Into the Bush

Finally, after an exhaustingly long day traipsing all over the State of Jonglei monitoring distribution of mosquito nets, I was able to crawl under my mosquito net at the Freedom Hotel and collapse into bed. Sleep came quickly, deep, and long. Until first light when my subconscious started picking up something in the distance. I have been in Sudan long enough to know when I hear that noise that it is NOT fireworks, and apparently I was still not tricked in my half-asleep, half-awake state. Granted, I very, very rarely hear that noise. But no, these were definitely gunshots. Still not wanting to open my eyes I listened to the pattern. PA PA PA PA PA. Then after a few seconds’ pause, from a bit farther away, pa pa pa pa pa. Then even closer, PA PA PA PA PA.

At this point my mind shook off the rest of the sleep and I opened my eyes. Oh right! Today, May 16^th, is SPLM day. “Into the Bush” day. Commemorating the day in 1983 when the South took up arms against the North by going into the bush (basically the wilderness) and fighting back. And how do we celebrate holidays in Sudan? By firing our weapons. Oh yes, on Christmas, New Years, and, apparently, SPLM Day, soldiers and civilians everywhere shoot their AK-47s off with glee with complete disregard to what happens to the bullets once they are fired up into the air. At 6:03am in Bor Town, the capital of Jonglei State and the home town of many of the SPLA leadership, it sounded like everyone was getting in on the action. The number of guns being fired increased, always in a call-and-response pattern.

My boss (the head of our office) as well as someone in the HR department from my organization's DC Headquarters was also on this trip, but staying at another hotel on the opposite side of town. Just to be sure, I sent them a text: “Please tell me this is because of SPLM day, right?” a few seconds later came the response, “Oh right. I hadn’t thought of that. Good I’m glad it sounds like it is really close over here.” I should mention that I was staying in a room in an actual building that the hotel had just opened the week before – usually hotels in the field are really just tents. My boss and the HR guy were staying in tents. Not somewhere you want to be when bullets are being shot up into the air!

Now this hotel had very good security – several guards on duty at all times. One of these guards happened to be stationed almost directly under my window (the building only had one story). I heard him audibly stretch, very loudly hock a loogey, spit, scrape his plastic chair across the concrete as he stood up, heard the metallic click of his AK-47 being cocked, and then he joined into the firing. Don’t worry it was away from the building of course! But damn, was that thing LOUD!!! There are basically no furnishings in the hotel building, just concrete, wrought iron window bars, and glass in the windows. The guard firing right next to the room made a very loud BOOM echoing around the room and it felt like everything rattled – nothing to absorb the noise.

At this point only about 5 minutes had gone by since the first gunshots. It dawned on me that what goes up must come down. I looked over at my window, realized my bed was directly under it on the other side of the room

(please refer to this incredibly high quality rendering of the floor plan to my room), decided that was not a very prudent place to stay should a stray bullet come through the window, and crawled out of bed over behind this weird outcropping that will one day house a bathroom (had not been installed yet – everyone still was sharing pit latrines) and made myself comfortable.

That’s when I realized I had to pee.

Seriously, that timing was SO BAD!

About 15 minutes passed, just sitting there, waiting. The gunfire began to taper off. It was then I realized that I had a video camera in my bag. We were doing a mini-documentary about the distribution, and the consultant we hired gave all the staff in the field digital camcorders to document some of what went on. So I crawled over around the outcropping, grabbed my bag, and turned on the camera. All you can see is the window, but you can definitely hear the gunfire. There is not much of it left, but still. Unfortunately I no longer have access to the footage, but I will definitely try to get a copy, at least for posterity.

Since I've been gone

Life goes on in Sudan, much as it did before I arrived. Roosters start crowing at 6am to accompany the scratchy sound of homemade reed brooms sweeping across the dust outside compounds. Builds discipline and an appreciation for cleanliness in all the girls whose chore it is. My boss starts her morning run at 6:30, after already being awake for 2 hours working away on her laptop and sending emails. The emails often start at 4am and don't end until 11pm. A squadron from the nearby SPLA barracks starts their morning jog which goes up the main road past the camp where we live. Residents can hear their singing and chanting in Dinka through the tent flaps where I more often than not wished away the dawn and hoped for just one more hour of sleep. The line for the shower starts to grow longer, people waiting their turn in towels and plastic flip flops, toothbrushes and shampoo in hand. The camp truly comes alive at 7, with residents tromping their way to breakfast. South Africans in sturdy boots and khaki speaking in a mix of Afrikaans and English. Kenyans joking in Swahili, sitting off on a table by themselves. Eggs, bacon, fried tomatoes, mushrooms, porridge, baked beans and toast. The NGO workers grabbing a Diet Coke and some toast before walking out in flip flops to the fleet of land cruisers which will carry them away to their desk jobs.

Do I miss this all? Definitely. Am I glad to be here, and not there? Absolutely. It's a strange dichotomy that I haven't quite figured out yet. Simba and I were talking the other day about how we don't know if we'll ever "get over" Sudan. Yes it was tough and yes we were ready to leave, but where else would we be able to watch men, women, children, goats, motorbikes and land cruisers, all stripped naked, all being washed in the river? To drive out past the town barrier to discover a broken bridge and therefore a perfect picnic spot to watch the sunset? Decide to drive a tractor to a party because the car wouldn't start? See the joy in women's faces when we go to their village to tell them about how to prevent malaria? Be able to lie together on a blanket under the stars, so so many stars you can't see anywhere in a city? Work 70 or 80 hours during the week but completely let go during the weekends - drinking slushies in the pool or dancing under a thatched roof?

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We met up for dinner with 6 other former Juba-ites who were in town on holiday. So strange to see everyone again in a completely different context. I'm not quite sure how, but we managed to talk about everything except Sudan for the most part of the meal. Because things are not in such a good place right now. Corruption and mismanagement of the government budget are so bad that it will take until 2012 for the government to honor the contracts they have signed for this year. Jonglei state is still awash in violence, with the armed groups now claiming militia status. The latest info is that there are 1,200 armed and organized men carrying out the attacks. That is two batallions worth.

