Follow the red dirt road: to Terekeka and back

A couple weeks ago I traveled to the Terekeka orphanage for a few days and have some pictures to share.  Lance (Dennis and Lilly's son) and his wife, Kim, run the orphanage in Terekeka and the purpose of me going was to attend a meeting in Juba with them.  The meeting never happened but it was a great trip for many reasons.  I got to see the Nile(!) and while I didn't step foot in it (one word - crocodiles) I did spend a serene morning sitting on its banks, we ate at an Indian / Chinese restaurant in Juba and eating something beside rice and beans was a great treat, and I met and loved on the 40ish kids who live at Terekeka.  Two of our P.7 girls, Nunas Mambu and Anna Gaba, came with us and it was Mambu's second trip to Terekeka and Anna's first trip out of town.  Seeing Sudan through their eyes was truly joyful and gave me a new perspective of this beautiful, war-torn country.

On Monday morning we stopped for a mid-morning snack of Rolex - fried egg and tomato wrapped inside a chappati (greasy tortilla).

tukkuls in the shadow of a rock mountain

a tailor in the Juba market

cucumbers and melons in Juba - where Lance and Kim buy their groceries every two weeks

Nunas Mambu and Anna Gaba enjoy some strawberry-pineapple ice cream.  I was excited for ice cream so I know they savored every bite. 

Women plant flowers in the road medians in Juba in preparation for South Sudan's upcoming independence day celebration on July 9.

On Wednesday we went back to Juba and took the girls on a tour of the Catholic University of Sudan.  Juba is a typical third-world city and is nothing to write home about.  Most people live in mud huts, there are few paved roads, there isn't a water system, trash litters the roads, etc. but the girls loved the hustle and bustle, the fancy professional women, and the abundant stores that sell (almost) anything imaginable.  As we toured the three-classroom Catholic University they were quietly excited to see first-hand the possibilities for their futures.

gas: 340 Sudanese Pounds (not shillings) for 68 litres (about $120 for 17.9 gallons)

a rainbow over Sudan

Women carry goods through African plains.  Where do you come from, where do you go?

huuuge puddles on the "driveway" to the Terekeka orphanage

Terekeka orphans play (and crawl through the dirt) on a lazy, hot afternoon.

cloudy sunrise over the Nile - majestic

a beautiful morning in Terekeka

typical path in Africa

people bathing and fishing in a marsh along the main road 

a man herds his cattle south toward Juba

kicking up dust on the way back to Juba

our taxi from Juba back home: 10 adults in a small family van

Mambu and Anna and I took the back seat.

stopped at a roadblock as workers searched for and disabled landmines

We spent about six hours traveling the 150 miles from Terekeka back home because the vast majority of the roads in South Sudan are made of dirt and riddled with bumps and holes.  Drivers speed along with little concern for the shocks on their cars or people walking on the side of the road and I spent much of the trip holding onto the seat in front of me and closing my eyes whenever we passed a pedestrian.  By the grace of God we made it safely back home and I'd never been more relieved to return to the little oasis that is Harvesters.

Two new jennas

One day.  Two tiny babies.  Nine pounds.  Twenty fragile fingers.  Twenty delicate toes.  Two beating hearts.  Four new lungs.

This week we are rejoicing over new life and I am in awe over perfect, intricate, four-pound bodies.

Two new babies, or jennas in Juba Arabic, were brought to Harvesters on Monday.  These little babies are unrelated but orphaned by the same tragedy.  Their mothers died after delivering them into this world and their fathers were left with new babies and heavy choices.  Keep their jenna and hope for enough money to buy baby formula and pray for a way to care for a delicate new life?  Or give up their child, their own child, for the guarantee of a future and a better life?  

This week the fragility and preciousness of life look me in the face with big, seeking eyes and tiny fingers squeeze my thumb imploring me to protect and care and nurture.  And while my heart is heavy that they will never know their mothers and their fathers will never see them take their first steps or mutter their first words I am grateful, so grateful, that Harvesters exists, that there is a place in this land that will protect and care and nurture those for whom there is no other place, not even the tukkul of their own fathers. 

