The Burning Bush

What began as a normal, hot Friday turned into an erratic weekend.  Fires that were started to burn trash or clear land quickly blazed out of control as strong winds carried sparks through the dry bush.  At one point on Friday night there were fires at all four corners of the Harvesters property and while all our land remained protected many of our neighbors lost their homes and crops. 

blazes as tall as a man

huge mango trees lit by the fires and crescent moon

Sweet Molly, one of our cooks, and her beautiful children lost their tukul when the grass roof caught fire.  Fortunately Mama Lilly, Pastor Pooshani and our teenagers ran to her house and saved everything inside before it all burned to ashes.  She's now staying with us until she's able to build a new home.

Molly, Irene and Saviour

Question:  Where is comfort when a raging fire consumes your small mud and grass hut?  

Answer:  In neighbors who provide a new home and in a God who is there in the midst of loss; a God who knows the names of his people, who sees their afflictions, who hears their cries, and who says, "certainly I will be with you."  

"Now Moses was pasturing the flock of Jethro his father-in-law.  The angel of the Lord appeared to him in a blazing fire from the midst of a bush; and Moses looked, and behold, the bush was burning with fire, yet the bush was not consumed.  When the Lord saw that Moses turned aside to look, God called to him from the midst of the bush and said, "Moses, Moses!"  The Lord said, "I have seen the affliction of My people who are in Egypt, and have given heed to their cry because of their taskmasters, for I am aware of their sufferings."  And He said, "Certainly I will be with you."  excerpts from Exodus 3

In other news, I'm taking a short, much-needed vacation before school reopens on March 1st but will scrounge up a few posts while I'm in Dubai!    

A Bit Fine: Part 3 (The Finale)

On Monday morning, the beginning of the fourth day in the hospital, Milton woke and not a drop of fluid or blood had leaked from his ears onto his pillowcase.  Dr. Joel said this was a positive indication that the wounds in his face were healing properly and if there was no leaking during the next 24 hours then Milton could be discharged on Tuesday. Milton looked at me with bright eyes and said, "God is hearing me and healing me."  Then he went back to sleep.

While Milton rested I spent Monday washing clothes and paying all the outstanding hospital bills so we would be ready to leave Tuesday if given permission.  My primary concern was obviously Milton's health and I had no desire to leave earlier than advised, but I have to admit that nearly four days of being confined to a hospital and subjected to bad Ugandan television shows was close to my limit.

At 6:00 on Tuesday morning the hospital came to life and I listened as the nurses walked the hallway with their squeaky shoes, dragging heart-rate monitors to their patients’ rooms. Such ordinary sounds but a reminder of an enormous blessing.  Last year a boy who lived down the road from the orphanage fell from a tree, his family is exceptionally poor and couldn't afford any doctors visits or medicine.  He died from a broken back after suffering for more than a month.  

Milton was enjoying his breakfast of bread, banana, hard boiled eggs and hot tea when Dr. Joel came for his daily visit.  After carefully examining Milton's head and bed linens he declared that he was healing remarkably well and could be discharged that afternoon.  Queue the hallelujah chorus, that was music to our ears!

Of course, we couldn't leave without incident.  International Hospital Kampala is private and every morning I got an invoice of the previous day's charges.  On two separate days there were charges for major services that Milton didn't receive: a CT scan that was done at the other hospital, which we'd paid, and a charge for an ultrasound, which never happened.  On Tuesday I got the invoice and the fee for each of Dr. Joel's five visits had doubled from 50,000 Uganda shillings (about $22) to 100,000 Uganda shillings.  I had already paid for four visits at the rate of 50,000 UGS but was now being charged 100,000 UGS for those same visits.  I was l-i-v-i-d.  I'd been warned that most people would see a white American and assume that I was very rich, and in fact the first day in the hospital one of the girls delivering meals asked me if I would sponsor her university fees.  Little did they know that rich is not a word that applies to me, so I quickly walked to the billing administrator and, rather calmly, told them there was NO WAY I was paying for charges that had already been settled.  She didn't understand my reasoning and I explained, "It's like if I went to the cafe yesterday and paid 2,000 shillings for a Coke and now you're telling me that today the price has increased to 3,000 shillings so I owe you 1,000 shillings.  I've read the Patient's Rights pamphlet and I know that if the price of something increases we are to be told in advance by the doctor.  This did not happen and if you do not retract these charges I will go to the manager of the hospital."  All it took was a quick call to Dr. Joel and the charges were fixed.  It made me wonder how often the hospital included erroneous charges on patient invoices without the patients challenging them.  Point for justice. 