And a little closer to home, at a barbeque at one of the UN agency compounds, a friend of ours, U, was leaving Juba and her husband flew in to help her pack, to move out, and to see where she had been living and working for the past year. The gathering ended but a drunk man (from a country that will remain nameless but rhymes with "Prussia") insisted on staying the night at the compound. He was told he had to leave by our friend A, but obviously he did not like that answer because he punched A right in the face. U's husband got up to try to deal with the drunk guy, but was punched in the chest. He fell down and never got back up. He died, right there. From the punch in the chest. Does this really happen? Ever? U went back to her country (in Eastern Europe), and the assailant got deported back to his country. No one in Sudan can officially charge or touch him because he worked for the UN, and no legal action will be taken against him because honestly no one cares back in his country. U is now taking things day by day. It's been about a month since this happened, and she is obviously still devastated. Learning to live on her own. She has never paid a bill in her life - she met her husband in college, he took care of everything until she finished grad school, and then she started working in international development where the agencies pay for everything. My god I don't know what I would do.

There is no rhyme or reason to any of this, and it seems like things are going to pieces. People ask me "how is it over there in Sudan" and half the time I don't even know what to answer. I think the only hope the country has right now is the referendum coming up in 2011 where at least the government has a chance to be legitimized and can "insha'allah" take responsibility and pull together. But once the element of a common "enemy" is removed, will the hundreds of tribes be able to rally together under one flag, or will they turn back against each other as has happened since the dawn of time?

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Apologies for the far from upbeat post, but that's where I am at the moment. Every year around September 11th I get more introspective, reliving that day, and remembering that in many places around the world that is the norm of life, rather than the exception. It was so good to see people from a different time and place that is still so familiar, but yet so far away now. The idea that I will never see or do any of the things in the first part of the post again still has not yet sunk in. But I am sure that no matter where I am I can create a sense of adventure, a sense of romance and fun because you can't have hope without first glimpsing dispair and you can't appreciate the good without the bad.

I must be psychic

How ironic that I wrote the post about Public Holidays in Southern Sudan just last Friday, because guess what? Today was another public holiday called at the last minute (last night at 8pm)!!!! The universe does align sometimes. One of Salva Kiir's presidential advisors, passed away yesterday so today is a "National Day of Mourning." That and I am sure the fact that the Permanent Court of Arbitration made their announcement from The Hague today about the borders of the Abyei region (huge amount of oil, both the North and the South claim it as theirs) also had something to do with it. I spent my morning working, made lentils for lunch, and spent the afternoon packing. More on that in a later post.

Essentially, the court has redrawn the borders of Sudan's Abyei region to give the Khartoum government control of the Heglig oilfields and the Nile oil pipeline. Both the Sudanese and Southern Sudanese Governments pledged ahead of time to abide by the ruling of the court, regardless of the decision. According to the CPA, Abyei will decide whether they want to become part of the North or the South on the National Referendum in 2011. Because of the large presence of oil, the region was hotly contested. However, with this decision, the main oilfield falls within the North anyway, so people may not care as much about the region. We'll just have to see what happens.

Something interesting that piqued my interest is that the panel made their decision largely on a tribal basis - which tribes were on what land at what point in time - since borders were so fluid until well into the 20th century. Not something we normally think about!

The official PCA decision can be found here
A bit of analysis on the region and arguments from both sides can be found here

Public Holidays

I have been inspired by this post of my dear friend Beatrice over at A gringa's thoughts about Ex-pat living in Santiago, Chile and decided to write my own post about the public holiday phenomenon here in Southern Sudan.

There are a total of 15 public holidays a year, not including the spontaneously announced ones for things like Obama being elected President of the US. CPA Day, SPLM Day, Martyrs Day, etc. Our office also counts July 4th and Thanksgiving day as holidays (random...). Half of the government holidays are canceled the day before or the day of the scheduled holiday and moved to later in the week or the month. The announcements which are given on the radio and always come too late to tell our staff that they are still required to come into work, so they end up having both days off instead of one! For example, SPLM day, which was scheduled for May 16th, and then the announcement came at 8am on that very day that it would be moved to May 25th. All the celebratory firing of weapons on the 16th was for nothing. Sigh.

Then there are the holidays that are set based on the phases of the moon, like Eid ul-Adha ("greater Eid", Feast of the Sacrifice of Ishmael by Ibrahim), and Eid El-Fitr ("smaller Eid", marks the end of the Muslim holy month of Ramadan), where the same mixup occurs because the muslim community will call the holiday on one day, but the government will call it another day, therefore giving everyone both days off. Last year for Eid ul-Fitr this went on for 4 days before the 3 day holiday!

Makes planning work a bit confusing, and the ex-pats are still expected to work on these public holidays so it's not like we all get the day off, but the rest of the staff and the government employees are certainly happy about it!

Eid ul-Fitr is my favorite holiday of the bunch. Ramadan is a month where Muslims rise before dawn to eat the first meal, fast from sunrise to sunset, not even drinking water, and then break their fast once the sun has set. Once the appropriate phase of the moon is spotted, celebrations break out across town. Poeple wear their best clothes and walk to the mosques. Enormous quantities of food are prepared, and walking and driving around you find huge groups of people gathered all over the place sharing the feast. It is a time to give to those less fortunate, and the air is festive. Poeple wear their best clothes and walk to the mosques. I would be too if I had not been eating during the day for a whole month.

Connecting with the Land

What is it about Juba that makes me numb everything beautiful? It sounds harsh, but is true.

Last weekend I was sitting outside at a table under a tree and realized that if I was anywhere else (my parent's backyard, or my former backyard in DC came to mind), I would think this simple act was relaxing and beautiful. But instead I noticed the breeze, looked up at the way the Acacia tree's thorns and leaves and small yellow flowers contrasted with the blue sky, heard the bird chirping and hopping around next to its nest, and felt...empty. These small things usually make an impact on me, make my heart swell, put me at peace. But here? I just cannot get there.

The next day Simba and I took a drive out past town and parked on a side road that ends at a broken bridge so the traffic would not disturb us. We sat on the spare tire on the roof of the landcruiser, watched the sun set over the hills, became part of the day turning into dusk and preparing for evening. Anywhere else this would be moving and calming. While it was wonderful, I still felt...almost nothing.

Why is it that as hard as I try, I cannot build a connection with this land? So many parts of our world speak to me - forests, mountains, beaches, deserts - but here? Not so much. I feel that I've failed in some way with that aspect of my life here.

My mom sent me a poem a while back about the need to say goodbye not only to the people but to the land. This is what I am trying to get to, but for some reason have fallen short. And I am not sure I will understand the reasons why until later, much later.


Mameen

Be infinitesimal under that sky, a creature
even the sailing hawk misses, a wraith
among the rocks where the mist parts slowly.
Recall the way mere mortals are overwhelmed
by circumstance, how great reputations
dissolve with infirmity and how you,
in particular, live a hairsbreadth from losing
everyone you hold dear.

