My Apologies...

Apprently someone has been using my blog to scam people out of money. Please be assured this is not genuine and is not me.

I do not have an appartment to let in Brooklyn...

Sorry for any inconvenience, I've reported it to 'Blogger'

I had the time of my life...

Unlike last time, when a day off and a packet of drugs was enough to have me back fighting fit, this dose of malaria (despite my lack of medical knowledge I have decided that is definately what I had) was deeply unpleasant. I tried to fight it for a few days, you know the kind of thing, power through, keep working (at heights, despite the dizziness) but all this succeeded in doing was making things worse. To the extent that I spent the majority of my last day in Sudan lying under a tree feeling like crap.

We did have a visit from a plane that day, and as one of our number was flying off to the bright lights of Malakal I dragged myself out to say goodbye:


Now I know, my face bears a look somewhere between disgust and disdain, but I can assure you it was more just discomfort (mixed with a little disdain..towards whatever happened to be annoying me most at the time). On the way home, a journey that takes all of 5 minutes on foot, some of the local kids took pity on me and held my hand. On another day this might have been heartwarming but not today. All I could think was "If you give me some crazy tropical disease I'm coming back for you..."

Fortunately, I was able to make a bit of a recovery before I left. Even by the end of that day I was feeling strong enough to kill a chicken, a gift I'd recieved the previous day which we enjoyed for my farewell meal, an occasion followed by the chance for each member of our team here to say somehting nice about me. History has never known a longer or more awkward silence...

I'm kidding of course, everyone had something nice to say, and this time the heartwarming intentions worked a treat. There were even some tears, but not from me...I am a man after all...

And so, my friends, that's it. At 9am on Friday morning a plane arrived to whisk me away to Kenya for the last time, and it was all over.

I really did have the time of my life, for the most part. And I learned a good few valuable lessons..

I learned that managing a building project in Southern Sudan is far from a walk in the park, and leave with a strong sense of having unfinished business. This is probably mostly due to the fact that I do have unfinished business, with the new clinic building being in a state that is some way from readiness.

I learned that no matter how worthwhile the building project may be, it is not nearly as worthwhile as investing in the people in Mabaan county, and sharing the love and truth of Jesus with them. Probably my biggest regret is not being able to do that more. Whilst my biggest satisfaction comes from being able to a little bit...

I learned that no matter how hard I tried, and wanted, I could not become like one of them. it's impossible. I was routinely ashamed of how much stuff I had, and my life was all packed into a rucksack. Cant imagine how ashamed I'd be if they came to visit me in Scotland.

I learned that when people are struggling to survive the line between right and wrong becomes complicated. I repeatedly came up against things I would previously have said were wrong but when you understand where they were coming from you kinda understand. I'm glad God has perfect wisdom in arbitrating these things. I certainly don't...

I'm sure in time there will be a lot more to add to that list, but you'll have to ask me about that yourself, because you wont find it here. With my departure from Africa this evening I'm intending to mark the end of my blog. And so, my friends, until my next African adventure this is goodbye. May God bless you all...

Happy Days...

Day 224 (of 228 in Sudan)...stupid malaria again. Great...

Maybe thats why my post yesterday was so lacking in positive outlook. A fact noted with some frustration by some of my American colleagues here. With their sunny dispositions...

Legacy...

And so it would seem my lasting legacy in Doro is to be represented by two things, at least in the eyes of my fellow missionaries here. First, a new dog proof fence for our compound:


My efforts concerning which bought me endless grace in my lack of pulling my weight in other more mundane chores.

Secondly, after over two years of functioning, the Doro clinic now (almost) has some toilets. I've been actively involved in this process from start (finding people to dig the holes - 4 m down in case you are interested) to finish, providing whatever expertise I deemed appropriate. Unfortunately, I didnt really know what I was doing...


On the day when we were preparing to pour the concrete for the floor, I was somewhat alarmed by the space left for the holes by Peter, our now lone Kenyan builder. When I suggested he make them a little bigger he duly obliged before letting me in on a national secret: "You know Kevin, in Kenya we are fearing to make the holes big because children fall into them" Can you imagine anything worse...? I don't think I can. Didnt stop me getting him to make them bigger though.