This incident didn't help with my anxiety to leave the hospital and at 3:00pm we were in a taxi on the way to a hospice where we'd stay until Thursday, the first day we could get a flight out of Entebbe.  But not so fast.  I soon heard from Leah, the accountant and office manager at Harvesters, that the charter airline wasn't having flights on Thursday so we wouldn't be able to leave Entebbe until Saturday.  That meant three days at Hospice Africa Uganda, so Milton and I walked up the street to a little grocery store.  I was halfway down an aisle with bread, bottled water, and eggs in my basket when I turned around and saw Milton standing in the doorway with a look of amazement on his face.  He was slowly scanning the store and I realized this was probably his first time in a store like this, with food covering almost every inch of space.  So we slowly walked up and down the aisles and he picked out Frosted Flakes (who can resist Tony the Tiger?), green apples and vanilla ice cream.  That night for dinner we found a quaint cafe where Milton ordered chicken and chips and I had my first salad in almost two months.  

chicken and chips and a Chef's salad on the balcony of a local cafe

On Wednesday, after Milton had slept for 13 uninterrupted hours, we walked across the street to the American club and bought a short term pass.  It was cloudy and cool and we walked around the grounds and I watched as Milton absorbed all the amenities, a foosball and ping-pong table, playground, tennis courts, and swimming pool.  I asked if he wanted to go swimming and he vigorously shook his head "no."  As a former swimmer I was quite stunned that he didn't want to immediately dive off the edge and do a 1500 meter warm up like I did.  Then I remembered where this kid came from, so I said, "Milton, I know all this water may seem scary, but I will be in with you and I'm a good swimmer and will not let go of you."  Either my powers of persuasion are improving or he just needed a bit of encouraging, but Milton finally agreed.  He gingerly climbed down the ladder into the shallow end and for almost half an hour he hung onto the ledge and kicked, he let me help him float, and he swam underwater for about four feet before he'd had enough and wanted to get out.  A week before he'd been climbing trees in Sudan, now he was not only well enough to swim, but brave enough to do something completely foreign to his sensibilities. 

swinging at the American club

The next few days were incredibly relaxing and I was grateful for the imposed stay in Kampala.  We cooked breakfast together at the hospice, I introduced Milton to Tetris and Pac-Man on the computers in the lab, and he became quite the pro at foosball.   On Friday we ate lunch at the the American club and in a moment of pure weakness I ordered two servings of nachos for myself.  Don't judge me, I was having cheese withdrawal.  

After lunch I reminded Milton that it was our last day in Kampala and asked what he wanted to do.  He simply pointed to the pool. "Do you want to swim?" I asked.  "No, I want to sit and watch."  The first night at the hospice I'd picked up a 400-page book called "The Psalm Killer"  and was determined to finish it before we left Entebbe, so I was more than happy to oblige Milton's request to sit by the pool and watch.  

pool and tennis courts at the American club

It was a perfectly beautiful day and the pool was crowded with Americans and Brits chatting, sunning and swimming.  Milton watched everyone intently with a big smile on his face, perfectly content to be the silent observer.  We'd been sitting for over an hour when a big, bald Englishman came with three little blond kids in tow.  The dad immediately did a cannonball into the deep end, splashing water over the sides of the pool and filling his kids with giggles.  The oldest girl put on her goggles and positioned herself for a dive before saying, "daddy, daddy, look at me!"  When she came up for air she got a high-five from her dad before he boisterously threw his small son into the air.  Milton's smile grew bigger and at one point he turned to me and laughed when the dad raced his daughter and lost.  

