Planting with my neighbor, and constant shadow, Regina. I LOVE to garden!!! To be honest, I am a bit addicted. I have been known to clear land at dawn, weed for hours and check the progress of my little plants daily. Green and leafy veggies...oh, the anticipation!
As Didinga days go, this was one much like all the others. I had agreed earlier in the week to meet with Emilio, one of the school teachers, at 8 am down at the local school. I ran into my neighbor Margaret on the way. She was on her way to an early morning Methe party at Emilio’s compound. She invited me to join her, but naively in Emilio punctuality, I refused the invitation.
Considering this an “official” school meeting, I arrived promptly at 7:50 am. Finding the school grounds empty, I sat down and gazed across the green fertile valley, up to Emilio’s hillside compound. Even from the distance, I could recognize the crowd of Methe drinkers gathered.
Hours passed, I waited and Emilio never came. Students began to congregate, kicking a small mud clot. I eventually realized that even if Emilio somehow managed to find his way to the school, he would, by this time, be far too drunk to intelligently consider the business we intended to discuss. Around 11 am I walked home, leaving the students patiently awaiting the arrival of their intoxicated teachers.
The afternoon was just as interesting. Our team nurses were lying low, treating their own aliments, leaving us novices to care for Didinga’s ill and wounded. With weak knees and often squirming more than our “patients,” I helped Tianne clean and bandage a beautiful baby girl’s foot, burned more than a week before. As Tianne washed the seeping and infected flesh, I tried to convince myself that this was just a foot, rather than a wee one’s unattended wound.
Using my very limited Didinga medical vocabulary, at times awkward charade imitation and reminding each of my “patients” that I was not a nurse, I tried to convince the hungover to drink water, rather than Methe, the flu-stricken to rest and the worm-ridden to avoid the rabbit trails and describe all of their symptoms, even the…unmentionable.
When I was a little girl I dreamed of simultaneously working at Albertson’s Grocery Store, living at the end of my parents’ driveway and as the first female president, running the country. I never wanted to be a nurse. I am perhaps the worst “nurse” to have ever assumed the role. However, after diagnosing and treating a girl’s advanced Urinary Track Infection, I felt quite exhilarated, if not on the verge of American incarceration for impersonating a doctor and unlawfully distributing drugs.
We made it home just in time to hear the thunder rolling across the valley. After dinner, sitting in the lantern light, my roommates and I swallowed our 6 month preventative deworming pills and finished off a prized pitcher of Crystal Light – toasting just another Didinga day and dreaming about the next.
- Dtanura Sewing Party - The Dtanura is the optimum of Didinga high fashion. This hip accentuating polyester skirt not only dries quickly, can hide a week's worth of dirt and, on occasion, may get caught in a breeze, giving one the illusion of an Olympic ice-skater. This skirt, accesorized with a multi-purpose ceremehm, is nothing short of extraordinary! Dressing up Didinga...yes, we really do wear this. One missionary and 5 Didinga Boogeches (childless women)
"I could die tomorrow easily enough, she could not watch me forever. So I walked with her to please her to quiet her, and at first light, we were in the middle of the desert with ten thousand others. This was to be our next home, we were told. And we stood in that land and we waited that day as trucks and Red Cross vehicles came and left more people there, in a land so dusty and desolate that no Dinka, would ever think to settle there. It was an arid and featureless and the wind was constant. But a city would grow in the middle of that desert. This was Lokichoggio, which would soon become the staging ground for international aid in the region." What is the What – Dave Eggers What is the What is one Sudanese refugee’s story of survival. As an eye-witness to the brutality of war, a hungry and orphaned boy and later, as a struggling Lost Boy in America, the author never complains. Yet, when he steps in Loki, our team's refuge from Didinga, he writes these "flattering" words. Sitting, sweating and waiting for my flight to Nairobi....in Lokichoggio.
Definitely, one of my most useful Didinga phrases!
Too windy to fly, or maybe, just too windy to land.
Africa Inland Mission considers our short, doglegged airstrip to be one of the worst in Eastern Africa. Coincidentally, they decided this past February to discontinue caravan flights into Didinga and we decided to fly with a different mission aviation group.
The winds were pretty fierce that first time we attempted to land in Sudan with our new pilot. Most of us on board that day spent the flight concentrating on keeping our lunch down. We circled the airstrip once, as we always do, and flying MUCH faster than usual and at what seemed to be a strange, straight up and down angle, approached the airstrip. Tightening my seat belt (because that would really help) and thinking that these new pilots were quite the serious crew, I strained to look out the front window - wanting to see all the "action" in case we were to land less than gracefully. Kind of morbid, now that I think about it!
Thankfully, our pilot pulled up at what looked to be the very last moment. We attempted to land three more times, however the mountain winds were just too strong. Rather than returning to Loki, we were dropped at the neighboring airstrip in Nagishot. We spent the night there and hiked the ten miles home to Didinga the next day.
As the winds continue to blow in the Hills, we rest here in Kenya. Half of our group is staying at the local resort. The rest of us are sleeping in a house that used to be a metal storage container. It's actually really nice... and free.
*You discover your popcorn, flour and oatmeal are literally crawling with little black bugs and rather than throw it away or pick them out, you choose to avert your eyes, eat and enjoy it anyway.
*Some people worry about their family heirlooms when they head out of town, you hide your Little House on the Prairie style washboard.
* Bathing more than once a week or in the privacy of your own home, without the neighbors, is bordering extravagance.
*In the last five months you've declined to marry at least 50 eager SPLA soldiers.
*Grocery shopping requires a valid passport, plane ticket, and leaving the country.
*You’ve been known to roll out of bed at dawn, hike more than a mile and a half straight uphill to the airstrip and show all signs of giddiness when John, your pilot, makes an airdrop. “Airmail” has a special sort of meaning!
*Reading between 1 to 3 books a week is not uncommon.
*House guests have been known to spit on your bedroom floor, while their babies do their "business" in the kitchen.
*Your Homestay papa's extremely limited English includes these well practiced English phrases, "I want to keel Toposa!" and "Me and my women are very hoppy!"
*Random late night gunshots inspire nothing more than a brief mid-chapter interference. I'm always keen to my mark my spot when deciding if I need to hit the floor.
*The cattle raiders and fierce warriors in your neighborhood display their manliness with dangly earrings, shockingly short 80s style running shorts, sweater vests, rainbow colored galoshes and, of course, AK 47s.
