Does this mean I'm a celebrity now?

“There’s a khawaja here that wants to play football.”

Khawaja is the word for “white person” in these parts and this is apparently what Dele, the base manager, told the captain of a local girls team in Yei.  I was surprised to find that there’s even a girls' league.  I was less surprised to find that the league consists of two and a half teams, and the girls don’t always show up to practice. 

Dele invited Harriet to RECONCILE to meet me.  Yei is a city, so I think it’s automatically not as conservative as more rural areas, where it’s probably unheard of for a girl to play soccer.  Still, I’ve got to admit, I automatically thought that this girl’s got something like gumption (to use a term from another decade). She boldly has her sights set on being a serious female athlete in a country where the priorities are such that somewhere around 90 percent of women are illiterate.  So of course I got her phone number and learned that the first practice I would be able to attend was at six on Saturday.  That’s six AM.

A few mornings later, I awoke to someone knocking on my door, confusedly seeing one of the compound guards outside my window and hearing, “It’s me, Harriet!”  I opened the door and saw her in full soccer garb (A Chelsea kit she was given, but unfortunately she’s a Man-U fan).  I hurriedly changed in the dark, since it was early enough that the electricity hadn’t cut on yet. 

Once we got to the RECONCILE gate entrance, we started to jog, since it was a kilometer and a half to the center of town and we were a bit late.  The entire time I was wondering how strange we must have looked. One hardly sees a girl in pants in town or a khawaja walking along the side of the road since most work for NGOs and use vehicles.  Indeed, every time I walk anywhere I get “Khawaja, Khawaja!” and a varied host of stares, random questions and greetings from the people near the road. Hopefully this illustrates how unusual it must have been to see the pair of us jogging on down the road in sports clothing.  Luckily, there were few vehicles or observers on the road to question our spectacle since it was barely dawn.

We ran all the way to the center of town, or Freedom Square, which is a giant, dusty square of dirt.  There were already several groups there playing soccer in this huge area and there were only two other girls ready to play.  After I introduced myself and Harriet and I warmed up, we discovered the main reason why so few girls appeared: It was Friday. I always thought that being on South Sudanese time meant being a few to several minutes late, but apparently it means not sticking strictly to the day of the week either.  Still, Harriet led us to join in a game of keep-away with some men nearby.  They were very inclusive, and I saw people join and leave the game intermittently, never interrupting the flow or causing anyone to raise objection.  Of course, the entire time, we were the only four girls playing in the entire area. 

As time went on, the town gradually woke up with us and the roads got busier.  This meant that the area where we were playing, which was near the road, got more bicycle, boda and landcruiser traffic.  At least fifteen times, we continued playing while these vehicles and pedestrians intersected our game. 

The next day (on the actual day we were supposed to practice), Nancy, one half of the American couple that just recently arrived to work at RECONCILE, opted to come to practice, since she played ball in college.  Although more girls showed up this time, we still had to invite some boys to flesh out our somewhat chaotic game of keep-away. 

Harriet and her friend Sarah were sweet enough to offer to provide an “escort” home both mornings, amidst calls from men on the side of the street asking them, “Where did you find those white ladies?!” 

Several hours later, while I was away at the market, Harriet stopped by the compound and left the message that the friendly match they said would be on Tuesday was moved to Sunday, the next day.  The coach had organized for us to play with a U-14 boys team, since there was little female competition to be had.

I showed up at the scheduled playing time for the game, 4:00 pm, to discover that no recognizable players were there.  Once again, I’m still getting used to South Sudanese time.

Some time later, once we were outfitted and organized, Harriet led the warm-up of girls, starting with jogging in two lines.  While I began to think it was an exercise to which I was accustomed, I was soon mistaken as the warm-up progressively and beautifully turned out to have a flow and movement to it that seemed more like a dance.  Even the static stretching had a rhythm to it somehow, as the leader clapped in transition.  While the team continued warming up, we were surrounded by a sizable and growing crowd of interested onlookers.  They were mostly young boys, a few of whom my less serious teammates took the initiative to flirt with.  As if to foreshadow the attention that I would receive later, I was already starting to hear some of them talk about me from this crowd.

Once the referees decided to finally quit stalling, the players walked toward the field and one of my teammates told me, “don’t have fear.”  I kind of laughed in confusion, thinking of how many soccer games I had played in with higher stakes than a friendly match. 

Then I got past the crowd surrounding our warm up and looked at the field. 

I s*** you not, there had to have been at least three hundred people prepared to watch the game.  That may have been the first time since coming to South Sudan that I wondered, “How did I get here? Is this real life?”