Behind my sunglasses tears streamed down my face as similar memories of my dad flooded my mind.  Countless times my dad had thrown me into the air and I'd let out a shriek before he caught me with his strong, faithful arms, he'd race my brother and me and some how we always won, he'd swim around the pool with me on his back until the last whistle blew.  My mind was full of mundane experiences of joy and love and playfulness with my father.  These were experiences that Milton would never have and for the first time in a week I silently wept for Milton, Milton the orphan who smiled as he watched a foreign man play silly games with his children in a pool.  Yes, the physical wounds from Milton's fall were healing but will he ever fully heal from the wounds from the loss, abandonment, and heartache that he's experienced in his short 10 years?

It's been almost three weeks since Milton and I returned to Sudan and he is notably better.  Some residual effects are apparent, there's some swelling in his face and he walks with a slight gimp, but he's back to cracking jokes and playing with his friends.  

Milton standing in front of Lake Victoria on the way to Entebbe Airport. 

 My hope and prayer for Milton is that he will be forever changed by this experience; forever grateful for God's healing, forever grateful for God's provisions, forever reminded of God's faithfulness, forever reminded of God's love.

Thank you for your prayers and support of Milton, I can not adequately express how grateful I am to you. 

I leave you with a song that I played repeatedly while in the hospital, a song of comfort and truth.  

JJ Heller, "Back Home"

An Interruption

Most days I wear pants, pants with many pockets, and one of my favorite times of the day is when I return to my room after the kids' bedtime and empty my pockets.  Throughout the day I inevitably come across kids who have  trinkets  trash that they shouldn't have, primarily because they'll put practically anything in their mouths.  

One day's collection, observe:

Clockwise from top left:

1. empty, dirty toothpaste tube (found in mouth)

2. empty, dirty medicine bottle (found in mouth)

3. toy building block (found in mouth)

4. pink and white erasers (found in mouth)

5. pencil (found in mouth)

6. uncooked beans (found in mouth)

7. razor (found in mouth!)

8. rusty, broken spring (found in mouth)

9. nail clippers (found in mouth)

10. baby mangos, which are full of acid and ruin teeth and cause stomach aches (found in mouth)

Is this normal?  Do most kids do this?

P.S.  "A Bit Fine: Part 3" coming soon.

A Bit Fine: Part 2

There's nothing like a new day to bring a fresh perspective and I awoke on Thursday morning with a more hopeful heart and a gentle reminder that God's compassions never fail, they are new every morning; great is His faithfulness. 

Mama Lilly knocked on my door and shared that Milton had survived the night and some of the swelling in his face had subsided.  God's compassions are new every morning.  However, because of the severity of his accident the nurses recommended that he travel to Uganda to see a doctor.  I'd offered to travel with Milton and there was an extra seat on the charter flight so I quickly showered and packed a bag for the unanticipated trip.  As I walked to the front gate to meet the car I heard a commotion and found all of the Harvesters kids gathered around Milton.  He was able to walk, slowly and with lots of help, and his face was still incredibly swollen but he could mumble a soft “hello” to his friends and held the hands of his older brother, Alex, who wept over Milton’s healing. 

