A heart-swelling kind of day.

Tuesday was a great day. Last week while sitting in on the teachers meeting I agreed to be at the littlies center all day with Waheeba since none of the other teachers could. It was the last day of the holiday break and only about half of the boys were going to be there. Waheeba is older, super sweet, and one of those people that always seems absolutely, genuinely happy to see you. I like that in a person. Knew a day with her would be lovely.

The day started with a creeper next to me on the bus as I headed to the center, but for the first time I really stood my ground and at the end of it was happy with how I handled the situation. I didn't get loud, but I didn't stay quiet and I was pretty firm about my space. I had to assert myself a couple of times, but he finally seemed to realize that I wasn't going to give in and he spent the rest of the ride that I was stuck next to him with his head resting on his hands on the seat in front, defeated. Still annoying to deal with, but happy to finally feel victorious at the end of one of these scenarios!

I chatted with Waheeba about it a little bit once I got to the center. She was very proud of me for having 'courage' like a Sudanese girl. Encouraged me to raise my voice next time. It was nice to be able to chat with her about that. And other stuff. She was delighted to share her wisdom and made sure I knew I'm like a daughter to her. For the first while I was there we sat side by side chatting and mending the boys holey clothes. It was a joy.

Spent the day joking with the batch of new boys that came last week. (And the oldies, too). Tried to shower on them some of the love and attention they desperately need. I'm falling in love with a whole new set of precious trouble making boys with fuzzy heads.

This one new little boy, let's call him Salaam, came last week. He was a crying mess. Withdrawn and dramatic, with little glimmers of smiling moments here and there. He is a new little boy this week. He's active and happy. Ornery and loud. A little annoying to the other boys, actually, but they handle it well. He spent the day playfully taking my water bottle, walking on his hands, playing WWE with another little boy, and yelling for my attention. He's really young, probably 6 or 7, and super cute with big ol' ears and a gap in his mouth where he lost his first tooth last week. He had a big festering mess on his left leg last week and now with some proper care it is starting to heal up nicely. Waheeba was telling me that his mother and grandmother live on the street a little ways away. Poor as can be, addicted to glue, sickly. The center staff are starting to make more concentrated efforts to build closer relationships with the families of the boys so hopefully they can work to reach out to them as well soon.

Had a nice little drawing program with them in the afternoon. They're so funny. And generally respectful. And seem to be fond of me. All good things. One of the newbies was shocked to find out that I was not Ethiopian, but in fact, an American. Then Salaam tried to steal a bunch of erasers. He was (not so subtly) stuffing them into his pocket throughout the program. I recovered most of them. Later one of the older boys that has been staying there during the break came and returned one that I'd missed.

In the evening two of the boys started fighting.With fists, not words. They got punished for it. The initiator was spanked with a stick a few times, as is the standard. Pretty gentle corporal punishment for here, really. Afterwards the boy was sitting outside by himself crying a little. My heart absolutely swelled as I watched Asbuur (who I've talked about here and here) go sit down and talk with and comfort this little boy. Asbuur seems somewhat aloof and maybe like he doesn't care about a whole lot. I watched the interaction--older tough guy Asbuur (whom I admittedly have a soft spot for) comforting this new boy trying to adjust to center life and new people along with what assuredly is a tough past, likely involving abuse of some kind. A couple of years ago Asbuur was in the same place and it made my heart melt to see him investing in this little boy.

It was a day that I was able to sort of tangibly do some of the things that my heart longs to do. Loving on little ones that are desperate and starved for it. Laughing with them, chatting, mending their pants, sharing food, poking their bellies, and giving positive purposeful attention to them. A lot of times I sort of struggle with feeling helpless and pointless so a day like that is absolutely refreshing. And with passable Arabic to boot. Joy.

A Breather

Friday was Eid Al-Dahiyya. It's an important Muslim holiday. Each family buys and sacrifices, butchers, prepares, and eats a sheep. So the last few days involved seeing lots of herds of sheep around waiting to be sold, hearing the bleating of sheep from the hooshes of neighbors, and seeing a couple of sheep being slaughtered and skinned, as well as random pools of blood, piles of hide, and and occasional sheep head in the street. I even got the privilege  of watching four men do a not so graceful or speedy job of wrestling down a cow and killing it.