Then, look back down the path as if seeing
your past and then south over the hazy blue
coast as if present to a wide future.
Remember the way you are all possibilities
you can see and how you live best
as an appreciator of horizons,
whether you reach them or not.
Admit that once you have got up
from your chair and opened the door,
once you have walked out into the clean air
toward that edge and taken the path up high
beyond the ordinary, you have become
the privileged and the pilgrim,
the one who will tell the story
and the one, coming back
from the mountain,
who helped to make it.

~David Whyte

Jungle Lamb

Does anyone else who has seen the movie Mama Mia have the affliction of immediately replaying a scene of the movie in your head when the associated ABBA song comes on the radio? It's seriously driving me nuts.

In other news, thanks to Katina for forwarding me this lovely article in which the author extols the virtue of goat meat. Yes, the smelly, tough, stringy staple of the Southern Sudanese diet has made its way into the great culinary houses of New York.

BARF.

I don't like goat meat. Unless it is grilled and I can pretend it is beef. But the goat cubes that are most often boiled in a stew and served with rice I can live without. The fact that the author is basically explaining how he drools whenever he sees goat meat on the menu and proactively searches out the best dish prepared with goat meat he can find is more than I can handle.

My favorite part was this:

I’d partaken of the bearded ruminant before, most memorably in a Jamaican curry in Brooklyn. I’d liked the flavor of the meat, equidistant as it was from lamb and beef. But when my teeth wrangled a particularly tough piece of meat that was shield-shaped and curved and slightly rubbery, I had the distinct impression that I had bitten into the cup of a tiny bra.

Hahahaha shield-shaped and curved and slightly rubbery!!!! That is so true!!! However, then next paragraph in which the author tries to say that goats get a bad rap is horse sh*t:

Indeed, goats have long held a lowly reputation. Scavengers, they are falsely accused of eating tin cans. Their unappetizing visage is simultaneously dopey and satanic, like a Disney character with a terrible secret. Their chin hair is sometimes prodigious enough to carpet Montana. Chaucer said they “stinken.”

Falsely accused of eating tin cans? I think not. Those things definitely eat tin cans, plastic bags, used cell phone scratch cards, and whatever is on the garbage pile on the side of the street. I've seen them. And wondered the next time that I ate goat whether I was going to find remnants of that used cell phone scratch card somewhere in the meat.

Thanks Beatrice. Real nice of you.

Wounded War Heroes

Things have been very busy in Paradise, so busy in fact due to a week of R&R in Zanzibar!!! In my next life I want to come back as a beach bum. Or maybe I'll put my (fingers crossed) future Master's degree to work and move to the coast after I'm done with school.

Along with the newly-formed (2005) Government of Southern Sudan comes some growing pains. One of these is the budgets. Each year for the past 2 years all the Ministries submit the budgets for their sphere of influence, and then my friend F. who works for a UN agency seconded to the Ministry of Finance throws her petite Brittish 5'2"frame around scaring the bejesus out of all the Sudanese Ministers by putting them all in line to balance their budget. In 2008 there were no salaries budgeted for health care workers - that's right, all the nurses, doctors, etc who worked in health care facilities did not get paid for a LONG time. This year it's the teachers, and students actually started strikes on their behalf. Would you have gone to a riot in protest on behalf of your teachers?

Also this year were the Veterans. Groups calling themselves the "Wounded War Heroes" did not get their salaries on time, so in Yei, Nimule and Kapoeta they started causing havoc. They blocked entrances and exits into the towns, took over Customs at the border with Uganda collecting the fees at the gate and therefore making people pay twice, and "commandeered" vehicles. They imposed a house arrest on everyone in Kapoeta, and the Government had to fly in to try and work things out. Eventually the President found money to pay them, who knows from where, and they took down their roadblocks.

With Refugee International's recent publication calling for "an emergency financial rescue package in order to avoid a breakdown of law and order," it seems too much of a coincidence. The drop in oil prices and effects of the global financial crisis on Southern Sudan will obviously deal the budgets a blow, but in a Country with an official policy of "disarmmament, demobilization and reintegration" where 90% of the annual budget still goes to pay salaries of the SPLA/M, and most of the remaining 10% going to purchase arms, what will happen to the other small piece for running the country?

Who's next for the strikes, riots and roadblocks?

Witchcraft

A day short of the end of my week of being in charge of the office (the head and her deputy were both out of town), I thought I had made it through home free. No major catastrophes. The office was still standing and free of fires, break-ins and generator break-downs. Only one minor traffic accident from a duty driver (happens more often than you think). Only one day left until I no longer have to deal with locking and unlocking the doors and asking people why they are just sitting on the porch at 3pm on a Tuesday. When on my way out the door I noticed a small group gathering around a staff member, "S", and the open driver's side door of his car. As I walked over, people were shaking their heads and pointing to something inside the car.

"Look at what someone has done," S sighed.

On the passenger seat sat a frog. A dead frog. A dead, dried-up frog with its legs cut off. Uh oh, this is not good.

"Someone is trying to send you a bad omen! They are trying to harm you!" "You should not enter your car and drive home, the car is now cursed!" These and more comments were flying around.

Who does that? Puts a dead frog in someone's car? S explained, "I leave my car doors open because it is inside our compound and we have security guards. This was not there this morning when I arrived at work. Could someone from the outside have entered the compound and done this? What if it was one of our colleagues?"

For some background, S is a large man - at least 6'4"- and yet drives a mini Suzuki with the phrase "Never Give Up" in a decal on top of the windscreen. He has a bonecrushing handshake. My boss can't shake his hand - she introduced the fist pump to the office just for him. Despite people's initial impressions, he is the kindest most gentle man I have ever met. He is passionate about talking to people about their situations, and explaining in ways that make sense to them everything about HIV and reproductive health. He has a very calming manor - could have been a fantastic therapist - and is a Program Manager for one of the HIV Department programs. I can't imagine a reason why anyone would do that to him.

Eventually all was said that could be said at the moment, and we convinced S that it was safe for him to drive home. Since I also happen to be S's direct supervisor, he pulled me aside to talk to me. S was almost in tears. He wanted some action to be taken, and I suggested we have a staff meeting so he could talk about what happened.

The next morning everyone piled into the board room. Basically, what it came down to was that even though Southern Sudan is a predominantly Christian society, people are still strongly superstitious, and believe in signs and omens of this kind. The frog was clearly someone sending S a signal to 'watch out' or to place some sort of bad ju-ju over him. The rest of the staff were as shocked as S was, and time was spent for people to voice their opinions, feelings and suggestions, and in the end everyone's conclusion was that since S believes in God, nothing can happen to him. It is only the person who placed the frog who will bring evil on themselves.

