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"Pray that they go temporarily blind"

Today we're going to talk about the importance of picking the right color of pen.

This is almost like product placement

Unless you're a teacher or college professor who likes to make poorly written papers bleed, normal people don't put much thought into the color of pen with which you use to write or sign a document.  For me, it's usually whatever pen is still remaining somewhere on my desk since people periodically snatch them or walk away with them.

In South Sudan, however, the color of pen that you use to sign is apparently very important.

Allow me first to provide a context.

Working in administration and being around in South Sudan, I've learned that people are very keen on things being very official and having certain formalities.  Not only is it not enough that a simple letter about next to nothing is signed and on letterhead, but it must also have an organizational stamp near the signature.  Before addressing a crowd, a speaker cannot simply thank the audience for giving him or her the opportunity to speak.  The speaker must first greet and thank each of the "big men" in the room individually and in order of importance.  This can take some time if you have a high level meeting, especially when one must always pronounce his/her full name and their titles such as Honorable, Excellency, Right Reverend, and so on.  While watching the South Sudanese news channel, you would think that the newscasters would start saying just "President Kiir went to China today," because we know who they're talking about.  However, they insist on pronouncing in full, "His Excellency President Salva Kiir Mayardit," each time he is mentioned.

L: man who fought in the bush (rigid), R: man named Bush (casual) 

Even at the most formal events, I don't believe Americans would walk around and treat each other with that much reverence.  Perhaps it's our sarcasm and overconfidence that makes us so over-casual with each other.  Notice the body posture of Kirr versus the posture of George Bush in this picture where they're shaking hands; doesn't that give something away about their respective cultures?

However, not knowing and consequently not following some of these formalities in South Sudan can get one into a socially or professionally awkward position.  Along with many other examples that I'm sure I haven't encountered yet, another example comes with something much more ridiculous.

The organization I work with was recently registering something with the government.  Getting the relevant papers in place and signed by the relevant individuals was a hassle and even took several months.  Once everything was finally in order and in the hands of a lawyer and the government officials, our director came back with some bad news; we had some of the signatures in the documents in black pen.  Apparently, only legislators may sign in green colored pen and judges only may sign in red.  To use those colors would be considered an offense or a subversion of their authority (or something).

Of course, the color black is reserved for the president.  

So our director, who is a pastor, submitted a prayer request that morning when he made the announcement: "Let's pray that they temporarily go blind."

Lesson learned.  Only sign in blue pen. 

They call me "Baby White Person"

Jeynah is the word for "baby" or "infant," in Juba Arabic, and my new nickname around the workplace is now jeynah kawajah.

Even though I'm considered a young adult in my culture, in South Sudan I have no husband and no children; Therefore, I'm a child and warrant the nickname.

I may be 23, but both of us are still babies

Strangers often ask me where my husband is, to which I answer that I have no husband and no, I don't want one.  I attempt to spurn attempts to be set up or any encouragement that I find a South Sudanese husband by saying that I'm still young and I don't want to get married.  And saying that I have a boyfriend in the US doesn't deter anyone.  I'm not married and not currently pregnant, so that means I'm highly available.

The undeterred include a South Sudanese man that sat next to me on the plane and told me he would be my boyfriend in Africa. He also offered to be my bodyguard at the airport which was helpful with the overwhelming chaos that was the cramped Juba airport while I was running on zero energy after traveling for over two days.  He directed me around and carried my bag over the crowd and even helped argue with the customs official that wanted to squeeze some money out of me for "customs charges."  Although I was very grateful for his kindness, I was also happy to get away before he expected some sort of reciprocation...

Another desiring candidate includes a man working locally that continuously calls me (although I'll say his call also rarely gets through).

One of my South Sudanese friends in Yei says she gets annoyed at all the boys who see her moving around town with me and later ask her to make some sort of connection for them.  Apparently, the idea of marry a kawajah woman is somewhat exotic and means a free ticket into paradise in America.

I wore a nice dress into town to visit a friend last weekend and I was harassed like I've never been before.  I heard several cat calls, those hissing noises that people make to get your attention, and some bold enough to come up to me and say, "Madam, those men over there would like to speak with you."

My least favorite is when I walk past the groups of men who sit on motorcycles near busy roads.  These "boda" drivers are like the South Sudanese equivalent of taxi drivers except much more dangerous and often drunk.  I always have to ignore their comments, including a humorous and bold one from the other day. He asked to kiss me, thinking I couldn't understand him as I walked away.   Literally translated in simple Arabic, his comment was, "I want to grab your mouth and pull!"

All the cows to be used for my estimated bride price

I try to do everything right: I leave the door open if a man comes into my house, I don't lead anyone on and I get away quickly if someone appears to have certain intentions. I always wear long pants and skirts well below my knees and I cover up the girls whenever I leave my home.  Still, until I get a tattoo on my forward that says "I'm not interested" (which still many people may not be able to read due to the illiteracy rate), I don't think I can expect much to change.  After all, I'm still jeynah kawajah.


