusting relationship with the King as He uses us as instruments for the advancement of His kingdom and His glory.
The vocabulary of the Kingdom is not a “be safe” vocabulary, but rather a vocabulary of “be strong in the Lord”, “have courage and hope” and “run the race with perseverance”. When we feel like quitting we need to be reminded of the King and how He left the sure safety of heaven to walk with courage and resolve to the cross for our sake; how He, with compassion, bore our suffering so that one day all this mess of a world we live in can be made new. We need to be reminded that He gave us His Spirit, not so that we could sit back and relax, but so that we could share in His courage and resolve to bring His kingdom on this earth.
If you want to know if my work is safe by the world’s standards the answer is simply no, we live in a world full of heartache and evil. However, I serve a King who is GOOD and that is what matters the most.

The Loss of Innocence

2009-09-03T19:16:00.003+03:00

Several weeks ago I traveled by road to one of the areas that has seen a lot of LRA activity in the last year. It is hard to describe the hardships people have faced as the LRA have spread their web of fear over northeastern Congo. It is especially hard to describe what this conflict has cost the children.

I was taken to see a young boy of maybe ten or eleven years of age who had recently been recovered from the LRA in an operation to rid them from the area. He had been a captive for almost a month and half, having been abducted in June, and had spent his days carrying supplies for the LRA while eating roots and other barely edible foods. Along with other boys his age he had been forced to walk for hours each day and night through the wilds searching for another garden to raid, another home to pillage, another village to scatter with fear.

How do we begin to comprehend the loss of innocence, freedom and hope? All over northeastern Congo there are thousands of children growing up in fear; many of them traumatized for the rest of their lives by what their eyes have witnessed – what no one should ever have to witness. How do we make sense of this world where so many can grow up in an unfolding tragedy while others live lives untouched by the ills that are so prevalent in places like Congo?

I also recently visited an old woman who is caring for 26 orphans. My heart breaks because she is giving her all for the children but is barely making it. There isn’t money for school fees and she can hardly find the milk powder to feed the tiniest of babies she is caring for.

This has got to end. This war, this pain, this loss of innocence.

2009-08-27T00:08:00.000+03:00

More info on the LRA situation

The Roads....

2009-08-26T18:00:00.002+03:00

Distribution Photos

2009-08-26T17:28:00.004+03:00

2009-08-10T17:12:00.002+03:00

A brief look at the area I'm working in.

You Have Heard It Said...

2009-08-02T18:05:00.002+03:00

Jesus began much of his dialogue in the Sermon on the Mount with the phrase “You have heard it said…” and yes, indeed, we have heard many things said. We are bombarded with messages urging us to “live on the Coke side of life”, “just do it”, and that there is “change we can believe in”. In the religious realm we are encouraged to live “a purpose driven life” praying like Jabez while elevating our worship. The barrage of inconsistent messages we receive each day far too often leaves us living out unremarkable lives in a world that is in desperate need of remarkable people.
Jesus knew that what people had heard was not necessarily wrong; after all, who ever thought that murder or committing adultery was good. He, however, was not content with the status quo, he was calling for people of extraordinary commitment in their love for God and those around them. He didn’t just want people who don’t murder, he wanted people who don’t harbor anger in their hearts; he didn’t want people who only love the loveable but those who will love the unlovable ones. He doesn’t want me to simply pray for the displaced who are suffering the affects of war, but to pray also for the immigration officials who stop me at roadblocks for hours waiting for a bribe.
James wrote that “Religion that is acceptable is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress.”(1:27) Isaiah and the prophets ring out in similar fashion, “true fasting is to break the chains of injustice, to set the oppressed free, to feed the hungry, to clothe the naked and to provide the wanderer (IDP/refugee) with shelter.”(chpt 58) Paul, in his second letter to the church in Corinth, challenged them to give from their plenty to supply the needs of those who were less fortunate. His manner of writing on the subject suggests that it may have been a slightly touchy issue and yet he urged them to give from what they had(chpt 8) . I have often seen this demonstrated here in Congo where someone gives in the fashion of the widow of Mark 12 by offering their only chicken or a stock of bananas as a gift to their guest.
Kingdom work is difficult and requires sacrifice. Perhaps we have heard it said that as a Christian we will be joyful, at peace, more than conquerors and rewarded by our King. And yes, these things are true, but dear friends let us not look for our reward at the beginning of the journey but at the end where faith gives way to sight and the greatest reward is the glory of our King. Peter wrote, “you greatly rejoice even in the face of trials because you know that your faith is more important than gold and will be proved true and lead to praise of King Jesus when he is revealed.”(1:6-7)
The truth is that I would very much like to quit my work and pretend that this world does not have places like Congo where people are suffering. I have no desire to see people starving or naked. I would like to shut it all out. I would like to absorb myself in some other project or place that is not quite so difficult. I would like to give up. But, I am reminded that my King is a king who lives among the untouchable, unwanted, unnoticed, forgotten, downtrodden, abused ones. He is the “Man of Sorrows”, familiar with suffering , and he knows the names of all the abducted children, all the raped women, all the starving men sleeping in makeshift huts. The King is here and I will rejoice because though I may face the trials of today by His side, the day is coming (OH YES! IT IS COMING) when he will make all things new and believe me I will have a BIG smile on my face on that day.

You and I have heard it said….but will we hear what HE says?

Passing Through The Waters

2009-07-19T16:08:00.002+03:00

How do you describe flying over mile after mile of jungle and thick bush dotted here and there with the occasional thatched roof to land in a clearing that just kind of appears in the middle of all the foliage below? How do you describe the need, and the little you have to meet that need? How do you describe the pleas for assistance? How do you make sense of the world’s silence in the face of a disaster far greater than the 9/11 attacks, hurricane Katrina or the Tsunami of several years ago? Where will the strength come from to face the tasks at hand?
As I began this project several months ago I was reminded over and over again of Psalm 43. “When you pass through the waters I will be with you…” It has been a comfort for me as I have continued on with a project that has met many obstacles along the way. After seven weeks of waiting for government paperwork and clearance to distribute the relief supplies, the first few flights to deliver supplies began a week and a half ago. Since then we have delivered over 20 tons of supplies by air and an additional 20 tons by road. In each place we visit the need is far greater than the supplies we have but the people are thankful nonetheless. God has been faithful in protecting us and opening the way for the distribution of supplies to take place. We have passed, and continue to pass, through the waters.
As the end of this project is nearing my heart is rejoicing at what has been accomplished but is heavier than when I started because we have only put a band-aide on a bleeding heart. Daily I get requests for food assistance or medicines and almost just as often I hear reports of children snatched from their homes and marched through the bush. The silence in the press and lack of attention being given to this crisis weighs heavily on me as it is my friends, my families, that have faced the atrocities of the LRA and now risk starvation in the coming months. The need is so great.
We do not live in a fare world, I have come to accept that, but when several thousand Congolese are murdered and people don’t notice, it is time to stand up and shout. If you have had the time to read this, I encourage you to take the time to write your congressperson, write your local newspaper, write anyone you can think of that might care and tell them, “The LRA are reeking havoc in CONGO. They aren’t in Uganda anymore. There are as many if not more displaced and murdered people in northeastern Congo as there are in Darfur. What can we do to stop this?” Dear friends, please do not just read this and go back to the schedule you had planned for your day. Pray, give, call, write, do something.

Photos of distributions in Congo

2009-07-19T13:49:00.006+03:00

A chief in Dingila telling us about the LRA.

Loading up a truck from the plane at Faradje.

The Church Office Dingila.

Loading up a truck.

Loading Blankets.

Loading up the Caravan with tarps.

Items ready for distribution.

Distribution Ingbokolo.

Distribution Ingbokolo

Perhaps quite the place to stay back in the day.

The Church in Dingila

Displaced Persons House Faradje

Displaced Persons House Faradje

He wanted to know how much my camera cost.

The LRA burned down this house belonging to a friend of our family at Faradje.

The DC3 being unloaded at Faradje.

DC3 at Faradje

Women cooking at Faradje.

The relocated Banda Bible School building in Dingila.

What?? No tractor??!

2009-07-04T12:58:00.004+03:00

A small picture of this area.

Your Cow Ate My Chicken

2009-07-04T12:52:00.000+03:00

Six weeks ago I arrived back in Congo knowing that I was likely to face some obstacles on my way to delivering the relief supplies we have procured. I never imagined that six weeks later I would still be waiting for paperwork to exempt my relief supplies (read that: “free stuff given to needy people”) from custom’s taxes. Working in Congo has never been easy, mostly because of the ludicrous demands of the various government departments that happen to be in whichever location you end up. For example, in 1998 when my family made a short trip to Congo, my dad was required to buy Congolese insurance for our vehicle a kilometer from leaving the country. In essence, every government official is looking for some way to fill his/her pocket.
This kind of free-for-all by government officials originated after independence when Africa’s quintessential dictatorial “big-man”, Mobutu, declared, “Motu na motu abungisa”, which literally means, “Each person should build” or, “Each person should work to fix”. While I believe this phrase was meant to be more like JFK’s famous, “Ask not what your country can do for you” speech, it was taken more along the lines of, “The government isn’t going to do anything for you, so take what you can while you can.” It has been more than ten years since Mobutu was removed from power but this mindset is more prevalent in Congo today than ever before.
While my situation at the border has been discouraging in many ways for me, it is the Congolese who face these obstacles each and every day and lose the most from the corrupt governance that surrounds them. A common sentiment among Congolese I work with is, “Inshi yetu hawezi simama” or, “Our country will never stand up”. It is mind boggling to my friends why their own government would make delivering aid to its people so difficult.
There are too many stories of corruption and extortion to tell them all, but one of the most comical and my favorite so far is the “your cow ate my chicken” story I heard several weeks ago. My friends and I were driving along a dusty, rutted out road when we came to a bridge that had a military contingent to “guard” it. As we crossed the bridge one of the people in the car asked if it was the “ngombe yako alikula kuku yangu (your cow ate my chicken)” bridge. This question of course sparked my interest so I asked why the bridge would be given such a name. My friends explained that one of the soldiers at the bridge had several chickens and one day one of them went missing. The soldier was quite upset about his missing chicken and when a cow herder came by the soldier stopped him and demanded that he pay for the missing chicken. The herder was taken back by this demand and said he knew nothing about the missing chicken and didn’t know why he should pay for someone else’s chicken. The soldier then demanded that the herder pay because, “your cow ate my chicken”. I never heard if the cow herder ended up paying or not but the story struck me as both comical and sad because in all likelihood the herder did pay; afterall, he wasn’t the one with a gun.
I have been told that my paperwork is on its way and that I should be able to begin my distributions soon. In faith, I have arranged for an airplane to arrive this next week to begin the work. Please intercede on my behalf and on the behalf of those suffering from this conflict, that this paperwork will, in fact, arrive quickly. Ask also that the enemy’s plans and frustrations would be thwarted and that we would be instruments of hope and peace where fear and despair are so commonplace.

2009-06-30T19:32:00.002+03:00

150 rolls of tarp

25,000 blankets

A Call to Commitment

2009-06-25T16:13:00.002+03:00

Note: Below is something I have written up in the last week as I have thought about the state of western commitment to missions and in particular my own generation's commitment. While I know that there are potentially many flaws with what I have written, (most notably that I have made quite a few sweeping generalizations without empirical data to back it up) the point of posting this here is to get people thinking about what it means to truly give our lives to following the King. I have been working back in Africa now for two years and in the current trend of missions that is "a long time". There is something drastically wrong about that. If you get the time I encourage you to read below and give it some thought. Thanks - Aaron.

In my work I have the privilege of working through national church groups to deliver relief supplies and aid to the needy communities within which they work. Often, in both Sudan and now in Congo I have spent hours bouncing my way down trails through the bush only to reach locations where the church has centers to help those around them. These centers are, more often than not, old mission stations built more than half a century ago by missionaries intent on making a difference in Africa.
While much has been said and can be said about the mistakes these missionaries made, one thing is certain; they answered the call of the King and gave their lives to answering that call. The very permanence of the structures that still stand is a testimony to the missionaries commitment to the call of Christ on their lives.
This past week I was at one such mission station, with the church having been built and established long before even my parents were born, and I had an encounter with an individual there that has left me pondering the state of western commitment to the call of Christ to follow him. The man I encountered was the cook, named Solomon, at the small guesthouse where I stayed. He heard me speaking Bangala and inquisitively asked where I had learned it. When I explained that my parents were missionaries and had worked not far from where we were he grew excited and began to tell me of all the missionaries he had worked for as a cook. His list was long and began with missionaries who had worked in Congo many years before it had gained independence from Belgium. He has served faithfully as a servant to the servants of Christ for more than half a century and continues to do so joyfully.
As I walked away from my conversation with him I couldn’t help but wonder at the number of missionaries this saint (because he certainly is one) has seen come and go. He has served for years with commitment because he believes he is serving those sent by the King to bring good news to his people.
These old mission stations and the old saints that remain in them stand in stark contrast to the current state of missions and commitment among westerners to the call of Christ to take His good news to the farthest reaches of the earth. While these old mission stations and the legacy of the churches the early missionaries left behind endure, today’s missionary comes and goes having achieved a great experience but having left little of enduring quality behind.
The work of missions has certainly changed and evolved over time but the commitment to it should not. While missionaries should be looking for ways to partner with and work under the existing African churches, those churches should not have to bear the burden of providing experiential short-term opportunities for westerners to feel as if they have served their King. The need for long-term commitment is as great as ever and felt all the more by the lack of impact short-term missions has on a church or community in Africa. While these short-term missions experiences may be life changing for those involved from the west the focus is wrong; after all, when did Christ ever send out the disciples so that they could boast about their service to him and tell of the great experience and life changing opportunity they had to serve him. Christ’s call to go is not about personal betterment but about spreading abroad his glory and fame.
Most of the founding members of both AIM (Africa Inland Mission) and SIM (Serving In Mission), two of the earliest missionary groups to work in Africa, died while founding the fledgling missions to Africa. Early missionaries to Africa knew that the likelihood of survival was slim but they went anyway; trusting that the One who had called them was faithful. Dietrich Bonhoeffer correctly wrote, “When Christ calls a man he bids him come and die”. In Matthew 16 Jesus says to his disciples that they must take up their cross and follow him. A cross is a place to die and until we recognize that the call of Christ is a call to die to all that we hold dear our commitment to his call will be flimsy. The early missionaries understood what it meant to follow Christ. When I look around at western missions today I have to question whether or not we still do understand the call of Christ. It is a call to abandon ourselves in obedience to the King’s directives for our lives.
Today westerners are keen to be involved in confronting the injustices and hurts of the world but are not willing to abandon themselves to the very causes they claim to be passionate about. They are willing to devote themselves to a point; if they can have a great experience to tell of and to check off on their “to do” list of spirituality they are content to go back to their unchallenging lives of comfort, suburbaness and feel-good worship. If the call of Christ presents a challenge to the comforts they have known they go on a mission trip to ease their conscience and then go back to “normal” life. Today’s western Christian does not know what commitment means; if the call of Jesus Christ the Crucified and Resurrected LORD means that they must battle alongside African brothers and sisters for life and not simply a few weeks or months, the white flag of surrender is raised to the comforts of western living.
The call of Jesus Christ is not a call to apathetic religion supplemented by doses of good works, but a call to weakness, perseverance, suffering and joyfulness in the face of a world that rejects us even as it did our King. Suffering is not something that the disciple of Christ runs from but gladly embraces knowing that in suffering we are gifted the greatest of opportunities to share the incomparable riches of God’s grace in our lives. Jesus lamented the rich young man because he was unwilling to abandon his all to follow the One who fills our every longing. Will we in the west heed our King’s call? Will we give him our lives or are we content with just a few years, or months or weeks? The enduring works of the early missionaries for the glory of the King stand in testimony against us and our unwillingness to commit ourselves to the challenges that await us if we, in obedience, listen to and obey His calling on our lives. Jesus calls us to deny ourselves and carry the cross. For some this may not involve the mission field but it involves denial of self nonetheless, while for others it means letting go of that well manicured lawn and finding yourself covered in African dust.
Many of the old missions have become so entangled in the western non-committal attitude and the false pretext of “non-dependency” that it may be that the committed Christian must look for new avenues of partnership with the African church. It may be that committed missionaries will find themselves under the direct leadership of African churches, battling alongside brothers and sisters who understand perseverance in the face of poverty and suffering. I am not saying that missionaries who work with the well-established western missions of today are not committed to the call of Christ (Two generations of my family have devoted their lives to the King and Africa through such missions). What I am saying is that many of these missions are softening their commitment to the countries in which they serve, creating more and more short-term possibilities for westerns who are unwilling to spend a lifetime of service in a foreign land.

Here is one interesting link that is somewhat tied into these thoughts: Do Short Term Missions make a Difference?