As for my legacy in the eyes of the Sudanese, that is somewhat more difficult to judge. I hope I've achieved more than just making them think I'm a nice guy...failing that I hope I've just made them think I'm a nice guy...

In other, equally fascinating, developments, I have made the fifth and final move of my time at Doro to the most basic abode yet, a grass house:


Or 'Kurnuk' as they are called here. I never thought I would view living in a mud hut as a luxury. This move is part of an overall effort by some of the team here to connect with the local community more effectively, a move which I wholeheartedly support. Or at least, I did wholeheartedly support until I got woken up at 7:30 this morning by a friend who was looking for some keys..."Hey Kevin, are you asleep?" Not any more.

That being said, there are positive aspects to living a bit more basically, not least the reduction in the shame I feel when I have Sudanese people in my house. Even the (relatively) little I brought out here with me now feels ludicrously extravagant. Lesson duly learned.

My time here is now painfully short, with a mere 4 days remaining. This is a fact that I am not savouring. And I'm trying to figure out just how exactly to 'end well'. I'm beginning to wonder if I should just tell people I'm going to be back sometime soon so they aren't too indignant with me. Actually, forget 'beginning to wonder', I've already done that with several people. Maybe now I'll have to make good my claim...

Buildings & Builders....

So, here is the building project when I arrived in February:


And here it is now:


Now I know what you're thinking, it doesnt look much different (apart from the longer grass - something I can not take any credit for). You're probably wondering what I've spent the last 6 months doing, maybe even thinking I've just been lazing around in the sunshine drinking coffee and working on my tan. But if you look inside, you can see we have actually made some progress:

February 2010:

August 2010:



And it's more than just a superficial lick of paint too, we now have proper rooms with ceilings and doors. Yesterday, DIY manual in hand, I started wiring up the lights. Should prove an interesting experience. Luckily, the building is not yet hooked up to the mains (I use the word mains in the loosest possible sense...4 solar panels on the roof) so there's absolutely no chance of me electrocuting myself. Based on past experience this is no bad thing.

Once completed the building will house a maternity unit, complete with delivery room and ward, a lab and an operating theatre. Some of you may be questioning how qualified I am to oversee the building of an operating room and let me tell you, you are in good company. I dont have a clue...

Work continues to progress and we're in good shape to be all done by the end of October, however, there has been one sad development in the last week. My right hand man, John Maruti, left for Kenya and won't be back until after I leave. It was the end of an educational, humbling, frustrating and mostly beautiful working relationship. Last Monday we said goodbye:


Fortunately, I think I'm going to be able to go and visit him on my way home, which helped to ease the pain...

John has almost certainly invested more effort than anyone in the building project, being involved right from the start, and he's certainly made my Sudanese experience a lot smoother. Although he routinely called me the boss (or 'Kevo-baba' when he was feeling affectionate), he taught me way more than I taught him and fairly early on I learned that when it came to how to do almost anything here, John was almost always right. Unfortunately, he had a habit of coming and telling me the right way after I'd done it wrong. That took a bit of getting used to.

I learned that almost every problem on the building site can be solved by a string, that getting angry isn't a very effective approach to management of Africans (One of the last things he said to me before he left, as we were about to deal with a tricky situation with our labourers was "Now Kevin, don't become annoyed"), how to have a disagreement with someone and then have both of you laughing by the end, how to kill a big snake (and a goat) and how to work without power tools, the African way ("You white people taught us this, and now you dont know"). He's a bit of a legend.

In a completely random aside, his eldest son he found crying in a bush as a baby so he took him in and called him Moses. His second son he obtained by more conventional means and named Kevin...I like to think that was in anticipation of working with me...

Here, the clock is ticking. I leave Doro two weeks on Friday and I'm not looking forward to it. It pains me to think how quickly the time has passed. I feel like I'm just getting the hang of things and now it's time to leave.

On a lighter note, tomorrow I celebrate my 28th birthday. Hopefully that doesnt mean it will be a bad day.

Until next time my friends...

Being a man...