Enjoyed visiting some friends for Eid. They live in a nice quiet village-type area about 40 minutes outside of the city. It was a lovely visit. We spent a good part of the day there and had lunch with them. Pasta with ground beef and carrots, a tomato salad with lots of lime and parsley, rice with chickpeas, a yogurty-carrot-cucumber salad, and then stewed lamb. I've eaten lamb a couple of times here. Each time it is really tough and chewy and has a almost gamey taste to it. But at this friends house it was the best lamb I've ever had. Nicely spiced and tender. Almost the texture of pulled pork. I had seconds. Which says a lot as I was vegetarian for a few years before I came to Africa and try still to avoid meat as best as I can here. We doted over our friends beautiful 3 month old girl. We chatted about the ants this year, weather, the arms factory that was bombed this week, what a creative God we have and how that shows his love for us. It's nice to be able to share holidays and traditions with friends here.

Awhile ago we'd heard about a private beach on the Nile about and hour outside of the city. You pay a fee and get to swim in an actual bathing suit and spend a day at the beach without drawing a crowd of onlookers. So on Sunday two friends and I headed out. We had no trouble at any of the checkpoints and found it relatively easily to find and get there. (Landmarks involved a burnt bus, among other things.) There were a couple of other families there and we enjoyed a quiet, sunny day at the beach. I got to swim in the Nile for the first time without pants and a long-sleeve shirt on. We picnicked, kayaked, played cards, chatted, dozed, played with a puppy, and pulled some plastic chairs into the river and sat and read. It was a delight. Perhaps one of the highlights of the day, though, was on our way back. On the way there at one intersection we had seen a dog standing on top of some old car flying down the road. At the same intersection was a traffic officer who, as we drove by, we quickly asked if we were on the right road headed to jabal al-wiyya. He smiled and broadly gestured and loudly told us "Straight ahead!" On the way back at the same intersection, some 6 or 7 hours later, is the same traffic cop. As we drive past he smiles and happily says "Jabal al-wiyya!" We burst into giggles and then saw the same car surfing dog again! Talk about deja vous. It was crazy.

It was a lovely weekend, nice to have two days off of school and the routine. Back to it tomorrow! I was feeling like I could use a bit of a breather, and now I feel energized to, hopefully, make it through the next push until Christmas!

On Rickshaws

"Mash Allah" written on the front. Means "Go with God." Written on nearly all the rickshaws, amjats, and buses.

Up until the last few months rickshaws were my least favorite mode of transport here. Not just because the drivers are generally somewhat reckless or that I have seen many involved in accidents--mostly it's because I don't like the one-on-oneness of them. I dealt with a fair deal of inappropriate chatter my first while here. Lately that hasn't been a problem so much. Partly because I'm getting braver at being sassy when they get inappropriate, but mostly because I think I've just been lucky lately and not had to deal with too many creepo's.

I'm not sure how the Sudanese do it, but I was taught to bargain with the rickshaw driver beforehand. Most of the time I am not an aggressive bargainer. I wish I was. Usually I just prefer to pay the extra 20 or 40 cents or whatever than quibble over it. Every now and then I get into it, especially if their starting price is laughably high. But I usually know roundabout how much it should be to where I'm going and I offer a jineeh or so below that. Works well most of the time.

Sometimes I still forget to settle on a price up front. After explaining where I'm going and sometimes having to twice, I hop in and forget about agreeing on a price. When that happens I usually have some idea about what the price should be, but by that point you're kind of stuck. I will say that I haven't really encountered anyone here who has tried to gyp me by some exorbitant amount. Usually just a couple of pounds. Most are pretty honest though. I like that.

View from the Inside

I learned recently about a friends rickshaw paying strategy. She's been here for a good couple of years and never bargains up front. When she gets out she pays how much she thinks/knows it should be. I think this is how most of the locals do it. Sometimes though the driver starts to fuss that it isn't enough. So she turns around, smiles, and gets a piece of candy out of her bag and hands it to them. Says it works every single time. I believe it. They're either happy about this little gift from a khawajja or so thrown off or both that it seems to work. I think it's brilliant. Not sure if I'll give this strategy a whirl, but it's something to keep in mind.

