Strangers in a Not Entirely Strange Land

There is quite a difference between the sensory overload you experience in a new country once you've done this before. When I first moved to Africa everything was an experience, everything felt noteworthy, all was new and exciting. And while each new place since has had wonderful things to marvel at, lots of culture to learn, and a ton to figure out, now that I've moved country a few times it's all a bit less overwhelming. I feel a little less strange in strange lands. Or at least slightly less overly-self-aware. Not everything feels like an experience, not all things feel noteworthy. Which is good in some ways. I feel less out-of-place and less completely out of my depth. Parts of the culture and the people actually feel a bit like home. The greetings, Arabic rapport, the call to prayer as the heat of the day is setting. There is lots to learn, there always is, but some of it I've already got a handle on. Which is a relief.

Also, the very hard and struggled-to-attain confidence to traipse a big city in a land that is not my own, well, turns out, it does transfer a bit! And having a pretty good handle on language really helps. Yes, there are parts of me that feel more at rest here than have felt at rest in many months.

One of the programs that I'm managing is our cleaning course. It's a two week course for refugees to learn about the different cleaning products here. What they do, how to use them, the ones that are dangerous. But in that, too, are basic life/employment skills. The importance of being dependable and on time, respecting oneself and their employer, and general wise words about navigating positive relationships with the culture here. As well as bits about godliness, cleanliness, and peace starting inside their own hearts. Not things I'd necessarily be able fit in during a cleaning course, but that our great staff here does seamlessly.

Thursday afternoon was my first time to attend our graduation from the cleaning course. It was a smaller group than usual (likely because last week began Ramadan), but a very motivated bunch. One of the graduates, from an extremely war-torn area in North Africa, got up and said a few words. He commended the teacher (a South Sudanese guy who really is an excellent teacher--I've never seen anyone so enthusiastic about cleaning products) and explained how difficult it is for them to find work here since they are strangers to this land. He shared that he is very thankful for this course and hopeful that it will help provide him with a job. He looked around the room and said, "Our future will be better."

The instructor gave me a few minutes to stand up and encourage the group. I talked about the places I lived and how much I love their countries and that my husband and I are here now because we can't live in their home countries either, but we still wanted to be among them, helping them if we could. I encouraged them to work well once they get placed in jobs, and that God loves and cares for them. I got to deliver a little speech in Arabic again...and my heart felt a little more at home.Among people I love, from a country my heart is still very much invested in, speaking in a tongue that I can understand. Not entirely unlike me, this is not their homeland. And while, of course, our reasons and means of being here are worlds apart, our worlds do merge. And because my world merged with theirs a few years ago, they are a people that will in some way forever feel like home.

Though moving here feels easier than other cities I've moved to in recent years, I still want to be mindful and aware of the newness and the experiences around. I still want to learn and be stretched, be mindful and take note. I have much to learn from all these strange lands. And I rejoice in the fact that I don't feel a complete stranger here, and that even the strangers here feel a bit like home.

Slowing Down and Settling In

Well, it's been a long gap. The last several months were, well, frantic. After being back in South Sudan, we went to Kenya, back to South Sudan, Kenya, UK for Christmas, US for just under three months with lots of travelling, back to the UK and travelling all over there. And now, finally, in our new North African home. Nine months of marriage, thirty-six beds, no more than three weeks in one place and a grand total of ten weeks not living in someone else's house or a hotel. And while we're still in a guesthouse/apartment for the time being until we find our own place to SETTLE in, it feels good to finally get where we're going.

We're about two weeks in. Only had a day overlap in the office with our director who is away now for a month for a much needed break. We've both been sick which is to be expected. New country, travelling, and finally stopping after going for so long. And now a longer season of transition into our new city, our new home.

Transitions. You'd think I'd be better at them by now. I have gotten better at knowing what feels to expect and what passes and better at taking it a little easier on myself at first. What helps a LOT is doing this with another person, and my favorite one at that. I went overseas planning on being in one place for a long time. Four-and-a-half years in and relocating to my third country was not the plan. It's aggravating at moments having to be the new kid all over again. More roads and public transport and landmarks to learn! More relationships to establish and friends to make! But when you spend your teenage years praying that God will send you to hard places, one should not be surprised to find oneself in countries that are unstable and having to adjust accordingly.

So here we are, again, desperately trying to build the kingdom among people we love.