I've discovered that when you live in Sudan, particularly on an SIM base mostly inhabited by women, there are plenty of opportunities to prove yourself as a man. This week was no exception...

This coming Monday one of our number, Sandra, is leaving us to return home. We decided to have a celebration on Thursday to mark the occasion, and invite all the students she had been teaching round for dinner. This was the main course, at around 2pm on Thursday afternoon:


After much deliberation we decided to call him Julius...

Somebody had to do the dirty work of killing him, and I bravely stepped up to the challenge, provided John & Nehemiah were there to keep me right. Here are Julius and I, getting in the zone:


So we laid him out and, after repeatedly asking John how I was supposed to do it, and never once recieving a satisfactory reply (He just kept saying, "you do it like this, by force!"), I went for it. Some readers might find these images mildly disturbing...



...rest assured they arent nearly as disturbing as the sounds that went along with them. A screeching goat and shouts from John of, "Not like that Kevin!", with Nehemiah gently encouraging me to "go ahead". Apparently I never fully grasped how deep you have to cut the throat. Poor Julius...

It was then on to the less glamorous tasks of skinning and butchering, which I duly bodyswerved:


before we set it all on the fire with muscles still twitching...it smelled, and tasted, amazing (goat meat has grown on me during my time here):


Almost immediately after we'd killed the goat, the cry went out from across the compound of "Snake! Snake!" and so I sprang into action, running in the direction of the call with nothing to kill it with at all. Fortunately, I was handed a machete and I was able to kill it...eventually. After I broke it's back first (making it the second animal in quick sucession to suffer a painful death at my hands)


The above photo shows me about to strike, but I'm guessing you cant even see the snake. I cant and I know where it is...unfortunately it was pretty small. But here is the evidence, which I'm sure you were all craving, of my latest snake kill. Number 4 so far. My target is 10...


And that's it for today I think. Life progresses as normal, I'm growing more and more to love the Sudanese coffee culture. This morning I went to bring some tools to some of the guys here who were going to do some work for us and when I arrived they said "Have you had coffee yet?", before inviting me to join them...I'm hoping to introduce this custom when I return to work in October. Nothing gets done until we all have a coffee.

The eagerly awaited pictures of the building are on their way. They have been taken but are still on someone elses camera. Like I said, I wont let you down...

Birthdays..

This week one of our number celebrated his birthday (Dr Rob, the boss). This, along with my own impending birthday on August 25th (not that I'm dropping hints) served as a timely reminder of something I've been meaning to share with you for a while. None of my friends here know when their birthdays are, or even how old they are. Usually they try and work it out from what they can remember, and it tends to change from time to time.

The other day I was having a bad day, and not only because I had to spend the whole day cutting and welding metal together. At the end of the day Iwas sitting with some of my friends under a tree when Joash asked me, "Kevin, why do you keep quiet like that".

When I explained to him that I'd had a bad day he said, "In our culture we say that it's your birthday". I thought he'd misheard me and explained "No no, I said I had a bad day, not that it's my birthday...it's Dr Rob's birthday today not mine"

He replied, "Yes, we say that if you are having a day like that, when you are unhappy, it means it muyst be the day you were born". I'm not sure what I think of that one to be honest. Was certainly an interesting exchange.

Speaking of anniversaries, of sorts, this evening at team devotions we were remembering some of our predecessors here who were among the first SIM Missionaries in Sudan in the late 30's. There were 5 of them here, working in the clinic (part of which still exists today) and building bridges with the then unreached Mabaan tribe. 70 years ago this month, two of them were killed when the clinic was bombed during World War Two, having only been here for 6 months or so.

Makes you think about the sacrifice these people were willing to make, living in a hard, isolated place(there were no planes waiting to come and whisk you away...no airstrip either), and staying even though they knew they were in danger. In order to spread the message of Jesus. I wonder if I'd be willing to do that, or if I'd be allowed to...probably not. One of my colleagues offers some eloquent insight (and some photos) here.

While we are on the subject of photo's, it was brought to my attention recently that I have offered you no pictures of the building project I am woring on on this particular medium and so you have all being relying on your imagination on the occasions when you ponder what my work looks like.