We live close to a little rickshaw repair shop. There's always a bunch of guys there hanging out and fiddling with their rides. It's kind of cute. It kind of reminds me of a biker hangout or something. They mill reveling in their coolness. Nearly all rickshaw drivers are young guys. Most have little trinkets hanging from the windshield.  Some get really into is and literally have so much junk hanging from the front that you wonder how they even see out of it. At night you see some with fancy lights. Some even have little sound systems. Unfortunately I don't have a picture of any of the really decked out ones, but they make me smile every time. Though, I do avoid riding in those if possible. I like to think the driver can actually see out of the windshield at least. For the same reason I also avoid the ones with the drivers wearing sunglasses at night.

I like seeing how many people and things can fit into one rickshaw. They seat three people confortably in the back. You can squeeze four into the back seat, and up to two more squished up front next to the driver. If there are little kids you can fit even more on peoples laps and such. One day it was like watching a clown car unload. There had to of been at least four adults and four or five kids packed in. I have seen beds on top of rickshaws--not even tied down just being held by an arm on each side. Chairs on top. Large pieces of wood and other materials sticking precariously out of the sides. My favorite was the day I saw a rickshaw with just a goat riding along in the backseat.

While I don't rick it on a super frequent basis (I'm usually pretty content on the bus or walking), it's a nice option to have around. And, literally, they are always around. If I get stuck or I'm in a hurry it's easy to get on and rick it to wherever I need to go. It's nice to have options and to be able to get around the city relatively easily without having a car.

Irony.

 

Pray for Our Brothers

This past week was excellent. Just a really wonderful week. But while I have had one of my best weeks in Sudan it has weighed heavily on my heart the woes of some friends here. Unfortunately I must be very vague, but there are some ex-pat friends here that could really use your prayers.

When grapes are crushed they produce sweet wine. God twists the plans of the enemy and uses them for His own purposes, this we know well. Please be praying for some of our brothers and their families here. It is a very difficult time for some, and a time of some fear for others.

(But don't worry about me, I'm fine.)

"And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on the house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock."
Matthew 7:25

"You see the teardrops as they roll tonight
Down the faces of the saints
Who grow weary and faint in Your fields

And the wicked roam the cities and the streets tonight
But when the God of love and thunder speaks tonight
Oh, I belive you will come
Your justice be done, but how long?"
The Reckoning-Andrew Peterson

A Typical Sunday

Sundays are usually a pretty long day for me. I leave the house at 8 for my lesson at language school. Then it is straight to the older boys center where I stay for the rest of the day. I usually don't get home until 6 or 7. So I'm usually exhausted, especially because pretty much from start to finish I am functioning only in Arabic. My brain is always a little fried at the end.

But I love Sundays. I love the lingering time with the boys. The center doesn't hold school on Sundays, unlike most Sudanese schools which go from Sunday-Thursday. Usually I get there and chat with Mama Shama and the teachers for a bit while the boys do their washing or lazing about. We eat fatuur, then I start the program. We're doing wire stuff again so basically I get the stuff and the boys who want to get to work. I chat, help, make some things. Some of the boys sit and hang out. Some go in the dorm to do whatever. It's pretty laid back on Sundays, which I like. I stay for 4 or 5 hours with the stuff out. Some of the boys keep working all the way through. Most come and go. We have fun. Sometimes they're whiny. Some of them never want to do anything. This is ok.

When I walked in yesterday I greeted the boys who were sitting around. One of them told me that my name for the day was haboba. Which means grandmother. Thaaaaanks. I went into the kitchen and chatted with Shama for a bit. She told me how two days ago two of the boys had gotten in a fight. One hit the other on the back of the neck with a stick and he passed out on the ground. In the hubbub of trying to get him to the hospital one of the teachers and other boys went on a motorbike, got hit by a rickshaw, and ended up at the hospital too. Everyone is ok. The teacher is still at home recovering. Shama was really disappointed in the boys and was saying that the group they have now is a lot worse than groups in the past. I know I'm still a new kid on the block, but in a group of emotionally damaged teenage boys I'm surprised this stuff doesn't happen more often quite honestly. I'm glad everyone is ok. Crazy, crazy.