Milton, Josephine and I soon left for our 11:30am flight only to arrive at the airstrip to find that our plane was delayed.  Milton was hungry so we bought crackers (the only option) then broke them into small pieces then soaked them in the cap of a water bottle so they would be soft enough for Milton to chew, and then he promptly fell asleep because of the pain.  Our plane was continually delayed by “just 30 minutes, not long.  Only 25 minutes, very soon,” and during the four. long. hours. that we waited I became increasingly impatient and frustrated at the situation. 

eating a few soggy crackers in the car

 I thought of life in the parallel universe of America and how things would have been different for Milton if he’d fallen from an American elm instead of a mango tree in South Sudan.  Two seconds through the air.  Three minutes to call 911 and request an ambulance.  Less than 20 minutes for an ambulance to arrive with a team of trained paramedics on board to check vitals and put on a neck brace.  An ambulance with sterile equipment, IVs, medicine, shock paddles.  Delivery to an emergency room with clean beds and caring nurses and skilled doctors and specialists - people with a sense of urgency who wear latex gloves.  Modern, advanced X-ray and CT scan machines and adequate medicine.  Instead we were in a town with not one doctor and a single x-ray machine, having to charter a flight to take us to the neighboring country for treatment.

Johnson (who drove us to the airport), Josephine, and Milton wait for the plane.

 As the plane finally arrived at 2:30pm Milton watched with curiosity and astonishment.  I knew this would be his first flight and wondered if he’d ever been so close to a plane before?  Gingerly he stepped onto the ladder and slid into a window seat.  I watched as he figured out how to buckle the seatbelt and as his eyes widened as the plane sped down the dirt runway and lifted into the air. As we passed the tree tops and the landscape widened below I wondered if Milton had ever expected to see such a view when he had climbed to the top of a tree to explore and get a glimpse of the land beyond the orphanage.

sleeping on the plane

At 5:00pm we landed at the airport in Entebbe, Uganda and went through customs then got in a taxi to take us to the hospital in Kampala.  It was rush hour and the hour-long ride was one of the most frightening I’ve taken in… um… ever,  but we made it safely to the hospital by 6:45, more than 24 hours after Milton had fallen out of the tree.

 

narrow Kampala roads (and power lines!  haven't seen those in awhile.)

 Two nurses brought out a wheelchair and took him to a trauma room and relief washed over me.  Fiiiinaaaallyyyyyyyy.  Great is His faithfulness.  Within 30 minutes a doctor was in the room listening to Milton’s heartbeat and gently probing his face and chest.  We told her about the fall and she asked in a skeptical tone, “he fell 30 feet?  Are you sure?  That’s 10 meters.  And he can walk and talk and he hasn’t lost consciousness?”  This would not be the last time a doctor asked these questions.  After examining the head x-rays we’d brought she said that he would need additional x-rays of his chest and knees and a CT scan of his head, however, the CT scan at the hospital was out of service so he’d have to be taken by ambulance to another hospital.  Of course it was.  

Josephine accompanied Milton to the other hospital and I hoarded an area of the waiting room with all our bags.  It was after 9:00 when the ambulance returned and we checked into a private room with a full bathroom, two beds, small sofa and flat-screen t.v.  Since none of us had eaten a substantial meal since breakfast Josephine ventured out to find a local café.  An hour later we sat on Milton’s bed and ate chicken and chips (french fries) out of “take-away” bags and drank tea, too tired to generate conversation, before finally going to bed. 

Friday morning began at 6:00am when the day nurse came to give Milton his dosage of painkillers and antibiotics to prevent infection.  The CT scans and new x-rays were also delivered and Dr. Joel, the neurosurgeon, came to read the results.  Amazingly Milton suffered only minor injuries: a small fracture in the frontal bone of his skull between his eyebrows and a small fracture at the base of his skull.  No broken ribs, no punctured organs, no shattered knee caps, no broken teeth, no splintered jaw, and no brain damage.  None.  Dr. Joel asked me, for the second time, if I was certain that Milton fell 30 feet, and then looked again at the CT scans.  “A fall that severe would surely create more damage, this is a very lucky boy if what you tell me is true,” he said.  Indeed.  He told us that Milton's fractures would heal completely with time and that we would need to stay in the hospital to monitor his swelling and the brain fluid and blood that was still leaking from his ears. 