So, in the next few days I shall endeavour to post some up to date pictures so that your overworked imaginations can get some respite. I will however have to think creatively about how to get these pictures as I seem to have misplaced my camera, but dont worry. I wont let you down...

Fun Times...

The other day I heard someone say something I haven't heard in a long time:

"Ah Kevin, you are hilarious"

This would have been a big boost to my morale if Stephen (one of my friends) had been amused by my dry Scottish wit, unfortunately he was amused by my attempts to speak Arabic.

Speaking of morale, this week has been a difficult week in all sorts of ways, and not just because I lost my sunglasses. For some reason I've found myself being even more short tempered than usual (and I am not alone in this), and have probably shouted at more people on the building site in the last 5 working days than in the total 6 months before. Clearly, this is not a good development and you can be assured that I'm doing everything I can to address it. Before I push John too far and he starts fighting back...Because he is much stronger than I am.

All that being said, in my defence, some of my strongly worded comments have been in his best interests. He has a distinctly 'African' approach to health and safety, and this has led to us not always seeing eye to eye. Credit to him though, he's always willing to take my comments on board.

This week has been punctuated by plenty of late night visits to the clinic to address our ongoing problems with solar power (turns out solar power doesnt even work properly in Sudan, so if you were thinking of using it in the UK then don't). This is the same problem I reported previously, although this time there was a happier outcome.

On Wednesday evening I found myself up there at around 11pm standing watching as the nurses attended to two seriously ill children (one of whome was literally gasping for breath) thinking "this is rubbish, they are both going to die". We've had a number of dead children in the last few months, mostly to killer Malaria, and this is the outcome I have come to expect. It's all pretty tragic. But, praise God, it looks like they have both turned the corner and life to fight another day.

Not to paint too dark a picture however, this week has not been without it's fun times. Saturdays and Sundays are now usually dominated by extended trips to the market with my friends and this weekend was no different.

The market is situated in the nearest town, Bunj, and looks something like this:


I really like Bunj, it even has a hardware store, of sorts, where you can buy some basic building supplies (pretty useful in my line of work):



And plenty of shops, like this one, where you can buy basic staple foods.



But my favourite thing is that there are plenty of places to drink good Sudanese style coffee. Every week we go to the same place, here:


and hang out for most of the afternoon and accumulate in number as more and more people come along. It's a bit like Friends but without the tedious humour.

Here is me yesterday, with a few of my good friends, enjoying some coffee.


Good times...

So as I discover new ways to shield my beautiful blue eyes (sans sunglasses) and encourage my hilarious araottish wish, I will keep you posted. Keep your sticks on the ice!

Cold...

Over the past couple of weeks, as rainy season has well and truly set in, I have decided that I miss the hot season, when temperatures daily topped 40C and rarely dropped below 30C. Last night the temperature dropped to a lowly 21C. Not sure how I'm going to cope with a return to Scotland.

There are many reasons why I miss the hot season, but two stand head and shoulders above the rest. Firstly, because of the complete lack of paved surfaces, and the routine heavyness of monsoon downpours, when it rains the whole place turns to mud, making moving around by almost any kind of vehicle completely impossible. Today in an ill-judged, hurried trip to the market I came the closest I have come yet (and I can tell you, it's up against some pretty stiff competition) to falling off my motorbike due to the mud.

Secondly, the lack of sunshine means that there is a lack of hot water for showers. Now much as I dislike not being clean, I dislike being cold even more and the number of days in between showers, at times, verges on the outrageous. It's beginning to make the women on our compound (of which there are many) ask questions about my personal hygiene.

Today, things took an immeasurable turn for the better with the arrival back in Sudan of my much loved Kenyan sidekicks, John & Peter. In their absence it was left to me to manage our Sudanese labourers on the building site, a feat which I managed with varying degrees of success. It was an invaluable, enjoyable, frustrating and baffling experience, at the peak of which I employed 14 guys at one time to help me finish building a new fence for our compound. In the pouring rain (this is the point where I would have had a great photo to share with you, had I not been to lazy, cold and wet to go back to my house to get my camera). It was the first time I had been properly freezing cold since I left Scotland.