Only two-thirds of the girls had shoes and all of the boys were barefoot.  Despite this, the boys wore relatively nice uniforms and the game had a great deal of formality.  There were even decent sideline refs who actually made offside’s calls, which is a luxury I think a girl hardly has the pleasure to experience in the US. There was someone to rush the field when players went down injured and the assistant coach was quick to rub wounds with disinfectant (Using the same rag for everyone…) where needed and lavished attention on the players at half time.

The crowd was animated the entire game, making noise anytime someone came near a goal or made a decent pass or steal. I attempted to ignore how many counts of “khawaja” I could hear from the sideline and some of the strange comments I received.  I wasn’t nearly as impressive athletically as I had hoped to be, since I was playing on unfamiliar terrain, in an unfamiliar position (position 9.  They use numbers to describe positions on the field), and the girls were employing the infuriating tactic of kick and run.  Despite the fact that some of these boys were about three feet tall, they pummeled us, making the final score six to zero and possessing the ball probably 75 percent of the game.

The end of the game only yielded frustration for Harriet and myself, while the others maintained smiles and commenced chewing on sugar cane (…which I initially confused for bamboo, but don’t tell anyone).  Harriet lamented later about how uncommitted and flippant the girls are about playing, my respect for her continuing to grow while she exhibited dedication to play amidst others’ apathy and disinterest.

I’m not so sure that I’ve quite accurately described my entire experience for the reader, but if there were ever a moment where I felt like life was surreal, that game had to have been it. Onlookers asked some of my teammates where I came from, and I’m not sure how I would have even answered that question.  Fortunately, these girls just answered simply, "She is my sister," or "my friend."

Dust, dust, dust

After two long flights on Turkish Airlines and sitting in the Entebbe airport for several hours, I was starting to think that Eagle Air either didn’t really want our money or didn’t exist.  It took Jay finding the pilot to finally figure out how to get on this small flight to Yei!  Then again, we were there from 2 to 6am; maybe not the busiest times of the day.  After drinking a Nile Special, some Ugandan tea, and reading the New Vision (ah, nostalgia from Mayterm in Uganda!), we boarded our tiny plane, which the gentleman sitting next to me called a “boda boda” of the sky.  This was in reference to Kampala’s reckless, dangerous and small motorcycle taxis that weave through traffic… and NOT comforting.

Our plane stopped first in Arua, the largest town in northern Uganda, to drop off a few people.  It also conveniently served as a bathroom break for me.  I didn’t realize a flight could be simultaneously domestic and international, but I suppose anything is possible in Africa.  Once we landed in Yei, South Sudan (on a dirt runway, a first for me), we greeted Milcah from RECONCILE and then filed into the Immigration Office… which was really a small shed-like building that had a piece of paper taped to it that read “Immigration Office.”  The Immigration Officer was most certainly not concerned with speed, seeming to move hilariously in slow motion.

We then drove in the RECONCILE Land Cruiser over the gloriously potholed and bumpy roads to the compound I will be living on for the next two years.  All of the senior staff live on the compound, so it’s easy to walk across and knock on someone’s door if I need help.   

My apartment has a main room with a small kitchen, a bedroom and a bathroom with a shower and toilet.  I took some pictures with my computer, so I apologize for the poor quality and lack of artistry.  I forgot my hookup for my camera. They're also mirrored images.

My kitchen, including gas stove and a very nice pineapple

My bed and mosquito net

Shower head which has an electric heater

My "front yard," complete with a well

Not only did I just miss mango season (and I'll have to wait until April), but I also came to South Sudan right at the beginning of the dry season.  Almost everyone I've talked to laments about the dust and has asked me how I’m coping with the heat since I came at such an annoying part of the year.  It’s actually not too bad: just imagine how ones house in the US gets so dusty week to week, and then imagine that on overdrive x20 with red dirt.  Many things you touch smell like they’ve been sitting there for months.  The brush on the side of the road looks like it is the dust itself.  Still, the weather’s not too bad.  It’s cooler in Yei than in Juba, and I actually got chilly during the first night I slept in my new bed.

Some little things I’ve learned and experienced in my few days here:

         Tangerines here are green and look deceivingly like limes.

         I don’t know how to cook. Not really.

         Papayas, ugali, and warm, instant milk

         Many things here are built from mahogany… poorly.

         Quickly escape conversations about homosexual or gay marriage. 

         Get off the road when cars are coming or else you’ll choke on dust.

         When you ask someone how many languages an African speaks, first he/she pauses, and then slowly counts.  “Around four, I think,” has been a typical response.