Josephine left the hospital to run errands in Kampala and I stayed with Milton as he slept through the morning.  When he woke at lunch time I realized he hadn’t showered in nearly two days and gave him a tour of the bathroom.  He was clearly in pain but was enthralled with everything.  He spent more than a minute turning on and off the lights, seemingly amazed that when he pushed the button on the left the light over the sink would turn on, immediately.  When he pushed the button on the right the shower was instantly illuminated, push again and it was dark.  On and off, light to dark to light to dark, in a split second.  A smile crept to his face.  He watched as the toilet flushed, the paper disappearing down a hole and clean water filling the bowl.  A whole new world in the bathroom of a hospital.

 

watching 80s music videos, a kid after my own heart

Dr. Joel returned that night and encouragingly told us that Milton’s condition had not worsened, which was a positive sign, so Josephine decided to leave the next morning to return to Sudan.

The next four days in the hospital with Milton were blessedly uneventful and were punctuated by meals and afternoon walks.  Since Milton felt a lot of pain in his face and legs, despite the painkillers, he was mostly immobile and spent the majority of the time sleeping or watching t.v.  I offered to change the channel when news programs began, but he would get out of bed and flip through the slim selection of channels, mostly so he could push the buttons I think.  I learned that he most liked watching soccer games, if the picture wasn’t fuzzy, and then chose any channel with music.  Nurses came every eight hours to give him medication and I think he became a favorite for his gentle nature; the nurse would wake him at 6:00am or from his afternoon nap and he never complained or cried, even though the liquid antibiotic was painful when administered.  Every afternoon we walked down to the café and I’d let Milton choose a Coke or Fanta to drink and he’d slowly sip it through a straw and people-watch, fascinated by people buying food, kids playing on the grass, or cleaners mopping the floors.  Sometimes he’d say, “yes Mary, may I please walk to the bottom?” which meant that he wanted to walk to the café by himself so I’d stand at the top of the outdoor ramp and watch him shuffle down like an old man on his hurting knees.  A few times we practiced addition and subtraction using Uganda Shillings and I bought him a soccer magazine, which he thumbed through several times a day.  After dinner at 7:00 he’d shower and then I’d read him a few chapters of The Horse and His Boy, part of the Chronicles of Narnia, then said some prayers before he fell asleep at 8:00. 

reading his magazine at the cafe

Every day Milton healed a bit more, the swelling in his face decreased as did the fluid leaking from his ears, and he walked more upright as the pain in his knees lessened. Whenever the doctors or nurses came in to check him they'd ask, "Milton, how are you?" and he'd always answer, "a bit fine."  I realized this was quite an accurate description: he was fine, but only a bit.  

receiving his afternoon medication while keep his eyes on the t.v.

He became less shy towards me and when I joked that he was going to get fat from all the good hospital food (and it actually was good) he snorted a laugh and puffed out his belly.  Milton’s in my English class and I knew him as one of the more curious students, with a big smile and a playful demeanor, after class he’d come up and flip through Narnia to look at the pictures and would occasionally carry my books to my next class for me.  The time with him in the hospital was actually enjoyable, aside from my constant worry about his condition and the heavy responsibility I felt for him.  I began to know him beyond being merely one of my English students and I learned that he is introspective and quiet, decisive about food and t.v. choices, and quick to learn.

      

an icepack for his swollen eye and the hint of a smile

On Sunday there was only a drop of fluid on Milton’s pillowcase and Dr. Joel said that if there was no fluid from his ears on Monday morning he could be released on Tuesday.  After Joel left the room Milton, the astute listener, said, “yes Mary, let us pray,” and succinctly prayed, “Dear God, please heal my wounds so we can leave this place.”  Apparently he wasn’t the only one who was experiencing a bit of cabin fever, despite the flat screen t.v. and afternoon Fanta.   

A Bit Fine: Part 1

It's been awhile, hasn't it?

The last three weeks have been difficult, exhausting, stretching, heavy, joyful, enlightening and worrisome.