Another real blessing over the past week or so, has been having the chance to hear in more detail some of my good friends life stories, and they never cease to throw up surprises. At the weekend, one of my closest friends here was telling me how the war came to Mabaan County (where I am) in 1996 (when he was 10)whilst he had gone to visit his grandmother in another village. Everyone literally took to the hills and he was seperated from his parents for 12 years (most of which was spent in a refugee camp in Ethiopia). I've no idea what kind of effect that kind of thing, and all that he has seen, would have on somebody growing up, and this kind of story is very typical.

The good news (and sometimes here you really need a bit of good news) is that during his journey to Ethiopia he heard the Word of God from some old guy in a random village and he saw the wisdom in it. I'm grateful for stories like this, although I'm at a bit of a loss as to how best to encourage him (and others) to keep on following Jesus.

Just as well it isn't all down to me...

Departures...

This is my favourite picture of the team from Scotland, accompanied by Peter & Timo, and overlooked by John Maruti:


Sadly, they left on Friday and I am all on my lonesome again. On a happier note, my Malaria (or whatever it was) also departed on Friday and I am once again fighting fit. To celebrate I taught myself to weld.


All I can say is that it was more successful than I expected it to be. Although I did learn why you sould wear protective clothing while welding. As opposed to shorts and sandals. getting sparks of white hot metal in between your toes is even less fun than it sounds.

On Saturday night something happened that has never happened before. I got woken in the middle of the night to go and help out at the clinic. Rest assured, they did not bring me for my medical opinions, rather there had been a complete power failure at the clinic and they needed a back up supply to provide oxygen for a small boy.

This is the small boy, his name is Keywa and he's 4 years old, he was dying of cancer and they were trying to keep him alive long enough to fly him to Juba where he could receive some treatment:


He died on Sunday morning, which was pretty devestating for everyone involved. Poor wee guy never had a chance...stuck out in the middle of nowhere in the Sudanese bush.

It's a wonderful world...

Fun Times...

Day 163. Suspected Malaria. Great...

Chali...

This weekend I went on another adventure, to a town called Chali. For those of you who don't know (which I suspect is most of you...), Chali was the location of one of the first ever SIM mission stations in South Sudan, way back in the 1930's.

I went there with my friend Masir (who you may remember from my account of my epic trip to Kortembak) to visit his family. Masir is married with six kids, here is him with his family, in front of his house. Where they all live.


It's pretty small for a family of eight, I'm sure you'll agree. For the first time in ages I Was surprised by how basic his home was. they only had one chair, which I had the honour of sitting on for the duration of our visit.

We travelled there on saturday morning, spent the afternoon sitting around drinking coffee and talking Uduk (Masir's from the Uduk tribe...and I did more bemused listening rather than talking). I spent the night in the local pastors house, where he kindly gave up his bed and slept on the floor. Although to be honest, I'm not entirely convinced the floor might not have been more comfortable. During the night it rained heavily. This was a problem, and not only because pastor Solomon's roof leaked above my bed. I had a river to cross to get home and I was anxious that we may not be able to cross...

On Sunday, after church (and another sermon from yours truly, on ten minutes notice) and masses of food, we set off for home, braving the mudiest roads I had ever seen. We got slightly stuck a couple of times, but managed to free ourselves, before this happened:


In a hilarious twist of irony, we were stuck almost exactly where I got the puncture in the aforementioned trip to Kortembak. After a while of trying to get unstuck, I was beginning to get worried. Credit to Masir, he was getting stuck in digging with his bare hands, but I was fairly sure that wasnt gonna work, and so we set of for the nearest village (called Nila), to beg for help.
After recruiting a couple of guys from there, we were on our way again.

However, the remainder of the journey was not withour it;s anxiety. We left Doro with a full tank of petrol, but when we arrived we had less than half left, and there was no petrol for sale in Chali. or anywhere in between. As it happens, we did finally run out of petrol...about 5 minutes walk from home. Which was a massive relief. Here are Masir and I, looking relieved...


