Sweet, cold luxury

A couple weeks ago an afternoon wind storm blew dozens of mangoes out of the trees and instead of saving them for the kids I decided to horde them for myself so I could make a batch of mango sorbet.  

That is A LOT of mango puree, people. 

Molly stirs the simple syrup. 

    

high school girls eat at the baby table

Agnes Apai with her popcorn, cookies, and cup of ice cream.

older boys

scarce left-overs

Approximately 100 mangoes, one week, and 15 hours of cutting and mashing later we had eight containers of  sorbet, which was more than enough for all of the kids, cooks, cleaners, and house-mothers to have a big scoop of frozen fruit juice.  Last Saturday we celebrated birthdays for all the kids born in January, February, March and April - we gave them sorbet, popcorn, cookies and candy and it was the most excited I'd seen them since Christmas.  Dare I say they were like kids in a candy store to the extreme?  

Throughout the morning the older kids came to me and asked if I could tell them their birthdate from my list.  (Most of them don't know their birthdates because when you're born in a mud hut in the African bush papers like calendars and birth certificates don't exist.)  The littlest kids would run up to me and simply shout, "MELLY! ICE KEEM?!  ICE KEEM?!"  YES!  Ice keem!  In Sudan!

During the many hours I spent in the kitchen slicing mangoes I thought about how ice cream is a true luxury.  It's not necessary to sustain life and many nutritionists (and moms) would argue that the less ice cream consumed the better.  Electricity, the mechanism needed to freeze liquid in a tropical climate, is often as rare as, well, ice in the desert.  Even in places where electricity exists, like this town in Sudan, most people could never afford a freezer.  A freezer to preserve food and make ice is the equivalent of an American owning a vacation house: quite nice but unnecessary.  No one needs ice or frozen pizzas or that bag of peas covered in freezer-burn or the top of year-old wedding cake.  

But a scoop of sorbet certainly is nice during a birthday party on a hot, African afternoon.

Here's to simple luxuries and birthday celebrations for orphans.

It's not you, it's me

Full disclosure:  I’m an introvert.  If you don’t know much about introverts I highly recommend that you spend the next five-ish minutes and read this enlightening article.

You see, I love people, but also, people. wear. me. out.  Especially the children type of people who need lots of care and attention.  

When I came to Sudan I made a personal promise that during this year I would give as much of myself to the kids as possible: to lavish them with the love they need and deserve, to hold babies, help with homework, do crafts, play soccer, teach, sit and talk, bathe little ones, clip fingernails, read stories, mend clothes, and everything else.   And these activities, these mundane occasions, make up the best part of my days.  The tender moments of rocking Baby Jimmy to sleep turn into reading bedtime stories to a group of girls who sit so close that their shadows darken the pages of my book and the smell of the lotion on their skin clouds the air.  I want to do more, always, to tuck a blanket around one more child and whisper, “noom quess, ana hebu it,” good night, I love you, but at some point during each day I have to stop and find space.  

Sometimes space is a few hours of reading, drawing, or even cleaning.  Alone. Quiet.  Uninterrupted.  Other times space means taking a few days away from the internet and this little blog.  So if you don't hear from me for a bit just know that I'm lost in a the pages of a book, my room is spotless, and the kids are wearing me out with their love.  

Be back soon with some new posts and updates!

(Photo credit unknown, via weheartit)

Now is the Time

Sometimes as I’m sitting with the kids, one on each knee, one on each side, one playing with my hair, I find my mind wandering: categorizing the emails to send, the papers to grade, the clothes to wash. I’ve always been a to-doer with tasks and projects and lists and goals who finds it difficult to carpe diem, if you will.  I think, “I don’t have time to seize the day, I have too much stuff to do!”  

Here in Sudan, confined to a piece of land in the countryside, I’m learning to carpe diem.  It’s nice as a verb, no?  Specifically I’m learning to seize the now.  My new mantra is “now is the time.”  Now is the time for teaching.  Now is the time for eating.  Now is the time for cleaning.  Now is the time for sitting with the kids.  Sit, talk, tickle, hold, sing, laugh, listen.  Not later.  Now.

surrounded, November 2009

Typical Tuesday

I followed myself around yesterday, just in case anyone is curious what a normal day is like for me.

7:34 : I have this thing where I only get out of bed when the numbers of the minutes add up to the hour: 6:51, 7:07, 7:16, 7:25.  There's something about the symmetry of the clock and beginning the day when things are balanced that appeals to me. Weird? Probably.  

Make bed, shower, get dressed.  It's rainy and there's a chill in the air which calls for long pants and my favorite, old sweatshirt. 

8:01 : Tuesday is donut day, yes, DONUTS!  They are homemade and delicious.  I start with a small bowl of oatmeal and a banana so I can feel better about myself when I eat two donuts and put one in my pocket for the road.  

8:30ish :  Make a mug of poor-man's chai to take back to my room.  One cup of black tea, a heaping tablespoon of powdered milk (no dairy products here), a tablespoon of sugar, and a generous sprinkling of cinnamon. 

Some morning nourishment for my heart, mind, and soul. 