Working in Weakness

2009-06-14T19:24:00.000+03:00

Working in Congo is a constant reminder to me of just how weak I am. I want to be in control, to have things go smoothly and to wind up feeling accomplished. But Congo is not that way; things that would take a day elsewhere take a month here and it is almost always completely out of my hands. Corrupt officials and years of failed government make simple border crossings with relief supplies into a nightmare. What other countries would welcome for the sake of their suffering population, Congolese officials see as an opportunity to fill their pockets. And so, I have spent the last few weeks feeling quite powerless to change the predicament I find myself in – how do I get the supplies that people need to them?
The other reason I feel weak is due to the enormity of the suffering taking place around me. Almost daily I get calls asking me when I will be able to deliver supplies to displaced people and often with these calls are stories of attacks on yet another village by the LRA. I hear the stories of houses being burnt, people being murdered and children abducted, and I feel helpless in the face of such evil and suffering.
The apostle Paul wrote of rejoicing in his weakness. He could go through a list of all of his accomplishments and at the end he called them nothing; it was his weakness that he rejoiced in because in his weakness Jesus’ grace was evident in carrying out good deeds for God’s glory. I am reminded by this that the work I am doing is not my own, but that I have been called to these good deeds for the glory of the One who called me and in my weakness He is strong. It is hard being weak, but at the same time it is a blessed avenue to let the glory go where it is due.
In the west we place enormous value on personal accomplishment, but in the economy Christ’s Kingdom value is measured by obedience to the call of the King; a call which we must never forget is the call to carry the cross, to daily lay down our own desires and ambitions so that our resurrected Lord can live out His will in our lives. Often this means being weak; often carrying the burdens and sorrows of those around us. Dietrich Bonhoeffer in his book The Cost of Discipleship put it this way, “The disciple-community does not shake off sorrow as though it were no concern of its own, but willingly bears it. And in this way they show how close are the bonds which bind them to the rest of humanity. But at the same time they do not go out of their way to look for suffering, or try to contract out of it by adopting an attitude of contempt or disdain. They simply bear the suffering which comes their way as they try to follow Jesus Christ, and bear it for his sake. […] They stand as bearers of sorrow in the fellowship of the Crucified: they stand as strangers in the world in the power of him who was such a stranger to the world that it crucified him. … The community of strangers find their comfort in the cross, they are comforted by being cast upon the place where the Comforter of Israel awaits them.” (Bonhoeffer 109)
I have spent much of the last few weeks waiting on officials who are keeping relief supplies from being delivered to needy people. It makes me very angry and it also makes me feel helpless in the face of people’s greed and indifference to others’ suffering. However, we press on because we know that we are called to this work and that our Father is not indifferent to the suffering of his children. We wait and feel the pain of those who are waiting in hope that we will bring a tiny amount of physical relief to them and we press on because we know that we are not alone in this struggle; we have a King who is familiar with this world’s evils and understands the suffering we see each day.

And So We Wait

2009-05-30T22:07:00.000+03:00

I like to think of myself as a patient person. I can sit for long periods of time waiting in traffic or waiting for someone to arrive; usually I find myself saying, “just five minutes more”, and that turns into and hour …or two. Lately, however, I have begun to question just how patient I am and am finding that I might not be as patient as I thought. On the flip side, and to be fair to myself, I have also had more than my fair share of opportunities to be patient in the last few weeks.
There has been a lot of waiting taking place in the last month for me. First, we were waiting for the funding for our project to come through so that we could get started. Then, we had to finish ordering relief material and pay for them. After that we wanted to load the trucks but realized that all of the paperwork wasn’t ready for them to take the items to the border so I came to Congo to sort that out and then, just when we thought we had a plan, it fell apart and I have found myself at the Congo/Uganda border for two days waiting for trucks to be cleared through customs.
Waiting for anything can be a pain, but waiting for relief supplies that are intended to help the individuals of a country that has seen a lot of suffering to be cleared through customs can be downright exasperating. But, there isn’t much one can do when the decisions to be made are out of your hands – that is of course, except to pray. And I have prayed quite a lot – mostly for the miracle that my trucks would be released but also that I will have patience and see the King moving in all of this. His timing is perfect.
One thing that has helped me as I’ve dealt with the frustrations of waiting is to put my situations into perspective. For example, when we got to Uganda we hired a friend of mine named Kato who is from Congo and is familiar with this area to help us with the work of purchasing supplies and delivering them to the displaced. One of Kato’s children was abducted by the LRA on Christmas day and he hasn’t heard any news regarding her since then. I am not a parent, although I am sure I will be the possessive type, and I cannot imagine the daily worry that he must face wondering how his child is doing and whether he will see her again. He waits every day for word of his child’s well being and in the meantime perseveres with the work that is in front of him, helping to straighten out the bumbling mess of work that I create. He is waiting just like me for trucks to get across the border and maintains a cheerful attitude despite the fact that, as many people would put it, “life has dealt him a bad hand”. He, however, isn’t occupied with the hand that has been dealt him, but rather is occupied with the promises that have been given to him by the King. I hope that I can be more like Kato in my approach to the difficulties that life brings my way, that I will have an unswerving hope in the promises that are mine in Jesus.

will YOU pray???

2009-05-10T15:33:00.002+03:00

As I sit to write this I am in a garden near the source of the Nile River. The grass is green and finely cut, orange dragon-like flowers poke out above the other colorful pinks and purples and blues, and birds zip this way and that fluttering around the flowers and honeysuckle. This is a world at peace - with the exception of the wild children running this way and that, but I suppose that they are really at peace in a way each of us wishes we could return to - that peace of childhood before the world knocked too much seriousness into us.
But to put it quite bluntly - the world is not at peace and I suspect neither are we. We see too much sorrow, too much brokenness to think otherwise. And yet, we are called to speak peace into the madness that is around us. We are called to speak peace and that peace has a name - Jesus.
I have been in Uganda for around three weeks now taking a break before the work begins again. I will be returning to the DR Congo again soon and the task before me is a big one. We (myself, Kate and Kato) will be taking relief supplies to people who have been attacked or displaced by the Lord's Resistance Army(LRA). This is not a big task because of the logistics of it, or even because we have a lot to manage, but it is a big task because of the spiritual battle we are entering. If you don't know much about the LRA I would encourage you to look them up...and then PRAY. We are taking in physical help to these people but more than that we want to take in hope in Jesus name. John talked about Jesus light shining in the darkness and it is our hope that we would carry that light with us.
So, what am I asking from you?? PRAY, PRAY, PRAY...and then pray some more. Pray not only for the work we do but also for the daily heartache of facing suffering head-on. Pray that we will have courage to speak Jesus peace into the world we live in...and pray that you will do the same in the world you are in too.

Going Home

2009-04-25T11:27:00.000+03:00

I don’t think there is ever as much anticipation in our lives as the moment when we get to go home after having been away for a long time. As we draw near to the town, the building or the room that our hearts call home, there is that great expectancy that rises up from somewhere in our gut and overwhelms us. I have used the word “home” to describe many places along the journey of my life so far but there are two places specifically that hold a special place in the world for me. In the past few weeks I have had the chance to “come home” to both places after a long time of being away.
The place that in my childhood memories is known as home is the small village of Faradje, which is in northeastern Congo. I hadn’t been back to Faradje in ten years but a few weeks ago I had the opportunity to visit the village for a few hours to assess the needs of people after recent attacks by the Lord’s Resistance Army. As the small Cessna airplane circled the town and made the final approach to the dirt runway, my heart was racing in anticipation of what lay ahead. What would it be like after so many years away? Would people be excited to see me? As I exited the plane and began to greet people I was overwhelmed by the sense that at long last I was able to come back to a place I was familiar with and that was familiar with me.
We took the time to take a short tour of our old house and as I entered my old bedroom I could almost sense the morning sun beating in through the windows to wake me from my sleep or the afternoon rains railing against the house in that seasonal wonder that changes everything from brown to green. I could remember the goats outside bleating to one another as they ate all of my dad’s fruit trees and the evening cooing of the doves and cookals. The room was much smaller than I remember but just the same, it was a place of memory.
Similarly, when I knew we would be spending some time at my parents’ house in Entebbe while we plan for our next project in Congo, I was expectant at the prospect of going home. Entebbe is home, not so much because I have any particular attachment to the town or the house, but because I know that my mom has spent hours painstakingly cleaning my room of all the cat and dog hair that might set off my allergies and my parents will be content because I am home. It is home because I am in the arms of love.
These journeys home have made me think yet again about the greater journey home that I am on. As I think of that final home that I am looking forward to, my expectation is so much greater. It is the expectation that there will be justice and peace and all the things that make me long for the homes I have now will be filled in that one final destination. I will have a house where I won’t think of the beauty within or of the view, but it will be a house where I am in awe of the one who prepared it for me because it is only with him that I will finally feel fully at home.
In the work that I am doing I am constantly reminded of the broken world we live in. There are the lives ruined by war and the lives stripped of dignity by poverty, and in all of it there is a longing for something, someplace that is free of all this destruction and brokenness. There is a longing to go home.

Distribution Pictures

2009-04-16T14:23:00.001+03:00

When We Get What We Don't Deserve - Grace

2009-04-10T16:53:00.002+03:00

Sometimes we get what we don’t deserve. We try our hardest to accomplish a goal but in the end our efforts are empty, and yet, somehow from the reaches of grace, our goal is accomplished not by our efforts but by the wonders of Him who works out everything according to his purposes and plan. I have been amazed this past week, not at all by the works of my hands, but by the wonders that God has accomplished in the work that was before me to accomplish.
I began the week loading up trucks full of our hygiene kits to distribute to over 5000 people north of here. The morning was chaotic, with confusion over the type of vehicle we had chosen and the number we needed to carry our load. After several hours of loading, we had seven large trucks loaded down with the kits and we hit the road. A few of the trucks took longer than expected to arrive at our destination and at one point we thought we would have to delay our distribution while we waited for them to arrive the next morning. But then, just as we were making plans to postpone the work, the trucks arrived and our plan went on as arranged.
We awoke early in the morning and laid out our two distribution sights with some rope while people began to arrive by the hundreds. By 9am, as we began our program for the day, there were several thousand people gathered waiting for their kits. We had two sights operating simultaneously and as we began there were moments of chaos as the people who had gathered jostled on another to be allowed in to get their kit. After some adjustments to the way in which we were allowing people into our roped off area things began to go more smoothly and once people realized that they would each get their kit everyone calmed down and the day continued without much trouble. By 3pm the distribution at both sights was finished.
I cannot even begin to describe what a miracle it was to distribute all 5000 kits in one day, let alone with time to spare. There were plenty of opportunities for people to become upset or to cause trouble at the distribution. Whenever there are large masses of people all eager to get some much needed supplies the situation is quite fragile and the mood can change very quickly. Thankfully, in answer to prayer, our distribution went extremely well.

2009-04-01T12:22:00.003+03:00

wooden scooter

Displaced Persons Camp

Hut in IDP Camp

"Gocart" ...these kids are amazing

IDP Camp

Need

2009-03-30T18:05:00.000+03:00

How does one quantify need? There are many somewhat moral or difficult questions I face from day to day as I work in areas where war, disease and poverty have been, and still are, the norm. Among the questions I have faced lately has been the question of need. This past week I was tasked with finding around five thousand beneficiaries for hygiene kits (towel, toothbrush, soap, etc) we are hoping to distribute to families who have lost everything in this past years’ fighting. I traveled to an area north of here which has seen some of the heaviest fighting in the past few years and as we traveled through various villages and displaced placed peoples’ camps I began to wonder, “how will we know who best to give these kits to?” In the end it was decided we would distribute the kits to families who had just returned to their village for two reasons: 1) They were returning to empty houses or no houses at all and thus had very little physical capital to start living with. 2) It would encourage those still living in the camps to return home. But still, as we registered families and gave out ration cards, I couldn’t help but wonder about the need of those living in the nearby camps – was their need not just as great?
The question of need is one that is far greater than simply what I faced this past week. Is the person whose house just flooded in the American mid-west needy, or is it the starving girl in the Horn of Africa with flies on her face and buzzards overhead? The answer, of course, is that both are needy and facing the harsh realities this life sometimes brings with it. The difficulty is in knowing how to help both in their varying degrees of need and helplessness.
Jesus taught us to love our neighbors, and what a world it would be if we actually did just that. There is, and will be until the King returns, plenty of need around us each day; it is for us to see, and answer as we have been enabled. Some of us have the chance to listen to the broken heart of our neighbor, while others of us find our neighbors in the refugee camps of the world. All are needy, and most especially in desperate need of the King. We have the glorious chance to be his hands and heart to our neighbors.
The other day I was sitting in our vehicle waiting for some work to finish up when a small child came to the door of the vehicle and just stood their looking at me with his long face, sad eyes and puffy lips. He just stood there looking at me unblinking for around fifteen minutes; he didn’t even say a word (which is quite uncommon, since the children seem to find particular pleasure in running after me yelling Muzungu! Muzungu! – which means “white person”). I happened to be finishing up a small bottle of water so I handed to him and his face lit up and a giant smile crossed his face as he took it in both hands and walked away. An empty plastic bottle had made his day. Was the giving of that plastic bottle loving my neighbor? I think in some small way it was, in the same way I hope the hygiene kits we distribute will be filled with the love of Christ as people take them into their homes.

One final thought I have had today is this: While doing these acts of love to our neighbors is important, I have been reminded that more important than that is our devotion and love for Jesus himself. Far too often I get caught up in the act of doing and forget the one for whom I am doing it, the King himself. I read this great quote from Watchman Nee today and would like to end with it. “We could labour and be used to the full; but the Lord is not so concerned about our ceaseless occupation in work for Him. That is not His first object. The service of the Lord is not to be measured by tangible results. No, my friends, the Lord’s first concern is with our position at His feet and our anointing of His head.”

In the Volcano's Shadow

2009-03-20T17:18:00.003+03:00

After spending a few days at home in Uganda enjoying the peacefulness of Entebbe I have now arrived in the DR Congo. My travel here went surprisingly without any difficulties and I am already quite busy with my new tasks. We are putting together ten thousand "hygiene kits" for distribution to internally displaced people(IDPs) in the surrounding areas
Goma is a beautiful town situated on the shores of Lake Kivu and bordering Rwanda. It has seen some of the most intense fighting in Congo's ongoing conflicts and in 1994 received a large portion of the Rwandan refugees caught up in the genocide. It is also a city rebuilding itself on the lava that flowed through the town from the nearby volcano in 2002. As we drive along we bump along over the porous rock and dodge the occasional puddle. It is refreshing to be somewhere where it is raining and green, especially after five months without any rain in Sudan.
I am continuing to adjust to the languages as my mind is inundated with Swahili and French; it can be exhausting spending the whole day speaking a language other than my own. Thank you to all who have been praying for my transition.

I will try to get some pictures up in the near future but I no longer have my camera and will rely on my teammates for their pictures.

Final Sudan Photos

2009-03-10T13:55:00.004+03:00

Sudan Sunset

The View Above our Compound

I have been sleeping outside my tukol on this bed because of the heat

Innovative Loudspeaker

Crowd Celebration

Football Match

Our Compound

Decorated Bicycle

Ali our tractor driver.

Chronicles

2009-03-10T13:50:00.001+03:00

Chronicles – the telling of life’s stories. I imagine if we ever bothered to collect and catalog our individual, unique stories we would have no need for fiction; we would have endless entertainment at the expense of ourselves.
I wonder at times what my life story would look like if written down to this point in the adventure. One theme, that I am sure would emerge is displacement. My life has been filled with displacement, sometimes of my own choosing and other times out of necessity. Displacement has shaped who I am in so many ways. I view the world through the lens of collided continents, tangled traditions and forgotten identity; through poverty, war, educational elitism, affluential idealism, and simplistic faith. My most feared question is, “where are you from”, and I am particularly fond of international airports such as Heathrow, Amsterdam and Dubai because there, more than anywhere else, I can see the worlds I know smashing into each other with paradoxal ease.
Displacement has also led me to place little value on material objects. There are those items I possess which hold sentimental value mostly for their association with one time of displacement or another but generally speaking I don’t take great stock in the things I own. I would be far more upset if someone stole my journal than if someone stole my camera or computer.
I am once again on the verge of yet another displacement and it is, as always, a time of reflection on what I have learned from my time here and on the uncertainties that lie ahead. I sometimes struggle to know what my role is supposed to be in places like this and in Congo, where I am headed. What I have been reminded of lately is that wherever I am, I am called to Act Justly, Love Mercy and Walk Humbly with my God. This is not always easy, but it is certainly a benchmark by which to gauge the work that I do. I pray that what I do reflects Jesus.

I leave Sudan tomorrow and will spend several days in Kenya before flying home to Entebbe for several days. Next week I will then head off to the Democratic Republic of Congo for a new set of challenges and adventures. Please keep me in your prayers.

The Edge of Nowhere

2009-02-20T19:45:00.001+03:00

When I arrived here over a year and a half ago I felt that I was quite truly in the middle of nowhere. One of my bosses had quipped that to get here, “you go to the end of the world and turn right”, and it certainly seemed to be true. You fly for hours over the emptiness that is South Sudan and suddenly you bump down on a little dirt patch surrounded by shrubby trees and you are here; here where muddy trails are called a road and the nearest ice-cream is six hours away through the dust of migrating cattle and a zillion thorn trees.
As time has passed however, this “middle of nowhere” spot has taken on a vibrant life of its own and has ceased to be just “nowhere”. It is now a place with memories and faces; a place that has been filled with moments of joy and moments of utter frustration and doubt. As I prepare to leave for my next adventure it is dawning on me that I will miss this unpredictable patch of Africa. Here are some of the highlights that have made this place a little like home for me…

* I now have two lizards that sleep on my door at night. They are super skittish during the day but at night they just climb up onto my door and fall asleep. The lizards, along with the rats have ceased to bother me….well actually the rats still bother me, but they don’t keep me up at night anymore.
* I have survived two devastating fires and witnessed how people can pull together in times of crisis.
* My favorite time of day is dusk when we go to the market and enjoy a small cup of dark, sweet coffee under the shade of a Niem tree.
* I can’t decide which is worse, the mud of rainy season or the heat of dry season, but at any rate there are still those few months when the rains are just starting and the grass pops out of the parched earth which are absolutely stunning in beauty.
* The mud actually has its enjoyable moments…like when you get to slosh through some muddy trail with the vehicle sliding all over the place and in the end you conquer the road. Yes, that feels real good …as long as the vehicle doesn’t get stuck.
* My 16 hour trip through the mud with my friends Gorshi and Nile is probably my most memorable moment here…partly from the absurdity of it but mostly because it was the time I got to know them the best.
* One of the guys I work with actually knows how to use a carpenter’s square now, which after a year and half I feel is a huge accomplishment.
* I have eaten A LOT of goat meat here.
* When a father happily told me he was teaching his son to hate the northerners, my heart bled because it was such a hopeless moment for this country. It was a moment that makes me want to pray and pray and pray for this place. It also makes me long all the more for the King’s return.
* There was one evening when a friend received a package from the US that included some bubbles and he ran around blowing bubbles over all of us. It is a moment of silly joy that I will never forget.
* When the first rain came in April we went out and danced in the rain. The sound of it pounding on the tin roofs is probably the greatest sound I have heard in my time here.
* There are those half-naked, snotty-nosed kids that stand by the road just to wave at the vehicles as they pass by and it makes my day.
Those are just a few of my memories of this place…not all of them are happy memories but that is the way life is, there is good and bad wherever we go.

