Life > blogging

One morning you wake up and realize that it's been 55 days since your last blog post. Fifty five!  I mean, it only took Tom Hanks six days to travel to the moon and back and I can't create a new blog entry every few days?  Although, Mama Lilly, Pastor Pooshani, and Josephine have been away from Harvesters and their absence leaves a great void in the parenting/authority figure/over-seer department so I have been trying to stand in the gap while they're gone.  As I look back on the past eight weeks I also realize that I've simply been overcome by life, so I thank you for your grace and understanding during this prolonged absence, so without further ado...   


I just returned from a short trip to Terekeka which is always an adventure.  The journey is roughly 150 miles but it took us 13 hours to travel each way.  Since we were taking supplies like concrete, flour, beans, and lumber we had to use Harvesters' big lorry which cruised along between 10 and 12 miles per hour.  

Except for a few miles of pavement in Juba the roads are completely dirt and riddled with small bumps and large craters, which is main reason for the slow pace.

We crossed many narrow, rickety bridges and I think I annoyed Johnson, the driver, by holding my breath in suspense.  Thankfully, we always made it to the other side! 

A big sweeping rainbow made our early morning departure from Terekeka more tolerable.  

Despite the long and relatively uncomfortable ride we had no reason to complain, especially after we encountered this group at a Juba check-point.  As I sat in our safe, cushioned truck with circulating air I watched about 20 people try to get a spot on an oil drum in the back of an old, battered truck.  Can you imagine riding 100 miles like this?  Of course these people were probably just grateful that they didn't have to walk; while the people walking were grateful that they're not making the journey on only one leg behind a donkey prone to passing gas.  During my time in Sudan I'm constantly reminded of this very simple truth: it can always be worse.  

Remember these sweet babes?  Little Debbie is now three months old and could not be any better.  She smiles and coos and is the perfect companion for afternoon coffee and book breaks.  She also has had no problem gaining weight, just look at these cheeks!

Sadly, baby Vito lived only a few weeks before he died quietly in a hospital in Uganda with Nurse Brenda.  He was born with Rh disease and another infection that weren't detected until it was too late for him to fight through them.  Our time with Vito was too short but we're grateful that his little body is no longer suffering.  Vito's funeral was held during the week that my Dad was visiting and we went across town to join the family and neighbors for the ceremony.  It was an honor to share that time with the family, to stand with them in their grief, and rejoice that Vito is with his Father in heaven. 

It's customary in this part of Sudan to bury babies in the mud ledge that surrounds the family's tukkul.  

My Dad and Josephine with Vito's five siblings.

While we were at the funeral we learned that Vito's mother had died in childbirth and his father is away with the army, leaving five other children who were being sporadically cared for by neighbors and distant relatives.  They all looked a bit malnourished and dirty and the youngest had signs of ringworm.  After sharing the pictures with Mama Lilly she decided (after a request from family members) to bring the youngest three girls to Harvesters to live.

Umina, the oldest, Awate, and Lady, the youngest. 

Umina is fiercely protective and sweet to her sisters, she helps bathe, feed and dress them, and will stand up to anyone who is picking on them.  Awate is timid and lively and has easily made friends with the many other girls her age.  

Lady

Beautiful Lady has deep eyes that seem to be full of sorrow.  When she first came to Harvesters she cried whenever I went near her because she was afraid of kawajas - white people.  (I'm told that one of the urban legends here is that white people eat children.)  Almost two months later she actively finds me and will cling to my hand or skirt as I walk around the compound.  However, she has never said a single word to me and when I ask her questions like, "Ita quess?" - "Are you well?"  or "Ita derr noom?" - "Do you want to sleep?"  she simply nods her head yes or no.  One afternoon as I was grading papers I heard a faint knock on my door and opened it to find Lady with tears silently running down her cheeks.  She didn't tell me why she was crying and merely turned her head to look at a group of kids on the playground - that look told me enough - so I scooped her up and cuddled with her on my porch for the better part of an afternoon.  I clipped her fingernails that were far too long and gave her a Lifesaver that she held in her fingers and methodically licked and sang lullabies until she fell asleep on my lap.  

Of course it hasn't been all death and sadness around here.

  

We've been playing a lot of these games lately.  (Thank you MABC team for introducing me to the excitement that is Dutch Blitz.)  Sometimes I win, more often I don't.  I think God is using Scrabble to keep me humble, which will happen when you lose repeatedly to a Kenyan whose primary languages are Swahili and Dholuo and learned English as his third language.  

Some of the older girls have been helping me with sponsorship projects and one night we had a marathon cutting and gluing session in my room.  I am so grateful for any time I have with them since I can easily let the little kids monopolize my time and attention.  And of course  they have been a huge help in cutting out 400 silhouettes.  

Lately the kids have been begging me to take them wokking.  Um, you want me to take you to cook stir-fry?  Nope, they want to go walking in the village and I am more than happy to escort them.  

Don't tell anyone, but my favorite group is the six, seven, and eight-year-old girls.  They know enough English so they can tell me which path to take and if they're thirsty or tired,  but they're not too old or too cool to hold my hands or pick flowers for me to put behind my ear.  Along the main road we passed a big goat that was tied to a tree and they all squealed and whimpered with (mostly) feigned fear as they walked by it,  but once it was far enough behind them they requested a picture with it.

Half-way through our walk they all looked tired but not one of them complained about it and they obliged my request for a picture in front of Dongoda Primary School and far-off mountains.   

Preschool B boys: Lubang, Alisu, Funny Boy, Obadiah and Joshua.

While the girls hold hands, pick flowers and sing songs the boys like to run ahead as far as they can before I yell for them to come back.   

They are also adept at spotting spiked caterpillars and have to be convinced not to touch such menacing insects.   

Big teak leaves make the best umbrellas during brief afternoon rain showers.  

There have been lots of fruit and vegetables to harvest and one day the boys begged to help Lawrence pick green beans in the garden.  Who can say no to that?

Anyway, life is good at Harvesters and as my time in Sudan is slowly coming to an end I hope to be more diligent about sharing things with you all here.  Thanks for checking in!