Check email, read the news, grade papers, stretch, finish lesson plans for today's classes.  This is my work station, it's comfortable and has the best morning light.  I keep the flyswatter within arm's reach at all times to attack any flies, ants, mosquitoes, or spiders that invade my room; a flyswatter is definitely on my "Things I'd Take to a Deserted Island" list.

11:30 : Walk to the office to print a newspaper article and make copies for my class then head to school; things always take at least twice as long to do as I expect.  

12:00 - 12:40 :  Teach P.5 English.  Today is library day so all the kids read a book then have to identify the characters, setting, and plot as their homework assignment. I forgot my camera but I promise that's what happened.

12:45 :  Lunch.  I decide on the vegetable stew for such a dreary day, fruit cocktail (courtesy of the container donations), and chappati, a greasy tortilla-like flat bread - I like to spread mine with peanut butter, sprinkle cinnamon on top, then roll it up.  Have a long chat with Mr. Mourice about the price of kerosene and the benefits of installing a solar panel to his house in Mombasa, Kenya where his family lives.

1:35 :  Mend a couple pairs of shorts for one of the boys that I'd been putting off for a week.  The sun comes out so I sit in the chair on my porch and do a little stitching which takes me for-e-ver.

2:15 - 3:00 :  P.6 English class.   I'm currently teaching punctuation which is more of a challenge than I ever anticipated.  Apparently the concept of quotes and quotation marks is a difficult to comprehend, so I'm using newspaper articles to show examples.

Reading an article from the Sudan Tribune newspaper.

Introducing the "5 Ws + H" rule, my journalism professors would be proud I think.

3:00 :  Wander up to the play area and find that Josephine is tracing the little kids' hands to send to their sponsors in the States.  I offer to help but she has it under control so I do the next helpful thing and wrangle all the kids away from her for playing and games.

Rutha gets her hand traced.

Clockwise from top left: Maria (eyes closed), Vicky, Esther, Sikili, and Faith with their dolls.

Rejoice Lilly and Ruben found a mango!

4:45 :  Wash clothes, sweep floor, clean spider guts off the wall from an incident the previous night that I didn't attend to.  

5:15 :  Tag along with Leah, Charity, Moses and Noella into the village.  Moses and Noella are siblings and we go to the compound where their grandfather and cousins live for weekly children's church.

Charity, Noella, Moses and Leah sing and tell Bible stories.

Charity gives each of the kids a vitamin and leaves the rest with their mom.

Noella and Moses with their eyaba (grandfather).  

6:00 : Dinner.  Rice and beans with a heavy dose of chili sauce to add some heat and tanginess, fresh pineapple and mango slices.

When I leave the dining room I find that Isaiah and Nyoko are sitting on the bench. Nyoko is just hanging out, but many nights Isaiah sits on that bench while I eat dinner and waits for me to come out to play.  Seeing him simultaneously warms and breaks my heart because I know that while I'm here today and will play with him after dinner, someday I won't be here, I'll be another person that's abandoned him.  For now I cherish these moments and his sweet, beautiful smile.

Isaiah, left, and Nyoko

6:20 :  Bath time for all the kids.  Every other day or so I hold baby Benjamin while his house-mother bathes the other boys she cares for.  We like to look for birds or bats flying around and he'll point and follow them with his finger and say, "Ba.  Ba. Ba."  Today he tried to feed me his mango but I politely refused, not that you can tell from the picture.  This is possibly my favorite time of the day.

7:00 :  I go to the dining hall to help the older kids with their homework.  Most of them are busy writing letters to their sponsors so I play editor, ask them about their day, listen to their stories, quiz them in social studies or math, and write down a few new Arabic words for my personal dictionary.

8:00 :  With a coloring book and crayons in hand I head to Isaiah's room so the boys can color pictures, even their house-mother wants in on the action.

9:00 :  Lights out in the dorms so I head back to my room.  Read some emails, grade some papers, prepare some lesson plans, shower, take malaria pill, brush and floss, read, say some prayers. 

11:15 :  Crawl under my covers, tuck in my mosquito net.  A long, full, great day as usual.  Goodnight moon.

Faith and Mercy

How beautiful are these little girls?

Faith, on the left, and Mercy are all of three feet tall and hovering just above 25 pounds (when I said little I meant it!) and are pure adorableness.  Like so many of the children at Harvesters their mother died in childbirth, along with a third baby.  Their father already had four daughters and simply couldn't afford to feed two more little mouths.

Faith is the tomboy of the pair and is constantly covered in dirt and will, on occasion, come up to me and drop a handful of dirt on my feet and then run away giggling. She's playful,  rambunctious, clever and loves to tease.  She's also been known to fall to the ground crying until someone rushes to help her, then she'll instantaneously hop up and burst into laughter for fooling someone into thinking she was injured. Where do kids learn this stuff?

Mercy is much more timid and subdued but no less energetic than Faith.  She loves to watch the older girls dance so she can learn their moves and imitate them. Mercy would sit for hours on my lap, if we had the time.  Just this morning as I was walking to school she came running to the fence that separates the staff housing from the kid's area.  She grabbed my hand and pointed toward the mango trees behind me and said, "Mary, mango!  You bring to me so I can share with Faith." Sweet girl, I will give you all the mangoes I can find so you can share with your sister.