I have been waiting to say where I will be headed until I knew for sure that it was actually going to happen but it now seems to be in the works so I thought I would fill you in. In March I will be headed to the DR Congo with Sam’s Purse to do some relief work in a couple of the areas that have seen mass displacements of people due to recent fighting. I am excited about this opportunity as Congo is still the country on this planet I would call home. I am also quite nervous and would ask for your prayers as I try to remember the languages of my youth. (French, Swahili, Lingala)

A Moment of Rest

2009-02-08T15:09:00.002+03:00

If I could sum up my life right now I’d sum it up with the song “Big Sam Thompson” by Chris Thile. I find it somewhat ironic that I am listening to bluegrass music in the 105 degree heat of a parched Sudan, as I typically associate bluegrass music with the back-country hills of America where the music seems to blend with the beauty of the mountains and the changing of the seasons. Nonetheless, I swing gently in my hammock and listen as the music winds its way through the rafters of my thatch home; the violin’s melody hovering in the hot air, punctuated by the piercing notes of the mandolin. I sway in my hammock, sweating in the extreme afternoon heat, and let the music remind me of all that is beautiful and painful in this world, because after all, the music if filled with both beauty and pain.
I think there are times when our lives really could be put to a song that speaks of the hardships, victories and love we are encountering. We go through the day uncertain of what might befall us, trusting that regardless of what may come, there is One who knows what he is doing with our lives. As I prepare to move on from my present work, there are a lot of uncertainties that lie ahead, looming like some vast precipice on the horizon. In times like this it is far too easy to forget to look around. It is far to easy to miss the beauty that is never too far beyond our next footfall. I am reminded over and over again that we are told to “wait on the Lord”. I think that perhaps part of waiting is also taking the time to look around; taking the time to let the music lift our spirits out of dumps and just reveling in the wonder of the moment we are in regardless of all the doubt and fear it may hold.
My dad and his good friend Mukanirwa like to remind each other is Swahili, “Usi tembea imbele ya Yesu”, which simply means, “you shouldn’t walk in front of Jesus”. It is a great reminder when times are uncertain. Getting ahead of Jesus usually leads to falling off the precipice of uncertainty that lies ahead, while following him leads to green pastures and cool waters where the soul is refreshed and Jesus gets the glory.
Maybe I am just suffering a nostalgic moment on a quiet afternoon as I listen to my music, but then again, it is a moment filled with longing and waiting for the King. It is a moment when, despite the questions that plague the road ahead, I am able to rest because I know the One who knows the answers to all those questions.

Also I wanted to let you know that I have started a separate blog for some of my attempts at poetry. If you're interested it can be found at the wazi poet.

Messy Hands

2009-02-06T13:53:00.003+03:00

I was looking at my hands, and they are a mess! For starters, they are sweaty and the sweat does a marvelous job of mixing with the dust that is everywhere to form mud. Then, of course, there is some grease and a little bit of paint dotting my fingers and the creases of my palms where it just won't wash out. Add to that the blotchy dots where my skin is reacting to the soap I’ve been using and the blister from the digging work I was doing today and it is more than apparent that my hands are a mess.
One of my favorite worship songs is a beautiful Spanish song that talks about offering our hands and our lives to the Lord because he is precious to us. I was listening to that song and looked at my hands and all I could think was – what a mess! As I was thinking that, it also struck me that it was a great analogy for the rest of my life. I come to Jesus and I am a mess just like my hands are. But I come anyway because he didn’t come to save perfect people but messed up people. He doesn’t even use perfect people to do his work but builds his kingdom on the offering of our messy lives for his service. That is a huge comfort to me.
My time here in this part of Sudan is quickly drawing to a close. I am planning on leaving here in mid-March and where I go from here is still uncertain which can be a bit daunting. What the journey looks like from here is far from certain but I am confident that the King will be able to take these messy hands of mine and use them for something noble and true that builds up his Kingdom. Sometimes I look at my hands, or my life, and I wonder what purpose they will be used for, especially in their current state. It is a good thing I serve a creative King who has a use for me!

Clarity

2009-01-23T22:19:00.000+03:00

In the past week I have twice had children scrounging through the refuse of what I have failed to eat. Life, it seems, is augmented by moments of ephemeral clarity that indelibly drive truths about love and joy and suffering into the fabric of our lives. It may be that moment in some song or in the pages of a heart-wrenching parable that shoves a lump into one’s throat and ends with tears trickling through trembling hands to muddy the dusty tennis-shoes below. Maybe it is watching ashen dust billow out from a vehicle as it winds it way through some barren wasteland at the dusk of the day, or that moment when you walk outside and gasp at the sprinkling of diamonds in the sky. Perhaps it is the scent of a rose or a hug when you needed one; for each of us these moments come in there own way and timing.
For me, these moments have often involved children in one way or another; whether it is children recklessly abandoning themselves in their parents embrace, running wild at play or the desperate look of a mother watching over her sick child. Children are the easiest examples of joy and contentment we can find around us and perhaps because of this, they also offer the starkest view of our troubled world.
Several days ago I was enjoying a relaxing moment on our kitchen porch when a small band of children came wandering up to our compound and began to sift through the garbage pit that lies just outside our fence. They eagerly shuffled through the mess that is there, looking for plastic soda bottles and anything else they deemed valuable before wandering off in search of valuables elsewhere. A few days later, I was eating outside near a street in a town north of here when a small boy approached our table as we were finishing. He looked rather pitifully at us and gestured at what remained on our table. We nodded, and he quickly grabbed what remained of the food and walked across the street to devour it. I had been contemplating eating a small ice-cream that was just handed to me…ice-cream never tasted worse!
We live in a world where children get excited about finding plastic soda bottles and are hungry enough to scrounge for food from strangers’ plates. I don’t have any answers. Everywhere I go I find hungry children, children dying from curable diseases and children who spend there days sorting through trash. Most of these children are happy if all I do is wave to them….I want to do so much more.
There are those moments of clarity when we can see such goodness and beauty around us, and there are those moments when we realize all too clearly that things are desperately out of order; moments that break our hearts, even as our King’s heart is broken. I hope I have the courage to respond as my King responds.

Jan 9 - CPA Day!

2009-01-18T16:52:00.004+03:00

On January 9th we celebrated the CPA(Comprehensive Peace Agreement) here in South Sudan. It was a celebration of 4 years of peace. There were a lot of traditional dances and a few speeches highlighting the importance of continuing the peace. Here are some pictures from the day. Enjoy!

Looking Back

2008-12-27T22:33:00.000+03:00

It seems, this time of year, a lot of time is spent looking back. We look back on memories from years ago and we look back on the past year and, as is often the case, we are left to wonder how we ever made it to where we are at. As I look back on this past year, I am amazed by all that has happened and the strength that has been given to press on.
I am sure if you were to go back through my posts from this year you might begin to wonder if anything good ever happens in Sudan. I have experienced two destructive fires, a wind that blew the roof off our operating theatre, traveled through mud and dust over countless miles of ruts referred to as roads and had encounters with people who are at times more than frustrating to deal with. I, myself, have at times wondered if Sudan ever offers anything but calamity to those who live within its borders, and have spent many sleepless nights listening to the rats rustle through the thatch above my head while questioning how I ever ended up in such a backward place.
I am reminded, however, that the King did not enter a world that had its act together, but rather, he entered as light into darkness; as a breath of sanity in the midst of our insanity. We like to sing Christmas carols such as “Silent Night” and “O Holy Night” that make us think of Christ’s birth as the most serene moment in history, when in fact it, if some thought is given to the event one would be led to believe that it was most likely far from tranquil. The Author of creation, mother screaming in pain, came wailing into the world covered in birth and all that it entails, and like all new born children must have wondered at what an awfully uncomfortable place this was. Sure, there were shepherds, wisemen and angels, but there was also infanticide, a daring escape and refugee status without the UNHCR to hand out free food and blankets. Our King did not enter the world of storybook and legend, he entered OUR world; the world where we sit in the filth of our humanity, dripping with the wretchedness of our vain efforts to fix ourselves, in desperate need of a Savior.
I have had the immense privilege to be at home in Uganda with my family for Christmas. Christmas day was spent having fun in the warm waters of Lake Victoria but also came with the sad reminder of the fallen world we live in. We received news that our “home” village in Congo, Faradje, was attached by the Ugandan LRA rebel group. Our friends’ homes were burned down and many people were killed and abducted. This news has brought with it a strong mix of emotions. I find myself angry that such atrocities are committed and frustrated by my own inability to do anything about it. We do, indeed, live in a monumental mess of a world!!
This morning, a Congolese pastor friend mentioned that the story of David and Goliath has been a great encouragement to him as he looks at the troubles in Congo and his testimony has in turn encouraged me as I think of my work in Sudan and the continuing violence in Congo. The Israelites were afraid of the pagan giant and out of the bush walked a boy with a sling and some rocks to take him down. David didn’t see the giant, he saw the Great Shaddai (Almighty) and took up His battle cry. Our King entered our crazy world to give us hope and light. Sometimes it is daunting living in this world so full of darkness, but we have such a wonderful opportunity to face this darkness with the light that has been so freely given to us. May it be so.

More Fires, Etc....

2008-12-06T20:58:00.005+03:00

Some of you, I am sure, have been wondering where I have disappeared to for the last little while. For those of you who have been eagerly awaiting my next post…I apologize.

A lot has happened since my last post, and you would think that it would give me lots to write about, which on one hand it does, but on the other hand it has meant that I have been super busy. Two weeks ago I got back from my R&R in Kenya where I was able to spend some time with my parents and cousins which was great fun. We went go-carting for my birthday and tried to crash each other into the tire walls. I was also able to go up to Rift Valley Academy, my former high school, where I spent a few days hanging out with two of my former classmates who are on staff as well as with some former teachers. It was good to go back and see how much has changed and to realize how much I have changed since my time there. It was also nice to spend some time in the pottery room working on some coffee mugs, which is something I really enjoy doing.
When I got back here there was a lot of work waiting for me. Angelo, our program manager, went to the states as I came back from Kenya which left me in charge. We are currently finishing up a building project at the hospital while also trying to start one at a school in town. At the same time we are also running our usual projects around town. A few days after I got back I had to travel north for an important government meeting as well as to purchase some supplies for our compound. When I returned our school had its closing ceremony which I needed to attend so that I could give a speech on behalf of our organization. The next day I was invited to give another speech at a neighboring school that was also closing. As you may have guessed, Sudanese love speeches.
The second speech day was also Thanksgiving. We were able to get a turkey from Kenya and I am quite proud to say that I successfully figured out how to cook it in our small gas oven. We had a few guests over to celebrate, and in spite of the speech giving, we were able to take most of the day off. I celebrated by taking a nap in the 100 degree heat in my hammock on the porch. I would have willingly shared some of my heat with many of you farther north suffering in the cold!
Last Friday brought about some big changes to our compound. I traveled south to our farm project and as I was returning I noticed a large column of smoke in the distance. It seemed to be coming from the direction of our compound and I thought that perhaps it was the hill behind our compound burning, because it still had a lot of dry grass on it. A few minutes later I received a frantic call from one of my colleagues urging me to get back to our compound as it was on fire. I rushed back as fast as the bumpy road would allow and arrived to see smoke rising from all corners of our compound. I ran past our burning fence and arrived in time to watch one of our tukols finish burning to the ground. I walked around a bit dazed for a few minutes and utterly overwhelmed; almost all of our fence was burned down, we had lost two tukols, three latrines, two storerooms and we had many fuel drums that burned for hours. We fought out the remaining fire on the fences as it traveled near to the tukols but stayed far from the fuel storeroom as it went up in a blaze of Av-gas, Diesel, Petrol and Jet-A One. At one point a cylinder of Acetylene, which is used for gas welding, exploded causing quite a stir among those of us watching.
As a team, my colleagues and I gathered to give thanks to our King that no one was injured. The fire had come with a fierce wind that was essentially unstoppable and in so many ways it was a miracle that no one was injured. We do not understand why things like this happen but we do know that God is in control. Throughout this ordeal it has been amazing to revel in the grace God has given me in dealing with this situation. He has given me strength and wisdom when I have needed them and provided patience and the will to persevere.

Below you’ll find some pictures of the fire. Most of them are from colleagues (David Bock and Sammy Muraya) who were able to get pictures before our compound was on fire and during the attempts to put it out. The pictures from the day after the fire are mine.

The fire came from the north-west and went up the hill next to us.

Pushed by a strong wind it also approached our compound.

Once the fence was on fire, the wind carried the fire toward our storerooms.

It also carried it toward our tukols. Mine is the one in the middle of these burning fences.

The wind pushed the fire from one fence to another. (All our fences were made of grass.)

The wind pushed the fire from one of the fences onto our doctor's tukol.

I had been visiting our farm and arrived quite overwhelmed.

We had a several barrels of fuel that caught fire. Not to mention many empty barrels of Jet-A One.

We lost several quad-bikes in the fire.

We gathered to give thanks that no one was hurt.

This was our fuel storeroom.

Quadbike

Latrine

Looking at the hill.

Gaurd Tukol.

Generator/Welder

Looking at our compound from the burned hill.

The fence.

Blown up Acetylene tank.

Cultural Wonderment

2008-11-04T17:07:00.001+03:00

One thing that I continually find fascinating is the complexity that exists in different cultures around the world. I enjoy traveling to new places and watching how people live their lives; absorbing the beauty that exists in differing clothing, savoring the delicacies that zing the taste buds and listening to the music of each culture’s mother-tongue as people ramble on to one another with words I will probably never understand. Every once in a while though I find myself dumbfounded by the cultures I encounter. When I least expect it I am brought face-to-face with something that would never happen in my own culture (as undefined as it is, given my particular mixed-up upbringing). To explain this I thought I would use two recent examples of culturally different practices I have encountered and then add some comments on elections…since, after all, I am writing on election day.
Last week my colleague, David, returned from his work on water sanitation in a bit of a quandary. He explained that one of his workers hadn’t showed up for work and when he asked about her whereabouts he was told that she was in jail. Upon prying further he discovered that she was in jail because she had tried to run away from a marriage her mother had set up for her. It turns out she had received several gifts from the particular man involved and he had also given a substantial amount of money to the mother as a dowry payment – essentially, she didn’t have a choice in the matter. When she tried to run away, the man hired a truck, tracked her down and had her thrown in jail. After several days in jail while the families finished working out the deal she was released to go and live with the man as his second wife. David visited her several days later to give her the salary she had earned and listened to her lament about the situation she was in. Her complaint: “The first wife was beating her.”
This was a situation we found ourselves powerless to change. The girl is only about 17 years old, but even so the culture here is so accepting of the situation it is as if nothing has happened at all. Several of our most respected Sudanese staff told David that the man was completely within his rights with everything he had done. There are some things here that we simply cannot understand and at times it is heartbreaking. I am sure that this cultural practice is bound to change with time…but one can never know how long such a change could take. In the meantime seventeen year-olds are given in marriage to men who already have wives.
My second example is much lighter in content and is simply something I found somewhat amusing. We have a Nigerian family staying with us who are missionaries in an area south of here. They came here so that the wife could give birth to their second child. We have all enjoyed having them around, especially their three year-old, Praise, who is a riot. After waiting expectantly for several weeks, Victoria gave birth to a baby girl on Sunday night and we were all excited at the new arrival. Today, as I walked past one of our charcoal burners, I noticed Steve cooking something and went over to check it out. What I found was a cow foot, hoof and all, being roasted on the flames. He explained that he would make it into a huge spicy stew for his wife to eat in the coming days. It turns out that cow foot stew is a tradition for women who have just given birth in Nigeria. I’m not sure what the value of spicy cow foot is for mother and new born...and I don’t suppose I ever will.
As America goes out to vote today, I can’t help but be amazed at how blessed Americans are with our system of government and elections. With the election season in full gear we have often talked with our staff here about our system and how it will work on election day, but the fact of the matter is that in reality they cannot fully comprehend a system where people can go out and vote without fear of being shot, having their vote stolen, or having the result lead their country into civil conflict. Most Sudanese have never voted and their chance to vote in the coming years is precariously balanced atop a feeble peace agreement between the north and south. America impassively goes about it electoral duties and the rest of the world watches in wonder at something that in so many ways is a miracle.

