my friend

I visited a good Didinga friend last night.

I found her sitting in her dilapidated hut, eating corn mush and beans. We small talked about selling tobaccos and her baby’s running nose for awhile. I heard that she’d been having a rough time, so once we were alone I quietly asked how she was doing.

I was surprised by her answer.

Rather than hiding her pain or pretending that it wasn’t there, she glanced briefly at me and then away. Then quietly she began describing her current situation. It is a story of hurt, deep disappointment, embarrassment and scared hopelessness.

A common story I suppose.

We eventually left the hut and walked slowly for a bit, my Didinga friend and I. She was staring off at the clouds, trying to keep her tears from spilling over, speaking slowly, speaking deliberately.

Her unofficial (unofficial in the sense that her dowry has not yet been paid) husband has been cheating on her for years, almost as long as she’s called him her husband and he’s called her his wife.

Choking back tears, my friend described scenario after shocking scenario of deceit, betrayal and emotional meanness. She told me that for the past week, though she had resisted, reasoned and argued, she had been forced to share her hut and her sleeping mat with her husband’s current mistress – while she and her baby slept on one side of her husband, his mistress slept on the other.

Can you imagine?

Our walk was interrupted yesterday, so we met for chai this morning. She talked and I listened. Years of hurt spilled out of her. Story and after story after story. She talked of plans – plans of packing her things and her children and returning to her parents’ home. She talked about leaving her husband.

I listened to her stories, I listened and I hurt for her, her children and her husband. I listened and I wondered what distinction Didinga people would really place between polygamy and adultery. I listened, but I did not know what to do.

You see, the only real hope I have for her marriage, is the hope I have in Christ. And this is not a hope my friend completely understands or fully trusts. So, when I asked her how I could help, I was surprised by her answer.

She asked me to pray.

And so, I ask you to pray too.

• Pray for a peaceful resolution.

• Pray for Christ’s saving grace to be a reality to my friend and to her husband.

• Pray that God, the only One who can transform a heart, would be given open reign to do so in both of their lives.

• Pray for their two small children.

By Air

Virtually everything we eat, sit or sleep upon, cook on or wash with is delivered to us by air. Due to our remote location, we depend heavily upon our pilots, Jon and Jerry, not only for the goods they bring us, but for the security they offer in case of a medical emergency or safety evacuation (such as the one we encountered in Napep in 2009).

It should go without saying, but I am going to say it, we LOVE our AIM pilots and their families. They consistently go way, WAY out of their way to make our lives more comfortable, fun and safe here in the middle of nowhere Sudan.

They've been known to air-drop amoeba medication, frozen mozzarella cheese,mail and even, on a rare occasion, mint chocolate chip ice cream! Last week, Jon and his wife, Ginny, purchased and delivered a birthday dinner of hamburgers and fries and ICE. The ice was not only an extra special treat in our cold dinner sodas, but was used in a rockin' 3 States of Matter science lesson (future post is coming soon). Both Jon and Jerry have made the long hike from the airstrip to our compound on more than one occasion to cheerfully help me fix all sort of things - like my perpetually leaky roof or solar panels.

About two weeks ago, Jerry's wife Breanna delivered their 4th child, John Harrison Daniel Hurd - Jack. Due to pretty extreme complications with Breanna's blood pressure, the Hurd's were forced to make an emergency trip home to the States, where Jack was delivered months early. Through God's grace, I am happy to report that both mother and son are doing well! To learn more about this amazing family and their little miracle, Jack, please take a look at their blog: http://dustheatanddreams.blogspot.co.uk/

Here are just a few flying of my latest flying pictures.

Juba

Our Didinga Hills at sunset.

Napep's, Mur Kuzen in the distance.

Pilot Jerry with Phil Byler in the cockpit.

Burning fields in Sudan.

The Didinga Hills.

The NGO sprawl of Juba, Sudan.

There is only an estimated 25 miles of paved roads in all of Southern Sudan.

The Nile.

I didn't take this picture or the next two, but I sure do like them. Way to go Trey Mims.

Little Adelaide and her grandma wave goodbye to the 206 in Nagishot.

Nagishot's international dirt airstrip.

School

School is in full swing. My class at City on the Hill Primary School is hovering around 40-45 students; a number that is, in my opinion, bordering on insanity (I should mention that this number is still quite small when compared to many East African classes, which can commonly swell to more than 100 plus students!).

Half of my class is made up of my former Faith Nursery School students. These students are very near and dear to my heart. I am proud to say that they are thriving academically and continue to hold the prize for sweetest group of youngsters on planet Earth. Most are now between the ages of 11 and 13 and are functioning around a 4^th grade level in math and maybe, on a really good day, a 2^nd grade level in literacy. These kids are the reason why I LOVE my job – I adore these kiddos! They give me hope for the future and a confidence in my own teaching abilities.

The other half of my class comes from one of Nagishot’s neighboring villages, Thuguro. Before school began five weeks ago, I had previously only met a handful of these students. Didinga people are notoriously weary of newcomers, and for good reason, as they rarely, if ever, encounter an outsider. Following suite, my Thuguro crew wasn’t all too sure of their new, white, female teacher. However, with time, patience, consistency and great deal of love many new relationships are developing.

These Thuguro students are, on average, between the ages of 15 and 24. Most are functioning at a kindergarten to perhaps, if I were to be incredibly generous, first grade level. Some don’t know their ABC’s, many don’t know how to count to 100.

Though I have been teaching for some years now, this is the first time I have ever been faced with the task of teaching a grown man his ABC’s. Though my teaching tricks have been successful with wee ones, they’ve recently proven to be a bit juvenile. Tweaking kindergarten lesson plans – ie. the singing, acting, constructive playing and coloring - to meet the needs of a more mature audience, is a new challenge for me. So far, I’m following the old rule of thumb – if you confidently act like it’s cool, a class will also, most likely, think it’s cool.

This is my first class of giants. I’m a pretty tall lady and eight year-olds tend to be pretty short. This year, at least half of my class is taller than me. It’s weird.

This is also the first time I have been challenged to teach kindergarden, 1^st, 2^nd, 3^rd and 4^th grade curriculum simultaneously, in a foreign language (think, one room Didinga speaking school house). I am learning how to effectively teach a four year old and twenty-four year old the same subject matter (due to the sheer lack of teachers, I am teaching P1-P4 social studies, science and geography), in the same room, at the same time. I am learning that the main ingredient needed in disciplining a cocky, disrespectful 18 year-old Didinga boy, in this male-dominated society, is bravery!

We are all learning.

Here’s to the 2012 Didinga school year! Let the learning begin!