At 4:30 in the afternoon on Wednesday, January 12, the fourth day of referendum voting, I was balancing on a seesaw with six pre-schoolers when a horde of kids went running from the soccer field to the clinic.  Milton Juma, a 10-year-old boy, had fallen 30 feet from a mango tree when a branch broke underneath him and he landed squarely on his face and chest.  Immediately his face began to swell and sweat covered his body as blood flowed from his ears, nose and mouth.  He was carried to the Harvesters Clinic by one of the teenage boys but we all knew that he would need a doctor, and fast.  My heart sank as I saw the faces of the boys who were playing with him, the boys who told him not to climb so high but to no avail, and I felt hopeless as Milton's brother and two sisters shed tears from shock, fear and pain for their brother.  All I could think was, "it's the dry season, the ground hasn't felt rain in weeks and the dirt is the equivalent of concrete.  Concrete.  How could a small body sustain the impact of a belly-flop onto concrete?"  

Milton - December 2010

The mango tree from which he fell.  The place where the branch broke is circled in red and Nicholas, who is about 5'5", is standing where Milton landed.  

Nurse Brenda and Mr. Morris (the orphanage administrator) quickly put Milton into the back of a Land Cruiser and left for the nearest doctor while the rest of the adults gathered on Pastor Pooshani's porch to pray and discuss options.  We quickly learned that all the doctors here had left because of the referendum.  All of them.  No doctors in town, no doctors in the bush, no doctors for miles.  My worry and fear for Milton quickly turned to hopelessness and desperation.  Concrete.  Earth like concrete on which he'd fallen.  Face first.  No doctors, not one.  Dear God, work a miracle.  

After driving around town for what seemed like hours Milton was finally checked in at the NPA (Norwegian People's Aid) clinic. There were no doctors there and the clinical officer was drunk, but there was an x-ray machine and we learned that maybe the x-ray technician would come in the next morning.  Maybe.  The updates, via Brenda, became worse and feelings of despair crept in like a rising tide.  Dear God, these circumstances feel so hopeless and I put all my trust in You, for there is no one else, only You.  

Milton remained conscious (amazingly) and complained of back pain while the swelling and bleeding continued.  Daylight was fading and the options for treatment became less attainable and more urgent as the words "he's lost a lot of blood... he should be taken to Uganda... if he makes it through the night..." were uttered.  He could be driven to Uganda, but by the time he got to the border it would be dark and the border would be closed so he would have to wait in the car until the next morning when the border reopened, and then drive a full day to the hospital in Kampala.  He could be flown to Uganda, but there are no commercial planes that fly in or out of here after 4:00pm because there are no lights on the runway and no air traffic controllers to guide them.  My feet stuck in the sand and the rising tide creeping up and up and up, slowly and unrelenting.  Dear God, sustain Milton through the night, heal his wounds, lessen his pain, comfort him, give him Your strength, fill him with Your peace, let him not feel the same hopelessness that is drowning me...

Mark It 1.11.11

Yesterday I tagged along with the older girls to go vote.  Watching them drop their ballots in the box felt momentous and I was filled with hope and joy for them and the rest of the people of South Sudan.  It was difficult to gauge if the girls shared the same sentiments, but I'm sure some day they'll have a greater awareness of how significant this day was in their lives.   After we got back to the orphanage I asked the girls who are also in my English class to write a journal entry about their morning; here are some of their words.

"Today I went to the referendum. It was sunny and it was very cold in the morning.  The referendum place was peaceful.  The people will tell you the two hands [on the ballot] is unity and one hand is separation.  And I chose the one with one hand."  - Anna Gaba

"Today it was a very nice day.  We went with Sister Mary to vote during the referendum. We walked three miles to the polling place.  There were policemen and one police woman.  The police told us to go to a line to a house where I can vote.  I was given a ballot and we were told to put our finger into the ink and put it onto the ballot.  I was told to take the paper and go to the booth so I went and I put my finger into the ink.  So I put, and I voted for separation."  - Nunas Mambu