When the Journey Takes Us

2008-10-21T21:36:00.000+03:00

Sometimes the journey takes us. When we least expect it adventure, or perhaps misadventure, comes knocking at our door and before we know it the journey has taken us beyond the constraints of our imagination and the limitations of our reality to places and through places we might never have gone. The journey takes us – it pushes, stretches, pokes and prattles until we are exhausted from the effort but somehow content, as if we have learned some new secret along the way. And perhaps we have. It is always easier when we enter adventures of our own choosing but accidents happen and sometimes we find ourselves journeying along whether we want to or not and at this point attitude makes all the difference.
It is two in the morning and it looks as if we have, at last, reached a road upon which we will not get stuck. I take over the driving from Nile, who for the last thirteen hours has used every trick he can muster up to keep our truck from getting irretrievably struck in the sticky, slippery black cotton mud that seems to stretch for endless miles over this land. When we left town in the early afternoon I knew this was not going to be an easy trip but certainly wasn’t prepared for the roads that lay ahead. I should have figured it out when, after only fifteen minutes of driving, the truck slipped into seasoned ruts and the tires spun to no avail. If that wasn’t a clue then the forty-five minutes it took to get us unstuck should have been. Only after we were stuck again, one kilometer down the road, did I truly begin to suspect I was in for more than I had bargained for. Nothing could have prepared me for the two feet of mud that stuck cylindrically out from the wheel rims of our truck, or the trenches left in the road by overloaded tractors, or the roads we had to blaze through ten foot tall grass. I definitely wasn’t prepared to winch the truck out of a hole every other hour.
In situations like this the sun always sets too soon, and it did for us. Finding a road through the mud is difficult enough in the daylight and once the sun goes down it is like living in a nightmare; a nightmare that continues on through river beds, sorghum fields and sleeping villages that appear out of the bush like a birthday surprise you never saw coming. The moon is almost full, but when you are scouring for stones to place beneath your sinking tires, it is hard to look past the light it provides to the beauty of the cool, clear evening, accentuated by crickets in song and the murmur from distance villages dancing to celebrate the season of fire.
We persevered, continuing on through the hours of the night; slipping and sliding our way around tree stumps, swampy sink holes and past silhouetted mountains. It was only after the third time being stuck, that the hand-winch began to work, and as we plotted along, with exhaustion setting in, we were grateful it had finally worked. Attaching it to resilient thorn trees, we pulled our selves from the trenches time and time again.
As we drive along, now sailing down the packed gravel road, it is hard to stay focused on the driving. Nile, sitting next to me, is nodding off to sleep and every time I hit the brakes or a bump in the road his head goes swinging wildly forward. Gorshi stays awake to keep me company, throwing out a random comment now and again that keeps me from drifting off in my thoughts which wander aimlessly through the events of the day and the night as it continues to unfold. Rabbits and stray, mangy dogs dart off the road as my headlights hit them, and as the giant moon drifts off into the western sky it illuminates small encampments of the nomadic Falata people, their cows with giant horns resting quietly near their dome-like tents.
It is not long before I can see, in the far reaches of my headlights, the disaster that has brought about this journey. I slow to a halt, fixing the lights on the bent frame of a red, Honda quadbike that has been pushed to the side of the road. One tire has come loose from the steering rod and rests crookedly beneath the vehicle. The seat has come off entirely and the battery that lies below it is broken in two. We scour the area looking for clues and decide that a nearby dip in the road must have been the cause, sending the quadbike crashing out of control. The injured persons have long since been taken to a nearby hospital, having suffered head injuries and severe scrapes and bruises. It is no wonder, given the state of the quadbike. It is for them that we have journeyed through the night, persevering to ensure that they receive proper treatment and the attention that their injuries require.
We continue on toward morning, bouncing down the dry, empty road. In the west the moon begins to set and the eastern sky shifts from the black of night to the indigo indicative of the approaching dawn. At five we stop to rest for an hour, drawing the vehicle to a stop at a vacant roadside market. Gorshi scrounges in a nearby tea house for a small grass-woven bed and falls asleep near the truck. Nile finds a mat and joins him. I spread out across the seats and try to sleep but despite the hours without rest, I find it hard to relax and give up completely when donkey drawn water carts begin to roam the small village. The Muslim call to prayer chants its way into my morning subconscious and it is time to get moving again.
After only an hour, we enter Damazin as the small city is beginning to stir. The streets are dotted with tea and coffee shops; women in headscarves sit behind petite pots of boiling brew and serve it in miniature cups to lounging customers as they slowly ease their way into the day. We dodge potholes, tuk-tuks, donkeys and horse-drawn carts as we weave our way down the narrow streets to the guesthouse that awaits our arrival. We pull up just as most of the guests are heading out for their daily duties and are warmly greeted and congratulated on the feat we have just accomplished in having made it at all. We prepare to unpack and shower with the intention of visiting our injured colleague as soon as possible. As we unpack my phone rings and a friend on the other end informs me that our colleague has been transferred to Khartoum during the night. I thank him for the information and try to hide my frustration at having just driven sixteen hours for nothing. We cannot quite understand why our friend has chosen to go north in the night when we have already arranged transportation to Kenya for him but decide not to dwell on the events we could not control.
It only takes a few minutes to unpack and shower, and after a quick call to my boss I find myself fast asleep. It is a sleep like none I’ve had in a long time; deep, dreamless sleep unaware at all of the passing of time.

Monday and Tuesday pass by in a blur. We have tried and failed to meet up with our injured comrade and we have tried and failed in our endeavors to return home. The quadbike is now loaded in the back of the pickup and after a day of rain our attempts at continuing toward home have met with more mud than we wish to endure. We have stopped half-way as we wait for the road to dry and for our tractor to come and pull us through the quagmire. A compassionate villager offers us his house for the night and we enjoy a restful sleep, lulled by the songs sifting through the calm air from the full moon dance.
Our tractor arrives and we begin the final journey; the journey home. Our way is much simpler now that the road has dried and we have the sun to see by. Places where we have gotten bogged down before are avoided but still this road is far too great an obstacle for us to avoid getting stuck. The tractor pulls us out again and again but for once we don’t have to spend so much time digging or cranking the hand winch. The tractor also blazes new trails for us in the worst places, going far around the trenches left in the hardening soil by bigger vehicles than ours. As we travel the skies begin to build up with thunderstorms and the vehicle echoes our prayers that we will arrive without rain to wash away the road. We drive on, apprehensively watching the skies. Where the road is good the tractor is left to catch up with us later and we press on toward home.
As we near home, we inevitably get stuck once again. This time we power the winch as if our lives depend on it; we want nothing more than this journey’s end. Our path takes us through town and people stare at us in wonderment, as if they have never seen a vehicle so covered in mud before. We reach home to the astonished congratulations of our colleagues who can’t believe we have actually made it. And then, of course, at this our journey’s end, it rains. It really rains; the kind of rain that comes down in buckets until the whole ground is a river moving somewhere and everything is wet. And as it rains I am happy to be home; happy to have journeyed and to have learned a thing or two about perseverance and patience. And, of course, about why never to travel in rainy season again!

Pirates and the Sud

2008-10-08T11:14:00.002+03:00

Click here to know why a group of pirates are playing a big role in raising tensions in this area.

Another week...

2008-10-05T17:11:00.003+03:00

This past week has been super busy. It began with visitors from the US. Those of us who work in the field kindly refer to these visits as “VIP visits”. These visits usually include some of the upper brass from our headquarters in the states with a group of potential donors for the work out here.
This particular group was made up mostly of pastors from the states who had never been out here and were hoping to learn about the work that goes on. They were a pleasant group to host and asked good questions about what we do and the situation on the ground. One comment I would like to make though is about their size. Before they ever arrived, my colleagues and I made bets about how many of them would be overweight and sadly the person who guessed the highest was correct. The very fact that we were betting about this says something about the people we have come to expect on these VIP trips, but I also think that it is a sad commentary on our society – especially when many of the visitors we have are some of the top Christian leaders in our country. The Muslims here have just finished the month of Ramadan in which they fast for a month – perhaps we could use a month of fasting. Just a thought.
The week continued on rather slowly after our visitors left. The celebration of Eid el-Fitr, which is to mark the end of Ramadan, began on Tuesday so many of our workers have been off for the week. This meant less work for most of the week. However, on Thursday, calamity struck our hospital once again. You may remember my post regarding the burned hospital ward in February, well we have once again had to face the forces of nature head-on. On Wednesday a huge storm blew up with strong winds and took the roof right off of our Operating Theatre. There were actually some people inside at the time being stitched up but thankfully no one was injured. This event certainly added some excitement to the week as we immediately set about procuring the needed materials to repair the building. With roads the way they are, it will be several more days before all the supplies arrive but we should have the building repaired by the end of the week.

My week ended with an adventure yesterday. We have been trying to find ways to help the communities south of here that are struggling with a shortage of food and healthcare. There has been very little good information regarding two of the villages so yesterday I headed south on quad-bikes with several colleagues from the NGOs here to try and reach the villages so as to do a small assessment of the needs. In the end, we did not even reach the first village which is about 60kms south of here. After four hours of splashing and pushing and pulling ourselves through the mud we were eventually defeated by the road and had to turn around. We found ourselves stuck in a swamp and were kindly told by some guys on foot that a river too deep for our quad-bikes lay just ahead. And so it was. After four hours of trying, we were defeated by the logistical nightmare that exists in rainy-season Sudan. We will try again another day. This is just the way it is here. I will say though, a little mud never hurt anyone….pictures below.

My area in the news...

2008-09-27T15:30:00.005+03:00

Here is a link to a developing issue in our area. We are still looking at ways to help with this situation since we are strategically located to do something.

Reuters Africa News

Capacity Building

2008-09-21T16:38:00.001+03:00

When a country, especially one that did not have much to begin with, has been at war for more than twenty years there isn’t a whole lot left for anyone to build on. As one of several NGOs working in this area of the country we do a lot of talking about capacity building. I am not entirely certain I have a great grasp of what exactly we mean when we use that term, “capacity building”, but we like to throw it around the way halleluiahs are used in church.
At its core, I suppose we are referring to our poor attempts to up the standard of living and develop peoples’ life skills. In a broader sense we are also talking about the peace dividends we hope are being reaped by the establishment of proper healthcare and schools. We try to offer basic skills in mechanics and building by offering people jobs who have no expertise in those areas to begin with. This can be painfully frustrating at times as our vehicles are sometimes mishandled and our construction work hampered by bad craftsmanship. An excellent example of this can be seen in the lessons I have learned while trying to get some painting done on a few of our buildings. I quickly learned not to leave the scene for more than an hour, lest I return to find paint of different colors splattered haphazardly everywhere. It has taken several paint jobs, and the work still is not very pretty, but slowly we have trained a crew of guys who are developing into somewhat skilled painters.
The problem we face is the scope of the need. South Sudan has almost no infrastructure, very little healthcare, inadequate schooling and its people have spent twenty years living off of handouts in refugee camps. We are trying to offer services for people who have nothing and it simply is not enough. The government does not yet have the capacity to meet the needs of the people and the NGOs jobs are to fill the gaps left by the government, which in this case means everything. A typical discussion among NGOs in this area goes something like this. UNHCR says, “We have just brought back 5000 Sudanese from refugee camps in Ethiopia and they are without food, schools or healthcare. What are you going to do about it?” Then the rest of us look at each other rather blankly, because we are already stretched thin with what we are doing, and respond, “Um, we don’t have the resources to meet those needs. That is the work of the government. Why aren’t they helping?” What we don’t say is that we think UNHCR was stupid for bringing the people back with no structure in place to begin with, but then again who can blame them for wanting to shut down refugee camps that have been in place for over twenty years.
And so the story goes. We run the only hospital in area as large as New Jersey and it simply is not enough. Imagine living in Newark and trying to walk to Philadelphia through mile after mile of mud during the peak of rainy season so that you can take your child to a hospital or outlying clinic for treatment of malaria…or, as is more likely the case, you simply don’t get treatment and hope the child survives.
We talk about capacity building a lot, and I think it is because it makes us feel a little better about ourselves; it makes us feel like we are actually doing something here, and if we look around I guess we really are…its just not enough. In this entire region there is one secondary school with enough room for less than one hundred pupils...which means we are building capacity on a maximum of a primary education in most cases.
We have a LONG way to go.

Recent weeks.

2008-09-14T14:45:00.002+03:00

I realize that it has been a while since I have sat down and really communicated what exactly I’ve been up to. When I returned from the US in June, the team here went through several changes as the Program Manager, Fletcher, left and was replaced by Angelo. It has taken a few months for everyone to figure out what to expect with the new arrival and things have pretty much returned to business as usual.
A month ago I went out to Nairobi and on to Thailand for my two week R&R and returned to take over the reigns from Angelo as he left for a month in the US, visiting friends and family. With him gone I have found myself busier than usual; in addition to my usual logistics duties, I am also handling most of the administrative and programmatic duties of Angelo until he returns.
We are continuing the reconstruction of the hospital ward that burned down in February, though the work has actually stalled until we can get a new welder in from Nairobi. The logistics of keeping a construction job going has added to the usual work of keeping our programs equipped with the supplies they need.
The rains have also continued to come and probably won’t end until at least mid-October. I cannot even begin to describe the difficulties that arise from the poor infrastructure in this area. During the rainy season a simple 30km journey can take a whole day. We try ,as much as possible, to keep our vehicles from traveling too far away from town, but with ongoing programs and construction work we have inevitably needed supplies from farther north which has meant a few harrowing journeys for our drivers. A team of our drivers recently spent several days in the bush when one of our tractors broke down in the middle of nowhere, but the alternative is to hire others to do the work and this time of year prices are through the roof.
On the compound we have had a few discouraging break-ins which have left us a little baffled. Several items were stolen that suggested one or several of our compound staff might have been involved which always leaves the predicament of what to do with the people you had hoped you could count on. There are many, many idle, young people who have been brought back to this area from refugee camps in Ethiopia and in many ways it is inevitable that they will begin to get into trouble unless opportunities for employment or leisure activities present themselves. The poverty in this area is extreme and after 20 years of war there has not yet been any real development, leaving people to scratch out a living in any way possible.
September is the time of year when many budgets and proposals are put together for the next year’s activities. With Angelo gone I have found myself involved in the process of putting together several proposals for our work here to continue. While it is not really exciting work, I have actually quite enjoyed the task of thinking through what is next for this area. After a year of mostly doing physical work it has been nice to re-engage my brain a bit and put it to use.

In recent weeks I have been doing a lot of thinking about the enormity of human suffering and despair that is evident every day. As I have read the news and looked around me here, I have found myself often deeply discouraged – what impact can I really have in this ocean of hopeless humanity?? But, I am also reminded that the King filled himself up to the full with this humanity of ours. A few weeks ago I was reading a sermon by a favorite author of mine in which he talked about the birth of Jesus. As I was reading it struck me, perhaps for the first time, how frightening it must have been for the Ancient of Days, the timeless One, to come out of the comfort of eternity into this world of ours, covered in the mess that accompanies us at birth; that mess that doesn’t ever really wash off until we die. He covered himself with our humanity from the get-go, and I don’t think it is too far of a stretch to imagine that his first cry was not merely the wondrous cry of a baby gasping for that first breath but the frightened cry of having entered into our blemished flesh and blood. He knows how messed up we really are and he HAS done something about it. I hope my life and my actions point to that.

A Longing for Change

2008-08-31T17:30:00.002+03:00

I have seen a lot in the last few weeks, or at least it feels like I have. I have witnessed sights and sensed things both new and old; been caught up in the euphoria of beautiful surroundings and the despair of the destitute.
I am back in Sudan now, but have just returned from a two week break in Thailand. Several colleagues of mine were traveling there and invited me to join in on the adventure, and since I have never been to Asia, I decided it would be a wonderful opportunity to see another part of the world. Thailand is an extremely beautiful country, covered in lush green forests that descend to the azure oceans and seas that surround its western edge. Its people are incredibly helpful and friendly, willing to point wayward tourists like myself in the right direction with big smiles on their faces.
I spent most of my week and a half there on an island called Koh Chang, relaxing on the beach, swinging from a hammock in my bungalow and eating delicious Thai food for absurdly cheap prices. It was a much needed break from the chaos that seems to grow naturally from this Sudanese soil and provided some wonderful times of reflection on the work that I am doing and why I am here.
Although my time on Koh Chang was the most memorable part of my trip, I was perhaps more deeply impacted by the day I spent walking through the streets of Bangkok. I was amazed by many of the elaborate malls I passed as I walked aimlessly around. There are huge, 5-6 story department stores offering expensive name-brand clothing and other items, and people wander in and out throwing away their money on the latest fashion. Outside the stores there are often shrines where people stop to say prayers and light candles and incense, and if you walk a few blocks away the extravagance quickly turns to more rundown shopping areas, chaotic with the number of people drifting up and down the sidewalks. What got me though, were the beggars. There weren’t an astonishing number of them, at least no more than any other city I’ve been to, but I think it was the contrast with their surroundings that got to me. They live in a country that is magnificently beautiful, in a city adorned with elaborate buildings, and they sit outside of the skytrain and on the sidewalks begging for the means to sustain their hopelessly pathetic lives. There was the old, blind man playing some sort of stringed instrument, the ragged mother breastfeeding her baby by the side of the road and the two little girls sitting alone on the walkway, waiting for someone to drop a coin in their cup. I have seen a lot of homeless people and walked past too many street children to count, but the faces I saw in Bangkok are stuck in my mind in a way I will never forget. I have never felt so helpless to do anything before in my life. I was in a strange country, in a strange city, full of strange people and I was heart broken by the people I passed on the street. And it filled me with longing; longing for change.
Back in Sudan now, the longings to do not go away; the longings for peace, for hope to fill this place, for people to be offered education and healthcare and a chance to grow old, for change to come with glorious goodness and mercy on its wings. Yesterday I attended the closing ceremony for the girls program we run when the other schools in town our out of session. It is a chance for the girls to stay active and out of trouble. We offer some basic classes as well as sports and craft activities and at the end of the program each girl receives a certificate and a small gift. As I sat there watching the girls and listening to various people make speeches all I could think of was how much change we need. These girls are already at odds to finish the schooling that is available which only goes through eighth grade. If they do make it to eighth grade, they have nowhere else to go as there isn’t a secondary school anywhere around and the schools that are being built are for students who know Arabic. I stood up and told them to dream big, to dream of being doctors and lawyers and the next leaders of Sudan and to stay in school to achieve those things. But in the end I felt like the hugest liar because without much needed change there is little hope that any of them will become those things. Sometimes this world is in such desperate times that it all but crushes our hope. And yet, there is still that longing – that longing for change to come because it is needed so badly, not just in this physical world that we know but in our hearts because after all we are the ones who come up with so much of the wickedness that consumes us.
I have seen so much in the last few weeks and it fills me with an incredible longing. Longing for change. Longing for the King to come at last and make all things new because that is what we desperately need – to be made new.