Such an interesting conclusion. I have been in Southern Sudan for 18 months now, and I still do not know enough about the culture to have anticipated how people would react. But I am encouraged by what happened in that room. Such support.

We said we will re-brief the security guards about their duties and visitors policies, and some of the more extreme suggestions of physically searching everyone that comes in and out of the compound were rejected.

And S, true to his nature, wanted the action point from the meeting to be a monthly "community chat" for all the staff just to be in the same room with each other, to talk about issues like this, and to strengthen respect and the community bond.

Even so, this event has shaken S to the core. He has asked to be transferred to Yei, another town where my organization has a smaller office. He is willing to give up his current job in the field of his expertise, to take a less specialized job in administration, just so he can keep working with the organization, but he doesn't feel comfortable in Juba anymore, all from finding a dead frog in his car.

Now think about what would prompt you to request a relocation/transfer from your employer. Definitely stretches my mind, at least.

Bye Bye NGOs, Hello Criminal President

As I have mentioned before on this blog, one of the programs I work on is with the SPLA (Southern Sudan Army). I spoke with one of my counterparts there the day after the ICC indictment was announced, and he has taken to calling Bashir "our Criminal President" because "we can no longer just call him President." I want to talk to him more about how the announcement is being perceived in the SPLA, and what is happening internally, as I don't really have a sense of the effects on the Southern government.

It looks like Plum Face's comment to my previous post held water (hi Beatrice!!!). Bashir has started to react to his indictment by taking it out on the rest of the international community. And how to do that? Kick out all the International NGOs providing relief in Sudan. A couple weeks ago Bashir expelled 13 NGOs from Darfur accusing them of spying for the ICC, leaving millions of people without food, water, shelter, or healthcare, and yesterday he held a press conference where he said he has given orders for all NGOs to leave Sudan within one year. However, not to worry, the Sudanese Government will handle everything. The exact quote was:

"If they [the international organizations] want to continue providing aid, they can just leave it at the airports or seaports and Sudanese NGOs can distribute the relief."

Well that's all settled then, nothing to worry about. Sure, the head of state accused of war crimes is going to ensure the people he was accused of betraying are going to be taken care of. Absolutely. Because the reason why they were there in the first place of course had nothing to do with the host government not having the capacity to do it themselves.

Not to worry, I'm not out of a job quite yet, this will only apply to Darfur and the North. At least that's what we're being told so far.

It will be impossible to measure the ramifications of the ICC indictment, both positive and negative. How can you tell how many lives were saved, or what would have happened? Too many what if's. What we are now stuck with is the knowledge that millions of people will suffer, to avenge the millions more that suffered before them. Justice?

Emma's War Cows

The infamous Commander Deng was back at the camp the other day (remember, the one who called me a Khawaja (white) Queen?), just back from a session of the Legislature. His arrival also coincided with 2 things: me feeling under the weather, and an impromptu leaving 'do for a friend who was going for 2 weeks to the UK skiing in Switzerland. Bastard. Half a dozen or so people in the party were getting fairly toasted for a Tuesday night, and one of the women caught the eye of Commander Deng. She got up and tipsily invited him to dance for a few awkward songs. It was like watching a scene from Emma's War unfold right before my eyes: tall, dark haired young English woman with an SPLA General. Spooky.

Anyways, I left, went back to my room, while Simba had to stay longer in order to close the bar. Commander Deng had requested his presence at his table (the man's requests are really demands), which he did for a few minutes. Simba then took his leave by saying "I am sorry sir, I would really like to stay but I will be thrown out of the house if I do not finish cooking for my Queen."

Seriously, where did I find this guy?

The response he received was: "these Kjawaja Queens are very funny. Not like our Sudanese Queens. In Sudan, our women build our houses up around us, cook for us, give us a good time, and have our children. And here you are cooking for your Queen. Very funny."

Sounds like those women are not having as great a time as Commander Deng is. Maybe I should ask one of his 5 wives or one of his 21 children for their opinion. Or I could take the 180 cows he offered the owner of the camp I stay in exchange for me and find out for myself. NOT.



As an interesting aside, that SPLA General in Emma's War is now the VP of Southern Sudan and I play touch rugby with his son who is lovely. You should read the book. Quite a fascinating look at the Southern Sudan conflict's entanglement with the humanitarian relieft effort in the '80's and '90's.

Signs, signs, everywhere there's signs

Ever since I have arrived back in Juba, everything has meaning. Everything has a sign. Sorry for getting all New-Age-Trippy on you, but some things you just can't ignore. For instance, following seeing an owl while out for walk back in New York over the holidays, driving home from dinner last night with Simba coming face to face with an owl sitting in the middle of a road, only flying away when our vehicle got about 20 feet away. After we got home I tried to figure out what kind of Owl it was. Based on its coloring (grey and white with some black) and size (about a foot high), and compared to the other owls that live in the area of Sudan I am in, there's nothing else it can be except the Northern White-faced Owl.
I also tried to look up some of the different things that the owl represents because in many cultures when animals appear to you in a memorable or unusual way the universe is trying to tell you something. Anyway, it gives me an excuse to reflect :) After some searching on the dear interwebs, Simba thought a passage about awareness of the past and past lives (reincarnation theme) was particularly poignant for him:

For the one beside whom Owl Journeys, there will be an innate understanding of the recurring cycle of Life, Death and Rebirth. Often times the Owl individual will have very intense past-life connections and memories. These will either be subtle nuances that draw them to places and individuals to whom they feel an immediate bond, or the memories of lives previously experienced will be brimming so close to the surface that they will often surface as very vivid dreams and conscious recollections. Equally, it is also quite likely that this same gift for seeing/feeling other lifetimes led will be transmitted to being able to offer insight into the past lives of Others, affording assistance in the understanding of Lessons learned, those still needing learning, and any "karmic" balances left unchecked. This is a fine line however, as the challenge here for the Owl Soul is to not become so engrossed by memories and fascination with lifetimes past that they lose sight of their ~Now,~ for although the past serves as a reminder of where we have previously walked, the soul lessons we have learned and the connections we have made, the focus of the Soul must always be in going forward and embracing with the enthusiasm and trust of an innocent child, the here and ~Now.~

But for me it was a section about expending energy in multiple directions (shape shifting theme) that struck a chord:

With the Owl in particular, shape-shifting ability is closely linked with Lunar Magic since this beautiful creature is sister to the Moon. In observing the phases of the Moon, we witness ever shifting and changing cycles that effect all within the domain of Luna, including the inhale and exhale of the Ocean`s waves. Much like their Animal Totem, those with Owl as an animal ally will shift and transform themselves like the waxing and waning phases of the moon and the ebb and flow of the ocean`s tides. It isn’t so much that their emotions are like shifting, restless sands as that they are always partially attuned to the calls of many different planes and energies. Obviously, if this tendency to be completely open and receptive is not monitored, some measure of protection taken to guard against becoming drained or distracted, such heightened sensitivity can lead to mental, emotional or physical exhaustion. Yet when the delicate balance between grounding and receptivity is found and practiced, the Owl Soul takes flight into a higher form of awareness, intuition and Light.