I ended up doing a bit of an impromptu English test for a few of the boys. They all have their first big exams of the year next week. Some of the oldest ones are learning to read English well. They're too nervous to try to speak with me, but they bust it out sometimes and surprise me. Yesterday one of the boys was looking through my Arabic notebook and saw where I had written "silly" and the Arabic word beside it. He asks me how to pronounce silly, then said the Arabic word also means "ridiculous." I was like "Where did you learn the word ridiculous? That's amazing!" These boys are clever. Later on he also found in the back of my notebook where I'd written down some of the limericks/lines of poetry that I scribble down in Arabic. To occupy my mind on the bus sometimes I try to think of words that rhyme in Arabic and I make silly little limericks out of them. I was working with another boy and I knew that he was reading through my notes. But when he gave me a thumbs-up and said "Bess, you are becoming so learned in Arabic! 100%," I saw what he was looking at and I think I just said "Oh no." I know they're probably pitiful. I was a little embarrassed. He corrected some of my spelling and seemed impressed. Later told a couple of the other boys how I was becoming good in Arabic and writing poems. I'm sure they're at the level of a 6 year old...but they didn't laugh at me so I guess that's a good sign.

Sometimes Always one or more of the boys end up doodling on whatever paper I have there for my own purposes. One of the boys doodled the words "I, Mustafa, love the program" three times. Oh, it made my heart smile!

Yeah, I may have cut it out and taped it in my journal.

Another thing I like about Sundays is that the two teachers that are there leave a little earlier than usual (traffic is bonkers on Sundays) and there is no evening teacher there for awhile. The last hour or two feel a little more laid back. I like that. I brought my mp3 player and a little travel speaker and we listened to music. The boys really like some American music and some of them are more up on what's new and hip than I am. So I bring music sometimes and we listen, sing along, as we work and chat. I only bring it every now and then. Sometimes the boys dance a little. It's fun. The boys favorites are Chris Brown, Justin Beiber, Usher. The likes of those. I, myself, enjoy a bit of hip hop and pop, but I try to expand the boys horizons too. They usually don't take this well. Have gotten them to enjoy Lecrae and Grits at least. Still the same sound, but cleaned up. Anyway, I happen to have one Selena Gomez song. It's not something I'm proud of. It's kind of peppy...I dunno. Don't judge me! Much to my surprise some of the boys are familiar with that song. They never really know what the artists are singing of course. So when two of them started 'singing' along with Selena "I'm no beauty queen, I'm just beautiful me" I had a hard time keeping it together. Oh you tough 16-year-old boys! If only you knew what you were singing! I do selectively translate lyrics sometimes, but I wasn't going to break it to them that this was a song to help young girls have better self esteem. Won't ruin that for them. It was a funny moment.

I also learned something new yesterday. I cut my finger on a some wire. It wasn't deep or bad or anything, just wouldn't stop bleeding. The boys told me to put salt on it. I'm like, "What? That sounds crazy." I was hesitant, but I took their advice. It didn't sting all that bad. When I rinsed it a few minutes later it had sealed the cut right up. It was amazing. I guess a little salt in a wound is a good thing sometimes.

Before I left for the evening I ended up chatting with a couple of the boys for awhile. About differences between the US and Sudan. Age. Personal independence. Jobs. It was a really nice chat. Sometimes after I sit and chat for awhile with the older boys one of them will thank me for my time. It's nice I suppose. But it almost makes me feel a little bad. Because it is a joy to me. There is no better way to spend my time here than to sit and chat with them.

As I was finally on my way home I was thanking God for the pretty clouds in the sky. Then I smiled because I realized that I'd done it in Arabic without even thinking about it.

As if I didn't already have enough reasons to smile to myself as I made my way home, as I was still a street or two away from the house two little girls that I don't remember ever seeing before ran up to greet me. One of them kissed my hand. It was so sweet. I think they were Ethiopian. Their Mom was sitting nearby and I waved and greeted her and the little girls joyfully bounded back to their smiling Mom, blowing kisses as I walked away. The Lord is so good at nourishing our souls. He does it so much better than we know how to ourselves.

Yes indeedy, a lovely day.

A Visit and Getting Home

Eliza is a sweet girl about my age who teaches at the littlies center. For the last two weeks she's been sick with Typhoid. When I went to the center last Tuesday eight of the other teachers and staff were about to leave to go visit her. In our culture you wouldn't go as a big group of eight to go visit the sick person. But here that is exactly what you do. Zeke, one of the guys on staff asked me to come along. I asked how long the visit would be. (Wanting to make sure that it wasn't going to be late and I wouldn't run into trouble having to get transport well after dark.) He said it would be short--they were just going there and back. I knew it wouldn't be just that quick or easy, but it seemed a good thing to do.