"Today is a vote day for the people.  I am hoping that this referendum will be good and peace  [sic].  I am also hoping for good news to come after the vote.  I am praying that Sudan will become a independent country.  May the peace of the Lord be with us in Sudan." - Grace Tabu

Despite being warned that the government officials can be really sensitive about photographers at the polls I took my camera and fortunately the man in charge gave me permission to take pictures of the girls voting.  I also asked El Jefe if I could have a few ballots as souvenirs.  "I'll rip them in half so they won't be eligible!  I don't want to vote, I just want to put it on my wall as decoration!" I promised, but he could not be swayed:  "That's very unpossible," he said.  Sorry Sarah Drake, I tried.  (Also, "very unpossible" is my new favorite phrase.)

Scraps of a poster reminding people to bring their registration cards to the polls.

Sneak attack picture of the polling center. 

Charity, Leah, Nunas, Victoria, Anna, and Sylvia listen to instructions about marking their ballots.  

Hellen holds a ballot and her registration card.

Victoria and Nunas mark their ballots in secret.

Winny drops her ballot.  No turning back!

With Sylvia, Eva, Nunas and Hellen. 

My journal entry for 1.11.11

This morning I woke up at 6:00am shivering because of 50 degree temperatures - so much for summer along the equator.  I slipped on a pair of pants and a sweatshirt before I remembered some disturbing and annoying rumors.  Allegedly there have been a few recent cases of women being fined for wearing pants while in the market, and not wanting to risk a fine (or worse) I changed out of my pants into a long skirt - thank you, remnants of Sharia law.  

After breakfast I left with the girls for the polling station, which was three miles away from Harvesters.  They were in no hurry and I realized that they were just as excited to get away from the orphanage as they were to cast their votes in an historic referendum. They chatted and joked in Arabic while I took pictures and focused on not tripping over the trash or goat poop that cluttered the ditches along the road.

We arrived at the polling station (a big mud hut) an hour later.  In the front was a rag-tag bunch of people in uniforms with guns (probably AK-47s?) and while I wasn't surprised to see them it's always a bit startling to see assault rifles in public.  One guy wore a uniform of blue camouflage, another man's uniform was brown camo, and there were two women (also with guns) who were police officers in mall-cop attire.  And of course they were all in flip flips which gave them a comical air, so despite the guns I didn't have much confidence in their protection.  Fortunately we didn't need it at all because the morning was incredibly peaceful.  The girls waited in line while I weighed my options about taking pictures of said soldiers until I decided against it.  I watched as the girls slowly went to the cardboard booth and placed an ink fingerprint next to the ‘SEPARATION’ choice then dropped their ballots in the sealed box.

The past has not necessarily been easy or good to these girls, but on a cool January morning in 2011 they made a distinct, immutable mark for a future full of hope and opportunity that can overshadow the adversities of their pasts. 

The vast majority of the people in South Sudan are voting for separation, which has likely contributed to a relatively peaceful vote so far.  There have been several attacks along the border of North and South Sudan in the past few days but nothing of significance in other areas.  The last day of voting is Saturday, January 15 and the outcome will be announced February 14 if everything remains on schedule.  Until then we’re hoping and praying that peace will continue, that voter turn-out will remain high, and the decision will be respected by the North.  Amen and amen.

New Year. New Country?

Happy New Year, friends, family and strangers!  A double high-five for another successful trip around the sun!

Anyway, settle in, this is a long post.  

The South Sudan referendum is a mere four days away and I would be remiss if I did not address it here.  I've spent the last six weeks living in Sudan and learning, observing and absorbing as much as I can about the culture, people and political circumstances.  At the end of the day I'm still an American foreigner with my own limited knowledge and biases but here are some thoughts on the current situation.    

Sudan sunrise

Sudan is a former British colony and the current border between the North and South was drawn by the British in 1956; unfortunately this has been a major source of conflict because most of the oil resources that have been discovered fall south of the border.  Of course, oil is not the only culprit, and religious and tribal differences have been accomplices in fueling civil war for most of the 20^th century. 