The decision alone to live and work in Juba meant that I was giving up the ability to have balance in my life as a whole - I knew coming here that work would be the biggest priority and everything else would have to wait. But even with that in mind, I know it is possible to still maintain some sense of calm instead of completely letting the whirlwind of the world blow me around. But this is far from easy, and I certainly don't have the support I need to do that. I was so hurt when my boss told me she believes I sometimes put my personal life over my work when after working 7 days a week for 4 week straight in November and December, I decided to take a much needed break from writing a proposal on a Sunday to spend 3 hours at the pool. Ouch. If taking 3 hours off on a Sunday after working 27 days straight means I'm "putting my personal life over my work life" then so be it. Giving in to Simba being worried that I was too stressed and depressed and not taking care of myself should not lead to that response.

It is obviously not enough that I have been here working my ass off for the past year and four months. Will it ever be enough? I need to be able to set boundaries for myself, stick to them, and be satisfied with the consequences when other people don't agree with them. And I need to decide how to define "enough" for me. Enough with a capital E comes in August when my contract is up. I will not extend, but move on, as I should.

But in the meantime, defining "enough" is easier said than done.

Any suggestions?

one step forward, 2 steps back

Remember the apparently "fluke" incident with women being arrested for wearing trousers in Yei? Well, the same has now come to Juba, even being picked up by Reuters and the New York Times. And what sparked this latest rampage? County Local Order No. 4/2008 issued by the Juba County Commissioner "Banning of 'Niggers' Behaviours & Activities in the Town." This Public Order motivated Police to mount an arretst campaign against women and girls wearing trousers in streets and public places. These women were collected from streets, outside worship centers/churches, and public markets, and hauled up into police trucks. Girls were humiliated and taken into custody. This included civilians, UN employees, etc. Luckily people intervened and everyone was released with no charge.

WHAT. THE. FUCK???

And WHAT in GOD'S NAME prompted this order labeling behavior "niggerly"? What is that? And who are these people who are "now known as 'Niggers' in Juba County"? It's not like they give examples in the circular. I have NEVER heard this term being used here, and neither has anyone else (expat or Sudanese) that I've spoken with - but now it's become a joke, especially among Sudanese. From what we can tell, in this context, "niggers" are the Kenyans/Ugandans or Sudanese who have returned from those places who frequent bars and prostitutes, and, apparently, wear trousers. What it looks like is the Commissioner wanted to crack down on the drinking and other "immoral" behavior that is adverseley influencing the citizens of Juba, and this was his solution. From my perspective, I have never in my life heard people using this horrible term so freely and it freaks me out every time. Incredulous.

After these incidents the Juba County Commissioner has been sacked, and replaced by the Central Equitoria State Minister of Health (who I LOVE). But seriously. This serves as a reminder that even though we are in the South, this is still Sudan with a government in its infancy and a society that is still trying to navigate the effects of opening up the country after being effectively cut off from the outside for half a century.

things that affect your brain

Has it really been a month since I've written? It's quite insane how time flies. My blog is suffering as a result of one of my personality traits - when all is well I am very social, call and write people often, and generally reach out quite a bit. When things go wrong, or I am upset or depressed, I retreat into my own shell and tend to disappear for a bit.

My freshman year in college I had a friend named Liz. She was one of the wonderful women I met in the phase in my life where I attended frat parties in my PJs and drank cokes without any rum (was on my university's varsity soccer team and decided not to drink during the season). These boys were fantastic - they loved me all the more for my PJs and stocked up on cokes for me in their minifridges. Liz was always the most "grown up" of all of us - she held dinner parties for her friends and looked like she belonged on the red carpet even at a semi-formal dance. Some broke up with their boyfriends, some went to study abroad, and some, like Liz, morphed into a completely different person, taking on the likes, dislikes, and all characteristics of her new boyfriend. Basically, many of us grew apart. Fast forward to 4 years later - Liz was diagnosed with brain cancer. She went through surgery and treatment, beat it once, it went into remission, but then came back stronger. Liz was fading fast and I was getting updates from friends. One of whom which was her former roomate, but they had a falling out, and never really patched things up. I listened to her agonize over whether or not to send her a letter, and what it should say. What do you write to an estranged friend who is dying? In the end, Liz passed away before the letter was sent. We were all devastated. She was 24 years old.

On September 23, 2008, my friend Jason died after his own 4 year fight with brain cancer. I've never seen anyone fight for his life like he did. You can read about his life and amazing character on his blog, Team Jason. Towards the end, Jason was still incredibly upbeat, very focused on beating the cancer, and through his blog I BELIEVED he would win. His last post was just days before he died, and while very honest about the setbacks in his treatment, his attitude didn't miss a beat. Jason was the definition of an inspiration to all who knew him, and I know his memory lives on. This is the last picture that was taken of Jason, days before he passed away (as appears on his blog). Still smiling and positive as always!

Please consider making donations in Jason’s honor to the Wellness Community of St. Louis at 1058 Old Des Peres Road St. Louis MO 63131. This organization helped Jason immensely during his 4 year battle.

This time, it was me who was left with an unsent letter. I had an unfinished email to Jason I started the week before but kept putting off saying "I'll send it when I have enough time to write a proper email." But, of course, that time never came and I am left with guilt. We were not estranged in any way, but it still hurt that I never got to say all the things I wanted. As time goes on I realize more and more that it is an extremely rare thing to be able to properly say goodbye to someone and to say everything that needs to be said. A very rare thing indeed. My mother never got to say goodbye to her father, who also died of cancer, and that is something I think about a lot, how painful that must have been. But what can you do except vow to seize the moment and tell people who matter to you that you love them? I am going to try, that's for sure.