We rejoice over Angeer Santino Matiopp (Deborah Colette) and Vito Adam Quinn Loputu and 

we know that there is purpose in every tragedy and in every new life.

Angeer Santino Matiopp aka Little Debbie

Birthdate: May 31, 2011

3.9 pounds

a sleepy yawn

tiny feet

Baby Sue getting a look at Little Debbie.

Vito Adam Quinn

Birthday: May 31, 2011

5 pounds

Three big sisters admiring their new baby brother. 

There is an appointed time for everything.  

And there is a time for every event under heaven - a time to give birth and a time to die.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-2

Road Trip

On Monday I'm heading north to visit the other Harvesters Orphanage in Terekeka, Sudan and on Wednesday will travel from there to Juba (South Sudan's capital) for a meeting.  It will be my first time out of town and I'm excited to meet the Terekeka orphans, see more of Sudan, and dip my toes in the Nile, which borders the Terekeka compound.  I'll be leaving my computer behind and won't be posting any blogs until I return on Thursday, but until then I leave you with this sweetness of Baby Benjamin taking some of his first steps.

Sorry it's sideways, I haven't been able to figure out how to rotate the video once it's on my computer.  (Talley means "come" and quess means "good.")

Eli and Hannah

From inside the clinic I heard a little voice, screaming, pleading  "Blenda, no!  Blenda, no!  Blenda!  Blenda!  Blenda!"  I promptly set down my afternoon coffee and rushed to the clinic where I found little Hannah sitting on the lap of one of the cooks, a security guard holding her legs and arm while Nurse Brenda held her right hand.  Her right thumb was swollen, the skin shiny and taut from being stretched from infection.  As soon as Hannah saw me peeking over the cook's shoulder her cries changed, "Melly, help!  Melly, help!  Melly!  Melly!  Melly!"  (She can't quite pronounce Rs.)  Hannah watched, her eyes wide and filled with fright, as Brenda sanitized a razor blade so she could puncture the skin and release some of the puss. Tears gushed from her eyes and her face was covered with sweat as she struggled with the cook and the guard, her words choked in her throat as she begged me to rescue her, and I felt like a complete traitor.


I wiped her face and softly told her, "Brenda is helping you.  She doesn't want to hurt you.  The pain won't last long.  It will feel better when she's finished.  She needs to do this for your good."  But how can you rationalize with a 5-year old in the midst of a painful moment?  Of course she could only think I was lying when I told her it would be better in the end.  (There's a great analogy here but it will have to wait.)  After Brenda had cleaned her thumb and given an antibiotic to fight the infection Hannah clung to me, shaking from the pain and fear and perhaps feeling betrayed that Brenda had hurt her so intentionally?  

Precious Hannah Montana, as the other kids call her, five years old and bursting with personality.  The best part is that she's a twin and little Eli is basically her male clone.

Their story is so common it can seem insignificant but the testimony of their lives, of any life, is worthy.  Two babies came into the world and the mother who had carried and birthed them left it.  A poor father unable to feed his own children brought them to an orphanage, wanting to give them a life he could not provide, hoping they would live, where they have thrived. 

I love this picture because they're clasping their hands the same way without any prompting.

Nature vs. nurture is a mental game I play often with myself and I know that these two are advocates for the dominance of nature.  They have been raised in the same environment but they have different house-mothers, local women who live full-time at Harvesters and care for their daily needs, and both of their house-mothers are good, kind, caring women.  The only time I see them together is during meals where they sit side-by-side at the preschool table, but Eli and Hannah are so much alike.  So much that I know I could identify their father in a crowd.  Strong-willed, independent, full of joy, curious, a bit stubborn, with quick smiles and bubbling with giggles at anything funny.  

I once found Hannah with a long jump rope and she'd tied one end to the fence and was swinging the other end and trying to jump over it.  I watched as she grew frustrated by not being able to swing the rope high enough over her head and finally asked if she wanted my help.  "No Melly, I will do it, you watch," she instructed me.  Yes, ma'am.