“Hear, O God, the prayers of all thy children everywhere: for forgiveness and healing, for courage, for faith; prayers for the needs of others; prayers for peace among the desperate nations. Whether thou givest or withholdest what we ask, whether thou asnwerest us in words that burn like fire or silence that burs like fire, increase in us the knowledge that thou art always more near to us than breathing, that thy will for us is love.
And deep beneath all our asking, so deep beneath that we are all but deaf to it ourselves, hear, O God, the secret song of every human heart praising thee for being what thou art, rejoicing with the morning stars that thou art God and we thy children. Make strong and wild this secret song within until it bursts forth at last to thy glory and our saving. Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen” ~ Frederick Buechner

Being Small

2008-08-12T21:06:00.000+03:00

I am here at the end of the day looking back at the mistakes I have made and the grace that guarded my steps. It has rained and in the fading light of evening drops of water sparkle like diamonds as they fall from the thatch of my roof to the muddy ground below. I sit here, looking out at the rain-soaked ground, listening to the distant thunder. I am small, very small.

…The morning begins with the crackling of my radio announcing a new day with the news of great men; great men raging war, great men announcing peace, great men filling the air with senseless declarations, and of course, great men making spectacles of their bodies in athletic prowess. As if in stride, I too begin my day as a great man bent on conquering the obstacles of the day; obstacles that spring, like weeds, from this land of extremes.
And those obstacles do grow, beginning with the moment my drivers and mechanic decide to not get along. That, of course, is followed by a great fall from our tractor – which doesn’t seem like a serious matter until it consumes the whole day.
I am on my way to pick up some food for the parentless boys who have left home to attend our dysfunctional school when I catch up with our tractor which is laden with a load of brick for the hospital construction. Near to the tractor is a young man lying on the ground surrounded by several people. As I stop they lift him up and place him in the back of the pickup I am driving and explain that he had fallen from the trailer when it hit a bump. I drive him to the hospital and am told that before he can be seen, he has to go to the police to fill out an accident report, so I leave him with my drivers and head off to collect the food.
An hour later I am waiting on the bureaucratic system of the UN to run its course as I wait for the food, when I receive a call informing me that my tractor is going to be impounded for “investigation”. I am, of course, a little put out by this and quickly head back to the hospital to get the scoop. There, I am told not only that my tractor will be impounded but that my driver has already been put in jail. The American in me immediately begins to question the logic in putting my driver in jail because someone else fell out of trailer he was pulling, but I am answered that this is the way of Sudan.
I visit the police station in a much more humble state and surrender the keys to the tractor.
There, I find out that my driver will be let go once it is confirmed that the injured man is ok. It turns out that he is in jail as much for his own safety as for investigative purposes – Sudan could go up in flames solely on the irrational retributive attacks that take place for simple accidents that take place. I head back to the hospital to make sure that the doctor takes a look at my injured man and while I wait for the doctor my day gains a whole new perspective. The infirmities that begin to wander past me, remind me that there are far worse things than my day going to pot because of an accident. There is the child who limps his way up the steps next to me, the middle aged man with the disfiguring cleft lip and the old man who is brought out of the operating theatre drugged up and muttering prayers in Arabic. I am reminded that Jesus walks into our days to carry these infirmities – to bear our burdens and love us, the ones who are unlovable in our own self-assurance.
I take a break for lunch and then head to the market to buy some food for my driver in jail. As I arrive at the jail the heavens open and the skies begin to fall with a ferocity that makes any effort at acting like a great man non-sense. I sit with my driver as he eats and we watch the rain pound down around us. He will spend the night in jail and hopefully tomorrow we’ll get back to driving tractors laden with bricks.

It is still raining now, at the end of the day, and I think back on all the faces of this day. The boys who just wanted a little food, the brother of the injured man, wrought with concern, the police man sure in his duties, the disfigured, cleft lipped man, my driver taking a nap behind bars….I woke up a great man and I end it a small, because that is what I am – small. I make it through days like today, full of chaos and rippling with the unreal, not in my own strength at all, but by the King’s grace. I look back at this day and I know that he was there, that he was carrying my infirmity, my own reluctance to be small.

Embracing the Chaos

2008-07-27T21:55:00.002+03:00

For all of us, there are those days when life seems to be throwing all its got in our direction and we wonder if it will ever let up. Then there is Sudan. Sudan is a daily in-your-face kind of place, and you begin to wonder if there is such a thing as a normal care-free day. Now, this maybe a bit of an exaggeration, but the point is - Sudan has its fair share of rough days.
Example:
You send a vehicle to the market to buy onions and an hour later get a call on the radio that the truck's been stuck in the mud for past 45 minutes. Buy the time you get the tractor ready and pull the vehicle out of the mud another hour and a half has gone by and a simple trip for onions has taken two and a half hours. Not to mention the discovery that the four-wheel drive doesn't work and the bushings need to be replaced...again.

My recent discovery has been that tripping over your computer cord can have devastating consequences. I haven't decided yet if my computer cord was severed by my falling computer when I tripped over it or if I somehow had the great fortune to have a rat eat through the cord on that same night - I may never know. The point is, my computer is now waiting for some way to be charged (I guess you can't just solder the wires back together - either that or I also managed to knock the connection lose inside the computer...now that would be Sudan!). Our team here is now enjoying the close fellowship of all sharing the same office computer.

Now, I know at this point it may sound like I am quite fed up with the way things are going - and to some extent I am - but actually, this is pretty much how life is sometimes and we just kind of have to get over ourselves and keep on going. A friend of mine, who spent the last two years here, recently wrote me and encouraged me to embrace the chaos that surrounds me. He knows, and I know, that it is far to easy to get caught up in the day to day details of our work that we forget to enjoy the amazing people that are around us and the craziness that makes up our days. Onions might take two and a half hours to buy, but digging the truck out of the mud has some pretty exciting moments. It is easy to get frustrated with the logistical nightmares that exist in a place like this, and so it is good to have the reminder to take it as it comes; embracing the chaos as it envelopes me...and in Sudan it always does!

On a slightly different note: I probably won't post an pictures until my computer is somehow charged again.

Rainy Sudan

2008-07-20T16:04:00.003+03:00

It is raining. It is that soft, quiet kind of rain that rustles on the leaves of trees and glistens on the grass when the sun gets its moment of glory in a day shrouded by a prevailing layer of grey clouds. The rains have come. They came first with thundering storms announcing their arrival, and have now set in for days at a time with the soft pitter-patter that comes and goes, lulling the world to a slower pace of life.
It is a slower pace of life for everything but the grass and shrubs which seem to know that if not now, they will never grow. Already the grasses are four feet tall and in a few weeks time they will be seven feet, and then ten. The trees are bursting with leaves and spreading in every direction; this is their chance at life before the months of rain come to an end and everywhere green has covered this earth that only a few months ago lay barren, blown with dust and ash.
The evenings are cooler, by Sudanese standards, and I find myself putting on several layers of clothing. It is only 75 degrees and I laugh because I know my friends have their air-conditionings set to 70, but still, when the temperatures have been above 95 degrees for the last 8 months 75 feels like a winter of sorts. I have started wearing gumboots because my flip-flops just aren’t up to the task at hand, but thankfully this year several of the roads in town have been repaired and I am no longer pulling vehicles out of the mud on a daily basis.
This past week has seen many changes come to our compound. My friend Fletcher has finished up his contract and is headed back to the US. He has been replaced by another friend, Angelo, who spent the last year working at another location further south of here. While I am sad to see Fletcher leave, I am confident that Angelo will be able to pick up where Fletcher left off and the work will go on as usual. With Fletcher gone, I have moved tukols (mud huts) once again, replacing Fletcher in his larger, more spacious tukol. I anticipate being able to stay in this tukol for the rest of my time here which will be nice.
We have also just received a Kenyan engineer to start the work on our hospital ward that was burned in a fire in February. This is not the most ideal time of year to be building in Sudan but we are going to go ahead with it nonetheless and I will be quite busy ensuring that the proper supplies are gathered for the work to continue.

My New Tukol - Inside
My New Tukol - Outside
My "Dry Season Bed" In The Yard
My Yard
Flowers
Out on the Road
Everything Is Very Green
There Are A Lot of Donkeys Around
We Had A Vaccination Campaign For Goats, Sheep and Cattle

Fletcher and Angelo

Refugee

2008-07-06T17:16:00.001+03:00

Compound

Town

“Half the babies born in the world are born in Asia today. Half of the world’s refugees are in Africa today going from country to country to find bread. Jesus, born in Palestine, that’s west Asia, the African refugee, understands the problems of the people…” Ray Bakke, Urbana 06

I’ve been doing some thinking today about Jesus the refugee. In the Christmas story a lot is made about the shepherds and magi, about the angles and the worship, but very little is made of the escape; of the little boys being slaughtered while the King made a daring dash across the desert to the green banks of the Nile. Jesus was a refuge, and in Africa nonetheless!!!
Refugees have a far too common presence in Africa. Country after country has displaced its people in wars over power, entitlement, wealth and food. The people set up mini-cities made of tents, which after years become more and more permanent as hope of a return home becomes bleak. They live on rations labeled, “From the American People” or “A Gift from the European Union”, and are supported by the booming business called International Relief. After years the people forget what it was like to dig a garden or have a job and the children grow up on stories of a home they have never seen.
Jesus was a refugee. I wonder what stories he heard. I am sure he heard of Moses, the great deliver, who had turned the water into blood and later parted the sea. Perhaps he was told of the temple, where he had been blessed by Simeon, and about the green hills of Galilee. We might never know what he was told, but one thing is certain, all refugees tell stories of home.
Jesus was a refugee. Somehow I find comfort in that. I find comfort in knowing that the King understands. He understands the children who are returning home to Sudan without having seen it. He understands the years away from home. He understands that this world we live in is not an easy place, or a fair place – after all, a whole village of boys died because he was born there.

In The Tongue of Men and Angels

2008-06-23T09:04:00.001+03:00

I am back now - back from my whirlwind attempt at eclipsing the different worlds that exists on this earth of ours. It is hard sometimes to grasp how two places and cultures so different from each other can coexist on the same planet, and yet there are actually far more than just two differing cultures and places – we live on a remarkably diverse ball of orbiting inconsistencies. Modern travel (with its unlimited movies which make 14 hours fly by in a blur of mindless entertainment) has made the clashing of cultures bizarrely easy. Walking through any hub of international travel is like finding oneself in a cultural kaleidoscope – jalabiya wearing Arabs and miniskirt clad Europeans brush shoulders with sari shrouded Asians and no one seams to notice; the world is moving, and moving so fast it hardly has time to appreciate the beauty of the mix.
It was wonderful to spend time with so many friends and family members during my short stay in the US. I wish I could have spent much more time catching up with everyone that I was able to see – not to mention those I wasn’t able to see!
As I begin this next year I have been challenged by a verse from 1 Corinthians 13. While in the states I was at a friend’s wedding (which, by the way, was very beautiful) and one of the passages read during the ceremony was 1 Corinthians 13. As I listened to the passage being read I was really hit by verse three which says, “If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing”. It struck me as a challenge and warning – I am here, working with those who have suffered and who are poor by any standard and it is easy to get caught up in the actions of helping the poor while forgetting that the reason I am here in the first place is to shine the love of my King to those around me.
I often feel guilty when people tell me that the work I do is an inspiration to them and I think this is perhaps because I recognize how easy it is to fill our lives with actions that look good on the outside but are hollow on the inside. There are countless days when I simply go through the motions of life without giving a second thought as to why I am doing those things, and yet we are called to so much more. We are told that love must be sincere and so my prayer for this next year is that I would not simply live among the poor but love among the poor; that I would not simply go through my days acting out a calling but would remember each day the wonderful love that has been given to me to pour out on others.

Recent Photos

2008-05-13T19:31:00.003+03:00

The Road....or lack thereof

2008-05-11T15:20:00.000+03:00

The sky is shades of glory,
Hurled out over an emerald sea
Of fresh grass and new growth
Sparkling still with the day’s rain.

This day, unbrutalizing, hid the sun
Leaving only these glories to die;
Sinking westward toward the waiting morning.
The east, dark with night,
Is broken by distant flashes of lightning
Silhouetting the humped highlands of Ethiopia
That sleep like neighborly giants next door.

The rains may come again tonight
Washing this world away
Toward the rivers and streams that carry it somewhere.
On the thatch the torrents will sound like a rustling
Of the wind through forest trees,
Or the gentle murmur of the ocean in the morning.

And in the morning, what’s left of this world will be mud,
The kind that squishes between your toes
Even with shoes on,
Until the sun bakes it into a hard crust again
Leaving the emerald green to sparkle,
Like lime frosting on a chocolate cake,
Left for future glories to crown.
~ARW

Changes

2008-04-20T17:45:00.005+03:00

I have almost completed a year of being here and it has been interesting to look back on many of the changes that have taken place. Here are some picture of just two of the small changes that have happened. The first is of the weather changes...going from green to brown to fire. The second is the remodelling of my tukol...I think you'll see it is much improved. I hope to see many of you in the states soon!

July

August

September

October

November

December/January - The haze is dust that blew in and lasted for several weeks

Febuary

March

April - it has started raining yet again

Before

After

Before

After - it now has a nice, white cloth ceiling

Hoping...

2008-04-20T13:07:00.000+03:00

The children stand by the road and wait all day for a vehicle to pass by so that they can dance in the air and wave with faces glowing. I think these children should be in school but they are young and turn to explore the dirt, mud and hiding places in the tall grasses that other children, for no good reason, have been taught to fear. They know freedom as all children should know it; the endless possibilities of adventure and rapscallionism that children were meant to know.
But these children know far more. They know hunger and want where other children are drowning in frivolous desire. They drink water the color of snot and find themselves in hospitals smelling of urine, vomit and antiseptic; their hair falling out because sorghum alone has the nutritional value of sand. Their mothers sit idly by and wonder why their child has no interest in eating - they are too tired; too worn out from living on little more than a bowl of brown paste and water filled with bacteria and parasites.
I want to have hope, to believe that I am here to somehow offer these children a future that doesn’t include an empty stomach or a gun. When I drive by and see their grimy, smiling faces it gives me hope and makes me believe that there is a chance for peace in this place; that these children will grow up and find something better than what their parents have known. But when I see them lying helplessly in a hospital bed, my pessimism returns. I am reminded, as a friend of mine likes to point out, that here it only takes ten years to make a soldier; you simply take your children and give them a gun. Hatred and mistrust are taught at extremely young ages. I was recently told by a father of a ten year old that he had emphatically assured his son that one day they would shoot the enemy.
I don’t want to live pessimistically. I want to be a voice of hope and peace in this place. I want to claim the reconciliation that has been offered to me in Christ and live out a reconciled life in this world that we have so clearly ruined in our attempts at independence and individualism. There are so many “me” and “yous”, “uses” and “thems” in this world, I hope that, even if only in small ways, I can be a voice for peace; that I myself would be able to find the commonalities that unite us and would grasp a hold on them.
I want for those children the future that their smiles make me believe in. I want clean water and plates full of rice and beans and tomatoes. Most of all I want peace and I want the One who’s name is peace to fill this place. My hope is set that it will be so.

The Newest Love in My Life

2008-04-13T17:56:00.002+03:00

She’s a beauty…and she likes to wear yellow – what more could I ask for right?? Yes, I have found love in Sudan. She’s petite, but knows how to handle the harsh realities of living in Sudan and seems to be the perfect match for me. Her name is Senke and she shouldn’t be confused with the thousands of other Senkes in Sudan because, unlike the other Senkes, she has probably seen more miles of Sudan than most. She was left here by some missionaries that were passing through, and I have quite enjoyed her company over the last couple of days. Here are some pictures…

On a different, more serious and somewhat less psychotic sounding note…I’ve been thinking quite a bit about change lately. It is April and I can hardly believe it. We have already had our first rain of the new year and it doesn’t seem possible that in a few months we’ll be digging ourselves out of the mud again around here.
A year ago I was scrambling to finish up my classes at Wake; writing papers, finishing drawings and scrambling to study Arabic vocab words. Now, that world is quite literally, a world away. I wake up to a Muslim call to prayer and roosters crowing outside my mud and thatch hut and I can’t even seem to remember what an alarm clock sounds like or what air-conditioning is. I bounce and bang our four-wheel drive pick-up truck down the road and I have forgotten that there are places that have painted marks designating lanes on multi-lane highways. My Sudanese colleague tells me, “I am forgetting to tell you, I dropped my keys down the latrine by way of accident” and I to am forgetting that I took one or two English classes and there are places where proper grammar is important…plus, who needs a flushing toilet when you can dig a hole in the ground!
Sometimes it scares me, the different worlds I have lived in – the worlds that taste, smell, sound and reverberate with such distinct differences that it is a wonder they cohabitate on this small spinning ball called Earth. It scares me most of all because I cannot connect the worlds although they have each played such important roles in my life. It is difficult at times knowing where exactly I fit because I have fit in all the worlds I have lived in.
Change comes and the world is turned upside down. I go from a North Carolina springtime to a Sudanese rainy season and in each it is a wonder that the other world exists. It is scary, but also exciting because I have had the great chance to live in such different worlds. Each place is unique and, most importantly, filled with very unique people that make that place special to me. Wherever I go I am surrounded by such great people it makes being there worth it. It is quite the place…this world we live in.

This moment.

2008-04-10T19:26:00.002+03:00

About two hours ago I was sitting at my desk in the office working on some e-mails when a light rat-tat-tat began on the tin roof. It soon turned to a rumbling roar and in minutes the ground was soaked as the rain thundered down.
We haven't had a real rain since early November and as the rain poured down I couldn't help but think what a beautiful sight it was. Four days ago we were still sleeping outside under the stars because of the heat and today the heavens decided to open up...change comes so fast sometimes!
We went out and stood in the cold rain and as it continued to come down we decided to take advantage of the water coming off the roof to take the cleanest showers we've had in months (just look at the water in my previous post and you'll know why).