Is it strange that I have had 2 of my friends, both under the age of 26, die from the same kind of brain cancer in the past 3 years? Last time I went to get my eyes checked the opthamologist offered me some sort of a test that looks at your eye and can somehow tell if you have a brain tumor (don't ask me how this works), albeit with the statement "you're young so you probably don't have to worry about this and the test is optional." You'd better believe I got that test right quick.

Which brings us back to Sudan. I came down with malaria this past week, and althought (thankfully) it was not cerebral malaria, one of the symptoms among many including high fevers, chills, joint pain, and achiness, are headaches. Mine have kept going even though I finished my medication on Saturday. All this means is that I need to drink more water, but with each nightly throb (usually when the headaches arrive) it reminds me of all the strange and incomprehensible things that go on up there, and how lucky I am.

Is that strange and morbid?

Sorry, it's been that kind of month.

Soon to come: happier posts about my new diggs, new friends, and some upcoming travel!

Lack of Coordination

Sometimes I just want to scream. There is a certain organization working here (let's call them Org A) who runs over a dozen VCT (Voluntary Counselling and Testing for HIV) sites. Keeping in mind that care and support services to people who are HIV+ are extremely limited currently in Southern Sudan, this area happens to have an ART center (anti-retroviral therapy - drugs which slow down HIV's effect on a person's immune system). However, there had been no paediatric HIV programs anywhere in the area, or so they thought. At an HIV Partners Meeting a couple weeks ago, another organization (let's call them Org B) stated in a presentation that they were running a PMTCT program (this stands for Prevention of Mother to Child Transmission of HIV) at the same facility (a private hospital) where Org A was providing VCT services. The true definition of a PMTCT program is one that tests pregnant woman for HIV (called ANC testing) as well as the administration of Nevirapine, the drug that when administered in a single dose to both mother and child, reduces the rate of HIV transmission by almost 50%. Up until this point, the common knowledge was that there was no one administering Nevirapine in Southern Sudan, so all the pregnant women who test positive for HIV had to be referred to Uganda.

So the representation from Org A was quite surprised to hear that Org B was claiming to be running a true PMTCT program, in the same site as one of their own programs nonetheless. So after some inquiries on the part of Org A, it turns out that Org B was indeed administering Nevirapine, about 9 doses per month. The problem is, Org A didn't know about this, the heads of the org running the private hospital didn't know about this, the ART center in the area didn't know about this, the County AIDS Department didn't know about this, and the Ministry of Health at the County, State and National level didn't know about this. NO ONE did.

Any explanation I can think of for why Org B was not making this known does not hold water. If they were afraid the demand would be greater than their supply, then they should be screaming at donors and the Ministry of Health for more supplies. Org A told me that they would be able to find money for the drugs, it's just that they have no personnel trained on its administration. If that was the case, they could have bought the drugs for Org B. Had they known.

So what has happened is that dozens of HIV+ women each month were being referred to Uganda (when not many of these women even have ID cards let alone a passport) when the life-saving service they need is available in their same county and has been FOR A WHOLE YEAR.

This is CRIMINAL!

There is enough that is difficult about working in Southern Sudan, but there is no excuse for this lack of coordination and partnership, especially from an organization who is always present at partners meetings, etc. It makes me ill.

Honorable Deng

This weekend has started out like all weekends should - wine and friends Friday night and sleeping in Saturday morning. Luckily Sweet Simba was there to rescue me this morning with scrambled eggs. Now we're both in my tent and I'm explaining to him what a blog is, how it works and who it is for. His conclusion is that I just have too much time on my hands. As if. He keeps saying he is going to write one and I think he should, because with his imagination it would be fantastic. And he's cranky because there are no pictures of the two of us up here - so here you go.

One of the drawbacks of living in my particular tented camp is that the guys that run the place (well not run it, but own it) have business "meetings" in the main mess area. These visits generally include one way conversations where we sit there and get lectured, and TONS of wine/scotch/beer. Doesn't matter what time of day.The people that come run the gambit from South African investors who speak with such a strong Afrikaans accent that it is virtually impossible to understand them, to English business men looking for a piece of the action here in Southern Sudan, to SPLA Generals.

So one day I was eating dinner, which is at the mess area where everyone sits at one long table. A rather large Sudanese gentlemen sitting diagonally across from me was here for a "meeting" and working his way through the second half of a bottle of gin with a woman who looks to be around 17 or 18 sitting by his side. He introduced himself to me by saying, "Everyone knows me as Commander Deng. But you can call me...Honorable Deng." Turns out Honorable/Commander Deng was one of the senior rebel commanders during the war and is now a General, an MP in the Legislative Assembly, chair of the Security Committee, head of the SPLM caucus, basically a seriously powerful man.

After that he proceeded to lecture my friend and I on the fact that in his view, the thing that is seriously contributing to the downfall of Sudan is the fact that women don't ask permission when they go out and men are not as much in control as before/during the war. Nevermind all the horrible things happening in the country. This is obviously cause for alarm and action.

Therefore it is not surprising that a couple weeks ago the Commissioner of Yei County made a proclamation that women were no longer allowed to wear pants in public and supported its "enforcement." So bands of men, including civilians, policemen and soldiers were roaming around Yei in vigilante groups beating the ever loving bejeezus out of women found wearing pants. They even forced some of the ones found "disobeying the law" (although even if there was a law it would be diffult to verify because they don't have a way of publishing laws here) to sweep Freedom Square (the main square in Yei) in their knickers.

So back to our Honorable/Commander Deng. On another occasion when he was here for another "meeting" but not drinking this time, he proceeds to call my other friend a "Sudanese Queen" and me a "Khawaja Queen" and state, "Do you know how many wives I have? 6 and a half." AND A HALF! Turns out him, all his wives, and his 18 children live together in ONE HOUSE in Rumbek, and he is trying to get his young plaything who was with him the night we met to marry him. This guy is probably in his late 50's now. Gross.

Vehicle registration and tents

Yesterday and today in Juba the traffic police went around ticketing everyone that had 'NS' license plates as opposed to 'SSC' license plates. The deal is that originally when the gov't was set up they made everyone register their vehicles. Fine. No problems. Then each state wanted to have their own number plates (wouldn't you? great way to make money) so you started seeing cars registered with 'SSC' for the capital (Juba), 'CE' for Central Equitoria, 'WE' for Western Equitoria and so on. But none of this was required. Now, a week and a half ago, they decided to make it a requirement for everyone to have state plates.