In other news, we still have the team from Scotland with us, and they have been a blessing to all and sundry...on the building site, we continue to progress, whilst simultaneously pushing the boundaries of health and safety practice. Here are Stu and I in one of the less extreme examples:

In more extreme (unphotographed) incidents, I nearly put a circular saw into my leg, and one of the other lads dropped a spinning angle grinder from above his head. But God continues to protect us...

We've also had a (at times heated) football match agains the local lads, which ended in a tightly contested 1-1 draw. I think we're having a rematch tomorrow. I'll let you know how that goes...

Eating Out....

Two of the nurses just asked me if I want to come and watch a baby being born. But I've decided to pass so I can update my blog. Since I last wrote I've made it back to my Sudanese home, Doro, and have been joined by five of my compatriots, who are here on a short term mission trip.

The journey here from Malakal took us in the region of 12 hours, and I think I'd lost all semblance of a sense of humour by the time we arrived. Which is obviously saying something. We now have a car at Doro, which has made trips to the market to watch World Cup matches posisble. Here is me preparing to leave Malakal:


On the road we encountered plenty of potholes, around 10 blissful miles of tarmac and some nomads:


One of whome was a boy riding a camel...you don't see that every day, even in Sudan:


After arriving in Doro we made the trip to the local petrol station to fill up:


This guy was an expert at syphoning with his mouth...

It is very nice to be back, I got a heartwarming welcome from my Sudanese friends (which has been followed up with plenty of hand holding...I'm dealing with it as best I can) and there is now tonnes of work to do on the building project. The scottish team have well and truly got stuck in to Sudanese life (one of them even spent 2 days on a drip...) and all is well.

This evening I went round to my friend John's house. This is him with his family and neighbours.


We sat and drank coffee (as is the norm here...just like at home) and chatted as best we could (John has pretty much no english). I was planning on leaving when food arrived, along with all the people from the surrounding houses. These people really do know what it means to live in community together...

In Sudan, food is normally served on one big plate and everyone just tucks in with their hands and this arrangement is not without its issues. For a start Asida (a kind of thick paste made from sorgum) is served very hot...So hot that I scalded my fingers. Secondly if, like me, you are a slow eater then all the food is finished before you've had your share. This may be the reason I've lost weight since I came to Sudan.

Anyway, we were all sitting there eating when all of a sudden torrential rain swept in from the east. Everyone scarpered in various directions leaving me standing there not knowing who to follow until eventually John led me to a grass hut, under which we sheltered along with a few goats, chickens and several dogs while we finished eating round a fire in the dark. It was an incredibly surreal experience, one of those moments you feel like you should savour because it's so rare. Unfortunately I never even brought my camera...

Journey...

My friends, I'm sure you will be as happy (and doubtless as interested) as I am to learn that I am back in Sudan. In Malakal as it happens, which, if you've been paying attention, you will recall was where I cam way back at the start of my adventure to learn a bit of Arabic. This time, the focus of my trip was somewhat different, although my grasp of the Arabic language hasn't changed too much!

I travelled here from Nairobi via Juba, Southern Sudan's capital city. Juba is to Sudan what Edinburgh is to the UK, to give you an idea of it's importance. I was glad to get the chance to see the city, or at least part of it. And was particularly thankful for a hassle-free encounter with immigration officials (I'd heard stories of untold hardship and inconvenience).

I was travelling on my own, so I found myself a room at the guesthouse of the Episcopal Church of Sudan:

Situated right next to the cathedral (it smelled of bats inside):



Perhaps you are among the many people to whom I have quoted the statistic that Juba is the 2nd most expensive city in the world. I'd love to be able to confirm that to you now but my (admittedly limited) research has failed to uncover a single shred of evidence that this is in fact the case. Prices seemed to me to be comparable with Britain.

I did have an interesting experience that night in Juba after I met up with some SIM friends who happened to be stuck in town for dinner at a very nice Ethiopian joint. After dinner, they said they were going to take a Matatu (local small minibus) home and so I walked with them out to the main road. Low and behold, we hadnt been at the main road 5 seconds when one came a long and they jumped on and were gone, leaving me standing in the dark in the middle of an unkown city...That was when I realised that I didnt actually know where my guesthouse was.