One of my co-workers told me the other day that I would get a high price for a dowry, maybe 100 cows, so that's flattering at least.

50 Shades of Culture Shock

My apologies for the long hiatus.  I took a long leave at home in the ol' US of A to attend some courses, a conference and my brother's wedding (along with two others while I was there; May-July is wedding season!).  Of course, after spending several months in Africa, I got bombarded by many of the same interested, but uninteresting questions.

There are those questions that seem to perpetuate stereotypes of Africa as a safari, such as, "Have you seen any animals?"  It's turning out to be a theme, having to convince people that my life isn't a daily reenactment of Lion King.

Picture I took while on safari in Uganda, however...

...not what I see out my window in daily life.

I had to redirect questions that assume I'm living in a hut or working at an orphanage.  One of my least favorites had to be the entirely too open-ended, "So what's it like??"  To which I would answer equally as specifically, "Oh well, you know..."

The most commonly asked question was, "Is it weird being back?"

Living in South Sudan for only six months, where I'm not living in a tukul (hut) in a tiny village and I still have regular access to internet and pirated movies and sitcoms, I wouldn't exactly say that I'm cut off.  I'm certainly not like the Peace Corps volunteer that comes home after a long, difficult sojourn and erupts into tears upon first seeing the cereal aisle in Wal-Mart in all its variation and consumerist glory.

The biggest, most profound change that I noticed upon arriving back in the States was that everyone had a much bigger phone. The pop music on the radio was new to me, but still crappy, although it's unusual that an indie artist like Gotye had such a big song.  I've missed and will miss lots of great movies and I'm upset that I only got through half of the Hunger Games on one of my three flights back to South Sudan.  Mitt Romney might be the president when I return again, but hopefully I can get in my absentee ballot in time to at least minimize that possibility.

No thank you

I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's not weird for me to be in America.  I've been there before.  I grew up there.  I know what to expect.

I did think I would have a bit of a struggle going in and out and then back into South Sudan again after spending a long two months in the US.  However, after almost a month being back in Yei, I think I'm readjusting well.  My Juba Arabic is coming back, someone has already confronted me about homosexuality in the West (it seems to be the normal introductory conversation when I first meet someone) and I take it as a good sign that I managed to get a 6-month visa from the Immigration Office in Yei (which doesn't technically issue them any more...) with only a few jokes and lots of smiling.  Just don't tell the government.

Probably the biggest thing that will affect me when I return again to the US after a longer stay in South Sudan will be that my brain and emotions will be as polarized internally as our current political atmosphere.  I'll simultaneously love and hate my culture in the US.  I already started to feel resentful about how impersonal, unfriendly and un-hospitable people are compared to the South Sudanese.  However, I love that Western tendency towards direct communication, and I'm definitely proud of the American drive for innovation and self-improvement.  That and India Pale Ales ... You may think it's random, but I really love America for its selection and availability of craft brews.

Makes me proud to be an American

Be Thankful for Pavement

Ok, there are many things I can say about my return from South Sudan and my temporary reentry back into the US for a short visit.  I could talk about how I've missed cheese, pop culture and I totally don't see the point of putting a bagged lunch in the fridge (I'm still alive after eating 2-day-old rice that stayed in my house in the African heat; I think your yogurt will survive 4 hours in an air-conditioned building). Although I'm excited about direct communication, I miss the hospitality and friendliness of Africans.  I could also talk about how I watched entirely too many pirated episodes of Sopranos on my laptop, making me totally obsessed with salami, something I can't buy in Yei.  However, let's talk about infrastructure, more specifically, roads.  The smooth ride was the first thing I noticed and appreciated from when I first landed at Dulles and left the airport by car. 

I was traveling up to Pennsylvania this past weekend and we had the gall to complain about the state of the state's roads.  Compared to Virginia, they're sub-par; compared to South Sudan (and really much of the rest of the East Africa region, especially in rural areas) they're heavenly.

Not great, but hey

South Sudan: from bumpy... to bad... to worse.

This is why the only vehicle that can survive the roads are the Land Cruisers, and even they reach their limit when they get to about 5 years of age. Forget some of these small cars we use in Europe and the US.  If your vehicle can't drive successfully through a pond, it probably won't make it in South Sudan.

POND

And I only left at the beginning of the rainy season...

The Circle of Life

Would this blog about my life in Africa be complete without a reference to The Lion King??  By the way, the first few times I heard people speaking Swahili I got really excited; A few of the words, mostly simple greetings, are heard in the Disney movie.