I have recently been reading a book of poetry I had for one of my classes at Wake and I think it describes the last few hours pretty well so I'm going to share part of it here.

Moment ~ by Adam Zagajewski

...

The present moment is shameless,
taking its foolish liberties
beside the wall
of this tired old shrine,

awaiting the millions of years to come,
future wars, geological eras,
cease-fires, treaties, changes in climate-
this moment - what is it - just

a mosquito, a fly, a speck, a scrap of breath,
and yet it's taken over everywhere,
entering the timid grass,
inhabiting stems and genes,
the pupils of our eyes.

This moment, mortal as you or I,
was full of boundless, senseless,
silly joy, as if it knew
something we didn't.

Water.....or the lack thereof

2008-04-06T12:45:00.004+03:00

Nothing like a little shade.

Our main water source.

The town water truck.

Getting Water

Nothing like a little green in the water to make you really thirsty...

When We Want To Quit

2008-03-23T16:02:00.001+03:00

When I was in high school, during rugby tryouts we were often made to go on a run which was simply called, “The Quarry”, because of where it led. It consisted of running straight up hill for about 2.5 kilometers to a rock quarry before heading back toward school. The first time I did this particular run I was in 9th grade and I was certain I would die, not only because I was out of shape but also because RVA happens to be several thousand feet higher than home.
I remember running along, certain that I would never make it to the top because my lungs just couldn’t seem to get enough air. Still, I kept going, not because my body said it could keep going, but because I knew that hundreds of boys just like me had survived the run and so would I.

But the question for me still remains: What do you do when you want to quit??

I have been in Sudan now for almost nine months and I there are days when I get up and just want to quit. Let me paint you the picture:
I wake up and I am hot, sweaty and tired because the Pakistani UN camp, which is a mile away, has a noisy call to prayer at 5am. Then, I eat my oatmeal(which is an essential for my personal attitude toward life) and bang – the day starts. We need water for the compound and then we need water for the hospital and sand and cement and grass and then more water and……oh, then the truck breaks down and the mechanic is in a bad mood because we didn’t have any goat meat for dinner. Right about lunch time one of our drivers pulls me aside and says, “We need to meet”. So, I meet with the drivers and they tell me that they don’t believe in having to load the vehicles, they just want to drive them. In fact, they would be perfectly content watching me load the vehicles on my own; they just don’t want to break a sweat. They also want me to provide tea in the morning so that when they show up for work 30 minutes late they can waste another 30 minutes doing nothing. Of course, I agree because I’m hungry and ready for a break and its 110 degrees….not to mention the fact that I don’t feel like having to train new drivers since they are a scarce commodity. The headmaster of our school then sends me a note: the teachers want more pay. Finally at 3 I have found the time to get to the project I wanted to work on – the hospital lights aren’t working. At 5, I decide to give my guys a ride home and on the way some guy stops me and asks for a ride to the market which is only 100 meters away. When I tell him that he could walk there faster he proceeds to lecture me about showing him respect…. because after all I’m only in his country serving at the only hospital in over a hundred miles, providing textbooks for one of the few schools around and making sure that hundreds of people get clean water. At the end of day, I feel like I have wasted my energy on people who could care less that I’m here to lend a hand and am wondering how fast I can get out of here.

And then I step back and wonder – Is my attitude really that bad? Am I really that ready to quit? The answer is yes, but the real question is what I’m going to do about it. My mom likes to point out, after watching a lot of missionaries come and go, that most people hit a sticking point sometime between their first 6 months and year in the field. She’s right too – there comes a day when the novelty of the work wears off and it can be just a plain old pain in the rear. We begin to wonder if the work we’re doing is actually worth it and in the world of NGOs there is plenty of ammunition to say that it isn’t. So, what’s to keep me from quitting? I recently read a blog by another person working in Sudan that dealt with the difficulties of working here. He pointed out that there is a big disconnect between the western approach to work here and the Sudanese approach to that same work. I think that a big step in overcoming the frustrations is to recognize the differences in culture and look for ways to bridge the gap…..its pretty big!

But on a different note, what keeps me from quitting has nothing to do with cultures or bridging the gaps (not that they aren’t important). The differences are always going to be there and there are going to be difficulties wherever we work. I was recently reminded that when I was ready to come out here I wanted to have an attitude of learning. Along the way I started to think that maybe I had some of the answers….and maybe I do have a few answers but the truth is I really don’t know anything. This life is an amazing journey and this particular part of the journey might be very hard, but the lessons I learn from these hard times have so much more meaning than those that I learn from the easy times.

I would like to say that I like it here all the time, but the truth is I don’t. Often, I am frustrated and feel as if I am wasting my time and in those times I am ready to give up. But just as often I get to be involved in something great. I get to watch someone get better in our hospital or watch a kid get his primary school certificate.

There is so much for me to learn here, the King is busy and I can be a part of that if I will just take my eyes off my frustrations and poor attempts to solve the problems here…...for me, that’s a good enough reason not to quit.

Finding "Memo"

2008-03-10T19:49:00.006+03:00

Nemo...don't worry, I found him.

The Kenyan coast has always been one of my favourate places to visit – the one drawback being the beach bums who come around offering all sorts of deals. However, when an old fisherman walked up and offered to show me “Memo”, how could I help but be interested – I figured poor Nemo must be really, really lost this time to end up in the dying coral of East Africa.
A week and a half ago I left hot, dry Sudan for two weeks of relaxation and freedom from the work that, of late, has seemed to increase incrementally. There have been many projects at the hospital and we have amped up our various activities to ensure that we get as much done as possible before the rains begin again in May or June. My plan was to join several co-workers on an adventure to Egypt during our two weeks but in the end the war being waged in my gut won out and I decided that a trip to a doctor would be more prudent. The doctor confirmed that I was losing the battle to a very well-organized stomach mafia group called Giardia and put me on some meds to knock the little buggers out. All that to say, I am now feeling much better – I had been looking for my energy and it has finally decided to return from a long hiatus.
With my stomach figured out, I decided I should at least venture out of Nairobi and enjoy a few days on the coast. I have always enjoyed going to the Kenyan coast and it was always a special treat when we were able to go there as a family growing up. This time I went alone and discovered that a hotel full of old, overweight Europeans can be both very relaxing(everyone just lies around) and somewhat odd(old, fat, sunburned men should never wear a Speedo) at the same time. The Indian Ocean is beautiful and I had forgotten how warm it is. My friends in college enjoyed giving me a hard time for complaining about the cold Atlantic water and I have rediscovered my complaint….I doubt if they will ever get me back into the frigid North Atlantic now that I have returned to my senses.
Which brings me back to Simon and his offer to show me “Memo”. The little old man assured me he was no beach bum and told me I had been thoroughly ripped off on my two hour snorkeling trip the day before - if I wanted to see “Memo” and other amazing fishes I should follow him and he would make sure I was very happy with Simon.
I was very happy with Simon because, in the end, we did find poor little Memo and all his little buddies swimming on a tiny little green coral. We also found large, black Sea Urchins, Sea Slugs, Sea Cucumbers and a number of other small, obscure sea creatures. I followed the little man around sharp corrals, through tide pools, and gently stepped over protruding mussels and when it was all over I had decided that I will never wander out onto the reef on my own lest I wind up with a sliced foot or dead from some strange poisonous sea bite.
In a few days I’ll be headed back to work but for now I’m hanging out in Nairobi with my cousin and her family. It is a nice break from the stress that awaits me upon my return to the hot and dry of Sudan. More from there later.

Simon the "Memo" finder...

From my hotel room.

Part of the pool. And you thought I was slaving away...

The way my thoughts come out...

2008-02-16T18:10:00.002+03:00

I thought I'd try something a little different and post some of my rambling writing that I normally just keep to myself because usually I'm the only one who understands it anyway. I hope you find it a pleasant change. ~AW

Sometimes, at night, the wind blows
Keeping me from sleep.
It rails against the darkness
Tearing at the thatch above my head;
Gusting from green Ethiopian highlands
Or billowing
In mighty clouds of sand,
Sweeping down from the sleeping Sahara
Like a giant army
Bent on leaving everything buried
Under layers of history
Blown south ever so slowly
Until Egypt and Cush
Lie inches deep on my doorstep.
And I’m left to wonder
What you would make of this place
On the farthest edge of nowhere?

In the morning the brutal sun
Rises red and then orange
To rule the day
Together with the thorn tree,
Which offers little shade
For anyone.
The bony cattle stumble along,
And the haggard donkey
Looks so sad.
And still the Arab man will beat it
In frustrated attempts to find
A thorn tree of his own.

The children might find him there
Selling cheep cigarettes
With no filters.
Those children blow smoke
Through their white teeth
And watch friends
Kicking old, dilapidated footballs
In the sand-
The grass died with the rain.
So did the cool mornings.
There is no water here,

But still the children smile
As they come from miles
Carrying plastic cartons
Dripping with muddy water.
The skinny cattle got their first;
But they would anyway.
The order of life is different,
As it always is,
On the edge of nowhere.

The sun sets,
Now crimson or purple,
To dye the day
And leave the thorn tree
Masked against the masterpiece
Like a monster
With a million angry talons
All reaching
For that lonely, haggard donkey
Left to keep watch
Lest the stars steal the thorns,
The shade,
And the rusty pale of muddy water
That never made it home -

It was too heavy
For the skeleton child
Whose big, smiling face
Keeps me awake
Long after the sand has settled
In molded waves
That rise and fall
From my doorstep to the tree
Where the donkey flicks its ears
And stamps its feet,
Alone,
On the farthest edge of nowhere.

The work of reconciliation

2008-02-10T16:34:00.000+03:00

A few weeks ago I switched tukols. One of my coworkers returned home to Kenya and, having lived in the dumpiest tukol for six months, I took advantage of the situation and moved up to a higher standard of living. My first tukol was affectionately known as Ft. Jesus - perhaps because of its meek and humble state upon this earth – and my new tukol has been dubbed the White House because it was plastered with white paste by a previous resident. It is also quite posh – I now have a double bed, a small veranda and, most importantly, I have a small six inch fan which I have wired to one of rafter posts. It blows the hot, dry air around quite nicely and covers the sound of termites eating at my walls with its charming little whirring noise. I also have a mirror – which isn’t exactly a good thing because now I can actually see how awful I look when I decide that shaving is too much work.
My new living arrangements are really quite nice and as I’ve adjusted to the luxury of my new tukol I have even come to a pretty substantial agreement with the resident mouse. Every night he comes in to scope out the room and every night I shoo him out the door and tell him to come back after I’ve gone to sleep so that I don’t have to hear him nibbling on my belongings. If he wakes me up, I threaten him with death and he decides that it would be best to come back later. The other “unspoken” agreement between us is that under no circumstance should he allow a snake to follow him into my tukol – I think we’re on the same page there.

It seems there has been a lot going on around the world this past week – polls, tornadoes, fires, rebel attacks, ethnic fighting, futbol matches and the list goes on. Here, we have had our own share of excitement and challenges. The hospital we operate in town services people from hundreds of kilometers around – including neighboring Ethiopia – so when something goes wrong with the hospital people are understandably upset.
On Thursday I was fixing lunch and re-hydrating myself – it was very hot – when we received a call that our hospital was on fire. We grabbed some fire extinguishers and rushed there as fast as possible, given the state of the roads. When we got to the hospital a huge crowd had already formed outside the main gait and we had to ease our way through the crowd to get inside. The fire had already engulfed one of our main buildings and the only thing left to do was monitor the other buildings and keep the crowd from getting in the way. Thankfully no one was hurt but unfortunately a large supply of medicines and costly equipment were lost to the fire. It spread very fast due to the circumstances and hospital staff had to scramble to get as much as they could out of the building before it was engulfed. After the fire had died down considerably a UN truck arrived with water to finish putting it out but by then the damage was already done. The only work remaining is to clean up the mess and assess the stability of the remaining structure.
This type of situation brings out many of the underlying tensions that have existed in town for some time. There is a lot blame being tossed around and the leaders are trying hard to stay on top of rumors and theories. It is sad that in situations such as this very rational people choose to believe very irrational ideas. It has reminded me of the Church’s responsibility to aggressively pursue reconciliation and peace. Where the Church fails to stand up and declare that it will not be drawn into hatred and slander it has failed to act as the body of Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ reconciled us to God when we were his bitter enemy and he has given us, the Church, the job of reconciliation (2 Cor. 5). When the Church does not preach reconciliation, it has relinquished its right to be called the body of Christ because in essence it has said that the Blood of Jesus Christ was good enough for only a few and not everyone. It has shamed the power of the cross and spit on the face of its King who died with his arms spread wide to embrace not one soul but every soul.
Unfortunately, today there are countless examples of the Church failing. If the Church will not stand up for reconciliation then we the Body of Christ have surrendered our number one message to the secular world – a world awash with greed, jealousy and selfishness. Here, or in Kenya, or in Eastern Congo, where is the Church when it is needed most? Where are those who will stand up and say that at all costs they will love their brother or sister who is a different race, or color, or political persuasion? If not the church then who will do it? We are commanded to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us and we have been given the work of reconciliation – it must start with those who follow the King.

Pictures of the fire.

2008-01-27T18:43:00.000+03:00

One Little Old Lady

2008-01-27T18:28:00.000+03:00

She stands alone at the front of the sparsely filled church. Her weathered face and small, wrinkly hands that shake tell of years spent in the suns of Sudan. Wisdom is etched in her features and is accentuated by the glimmering deep blue wrap she wears; her Sunday finest, fitting for the daughter of a King.
Suddenly, with words much stronger than her small frame should allow, the old woman lifts her voice to sing in a language indistinguishable to me. The song fills the room in high, shrill tones whistled through her many missing teeth. She stands alone, her face wrinkled in joy, and slowly those who understand softly sing along, unwilling to join the old woman, or perhaps simply afraid to stand beside a princess praising her King.
The indistinguishable words continue, intermittently broken by her raspy cough, but nothing will hinder this display of adoration; her boldness knows no shame, nor should it for a child of the King is not afraid.
I watch the old woman, her voice painfully off key to my ears, and I wonder if all the guitars that are tuned and all the pianos played this day will match the praise that I have heard. There are no worship teams, no bands, no projectors, no maestros here to exhilarate the senses. There is only one little wrinkled old woman standing alone, singing through missing teeth, in a language I don’t understand, to a King who is surely in our midst, smiling his approval.

Mark 12:43 ...Truely I tell you, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. They all gave of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything-all she had to live on.

The softer side of Sudan

2008-01-13T14:41:00.000+03:00

Sudan has a softer side. When its people are not toting AKs, firing rockets, placing landmines, burning down houses and bickering over resources a softer side emerges. It is taking some time, but slowly I am learning to embrace this softer side, throwing aside my harsher realities of the west, for the joys of endless black cotton mud or scorching, dry heat, malaria, typhoid, amoebas and (my favorite) giardia. I am still looking for the softer side of giardia – and the meds for it – but it is currently taking some serious mental conniving to convince my stomach that World War III has not started in my bowels…but hey, it really is the softer side when you consider the possibilities.
On a more serious note (not that I don’t take my stomach seriously) Sudan really does have a softer side. It is seen in the everyday man and woman’s desire for peace to last. S. Sudan recently celebrated the three year anniversary for the signing of the CPA(comprehensive peace agreement). Here, in town, there was a huge celebration to mark the occasion. The governor and many dignitaries came to town to give speeches, watch the parade, and ensure that some of the final stages of the peace agreement are carried out.
We were invited to the event and it was exciting to see the whole town out in mass to celebrate the peace that has come to mean so much to them. They were also there to watch the military march through town in all its pomp, but I prefer to look on the bright side, which is that peace has brought great changes to this part of the country and the everyday people have a lot at stake. The softer side of Sudan lies in children who want to go to school, mothers who want medicine for their sick children, and fathers who want to raise families on the soil of their fathers, not in refugee camps. It is also seen in celebration, which the Sudanese know how to do quite well. I hope you enjoy the snaps.

Family Adventuresomeness

2008-01-06T15:30:00.000+03:00

When I was a little kid my family would almost always get together with my cousins for Christmas. The year my little sister Audrey was born, my uncle dressed up as Santa and my dad (Rudolph) pulled him behind his motorcycle in a little red wagon. The scene disintegrated into pandemonium when Santa started “whipping” Rudolph to get him to move – I guess he didn’t look enough like a reindeer and our family is full of animal lovers anyway. A few years later we all met up in eastern Zaire for a little Christmas safari. As I recall, on that trip, I managed to fill my britches with army ants, one vehicle lodged itself in the mud between two large male lions, the other vehicle was charged by an angry elephant and a snake decided to join us in playing with our new Christmas toys.
Since that time, our family has tried its level best to outdo all previous adventurous catastrophes. When I was twelve we went to the Kenyan coast and within five minutes Audrey broke her arm and the rest of us got sick from the pool water. After a long hiatus – maybe we were all still recovering from the past – this year we all got together again, this time in Uganda. We spent Christmas day in Jinja, which is where the Nile River begins its arduous journey north from Lake Victoria, and in order to spice up the event a little (remember we’re still trying to outdo the lions) we decided to go rafting at the source of the Nile and hope we didn’t drown on one of the class 5 rapids. It turned out to be one of the best experiences we’ve ever had as a family – and that includes being flipped out of the raft twice into the swirling water.
There were only two harrowing experiences while rafting – Heather losing her helmet on the first flip and Dad getting sucked down to the heart of Africa for about 30 seconds – so, as you must be able to figure out by now, our family was still looking for some sort of catastrophe to keep our hearts beating at an elevated level. We conveniently didn’t have to wait too long for our much needed “adventure”.
Following Christmas, we all went to our house in Entebbe and then on to the Ssese Islands for several days of relaxation. After celebrating the New Year in our uninterrupted dreams, we woke up, packed up camp and headed home. In fitting family adventursomeness one of the boats conveniently ran out of fuel part way home. Logic would suggest that you don’t overload a boat when the water is somewhat tumultuous but in a moment of family fanaticism – the sun was setting - logic sunk to the bottom of the lake and everyone but my dad and uncle clamored into the other boat.
Slowly, ever so slowly, we made our way toward land. And while the sun set in purples and reds reflected on the dark water, grandma clung to gramdpa, the cat clung to anyone who would hold her, and everyone else pretended that the situation wasn’t really as grave as it was. The poor little boat wondered what terrible fate had befallen it and Jimmy, the boat driver, wondered how he ever got mixed up with this crazy family. But we made it.
We made it and Jimmy and I had the appointed opportunity to head back out on the blackening water to save the day with a jerrycan of diesel. I enjoy being out on the water in a boat at anytime…except when its dark and I can’t see where I’m going. Thankfully, Mr. Sunshine was still glowing below the western horizon and we found the other boat, got it started and then just prayed we wouldn’t ground on any rocks the rest of the way home. We made it. The family was relieved. And, since no one had to swim to land, we’re probably still looking for some lions to get stuck between.