        Christmas is not a peaceful time around here. All the wives want their husbands to purchase them new clothes, and it "causes quarrels," and later, more burglaries...

        “Ata kweis?”  “Ana kweis!”

Up to now, I’ve been slowly settling in and adjusting my sleep schedule. I attended church yesterday and mostly had no idea what was going on, but I met some Americans there, so at least that's a connection I'll have in the first few weeks, even though practically everyone's leaving for Christmas.

Ma salaam! 

Before and... hopefully there's an After

If you're reading this, you probably already know that I'm a pasty, white girl from a small town in Virginia who's heading to, or (depending on when you read this) already placed in, Yei, South Sudan as a BVS Volunteer with RECONCILE International.  Because I'm pale, prone to skin cancer, squint even when it's overcast, warm-natured and sweaty, I can honestly tell you that I haven't chosen to travel to Africa because of the weather.  I'm also not doing it to satisfy my parents' expectations. My mother will probably develop an ulcer, heightened blood pressure, gray hairs and maybe mild schizophrenia over her worry and stress about my choice.

So why am I going to South Sudan?  Well, I'm interested in the politics of Sub-Saharan Africa, and I'm also considering working in international development as a career.  I can't really see myself having a real day job, cultivating the American Dream with a white picket fence and 2.5 children.  Isn't it unfair that my life thus far has been so easy?  If anyone watches Modern Family and is up to date on recent episodes, know that I relate somewhat to the character Haley Dunphy when she complains that her parents "coddled" her and made her life too empty of failure and hardship.  Although this lament is obviously meant to be ironic and humorous, it also means that she has no material to go on in her college essays when they provide a prompt such as, "Write about an obstacle you've had to overcome."  Not that I'm complaining about my easy, middle-class upbringing, but my parents will probably affirm that they constantly hear the phrase, "I'm bored" coming out of my mouth whenever I'm at home.  Working in development would be my way of having an adventure, improving the system sustainably (hopefully, in theory) and also taking advantage of what I've been blessed to have.  I love traveling and getting away from home, but also, put simply and in cliché manner, I want to help people.  However, I need to qualify the connotation of the latter. 

I recently had someone shake my hand and congratulate me for wanting to go to Africa and "help them" and "teach them."  This comment, and many like it, sort of rubbed me the wrong way.  Of course, I want to help RECONCILE in its work in South Sudan, but it will be in my capacity as an "Administrative Associate" and whatever other minor skills I may have to contribute to the man-power and organization of the office.  I'm not saving the world, but I really hope to learn and collaborate with the professionals in the office and people in the community and assist them in reaching their goals.  But teach them?  What did this person mean with this comment, especially since I was not going to literally be working as a school teacher?  I'm literate and I can use a computer, but I'm not well-fed because I skillfully cultivated the food.  I can drive and get to work, but not because I engineered the vehicle or planned for the construction of the road.  Yes, I vote and participate in civil society to a degree, but I wasn't there in any of the really important milestones in the creation of our political system to be able to attribute any of its functioning to my credit.  So what exactly am I, a 22 year-old American girl whose parents still do her taxes, going to "teach them?" I wasn't sure what to think about this comment until I came across a TED talk done by Chimamanda Adichie, a Nigerian author. 

In her talk, "the danger of a single story," Adichie illustrates several different examples of a "single story," but especially that of Africans in the perception of many Americans.  The impression of Africans is often that of an "incomprehensible people, fighting... dying of poverty and AIDS, unable to speak for themselves and waiting to be saved by a kind, white foreigner." Perhaps Adichie would describe this unnerving attitude that I often encounter as "patronizing, well-meaning pity," which comes from the portrayal of a people as one thing, a single story.

The problem with the "single story" is that it creates stereotypes.  "And the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete," she says.  Yes, Africa is a continent replete with many catastrophes, but Adichie also notes, "there are other stories that aren't about catastrophe."  To not tell a balance of both kinds of stories is to "rob people of dignity."  To take this perception allows there to be "no possibility of Africans being similar to [us] in any way, no possibility of feelings more complex than pity... of a human connection."  In other words, this perception "emphasizes how we are different, not alike." 

Here's the link to the TED talk

Also, the link to RECONCILE's website.

I'm not really sure where else to go with this post, except to caution that I've never maintained a blog before.  All I plan to achieve with it is to help communicate my thoughts and actions during the time I spend in South Sudan.  I've titled it "finding other stories" because I'm attempting to find a way to communicate more than a simplified message or explanation of this region of the world, and I hope to learn and discover many of the complexities that make up the economy, developing political system and culture.  This is my "Before" post.  We'll see what happens once I finally get to where I'm going.