   

Almost every night, without fail, Eli sprints from the bath house to his room carrying his dirty clothes.  When he finally gets to his room he throws his clothes in the air hoping they'll land on the roof.  They never fly high enough and when they fall back to the ground he runs to catch them.  He tosses them up again, and they float back down.   Over and over, every night, the clothes never reach the roof but he keeps trying.  He giggles, running in circles, chasing his clothes in this strange, childish little ritual. 

Tonight, as I think about these two my mind lingers on the quote, "One death is a tragedy, a million deaths is a statistic."  The same could be said of orphans: one orphan is a tragedy, a million orphans is a statistic.  The number of orphans in the world is staggering: millions of children have lost both parents and tens of millions have lost at least one parent.  

But the millions of orphans on this earth are not statistics; they are not faceless, nameless, homogenous children living on distant planets.  They are Hannah and Eli, with matching button noses and playful eyes, abandoned by their parents because of death and poverty and necessity.  They talk in class and dance in church and insist on swinging jump ropes themselves.  And they hurt their fingers and cry real tears, tears that moisten their clothes and stain their cheeks.  Some of them have been blessed to live at a place like Harvesters, but many of them are alone, fending for themselves on the streets of Brazil or India or Thailand.  

On nights like this, when my heart mourns for those orphans who weep unnoticed tears, I am reminded of the words of Psalm 56:8:

You keep track of all my sorrows.

You have collected all my tears in your bottle.

You have recorded each one in your book.

The Good, Bad, and Gross

Today is cool and dreary as rain lingers overhead.  We need it here and I'm grateful for the water to quench dry crops and fill rivers and wells anew.  I'm also grateful for a quiet afternoon inside to catch-up on loooong overdue emails and blog posts. (Sincere apologies.)


The Bad.
Things have seemed especially busy lately and I'm currently fighting a sore throat, stuffy nose and cough.  Several of the teachers have been in Uganda for the past few weeks for training so I've been teaching Science to the P.6 class which has been challenge.  I'll be glad when the teachers return because I remember very little about the classification of flowering and non-flowering plants and I think the students are tired of hearing the response of "I don't know, I'll find out for you."


The Good. 
Since the rainy season has arrived Lawrence, the agriculture engineer (gardener), has been busy planting, watering, and maintaining all the gardens at Harvesters.  Around the compound grow sweet potatoes, maize, pineapple, coffee, tomatoes, cucumbers, carrots, onions, cabbages, green peppers, bananas, and more.  There's also a chicken house that's almost complete and 100 chicks are waiting to move in.

chicken house in the midst of freshly plowed fields

Lawrence and some boys plant cabbages by hand. 

rows of cabbages

dirty work

sprouting onions

Emmanuel Wani cuts sugar cane, which the kids eat for dessert. 

wheelbarrows full of fresh sugar cane

Bosco would rather read; I don't blame him. 

Pastor Dennis' sister and brother-in-law have been here for several weeks helping out in numerous ways.  In the evenings they've been teaching the secondary school (high school) kids how to play the guitar and keyboard.  The kids love music in a serious way and they are so joyful as they learn to play new instruments and read notes and create music. 

Denise teaches Mary Poni a chord while Charity observes. 

Eva Monday watches Victoria Nyokani practice a song. 

Doug shows Emmanuel Mungar some piano chords. 

During recess the little kids have races, their little bare feet and dirty legs fly across the dirt.

Run to the goal posts...

then come back!

One day I caught this little one entertaining herself by running around with a Nomi (laundry soap) bucket on her head. She is by far one of the cutest, funniest, most curious little people I know.

Rejoice Lilly

These sweet girls found a grasshopper after bath time.

Front (left to right): Lucia, Esther (Milton's younger sister), Lillias, Faith   

Back (left to right): Bendita, Hannah

Speaking of bugs...