I am back in Sudan now, having spent a night in tense Kenya (please pray for that country), and I am ready for what awaits me here in the next few weeks. There is a lot of catching up to do after the Christmas break so I will be quite busy. I have also received more supplies to build shelves at the hospital so will likely spend a great deal of time there.
The weather is HOT and dry here. It is easily above 100F during the day and it takes most of the night to cool down. Around 3:30 in the morning a roaring wind starts. It feels as if my thatch roof will come off but thankfully that hasn’t happened yet, although I do have a few “skylights” in places already.

6 Months in Sudan (almost)

2007-12-20T16:25:00.000+03:00

“I hope this thirst will not last long and will soon drown in a song not sung in vain.” ~ Rich Mullins

Today we were supposed to fly out to Kenya for our r&r and Christmas break. This all changed when we received news that the plane needed some maintenance work and wouldn’t be coming until Saturday. We were all quite disappointed by the news, but having worked so hard to be ready for today, we don’t have much to do for the next two days…so I thought I’d write a little about some lessons I’ve learned in my first 6 months here.

Here are a few of the lessons I’ve learned:

1) Driving in the mud is fun until you get stuck for the first time – after that its only fun if you don’t get stuck and the only way to insure that is to make sure you get the new Landcruizer pickup with the tractor tyres.
2) I’ll never get used to kids collecting water from roadside mud puddles.
3) Convincing people who have lived on handouts in refugee camps that working hard is important isn’t the easiest task.
4) When the rats start making noise in the thatch at night its easier to just roll over and go back to bed – getting up to kill them is way too frustrating.
5) Worm medicine and antibiotics….maybe I’ll leave that part out
6) When the rain stops – it really stops.
7) When the rain stops – the fires start
8) The wind blows at night – it blows enough to make me think my roof is coming off and I wake up covered in nice thin layer of dust.
9) When I’m most tired – that’s when four trucks full of medicine to offload will show up.
10) Beans and rice is only exciting for about a week.

On a more serious note though, I’ve learned how important fellowship is in our lives. Often, the work here can be lonely and frustrating and it is in those times that I realize how much I miss the fellowship I’ve had with my brothers and sisters in the places I’ve come from. If I didn’t have my coworkers here, I would certainly find the work here nearly impossible.
I’ve also learned a bit about how wonderful our Father is. The other day I was washing my hands and I looked down to see a Praying Mantis at my feet. One of the drops of water landed right near to it and I watched as it slowly knelt down to drink from the drop that had fallen. It struck me that it could have drank from the drop of water without kneeling down and it seemed as if the little bug was kneeling down in a prayer of thanks. This little analogy may sound really cheesy but it hit me how ungrateful I am for the many blessings I receive each day. I have a Father who is so good to me and yet I go through my day frustrated and downtrodden, not willing to open my eyes to the gifts that have been given to me. Each day is a blessing itself – I hope that I can learn to live more like that each day.

Sunday in Sudan

2007-12-16T17:22:00.000+03:00

Sunday’s are the day that we have off from work. Sometimes, however, the work finds us. Like today, when four large trucks full of medical supplies showed up and had to be offloaded at our hospital. My colleagues and I spent four hours carrying box after box of syringes and gauze from the truck to our storeroom…and there went our Sunday.
Now I am back in my tukol, after a nice cold shower, wondering why it is that work always shows up at the least opportune times. My colleagues and I are tired. Most of us have been in the field now for at least 10 weeks, which may not seem like a lot, but when people habitually show up with work for you to do on your day off, ten weeks becomes a looong time. We all love the work we are doing, otherwise we wouldn’t be here, but at times it can be very wearing. Usually it is the small things that are wearing. For example, the rains stopped over a month ago and now we have to bring water in our trucks from holes dug in the bottom of a riverbed. It is a small task but a constant battle because no matter how many trips of water we get, we always seem to need more.
The good news is that we all get to take a break in a few days. I am heading home to Uganda to spend Christmas with my family and the best part is that I won’t have to collect any water…there’s a whole lake of it right next door. I am looking forward to two weeks of relaxation and time with my family!

On another note – I was recently flipping through a TIME magazine that was sent in to us by our office in Nairobi. It had a section on the greatest inventions of 2007. As I was flipping through it I came across one invention that really made wonder at how wealthy the US has become. It turns out some clothing stores in the US are going to start putting in some sort of camera/mirror that allows people who are trying on clothes to send images of themselves to their friends’ phones to get opinions on whether or not the clothes look good. This particular invention really disgusts me. Every day I see people who can hardly afford one set of clothing, and some who clearly can’t afford any, while people in my own country are sending pictures of themselves to each others’ phones so that they don’t pick out anything that might not be in style. Think about it. And if anyone happens to send you a photo of themselves in the changing room…do me a favour and tell them to get a life.

2007-12-02T17:10:00.000+03:00

No More Rain

2007-12-02T17:06:00.000+03:00

It has been less than a month since the last rain but it is astonishing how quickly the landscape and atmosphere of this place changes. Within two weeks of the last rain, roads which have been impassable for months due to mud opened up and vehicles from the north began to slowly trickle into town with supplies for the small shops here. This was a sign to us that we can also begin to travel out of town and it has changed the range of our work considerably. The drying of the roads has also meant the driving of our water tanks which have collected rain water throughout the rainy season. We now have to rely on boreholes and water collected from holes dug in the sandy bottom of a nearby riverbed. Our vehicles are no longer getting stuck every few days but instead are constantly at work collecting water, getting supplies and facilitating travel to different areas. It has become quite a task to keep track of the whereabouts of all our staff!
I have had the chance to travel out of town three times in the last few weeks. The first chance came when one of our workers, Mahmoud, explained that his mother was giving birth and needed to be brought to the hospital. We grabbed the doctor and piled into the truck to see what we could do. The road was dry, but still the worst road I have ever seen. For miles in every direction there were deep tracks left in the earth where tractors and bigger vehicles had tried to pass through the mud during the rains. If it had been wet we would have easily spent a month trying to dig ourselves out of the mud, but as it was we spent four hours weaving our way through the hardened mess to reach the village where Mahmoud’s mother was giving birth. She was giving birth to twins and the second child was blocked from coming out by the placenta of the first. We put her on a mattress in the back of the truck and bounced our way back to town where she had a c-section and another healthy little girl.
My second chance to leave town was much less dramatic than the first but still very important for the spread of the Kingdom in this area. I had the opportunity to take a group of church leaders to a town south of here for some training. It was exciting to see the enthusiasm of many of the men and encouraging to listen to the teachers’ desire to spread the Kingdom. The training is still ongoing and we will go to pick up the trainees this week. We hope to continue it further in the future as it is so important for the growth of the Christians in this area.
With the dry season in full swing now it is easy to become disheartened by the enormity of the work to be done and the harshness of this place. The tall grass has turned brown and much of it has been burned, which leaves the ground black and soot floating through the air. Last week a huge fire burned around our compound and we spent most of the afternoon watching it to make sure it didn’t get too close to our grass fences. Every day now the heat is very intense and at the end of the day I am quite wiped out. Pray that my teammates and I will find strength for each new day and that we will be a great source of encouragement for one another.

2007-11-18T17:47:00.000+03:00

Gotta luv the hat.

Plastering a wall at the hospital.

Mixing Cement.

Fire near the compound.

This is a little disconcerting when your fences and roof is made of grass.

Walking Too Proud

2007-11-18T17:44:00.000+03:00

When I was visiting my family in Uganda a little over a month ago I watched several movies with my sister Audrey. Among the movies we watched was The Four Feathers. It stars Heath Ledger and is about a young British officer who journeys to Sudan in an epic attempt to rescue his friends, who have gone there to advance the British Empire against the Muslim Mahdi insurgency. In recent weeks, there is one scene from the movie which has been frequently on my mind. In the scene the character played by Heath Ledger decides to hand himself over to the Mahdi in an attempt to rescue his friend. His Sudanese friend tries to dissuade him from the task and as he walks away comments, “You English walk too proudly on the earth”. Later, starving in prison and nearly dead, Ledger scoffs at himself and cries, “I’m not too proud now..I’m not too proud now.”
As I have gone about my work, the line, you English walk too proudly on the earth, has come back to me over and over. In western education we are ingrained with the ideology that the principles on which our cultures and nations are built are successful and thus also superior. We walk proudly on the earth because our forefathers spoke on behalf of freedom and equality. We take for granted the blessings we enjoy and are angered when we encounter hardship, thinking that somehow we do not deserve the pain and troubles faced by most of the world. We look at the wealth we have amassed, at the expense of poorer peoples and nations, and we believe that it entitles us to direct the actions of those people. We have the answers to the world’s problems and so much time, technology and resources to come up with more problems that we hire people to listen to them. We are proud, so proud.
Sudan is a humbling place. It is a nation turned upside down by countless wars and famines, but a nation proud in its own right. The answers here are not the same as the answers elsewhere. I came here determined to learn a thing or two; things about myself and things about Africa, but it did not take long before I was walking proudly on the black cotton soil that is prevalent here. I have ideas of how things should be done and how to go about doing them and like the well-educated American that I am I set out to do them my way. Walking proud does not last long here. The soil itself can swallow up that pride like it swallows up vehicles after the rains. My way has proved over and over again to be the wrong way. Men and women who have lived through war have insights, resilience, determination and a humbleness about life that is humbling at all levels. I have much to learn and I would like to say that I’m not too proud now, but I know that I have a lot humbling still in store for me – the ground may swallow me yet!
Life is a gift that is given to us by God. In the west we often think that it is a gift we are entitled to, but we are not. It is a gift and as such has not been earned and cannot be bought. Far too often I take for granted what I have been given and walk around proudly on this earth when God himself did not walk proudly on the earth, but humbly, dressed in our feeble flesh.
Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus. (Phil. 2:5)
“It is not great men who change the world, but weak men in the hand of a great God.”

2007-11-10T16:08:00.000+03:00

2007-11-04T17:50:00.000+03:00

The Fall

2007-10-31T19:45:00.000+03:00

“Return to your rest, my soul, for the Lord has been good to you.” Ps. 116:7

I miss the Fall. There is a saying that African dust can not be washed from your feet – and its true. Africa sticks to you, and try as you might, you will never be able to remove the stains it leaves on your conscience, the smells it leaves lingering in your nostrils and the longing it leaves in your heart. Africa has certainly had that affect on me, but still, there are other places and experiences that have equally left an impression on me. The Fall – I really miss the Fall.
I haven’t experienced too many Falls(Autumns if you wish) in my life, but the few that I have really left me bedazzled. I like waking up one morning and looking out to find the world has changed from green to brilliant reds and oranges. I like watching those leaves fall to the ground until they form a fragile blanket that crunches under food and is ripe for kicking into the air – nature’s confetti. I, of course, like the natural beauty of Fall, but most of all I like the way that Fall makes change beautiful. Life is full of change and somehow Fall makes change worthwhile.
Fall makes me think of change in a different way. It is no longer some cruel uncertainty looming in the future but a beautiful progression from one stage of life to the next. Yes, I miss the Fall. For some reason, at Wake, the Fall always left me very pensive. In October I loved walking to Reynolda Gardens to smell the roses before they cut them back. (It is an experience I highly recommend for all those who have the chance to go there. The best smelling rose is called Secret and it lives it the back right corner of the garden.) I would sit on the nice wooden benches, watching gold fall from the sky and letting the garden’s sweet scents waft around me. And I would think about life and change and how it seems that so often in my life I close my eyes and wake up to find I am in a new place, with new friends, new cultures and new adventures waiting to be had. And I would think that all that beauty just made change worth it.
The seasons are changing here too, though it is much less spectacular. The rains have slowed to the occasional mid-afternoon thunderstorm and by 9am I have already taken a sweat bath, which isn’t hard – sitting at my computer will do the trick. There aren’t any trees here to turn golden red and the grass skipped the gold stage and went straight to brown. During the rains the grass grew six or seven feet tall and now people are hastily cutting it for their thatch roofs before it is set ablaze and the land turns to fire instead of mud. Change here is much harsher than in the US and I suppose that should be expected in a land where several million have died from war, famine and disease over the last two decades. Life is harsher, but the people meet it with a resilience and determination that is an inspiration and challenge to me. Peace in this country is precariously balanced in the hands of the powerful and still people go on with life, with their dreams and hopes for a better future for their children. A whole generation has grown up in refugee camps or the military and now they can only hope and pray that such a fate will not fall to their children.
Change is different here, as it is everywhere, and I miss the Fall. I miss the beauty that Fall makes of change and wish that in places like this change didn’t come in such harsh waves of transformation. But still the change is necessary and even here I am reminded that the Lord has been good me. That even here - especially here, among the poor, the meek, the war-weary – here my King walks the dusty streets of Africa and He has been good to me. And so as the change comes, I will rest in Him and let the longings I have be for Him more so than even the dust of Africa or the golden-red of a Fall evening.

Some fun with the camera

2007-10-22T13:12:00.000+03:00

Back to Sunny Sudan

2007-10-12T17:38:00.001+03:00

Well, I didn't really do so well at putting up a post from Uganda but here are some pics from my time there. I am back in Sudan again. Right now there are a lot of celebrations going on for Eid (the end of Ramadan). It is a celebration like Christmas, only a slightly different Sudanese version. The rains are slowing down and things are beginning to dry out and get hot. Hope you enjoy the pics.

My sister riding.

Our pets.

Going Fishing

Mom and I fishing.

Mom checking the bunk house in the islands.

Ooops!! No swimming??

Such a relaxing place!

Some of the guys on the island.

Dad eating sugarcane.

Unloading the boat.

Heading to the plane to come back.

Some of my coworkers on the way back to Sudan.

They call it the Pearl..

2007-09-29T18:33:00.000+03:00

After 12 weeks in Sudan tomorrow I will be headed out to Kenya and Uganda for a week and a half break. Monday I fly home to see my family and I can't wait. I haven't seen my dad and sister in over a year so it will be great to be home for a bit - even if it is short.

Next post - from Uganda, the "Pearl of Africa".

Skin and Bones

2007-09-25T21:14:00.000+03:00

I’ve been doing some thinking about skin and bones. It seems my life has been marked by my skin and bones. In the first grade I was the kid who got passed from person to person in the piggyback relay race because I was so small. As I recall, there were two of us and we were simply described using the word “refugee”. Maybe that was a little foreshadowing for my future - it wasn’t exactly a funny name six years later.
By sixth grade, when I actually understood what it meant to be a refugee, my bones became the source of great irritation. One, because I was growing at about 3 inches per day, and two, because the kids behind me in line used to grab at my bony shoulder blades to aggravate me. In junior high I assumed I would grow out of my bony phase. I was sure that by the time I was a senior I’d be huge; the guy everyone was afraid to tackle in rugby. As it turned out I ended up being the guy who was lifted into the air during lineouts because my teammates exerted just about zero muscle strength to do it. As for college, and all the earnest prayers I could muster, the great freshmen 15 evaded me as did the sophomore, junior and senior 15s. I even had a challenge with a high school buddy to see who would get the 15 first. As far as I know, I lost. Or rather…am losing.
All that brings me to where I am now. Throughout my life I have stood out as one of those skinny guys – skin and bones. That has all changed and the miracle of it all is that I didn’t even have to put on any weight! I have finally found a place where I fit in. I am not sure what it says about Sudanese nutrition but in Sudan my skin and bones is average; if not slightly above average. Perhaps it is because the term “refugee” is about as common here as fast food is in the US but nonetheless I blend right in here – in this nation of skin and bones. Mind you, I have lived in Africa my whole life and have never been able to convince my skin to change color, so I don’t quite blend in, but if it was a matter of body structure I could evade taxes and never be found in the vastness of South Sudan. Skin and Bones.
But seriously, I have been doing some thinking about skin and bones. I have been thinking about my skin and bones and how this body of mine just isn’t how I wish it was. How it fails me completely when I’m tired, and gets sick when I need it to be strong, and how inevitably today and tomorrow its going to carry me into some muck of sin and I’ll see once again just how ridiculous this skin and bones of mine really is. I’ve been thinking about how corrupted it is – some things never change – I have broken my foot/leg three times because my frame couldn’t handle the life I live and spiritually speaking my skin and bones just never heal; this skin and bones is a mess.
But then I realize there is some good news. I am still a “refugee”. I am a refugee trapped in the poor nutrition and ill treatment our fallen world is made of. The good news is that one day I’ll finally make it home. And on that day I get to have a new body; something more than skin and bones. And I’ll get a new name that has nothing to do with not belonging, being chased away, or being a foreigner and everything to do with being loved and cherished and new. For now I’m still a refugee, which isn’t a whole lot of fun. After all I’m still skin and bones, living in a skin and bones world. But then again so was Abraham and David and Paul, they were all skin and bones like me; the stories are there to prove it. They were all skin and bones; falty, fumbling flesh that doesn’t feel to great in this life but I know they’ll be waiting for me in their new bodies, with their new names to welcome me home.

where i live...

