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...

Welcome Back...

We arrived back at Doro yesterday and were greeted by this scene:


It is good to be back, and the people seem pleased to have us back, which is nice. The journey from Nairobi is spread over two legs, with an overnight stay in a place called Lokichoggio (or Loki, to seasoned tavellers) in North-Western Kenya. We made the first trip on a plane operated by Mission Aviation Fellowhip or MAF who have been flying missionaries around for over 60 years, before the journey from Loki into Sudan with our regular carrier, AIM Air (The airborne arm of African Inland Mission). Loki used to be the base for much of the aid effort in Sudan during the war, but now it's a bit of a ghost town with a nice restaurant. We spent the night in the SIM guest house:


Which is pretty decent, a kind of last dose of civilisation before the hardships of rural Sudan, before packing up our wee plane and heading for the skies over Southern Sudan. Loading the plane is a bit of a trade off between how much weight you can carry, and how much fuel you have available. We were fully loaded yesterday:


So fully loaded that we had to take some fuel off before leaving (I say we, I just watched while the AIM Air people did the hard work), which in turn led to a rather concerning low fuel alarm going off shortly before we landed at Doro. There were worried looks between us all, although noone ventured to put the obvious question to the pilot, who was otherwise engaged.

Anyway, needless to say we got here safely, and began the epic task of cleaning up the 3 and a half weeks worth of dirt that had accumulated in our houses (which equates to about a foot of dust on every flat surface). I moved a box in my house and found a massive scorpion hiding underneath. I really wish I'd taken a photo to share with you but alas, I panicked and killed it (at the third attempt).

And so we're all getting into the zone for returning to work on Monday, and being reunited with Sudanese friends, which has been great.

One of the joys of living on a base on which the primary focus is a health project is that you are frequently exposed to stomach turning medical chat. You never know what's coming next. Two minutes ago I went into the fridge to get a coke (one of the few luxuries available here) and found what looked like drugs sitting on top of everything. I turned to ask Amy, one of the nurses, what they were only to be informed that they were in fact rectal suppostories. On top of my coke.

Lovely...