Apparently either a) the traffic police hadn't received their salaries for the month of May, or b) the officials in charge of the Ministry of Transportation decided they needed to build a new mansion, because they thought that it was time to stop vehicles on the road, fine them (with a receipt that says it is from Jonglei state even though we're in Central Equitoria), and require them to pay $700 USD to re-register each vehicle with the state. Apparently a week and a half was sufficient time for the state to communicate this fact as well as register and change every single vehicle over to their plates.

We have 6 vehicles, so that's $4,200. I know another organization that has 16 vehicles, so that's $11,200. And I'm sure that there are companies and organizations that have more than that. So that means millions of dollars are going to be pouring into the Ministry, and thousands more into the pockets of the police who "fine" the vehicles as well as giving them an official ticket. Yet another reason why Juba is becoming yet another typical, awful, East African city.

The other main reason Juba is becoming yet another awful, typical, East African city is the rise in armed robberies. The past several months groups of men, some in uniform some not, all armed with AK 47s, have been targeting NGO and UN compounds asking for the Khawajas (white people) and demanding money, computers, satelite phones, etc. There have been over 30 attempted/actual robberies, but luckily no one has gotten killed, just intimidated and in a few cases hit. This NEVER used to happen here - it was a sleepy, dusty town. But now it has grown exponentially and with it comes crime.

I was supposed to move into a house but 2 days before I was to move in there were a string of attempted break-ins 2 blocks down. So I am no longer allowed to live there, so instead I moved out to the equivalent of the suburbs and am living in my very own, spacious and airy TENT! I LOVE my tent. It's huge, one of those big platform green ones, with 2 - count them - 2 rooms, a queen sized bed, and a view of the hills. I now wake up to the sun rising and birds chirping, having tea on the veranda instead of dust, loud music blaring, sweltering heat, and traffic. And the security is good with armed SPLA soldiers and an electric fence. Plus is doesn't hurt that Simba is the manager there and runs the operations of the site. No, we're not living together, and no, I'm not getting a special discount. Get your minds out of the gutter, people! But overall I'm definitely safer (and happier!) than in town.

So that means you will be getting much happier blogs from Petunia in the future.

And CONGRATULATIONS MONICA AND KEIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My Beatrice and her Beau were married May 31st in St. Louis, MO. I am completely bummed I couldn't be there for them on such an important day, but will be visiting them in the UK in August. It's something that's part of this career - having friends all over the world, but missing out on a lot of the important stuff.

Peace

Violence against women - Sudan vs. the US

Maybe it's because at the moment I've been working on writing a section for one of our peer education manuals on the link between Gender Based Violence and HIV, but I'm feeling rather militant today so you all now have to deal with it.

Here's a stat for you: In Sudan, a girl is more likely to die in childbirth than to complete primary school.

Think about that for a moment.

In Sudan:
91% of women have no formal education
94% of women cannot read or write
99.8% of womenhave no electricity
87% of women do not have running water
40% of women report having been beaten
93% of women have lost at least one family member
68% of women of married women live in a polygamous marriage*

I consider this to be violence against women.

I've also felt the need to put up a few more annectodes that I think point out the attitude towards violence here in Sudan - especially violence against women. The same person who was involved in the lashing story from last year left the office for about 4 hours yesterday without letting anyone know where he was going. This is the second time this has happened so when he came back I asked him what was up. His story was this:

His sister was 5 months pregnant, and is not on good terms with her co-wife (it is very common here for people to have up to 4 wives). Yesterday the co-wife called his sister up on the phone and started insulting her and they had a fight over the phone. I don't know about what. So his sister then went to the house, where the co-wife proceded to beat her up, even though she was pregnant. She ended up miscarrying the child. The reason why he left the office was to help her file a court case against the co-wife. This is incredibly sad, but then he was calling his sister "not smart" and blaming because she went to the house to confront the co-wife even though she was pregnant!!!

Thank God that at least in the US, biggest donor of aid to social justice programs around the world, they have equal rights and respect for women everywhere. Oh, that's right, NO THEY DON'T!!! It's easy here in Sudan to think that these problems are unique and that women in more "developed" societies have it made. In a lot of ways, it's true. At 25 years old I am able to choose my partner and whether or not to get married, I am well educated, I have a job in the field of my choice and am financially independent, and can do pretty much whatever I want with my life, wherever in the world I fancy. Would I have this choice if I was born in Sudan? The answer is a resounding "no". If I was a Sudanese woman, I would be married with at least 2 or 3 children, my husband would have at least 1 other wife, I would not have gone to school so would probably not be able to even write my own name (many people's signatures here are actually their thumbprint). I would be expected to run my household and raise my children with the little money left over on pay day from my husband's drinking sprees. I would never have even seen a doctor or other trained medical provider other than a community health worker - that is if I was allowed by my husband to see one - and would probaly be born, live and die in the same town.

But there are also stories of hope here. Last week we had the launch of one of our programs in Yei, Lainya and Morobo counties, which included training people living with HIV as peer educators. As we were standing in the yard before the event, one of our facilitators pointed out a woman wearing a red dress with yellow flowers who was seated with a few other women. She said this woman was one of the peer educators who participated in the workshop, she was HIV positive and so was her 2 year old child. Halfway through the workshop her child passed away while being carried on her back. The child was literally fine in the morning, seemingly healthy and laughing, but by the afternoon had passed away, with no indication of how. After only 2 days of grieving, this woman returned to the workshop and participated for the rest of the sessions, determined to get all the information about staying healthy that she could so she could pass it on to others in her community.

Today Washington University in St. Louis, my alma matter, is holding the commencement ceremony for the Class of 2008. Also today, they are awarding Phyllis Schlafley an honorary doctorate, and Chris Matthews is the commencement speaker. Hear that? It's the sound of my head exploding. Read this excellent piece by Katha Pollitt published in The Nation which echoes exactly how I feel about the situation.

Backlash Spectacular
by Katha Pollitt
The Nation "

Washington University is giving Phyllis Schlafly an honorary doctorate. Let me run that by you again. Washington University, the distinguished 155-year-old seat of higher learning in St. Louis, is giving an honorary degree to Phyllis Schlafly--archfoe of the Equal Rights Amendment, the United Nations, Darwinism and other newfangled notions, and the promoter of innumerable crackpot far-right conspiracy theories who called the Bomb "a marvelous gift that was given to our country by a wise God." Her eighty-two years haven't mellowed her one bit: last year she blamed the Virginia Tech massacre on the English department; called intellectual men "liberal slobs"; advocated banning women from traditionally male occupations like construction, firefighting and the military; and defended men's property rights over their wives' vaginas ("by getting married, the woman has consented to sex, and I don't think you can call it rape"). The campus is in an uproar, and no wonder. After four years of hard work, female seniors get to watch their school honor someone who thinks they should park their diplomas in the kitchen sink. Washington U might as well bring in mad misogynist Chris Matthews as commencement speaker. Oh. You mean...? No!Yes.

