The Newest Love in My Life

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.

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

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

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"

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...

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

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.