The North is predominantly Muslim while the people of the South mostly hold animist or tribal beliefs, although there is a large Christian minority.  The tribal beliefs of the South are common, even among people who claim to be Christians.  (Tangent:  I’ll never forget the first sermon I heard in Sudan where the theme was, essentially, “Don’t go to witch doctors!”)  


Because of the history of civil war and the vast differences between the North and South, the people of South Sudan are expected to vote overwhelmingly for separation.  However, for any outcome to be considered legitimate at least 60% of the registered voters must make it to polling stations to vote.  The majority of people here are illiterate, so they will cast their vote using hand signals: a raised hand for separation, hands clasped together for unity. 

Harvesters school children

Many reports from the West that I’ve read and watched (NY Times, Washington Post, BBC, NBC, etc.) postulate that post-referendum civil war is inevitable, however, news out of Africa and Sudan does not assert the same theory. 

A brief aside.  Thank you, George Clooney for your advocacy on behalf of Sudan’s referendum; I applaud you for using your celebrity to bring awareness to this event.  However, do you have to be such an alarmist?  Naming your NBC documentary, “Winds of War” certainly doesn’t quell the fears or expectations that people have about the outcome of the referendum.  Also, perhaps you could suggest to Ann Curry that she not ask such leading questions in her interviews:  example A:  “Do you think this war can be stopped?”  and example B: “Do you believe this war in the South could mean not just atrocities… but even possibly genocide?”

President Omar Al-Bashir, who is the current president of Sudan (Salva Kiir is the Vice President of Sudan and President of the South), recently visited Juba (the capital of the South) and made hopeful statements.  He remarked, not for the first time, "'The preferred choice for us is unity but in the end we will respect the choice of the southern citizens,' Al-Bashir said in a speech to southern officials in Juba.  'One would be sad that Sudan has split but also pleased because we witnessed peace,' he added."  

An Egyptian government official recently said that Al-Bashir's regime is the worst in Sudan's history, and he is currently charged by the ICC (International Criminal Court) for committing war crimes in Darfur, so his remarks don’t offer much confidence.    

The most prevalent, and surprising, sentiment that I've discerned is a pervasive sense of peace among the people where I'm living.  I've had lengthy conversations with local pastors, teachers, and security guards and when I ask what they think will happen with the referendum they say, "there will be a New Sudan!"  My second question is always, "do you think there will be peace?" and their response is, "yes, there will be peace here.  We do not need to worry."  And perhaps I am blindly naive, but I believe them.  These are people who have fresh memories of war and who know the current comforts of peace and they yearn for it to remain for themselves and for their children.

South Sudan as an autonomous nation has enormous potential and the ramifications of the peaceful birth of a new nation would be extensive.  A nation built on peace would enable security for millions of people who have been plagued by decades of war.  A nation built on democracy and freedom would create stability for people of all tribes and religions and would help promote peace with neighboring countries.  And of course, peace and stability would provide for new infrastructure to allow for new roads, schools, businesses, and hospitals for an under-educated and hurting populace.  South Sudan is an incredibly fertile place where three or more harvests per year are common and this country has the potential to be self-sustaining and to feed millions of starving people in Africa.

Harvesters gardens

Paul writes in 1 Timothy 2:1-2, “First of all, then, I urge that entreaties and prayers, petitions and thanksgivings, be made on behalf of all men, for kings and all who are in authority, so that we may lead a tranquil and quiet life in all godliness and dignity.”  

I love this passage because Paul shows no preference for a specific power structure, political party, or political system.  And so it is my hope and prayer for all the people of Sudan, and specifically the South, that they may lead a tranquil and quiet life in all godliness and dignity. 

In an email I received from my Dad today he wrote, “history and personal experience in the region tell me peaceful solutions are not the norm.  Guess we can hope and pray for a paradigm shift in social problem solving in this case.” 

May it be so.  May South Sudan be an exception to the norm and the vanguard of change throughout Africa.

the faces of Sudan's future