Her house was farther away than I thought it would be. When we got there the men and women immediately split off into different room and chatted and visited. I was quietly listening for most of the time. It's hard to have much to add in group settings. The conversations moves really quickly and I'm happy if I can just keep up.

We were served water and  juice. Then we were served a meal. It was an impressive and tasty spread of some of the usual dishes. Stew with okra and potatoes, pasta with some ground meat, mashii (rice stuffed zucchini and eggplant), eggplant and yogurt salad with tahini, arugula and tomatoes, chili sauce, all eaten with bread.

After we ate all of us gathered together in one room. A few of the male teachers and the director, then Eliza's dad and older brother all said a few words. Then they asked me to pray for Eliza. A few other folks prayed and Eliza's dad closed us. After that we were served tea. I told myself I wasn't going to get worried about the time, transport, descending darkness, or that the sky was looking foreboding. I wanted to be fully present. I had a good feeling that I'd be fine and needn't worry myself. It was a nice visit. I felt a little awkward, but I think that's to be expected. Eliza and her family were very appreciative that we came. Her Dad told us, and singled me out specifically, to say that we were part of the family now and welcome anytime. It was sweet.

As we were leaving you could see a dust storm approaching and lightning way off in the distance (a very rare sight here!). The sun was just starting to go down, but it sets really quickly here--20 minutes later it was completely dark out. While we were in the amjat (minivan/taxi) my housemate calls to see if I'm ok. She says there is a dust storm in where she was and that we'd lost power. (Though that is not unusual.) I was starting to feel just a little nervous about getting home. I kept thinking we were going to pass a road where I knew I could get out and easily get a bus to the station to get home. I realized, though, that we were going a different way back to the center. By the time we get back to the center I'd decided I would just take an amjat home. I said goodbye to everyone and went to say bye to Zeke who had been chatting with the driver. As I said bye to him he told me to get in, he talked to the driver and the driver would take me. I was really relieved, as taking an amjat isn't dangerous really, but it is a bit of a risk for me to flag down one and take it by myself at night. You never know if you can really trust the driver or not. So this meant this guy who they know and trust was going to take me. Splendid. I asked Zeke how much and he told me it was taken care of. I said "No! I'll pay for it!" and he said "No, no!" and told me to get in. I felt bad that they paid, but also really touched! How thoughtful! It warms my heart that I wasn't the only one concerned about getting home in the dark from Omdurman and that he realized that a khwajja (white foreigner) girl getting around at night, especially with a storm brewing, was a little dangerous. Two of the teachers called me on the way home to make sure I was ok. It was a lovely visit and what a relief it was not to have to take the bus at night nor have to flag down an amjat, haggle over a price, and get in wondering whether or not he will be inappropriate with me.

Well Deserved

Before director-lady left for the summer she took a bunch of the wire stuff the boys had made with her to sell. She also took with her two nice pictures that one of the oldest boys, "T", had drawn. She got them framed then auctioned them off while she was home in the UK. After the cost of the frames and such the profit was about $162.

She told me this and it made me so happy. Last week I was able to change the sterling into sdg. I'd talked with her about the money and we agreed that, like we do with the wire stuff with the boys, he was to get a third. From the money that remained I went out and got him a selection of actual, nice art supplies. Pencils, quality paper, watercolors, tempera paint, pastels, quality colored pencils. Stuff like that is really expensive here so there's no way to have enough of those supplies for all the boys. Few of them would be able to appreciate it anyway. I was delighted to be able to get T this stuff. I know he is into art and really enjoys it. He's talented to boot.

I had chatted with him about it just a bit the week before, so he knew he had money coming, just didn't know how much. So on Sunday I told him to come into the office. I gave him 305 sdg, (About what the teachers at the center make in 2 weeks--so no small sum!) and showed him the art supplies I'd picked for him, explaining what some of them were and such. His smile was big and his "thank you" heartfelt. He is such a good guy. Responsible, hardworking, respectful, trustworthy. It is great to see him rewarded and I'm excited to see what he does with the new supplies. I'm hoping to be able to do a little serious art lessons with him. We'll see. It was an encouraging moment though. It's always great to witness the success of others, especially one who are so deserving!