2007-09-23T15:25:00.000+03:00

The Master artist at work...

A look around our compound

Our oldest vehicle. Keeping the vehicles running is a huge task!

This is our little workshop. One of my first projects was to build the green workbench so that I could get stuff done.

This is outside our office. The door on the left is a storeroom/ping pong room. The door on the right is the office.

My desk.

The kitchen.

The dining room. We meet here in the mornings for a short devotional time as a team.

Looking toward my tukol from the office.

Looking toward the office from near my tukol.

This is my tukol. It has been given the name: Ft. Jesus.

My room.

One of my roommates...

Another roommate. There are about a zillion of these things around. They are harmless but incredibly annoying.

"Hot water heater"

The shower.

Outside the outhouse.

Inside the outhouse. (just what you wanted to see - right?)

2007-09-16T16:15:00.000+03:00

"Who stands his ground? Only the man whose ultimate criterion is not his reason, his principles, his conscience, his freedom or his virtue, but who is ready to sacrifice all these things when he is called to obedient and responsible action in faith and exclusive allegiance to God. The responsible man seeks to make his whole life a response to the question and call of God." ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Letters and Papers from Prison

2007-09-13T19:21:00.000+03:00

2007-09-13T16:19:00.000+03:00

Epic Journey...

2007-09-07T17:32:00.000+03:00

I'm not sure what constitues and epic journey (I never paid good enough attention in classics classes) but I'm sure I came pretty close today. I went to our farm to collect some tomatoes for the market here and found myself fighting the mud, the sun, and many other obsticles to get there and back...an epic journey. It took me four hours to slosh and push my way back from the farm with my load of tomatoes - a distance that is only about 15 miles. Here are some pics of the journey. ~AW

Luka resting on the quad

Go Deacs!!! ...

The road..

The tipped trailer - not cool!

We made it!!!

2007-09-02T17:15:00.000+03:00

Sometimes I stop what I'm doing and I wonder to myself - "what am I doing in Sudan?" Sudan is such a far cry from where I have spent the last four years of my life that at times it is a real shock to my mind to see where I am now and think of where I was only a few months ago. Some examples of this: 1) I take my showers outside under the stars and often I have to climb up a ladder to put hot water in the tank so that its not cold and I use a pit latrine - a few months ago I lived in a nice suite (the beloved Polo 404) and shared a toilet and tiled bathroom with only one other guy. Also the floor was carpeted and I rode an elevator to get to the 4th floor. 2) Often as I drive along, sliding through the thick black mud, I come across half naked (and naked) children bathing in the puddles ...bathing and then sometimes collecting water for home. I'm not even sure I can begin to explain the many repercussions this has for their health but I will explain it in this way - When I walked through our hospital's pediatric ward 3 days ago it was full. A few months ago if I had seen a kid playing in a mud puddle - if they could even find one - it was because they were adventuresome rascals who would probably be scolded by their mother and their clothes thrown in the waste bin.
Why am I in Sudan? To be honest I'm really not sure except that my Father has brought me here. I love working with the people and getting to know about their traditions and way of life. War has ruined so much of "normal" life in this country that I think everyone is trying to come to grips with what it looks like to live in Sudan. Everyone longs for education but unfortunately there is only one secondary school in all of Blue Nile state and it is not even open yet. Why am I in Sudan? ...Because my Father has brought me here to love people. Sometimes I'm not real sure how best to do that - pray for me.

I hope you enjoy these snaps of life here lately.

My coworker David trying out a local instrument.

The guys playing a game that involves dominoes and a whole lot of shouting at each other.

"one more picture!... just one more picture! pleeease??"

...he forgot to wipe the chalk of his head - oops!

Girls Program graduation: Fletcher handing out certificates.

We had almost 400 girls in the program!! Yikes!

Our compound from far away. (at the foot of the green hill) The grass has grown about 4ft in a few weeks.

Landmines??!!

The two kittens I got for our hospital food storeroom. I need some vicious rat killers and this is what I got. I have affectionately named them George and Franky. Right now they aren't very vicious and they do a pretty good job of waking me up before I want to get up in the morning.

2007-08-24T19:20:00.000+03:00

When I arrived here our storerooms were a bit of mess. It made it difficult to find the right tools and parts that we needed. So, one of my biggest projects since I've been here has simply been to reorganise some of our stuff here on the compound. I have spent most of this week building shelves for our storeroom so that I can actually find the tools I need for my work. I am becoming quite the shelf builder - I have built about 9 shelves total since I've been here. Today I finally finished putting them together and getting our stuff neatly put on them. It is nice to find some organization in which to work! After we got everything put on the shelves there was some extra room so we set up our ping pong table which has been stored for a long time. The guys I work with were very excited - it made a loong days work worth all the effort. Here are some pics of a few of the guys.

Flight day in pictures

2007-08-16T18:07:00.000+03:00

Stuck in the mud on the way to check the airstrip at 6am.

(please note - the IV plug for wake move-in team)

Morning.

Sad old donkey by the side of the road - Eyor anyone?

Waiting for the plane.

Plane Landing

Loading the DC3.

The DC3 taking off.

Lift off!!

After driving back and finishing up some work here at the compound my day is almost done....gotta go cook up some grub.

2007-08-15T19:07:00.001+03:00

Tomorrow is flight day ...which means getting up at 5am to go check out the airstrip. At least the sunrise is great!

2007-08-12T17:44:00.000+03:00

The far side of the sea...

2007-08-12T17:38:00.000+03:00

Recently I have spent some time reading Ps. 139. It has always been one of my favorite passages of scripture and I have often taken great comfort in the promises that are found there. In particular verses 7-10 have been a great comfort to me:
Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.
As someone who has settled and resettled on “the far side of the sea” many times during my life these words have special meaning to me. Now, more than ever before, I find myself clinging to these words – His right hand will hold me fast. There are times, living here, when I have become lonely and wonder what I am doing here. It can be frustrating learning a new language and customs and building new relationships. And still, in the midst of any doubts and questions about what I am doing here I am reminded that my King knows where I am – I cannot flee from his Spirit!
I have also been reminded lately that my citizenship is a heavenly one and that I am here to work for an eternal kingdom, not one that is fleeting. It is often so easy to become preoccupied with how things appear on the outside by worldly standards. I can easily see what my hands have built or done but the real question is not about what I can see but rather about what I have built or done for the Kingdom. I want to be building an eternal reward, not an earthly one. Today I was reading in Philippians and was particularly challenged by chapter 3 where Paul talks about considering everything garbage compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ. He considered everything a loss compared to knowing and following King Jesus. And he goes on to say that he was pressing on toward the heavenly prize that awaited him. Chapter 3 ends with the following:
But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ, who, by the power that enables him to bring everything under his control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body.
It is exciting for me to think that my citizenship is an eternal one. One that is not constrained by human lines drawn on a map or by the color of my skin. It is a citizenship given to me by the King of Kings – an undeserving gift which certainly demands a willingness to give up this earthly life but a gift that cannot be stripped away. I long for that better country – the heavenly one (Heb 11).
As I get to know people here, I long to be a part of building the Eternal Kingdom, and not just an earthly one. Each day I have the opportunity to work with people who need more than just the material help that I am able to offer – pray that “I will in no way be ashamed, but will have sufficient courage so that now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.” (Phil 1:20)

Backyard relics..

2007-08-05T17:45:00.000+03:00

This pic is a little small - but it is of the moon ...maybe not so interesting. Just east of us lies Ethiopia - only about 2 miles away, so the moon rises over Ethiopia.

Below are some pics our our "backyard relics". These two old machines are just outside our compound and are left over from the war here.

Flight Day

2007-08-05T17:18:00.000+03:00

Every other Thursday we have a flight day in which we receive supplies that we need from Nairobi, Kenya. The day begins at about 5am for me as it is necessary for someone to go and check the airstrip and make sure that it is landable. During the rainy season our dirt airstrip can be quite muddy and we don't want the plane to get stuck or have other trouble on our airstrip. So, at 5am I get up and go to check the strip and then give an update to our pilots in Kenya letting them know how it looks. This week it started to rain at about 6am after I had checked the strip so someone had to go out again and check it at 10:30 after the rain had stopped to make sure that it was still ok. The airstrip is only about 2km away but it takes at least 20 minutes to get there because of the road, which has many large mud hole in it. Two weeks ago we actually got stuck on our way to the airstrip which caused some stress on our part. This week we didn't have any trouble getting there and the plane arrived at about 1pm. Flight day is always kind of exciting because people are coming and going from breaks and we get new food and supplies. It can also be somewhat stressful as communication over the radio with the pilots can be frustrating. We also have to take fuel to the plane on most flight days and so it takes a lot of effort to load up the fuel. The two pictures are of loading up the fuel at our compound and then fueling the plane at the airstrip. (I've also added a picture of the tank stand that I built for our water collection. The tank holds 1000ltrs and it only took about 3 rains to fill it. I then put a runoff pipe into another large tank and it was full a couple of days later. When it rains it pores!!)

Some pics

2007-07-29T17:37:00.000+03:00

2007-07-29T17:30:00.000+03:00

These are pics of my tukol (right side of the tukol is mine). I think the table and desk are self explanitory...oh, except that the cloth on the table is to keep the dust and dirt from the roof off all my stuff.

2007-07-29T17:20:00.000+03:00

Nika in the pharmacy with the new shelves we have been putting in.

The road...and not even in a bad spot!!

Our Vehicles

Peoples' Tukols

3rd Grade Math

2007-07-29T14:09:00.000+03:00

I have been learning many things during my few weeks here. Every day brings some new adventure or revelation about this place. I have spent the last two weeks balancing my time between the hospital and our compound, building shelves, tank stands and various other little projects.
I really enjoy working with the Sudanese and through them I am continually reminded of the many blessings I have enjoyed in my life, most especially my education. One of the bigger projects I have worked on in the past few weeks has been putting in shelving for the drug store at the hospital. The man who is in charge of getting the medicines for patients and keeping things organized is a guy named Nika. He is an incredibly cheerful and helpful man who is probably in his mid 20s. Last week I was looking at all the medicine and started to ask him what the different drugs were used for and he would explain to me what each one. Nika was a refugee in Ethiopia for many years and it was there that he learned English, so I asked him if he'd learned about medicine there. He said no and that he had learned it from a small nurses training program at the hospital. He then proceeded to tell me how he had heard of a secondary school opening south of here and how he really wanted to go to it so that he could complete his high school education. His enthusiasm and dedication to education really humbled me - I often take my college education for granted, let alone my high school.
Then this week I was in for a real shocker. That same nurses program that Nika had gone through is now working on educating about 15 new students to work at the hospital. The Kenyan nurse who is teaching the students has been going over shots and vaccines and stuff like that so I agreed to let her give me one of my remaining vaccines in front of the class as a demonstration. I got there a little bit early and sat outside listening to the lesson she was working on...and what I heard astonished me. It turns out that as she was teaching them she realized that most of the students did not know how to multiply or divide and so she was having to take time to explain multiplication to them. As I sat outside listening to her teach some basic multiplication my mind flashed back to last year when I volunteered at an underprivileged elementary school in Winston-Salem. There I helped 3rd and 4th graders with multiplication and many of those students where considered to be very far behind in their learning. When I listened to these future nurses learning multiplication I realized how blessed America is - even in its most impoverished state the kids are learning what adults in Sudan wish they could have learned. The people here are smart and want to learn - the unfortunate thing is that there is hardly any education around. We help with a small community center that offers classes and I am told that in the mornings they are swamped with over 400 students. I realize how blessed I have been to have received the education I have and that I should certainly not take it for granted especially when those I am surrouned by would give anything to have it. Pray that I will use my blessing in a way that is pleasing to my King in this place.

2007-07-15T16:25:00.003+03:00

I thought you might also be interested in one of the unfriendly critters I found just outside my hut!

Bathing in the Mud

2007-07-15T16:08:00.000+03:00

I have seen a lot of mud since I've been here. The roads are always an adventure no matter where you go. The other day I went to our farm project which is about 25 km away. It took us over two hours to get there and we had to travel by tractor because the roads are impassable for our four-wheel drive vehicles. The rainy season certainly takes some adjusting to!! I am told that the heaviest rains will be in July and August and that it won't really finish raining until October.

The rains do have some great advantages. First of all, driving can be a lot of fun....at least until you get stuck. Secondly, the heat isn't so bad because of the rain - I am particularly thankful for this fact because as it is I don't think the temperature has really gone below 80, except maybe at night. When the clouds are gone it doesn't take long for the temp to rise above 90. The other advantage is that it is good for peoples' crops, but my favorite use of the rain - bathwater! The other day as I drove along, sliding and sloshing in and out of mud puddles, I came across three small children having their evening bath in one of the road's puddles. I wish I had had my camera to catch that moment...not every day is the road used for such hygienic purposes!

For now though you'll just have to settle for picture of a recent sunset here.

Not in Kansas anymore...

2007-07-11T12:36:00.000+03:00

Outside the night is alive with sounds of frogs and crickets and a number of other little creatures. It is what I’d like to call the “outhouse orchestra”. You might ask why and the answer is quite simple – these little creatures orchestrate the enjoyable nightly music that accompanies any late night expeditions to the outhouse(pictured below). Yes, life has changed a little bit in the last week… “I’m not in Kansas anymore”.
I arrived here last Thursday and have spent the last few days adjusting to life in the middle of nowhere Africa… during rainy season. I’m not sure where to even begin describing this place for those who have never been to rural Africa. I live in a mud hut called a tukol. (the one in the picture) I have a small amount of electricity that I power some small lights and use to recharge my computer. There is a room, about 15ft by 15ft and a small little porch area in this tukol. My bed is normal except that it is super squeaky and I have mosquito net over it. The net is as much for all the other bugs as it is for the mosquitoes. In some later postings I might show you some of friendly and not-so-friendly house mates. There are five other team members living here at the compound. One American, one Canadian, and three Kenyans. There are all great people who I look forward to working with more. One of the Kenyans, a mechanic, is a guy I have met before in Kenya and has worked on my parents vehicle in the past. We all eat together in a common kitchen building and share the responsibility of cooking evening meals. We also meet MWF for a devotional time together.
The town I live in is mix of several different cultures and people groups. One of the most interesting things I have found so far is the number of donkeys that are used to pull small carts. I have spent several of my days so far working at the local hospital doing some small repairs that were needed.
The weather since I arrived has been VERY wet. Today is the only day on which it hasn’t rained since I arrived last week. When it rains it really rains. The whole land turns into a river washing away downhill. It is quite amazing to watch at the torrential downpour arrives and soon little rivers appear everywhere. The rains also mean that the roads are…well basically it means that the roads aren’t. The vehicles we drive are four-wheel drive but even so they get stuck often. The “roads” that we drive on are very slippery when muddy and it makes for some very interesting trips around town.
I think I will end this for now. The internet here is quite slow and so I may not post too many pictures because of the length of time it requires to download them. Even so, I do hope to put some up from time to time. Please continue to pray that I will adjust life here. I love this land and the people and I am excited about being here but pray that I will quickly adapt to the language and culture of this place.
Oh, one last thing… when I make my expedition to the outhouse the orchestra has an added bonus on nights like tonight when there aren’t any clouds. The stars! There is basically no light pollution here and the stars are absolutely fabulous.

Waking up on the left side of the road...

2007-06-28T10:43:00.000+03:00

When the airplane landed in Nairobi I was a terrible mix of emotions - partly because I was so excited to be back in Africa, but mostly because I was extremely tired! After two long flights (around 7 hours each) and a four hour layover in Amsterdam I was beat. After waiting for my bags at the conveyor belt I walked out to look for the person picking me up. It took me a while but I finally found the guy - he was holding a small sign that said "Aron Wilcox"...I didn't even try to correct him, for the short ride to the Sam's Purse guesthouse I had no problem being Aron Wilcox. Part way to the guesthouse we randomly stopped on the side of the road and I was handed the key to the guesthouse...I felt like I was on some sort of covert mission being given my keys at such a random place...but anyway, I made it to my room and a comfy bed so that's all that counts.

And when I woke up -early enough to for the sunrise - I was on the left side of the road. Yep, when I hopped in a car yesterday morning I just about had a heartattack when we pulled out of the driveway and onto the road. The left side of the road is not only a little bit of a shock to the system because its not the right side of the road but it is also a shock because the left side of the road also includes..the middle of the road, the side of the road, the shoulder of the road, the ditch next to the road, the pothole in the road, and just about anywhere that can get you where you are headed faster. I've only been in Kenya for a day and a half so far but I can asure you - my gaurdian angels are already wishing I had stayed in New Jersey where the drivers are calm compared to Nairobi.
Ok, well the main point of this post is that I'm in Kenya. I will try to post again before heading to Sudan next week. For now I'd better sign off and try to get some stuff done ...ie - brave the roads once again!

grace and peace,
"aron wilcox"

final boarding call....

2007-06-25T22:12:00.000+03:00

When I was little and we flew KLM I loved it - we used to get these cool pins that had the wings just like a captain and for a little rascal like me who dreamed of being a pilot it was the greatest thing ever. We used to stare out the window at the giant airplanes trying to guess which one was ours...and here I am again. In a little over an hour I will be boarding my flight and taking to the air. I have spent the last few days packing and getting ready and now here I am ready to go - just waiting for that boarding call.
It hasn't quite sunk in that I am really on my way but I am. Four years ago when I left Africa for the US I wondered if I would ever be going back and now here I am about to return to the land that I love so much.
I am not real sure what to expect as I head out and I feel like this is just a rambling entry but mostly I just wanted to let people know that I am leaving the US and will be in Kenya by tomorrow. I will be there until the 5th of July when I head up to Sudan. I am excited about starting my activities there and you can pray that the Lord gives me calm and confidence as I head out.

You are all in my thoughts and prayers.