Tell me the backlash against feminism isn't crackling up a storm. I tryto keep my eye on the big picture and the bottom line: education, employment, autonomy, power. Surely, I tell myself, the fact that half of all new med students are female is more important than Paris Hilton's omnipresent visage; that a woman has made the first viable run for the presidency says more about the United States than that media clowns like Matthews basically call her a crazy castrating bitch on a daily basis; or that Caitlin Flanagan, smarmy enemy of working mothers (and another big believer in compulsory sex for wives), won a National Magazine Award for reviews and criticism.

But sometimes I think we're truly going backward, as Republican hegemony, conservative Christianity and anti-feminist media propaganda take their cumulative toll. All those judges, all that money, all that shock jockery, all those magazines obsessively following stars' weight and baby bumps: it would be strange if they had no effect. As far as concrete setbacks go, look no further than the case of Lilly Ledbetter, whose right to sue for pay discrimination was denied by the Supreme Court last May. In a 5-to-4 decision, the Justices overturned the standard interpretation of existing law to declare that Ledbetter was twenty years too late: the victim of pay discrimination must sue within six months of the initial discriminatory act--never mind whether she knew about it (many employers, including Ledbetter's, forbid workers from discussing their salaries; she found out she was paid less than any man at her level from an anonymous tip). Given the realities of life, the Court has given employers the nod to pay women less, as long as they can keep the women in the dark for 180 days. In April a bill to restore women's right to sue failed in the Senate, 56-to-42, because for some reason everything now needs sixty votes to become law. John McCain said the bill would lead to too many lawsuits (hello? all it would have done was restore the law we'd lived with for forty-four years); what women needed was more "education and training." Because right now, women are just too dumb to merit equal pay. As Dahlia Lithwick wrote in a coruscating piece in Slate, if women take this sitting down, maybe they really are dumb.

The suspicion that women are dim would explain why Oklahoma has just passed a law requiring not only that women seeking abortions be forced to view sonograms of their fetuses but that the picture be taken in the way most likely to reveal the clearest picture--often up their vaginas. In other antichoice news, an abortion ban will be on the ballot again in South Dakota, this time with narrow exceptions for rape and incest. And mark June 7 on your calendar--it's Protest the Pill day, brought to you by the American Life League and other antichoice groups, which claim, despite the evidence, that "the Pill kills babies" by preventing implantation of fertilized eggs. Maybe it's good that the antichoice movement is outing itself as opposed to contraception, as prochoicers have long maintained and not many pundits have noted--but it also shows that they believe they can come out of the closet and not be dismissed as lunatics. Look for more struggles over government birth-control funding--already way down, thanks to budget cuts and inflation--as the antichoicers move the goal posts of how "life" is defined.

Yes, women are still making gains in education and--slowly--in politics and other areas. But long standing feminist gains are eroding: battered women's shelters, for example, are closing for lack of funds. And the advances haven't made the difference once hoped for. There are more powerful female Hollywood executives than ever, but as Manohla Dargis pointed out in a splendid rant (her word) in the New York Times, the movies are relentlessly male-focused: the conventional Hollywood wisdom is "Women can't direct. Women can't open movies. Women are a niche." Culturally, there's misogyny wherever you look: Grand Theft Auto IV, which offers players the opportunity to have sex with prostitutes and kill them, got rave reviews and is expected to have $500 million in sales its first week out. If there's a pro-woman cultural event with that kind of reach and impact, I'd like to hear about it. It certainly wouldn't be Vanity Fair's photo of tween icon Miley Cyrus, clad in nothing but a bedsheet at all of 15 years old--or the daily media onslaught urging women to focus on their babies like a Zen master contemplating a rock--when not taking pole-dancing lessons, getting Botoxed or catching up on the latest "studies" purporting to prove that they lack the drive and brains to do anything better with their brief time on earth. Feminism, please call home!"

*Source: Women for Women International

mushroom farming

How mushrooms are farmed in Kisumu, Kenya was explained to me yesterday and I thought it was pretty darn cool:

1. Lay an empty pint-size whiskey bottle on its side. Cut a piece off of a mushroom, and rub it on or place it on a piece of agar (the substance that's inside petri dishes). Place the mushroom spore agar inside the bottle. After awhile, you will begin to see spores growing on the agar.

2. Once the spores cover the piece of agar, scoop it out of the bottle and mix several pieces of the mushroom-agar into a 5-kilo bag of millet that has been soaked in water. The spores will feed even more off of the millet, and you'll see them multiplying like crazy.

3. Take a 4-foot piece of plastic sheeting and roll it together, making a tube. Fill the bottom with banana leaves, cassava leaves, dirt, etc - basically compost or detritus. Pour several bags of the mushroom spore millet into the tube. Take a large sterilized knife and make cuts all over the plastic tube.

4. Mushrooms will begin growing out the sides of the tube where you made the cuts. Harvest and enjoy!

Babysitting was not part of the job description

The other day I helped one of my colleagues with the photo shoot of local families and kids for some of the packaging and print material for our new products. This involved driving a land cruiser to their neighborhood, collecting everyone, driving to the guesthouse, and keeping them occupied while we got the pictures we needed. Simple, right? Wrong. First of all, even though we only needed about 8 people total, half the neighborhood showed up clean, dressed up, ready to go to the photo shoot. This includes 16 kids, 4 mothers, and 4 babies. So we pile everyone in back of the land cruiser and head through the horrendously bumpy roads to the guest house. Here's what that looked like... and this...

Once we got to the house, we had to keep all these kids entertained. So what is the best babysitter on earth? The tv. So we sat the kids down in front of a Spiderman DVD and went to take the pictures. That captured their attention for about 30 minutes, since they don't speak English, at which time I took them all outside to play frisbee and ball. Holy crap, playing with 15 kids between the ages of 4 and 9 who can't speak English was TIRING. They are all adorable, but this isn't exactly my forte. I mean, I like kids and all, but I don't exactly babysit in my spare time, ya dig? I prefer to hold the babies - it doesn't involve any of this running around nonesense :) So the guesthouse was turned into a daycare center for the afternoon, complete with "schoolbus." Whew!