I was standing there in a state of mild unease (which may have been tending towards panic), randomly waving my arms at passing cars and generally wondering what to do when a motorbike (another form of public transport) drove past. "Hey you" I shouted in my best Arabic. The guy stopped and I asked him if he knew where the ECS Guesthouse was. He didn't. "OK, just go this way" I said, pointing in the general direction that I'd come from.

I was riding on the blind hope that I'd see a half fallen over road sign that had caught my eye on the way to the restaurant. And do you know what, I did see it, and was able to find my way back to the guesthouse from there. It was only after I got back that I realised how much worse that story could have turned out...

Anwyay, I subsequently made it safely to Malakal and was reaquainted with old friends in a familiar town. I then spent most of Friday getting myself a Sudanese driving licence. This was a long but generally smooth process that involved going to the hospital for an eye test that consisted of a guy saying "can you see?". "Yes". "Ok, here you go", before signing my form.

And now, driving licence in hand, I plan to drive back to Doro tomorrow, in a nice Toyota Hi-lux that has been purchased by some of my colleagues there. It should be a fun journey, what with the rainy season and muddy roads. I wonder who'll come and help if we get stuck....

Tears...

Turns out life in Nairobi is not completely bereft of interesting events. Today, Stephen and I were out buying building materials with all the abandon that comes from spending someone elses money. On our way back to SIM HQ in the car we were stuck in traffic when Stephen said:

"The police have been spraying tear gas...I can smell it"

I couldn't smell anything other than car fumes and gave him a dubious look, suspecting he was talking nonsense. However, not five minutes later my throat was stinging and tears were streaming down my face (and no, i wasn't just having an emotional moment). I turned to look at Stephen and he was the same, if not worse than me. It was a deeply unpleasant and painful experience which I have no desire to repeat. So that rules out rioting anarchist as a future career move...

There have been more changes in the ever unpredictable world of SIM Sudan, and I am now potentially leaving Nairobi on Monday to make my (roundabout) way to Malakal to purchase more supplies (Timber, in case you're interested). Should be an adventure...certainly beats kicking about an appartment in Nairobi playing games on Sporcle...or does it?

Goodbye Doro...

According to 'Blogger', it has been a frankly unacceptable two weeks since I last wrote. You can generally take it as read that if there is a long period of silence things have been either boring or bad. If they are boring I wouldn't want to trouble you with them (I'm all to aware of the risks of just writing whatever comes in to your mind and publishing it on the world wide web...I don't want to be that guy). If they are bad, well, then I wouldn't tell you about them here.

The Canadian team who are with us are now drawing to the close of their time after two weeks of sterling work. They leave on Friday. Unfortunately, so do I. I have been summoned to Nairobi to work there for a couple of weeks. I'm so excited I think I might explode. It says in Philippians 2:14 to do "all things without grumbling or questioning". Sometimes this is easier than others...

One of the guys on the Canada team is a bit trigger happy with his camera, and so I have stolen all of his photos. This is good because I am anything but trigger happy with my camera...and am desperate to get hold of any good photos I can find. For instance, he took this one of our compound at night, which is class (if you look closely you can see my two Kenyan sidekicks in the background):


And this is me showing them around the building site and pretending to know what I'm talking about.

I'll give ten (Sudanese) Pounds to the person who comes up with the funniest caption to that photo...

In all seriousness, I am even more sad to leave Doro this time than last. My friendships with the Sudanese guys have kept me going, and I shall really miss them. They continue to provide me with good company and banter. One particular area of concern for them is my ongoing singleness, and in a culture where guys often get married at 16 this is understandable. Recently they have devoted a lot of effort to trying to find me a wife...I on the other hand, have tried to explain to them all the issues that would create for me, whilst keeping on my guard to avoid potential awkward moments.

I have also made another step in the right direction by having the chance to eat with some of them. One evening I went round to the house of some of my friends just after dark (I only recently discovered that I was allowed out after dark) and sat round the fire with them as they prepared food. Being British, I didn't want to impose myself on them and planned to leave as soon as the food was ready. This was, I'm afraid, exceptionally naive of me (as I have been told before how important it is in Sudanese culture to show hospitality to guests) and when I made to go Michael responded with a very offended sounding "you mean you don't want to eat with us?!" I made the most profuse apologies and sat with them in their tukul to enjoy a simple, but very tasty (it wasn't goat) meal with my lesson duly learned.