The Gross.  [WARNING: the next story and accompanying pictures are graphic and not for the faint of heart.  You have been warned. ]

A couple months ago a long, leggy, creepy, rust-colored insect crawled under my door right before I shut off the lights for the night.  I thought it was a scorpion and I mentioned it to Dennis and he said, "oh, in the 10 years I've been here I've never seen a scorpion.  Are you sure it was a scorpion?  Did its tail curl at the end?" Well, I wasn't sure because, you know, I stayed as far away from that sucker as I could.  About a week later two of those creepy scorpion-impersonators invaded my room in THE SAME NIGHT.  The first one I sprayed to death with bug spray so it wouldn't be dismembered so I could get a closer look, the second one I viciously attacked with a shoe.  I realized there was no curled tail so they must be spiders. Well.  One night last week I caught one creeping up my wall beside the door.  It looked different than the other three because it had a big, dark abdomen and I figured this was an indication that it was full of babies so I knew I had to kill it asap before it scurried off into some corner and then laid its eggs.  (I just threw up in my mouth a little bit from typing that sentence.)  Anyway, I took a badminton racket and whacked this creature with the edge of the racket, right on its bulbous abdomen. The abdomen burst and out came a big glob of dark liquid.  Or so I thought until the glob MOVED and I saw that it was a tiny frog.  Hop, hop, hop it went leaving a slimy trail of black goo. It was ALIVE!  I can't make this stuff up, people.  So this scorpion/spider creature had somehow eaten a live frog and was carrying it in its belly.  Or, more probably, it had eaten a frog egg and the frog had been able to live and grow from the nutrients of the scorpion creature.  I have the shudders just thinking about it.  There's a lock on my door to keep out bad guys, but that lock isn't effective at preventing these little agents of horror from creeping under my door. What's a girl to do?

What's about 3 inches long, has 10 legs and carries a live frog in its belly?  The creature that haunts my dreams, that's what. 

It's blurry, but it's clearly a frog.  

The aftermath: goo and guts on my floor.  Now, where did I put my mop?

Life here is nothing if not exciting and I wouldn't want it any other way.

a Thank You note

my brother, mom, and me

Dear Mom,

Today is May 8, 2011 and I, your firstborn, will be 28.5 years old in 13 days.  This little fact is rather unremarkable for most but quite important to me.  

This morning I walked to the dining hall where the kids attend children's church and I found them coloring intently.  When I looked at their worksheets I saw a picture of a bouquet of flowers and some text under the picture that said "Happy Mother's Day!"  The sight of this made my heart drop, for none of these kids have a mother to present their colorful works of art.  When I asked some of the kids to whom they would give their pictures some replied, "Mama Rejoice" (the old house-mother in charge of eight little girls), others replied, "Charity the cook," some said, "Grandma Sue" (who is visiting from America.)  But no real, true, biological mothers and certainly no mama who would scoop them up after children's church and act overjoyed at receiving a rather ordinary coloring sheet.

In a world where women die from childbirth far too often I don't take for granted a single day that I have had you as a mother, and I especially don't take for granted the gift of having an exceptional mother.  So on this day, the 28th Mother's Day that I've celebrated in your honor, I thank you for the innumerable ways you've loved me.

Thank you for...
- Giving me a brother, and never playing favorites 
- Every hot breakfast, packed lunch, and delicious home cooked dinner you prepared every day during my first 18 years of life
- Inspiring in me a love of reading and indulging me with books
- Summers filled with museum outings, homemade crafts, afternoons at the pool, horse camp, and bike rides instead of t.v. and video games
- Every night you spent helping me with school projects and homework, especially math
- Enforcing nightly family dinners, some of my best development surely happened around the dinner table
- Giving me the idea that I could do anything I wanted if I only worked hard enough
- Teaching the value of hard work and being a model of diligence and perseverance every day
- Encouraging all of my interests, from soccer to art to piano and everything in between, and giving me the gift of lessons and solid teaching
- Constant affection, nurture, and care
- Being a woman of honor and living with integrity, honesty, and unwavering moral character
- Actively giving to, and working with, charities; for loving the least of these
- Teaching me the importance of writing thank you notes
- Your unconditional love, your immense generosity, your continual support, encouragement and advice
- Your stubborn love and prayers that lead me to faith in Jesus and showed me a love like no other

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.  I love you and am more grateful for you than words could ever express.

My son, observe the commandment of your father
And do not forsake the teaching of your mother; 

    Bind them continually on your heart;

         Tie them around your neck. 

    When you walk about, they will guide you;

         When you sleep, they will watch over you;

         And when you awake, they will talk to you

Proverbs 6:20-22