This past Sunday was a long one.  I attended a church service in Bari at the local cathedral.  I've gone there before for the English service, but this was my first time attending in the local language.  At every church, they always ask the visitors to stand and introduce themselves.  Even though we had already attended, we were still new to the congregation so we were forced to the center of attention by the Bishop of the Dioceses, who is on the Board of Directors for RECONCILE.  We dazzled the people with our Arabic knowledge, all of which I practically learned in my first week here. ("My name is Jillian.  I work at RECONCILE")

One of our coworkers invited us (Nancy, Shelvis and myself) to this service because his first child was getting baptized.  We didn't realize what we were getting into...

This baby was asleep

"What's your child's name?"

One of the visitors to our compound attended a mass on Saturday, where they also had baptisms.  Between the thirty he saw in that service and the SEVENTY that we saw in this service, he witnessed one hundred children get baptized in one weekend.  

Not happy. She was screaming the entire time

  

I suppose you could say it was beautiful to see all these people bringing their children to the church to be baptized, but it was mostly hilarious as none of the sleeping babies or young children were happy to be woken up and splashed with water in the name of the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit.

NOT happy!

Another one of our coworkers was acting as a godfather

With all the passing of babies, Nancy and I were also "fearing" that they might drop one...

After a lovely meal at our colleagues' home in Yei, the day ended on a low note with my first funeral that I've attended since being in South Sudan.  The fact that I've been in the country for several months and still haven't attended a funeral service is actually a testament to how much I really avoid them.  With the number of times that staff leave to attend funerals and the nights that people stay up late playing drums, singing and mourning, I know that death happens often. For the fist time, I was hearing up close some of the haunting singing that I had previously heard from across the town in the middle of the night.  

The Bush

I've been exercising as intermittently in Africa as I do in the US.  The only thing is that in Africa, I have to try a bit harder to get in a good workout.  As unusual as we look just walking to town as kawajaat, Nancy and I amp up our weirdness by embarking on the occasional morning run.  Some men run for fitness for soccer, but for women it's almost unheard of.  The women here are busy enough already cleaning their compounds, retrieving water, washing clothes, and cooking.  After lifting 40 to 50 pound jerry cans to their heads on a daily basis, the arms of some women are comparable to those of Serena Williams. Why would they want or need to exercise more when they aren't exactly living a sedentary lifestyle?

line of jerry cans waiting to be filled during the dry season

Who do you think carries these back?  I've even seen a toddler girl carrying small ones!

More recently, my body seems to reject physical fitness.  A few weeks ago, I threw my back out from doing laundry (at 23?! what is this?) and I lent out my good running shoes, leaving me with my soccer cleats.  I would ask for tennis shoes back, but I'm not exactly how to ask a girl, who doesn't otherwise have shoes to play soccer in, to return my shoes so I can be more comfortable when I exercise.  Many are playing barefoot or in sandals.  So, my lack of assertiveness (I like to think that I'm not callous), means that I'm using my cleats.  The mushkila (problem) is that these ancient shoes seem to have a vendetta against my feet and are attempting to wear holes in my ankles.  The other day, on a run, I got a beautiful, bubbly blister and couldn't run in those shoes the next day.

In the course of conversation, I brought up exercise with one of my colleagues at RECONCILE. When I told him about my mushkila with my cleats and he told me about how he can't work out either:  His leg muscles are too damaged to allow him to run without pain.

He is a South Sudanese who, like most of the men you'll meet, was conscripted, if you can call it that, into the SPLA (Sudanese Peoples Liberation Army) as a young teenager.  After a short time, he escaped and started walking.  From his stories, it sounds like traversed the continent, walking through the Congo, Uganda, Kenya and back again. He eventually made his way to Zambia and studied there.  Still, after all this time walking and living in the bush, it took a heavy toll on his legs.  He would get bumps and bruises, scrapes and cuts and never get the chance to apply any sort of medical treatment.  The result is that his skin, muscles, and ligaments never healed properly.  Forget my blister.

The difficulties of living in the bush comprise a common theme here.  Although the physical and mental trauma is doubtlessly still affecting him today, my colleagues' story is something that he survived, something in the past. Elsewhere, the traumatic events are still unfolding.  Parts of South Sudan, as I'm sure many have read in the news, aren't as peaceful as Yei and Central Equatoria, where I live.  Thousands still have to flee into the bush to escape inter-ethnic fighting in areas like Jonglei State, or more specifically, Pibor.  These things are much closer to home when you know someone who is in the area.  RECONCILE trains volunteers who act as community mobilizers and points of contacts in different areas of the country.  One of our volunteers recently had to ask for RECONCILE to replace his reference books on conflict, trauma and other materials that were used for training and teaching him.  They were all burned along with his house.   This incident occurred only a few weeks after I arrived in the country.  Just a warning, this report, which is posted on the PCUSA website, contains graphic images at the very end.

I'll think of something completely different now when I see someone whose legs are scarred.