On a positive note, my Arabic has been steadily improving over the last month, to the point where I can almost understand whole conversations that people have. Unfortunately this uses up pretty much all of my brain power and I am pretty incapable when it come to making contributions myself. Particularly if they extend beyond saying where I am coming from and where I'm going. There's a kid in the market who I sometimes buy from who laughs at me every time I try to speak Arabic to him...

On another positive note (particularly for the Sudanese) the rain has continued to descend. Sometimes in spectacular fashion. This is important as you need rain to grow food. And here, they dont have a lot of food. The other day I heard that a neighbour (And friend) of ours had not had a proper meal in months...when you realise it is that close to home it is astounding, and more than a little uncomfortable, given that we have so much. It certainly draws passages like Matthew 6:25-26 into sharper focus...

And so it's off to Nairobi again. I doubt I'll have much to report while I'm there, buying supplies for a building project doesnt usually make for good stories in my experience. But I shall keep you posted as to what is going on. There have been times in the last week when I have wished more than anything that I wasn't here. I hope they won't be repeated...

Rain...

Today, the rains properly came to Doro for the first time this year. It looked something like this:


Although, to be fair, the picture doesn't really capture the moment very well. The storm, and it really was a storm, wasn't without it's consequences either. One of our shower enclosures blew down (whilst someone was using it...) and one of our kitchens just about keeled over. Although thankfully it wasnt my one:


However, never one to miss out on excitement around here I boldy volunteered to help Sandy clear out the food before it collapsed properly. By the end it was starting to make concerning noises at which point Sandy, who had gone outside, shouted "Kevin, get out of there!", and I had to dive out the door (which was easier said than done, given the difficult angle). You've no idea how much I'd love to tell you that the moment I got out it collapsed to the ground but I'm afraid to say it is still standing and I look significantly less macho than I may otherwise have done. What a shame.

The arrival of the rains today is, in a way, a little ironic as I was planning to write about the cronic shortage of water around here at the moment. Just about every river is dry and we are all reliant on water from the nearby borehole. Getting water from the borehole is hard work (well, it looks hard to me - I've never actually done it) and for this reason, and because we are all pretty busy, we pay a guy with a donkey cart to do it for us. Michael, also sometimes referred to as the donkey man (which I think is a little unkind...he looks nothing like a donkey) brings water 3-4 times a week:


and fills barrells dotted around our compound:


This arrangement works well for us and for him. He gets paid a princely sum for each barrell he brings and we dont have to toil in the blistering sun for which we are ill equipped.

In other news, things have changed here somewhat since I last wrote. I now have two Kenyan sidekicks working on the building project instead of one, and a whole team of Canadians who arrived yesterday to work with me for a few weeks. The challenge now is making good use of their time.

Last Sunday, a few of us travelled to a neighbouring village (called Gasmala, in case you're interested) to attend church there. I was sitting next to the pastor, a friend of mine called James. About ten minutes in to the service James leaned over to me...

"Kevin, would you like to share the message this morning?"
"I'm sorry, what!?"
"Would you like to give the message this morning?"
"...eh, ok"

And so I had to spend the next fifteen minutes coming up with something to say. Fortunately, my Arabic is still limited (which is usually a source of real frustration for me) and so I spoke through a translator. Which made the whole thing much less daunting for some reason. It seemed to go down ok too. Although maybe that was because they didn't really understand what I said!

Finally, as you know I'm not a medical man, and as such I tend to keep my distance from the clinic that operates right next to the building site (except to occasionally steal a cup of tea and a mandazi, and to say hello to my friends who work there) however every now and then I hear about something they have had to deal with there that is impossible to ignore.

This past Sunday, a mother brought her baby to the clinic. The previous evening a drunk man had come to her house and while she was not looking, picked up the baby and dropped her. On her head. By the time she reached our clinic there was nothing they could do and the baby died a short time later. I'm told the mother was understandably devestated. I think it might be just about one of the most tragic stories I've ever heard...