My life here in this new big city is going to be a lot different. Easier in a number of ways, for one. Less oppressive climate, more amenities, not living with lots and lots of children. And also because, for the first time in my life basically, I'll mostly have normal scheduled working hours. In an office. Which is nuts. And kinda throwing me for a loop. In South Sudan and in my desert home before that, most of my time was spent hands-on working with kids and teenagers. As nuts and intense as my life was, there was at least the fact that I was doing life with these kiddos and the sense that that was something and that mattered. While I'll still interact with refugees frequently in this role, my job is going to be far less hands on. I'll be implementing and maintaining programs that not only help give people skills, but also help place them in jobs so as to give them a livelihood, and supervising local folks who are better adept with the more hands-on bits anyway.

The hope is that while it is less hands off, that it does stand to be more effective. Taking what I learned the last several years and hopefully using this opportunity to help change peoples overall situations. My heart is still absolutely with children-at-risk. The ones the world has not taken care of. And while in the day to day my life will not be in any way working with kids (sniffle), if I can help vulnerable refugee men and women provide for the children in their care, these kids won't end up on the streets in the first place. So they are connected, even if my heart is mourning the loss of rapport with sassy kiddos on a day-to-day basis.

It feels right, though. This feels like the natural, right, next thing. The experience I've gained the last few years meeting the lots of things I want to learn about livelihoods projects in this perfect little role that lets me serve refugees from the last two countries I called home.

And now, this next bit, finding a place to live, and trying to find the peace in our hearts to settle in and put in roots after so, so much moving about.

Stay tuned to this space, if that's what you're into. Life has stopped moving so fast and we're settling in and I guess that's what I needed to be writing again. It feels good to be back.

Hope is
folding paper cranes
even when your hands get cramped
and your eyes tired,
working past blisters ad
paper cuts,
simply because something in you
insists on
opening its wings.
"Origami Emotion" Elizabeth Barrette

Back in Juba

Life has a very funny way of being very funny. Back in Juba for a few weeks, which is really completely bonkers. Dan and I have been married just over five weeks (and because I can't seem to mention being married without being kind of ridiculous and nauseating, I have to say that it's been a most glorious five weeks! Being married to this man feels like the most natural, wonderful thing in the world! Yay life!).

In those five weeks we've honeymooned in the US, had a long weekend in the UK (including an unplanned and not entirely pleasant 30 hour stint in Heathrow), a few days in Kenya, and are now back in South Sudan for a few weeks. Which is funny to me because in all the ideas Dan and I have had and all of the plans we have made, being back in Juba a few weeks after being married was definitely, definitely not one of them.

But, alas, here we are and Dan is working very hard, as he always does. I am doing computer work type things in the mornings, and in the afternoons am going to CCC every day to be with the girls and keep pushing them along in the beading project I got going while I was here.

For me, it is gloriously joyful to be back (to visit). I said good-bye in June with the expectation that I wouldn't be returning. I wanted to handle my good-byes properly and in an honest way. I think this is important for human copeability, but very massively important when you are saying those good-byes to children who've had difficult lives. I told them when I left that I didn't know when I was coming back or if I was coming back but that I loved them and would remember them always. They told me they would pray for God to bring me back. Looks like the prayers of little children must be powerful because, here we are!

I was greeted by all of the girls hurling towards me in the biggest, most excited group hug I've ever experienced. It was amazing. They were more gentle with Dan, for which I think he is most appreciative.

When I left South Sudan and in the last few months since I've been away I've told myself that usually when the founder of a project leaves, usually the project fades out. I told myself that at the very least the girls had sold over $3,000 worth of handcrafts and they each had money saved for their futures. That they each possessed new skills and maybe somewhere, somehow down the road it could benefit them or someone else in some way. I told myself I did my best and that it's unreasonable to think that in a year I could start something that could carry on. So I came back expecting the stock of things for sale to be low, most of the girls uninterested, and not a whole lot being done with it at all.

The day I got back I had two girls wander up with me to the large cupboard that acts as the CCC store. We opened it and I broke out into a huge grin. Lots of stock! New designs! Beautiful quality! Later on I sat down with Joy, a Ugandan lady who is on CCC staff, who I had handed over all of the materials to and inventory and books to record sales and pocket money. She started showing me her take on the systems I put in place, telling me about how the girls are using their pocket money, about special orders they've received, about Miss South Sudan's enthusiasm for the project, and about how much they've sold since I've been gone.

I wanted to cry! The girls had sold over $1,000 during the summer, bringing the grand total of things sold since we started last September to over $4,000! That's about $2,500 in combined savings! Even one of the 5-year olds is making little South Sudan flag bracelets nice enough to sell. Floored! Amazed! Delighted! Such joy.

So I've been hanging out with the girls every afternoon and it has been so good for my soul. They're my little sisters, my little friends. I've had the opportunity to help share some of the coping strategies living in the dorm with the girls for 8 months with another American gal who is living in the dorm with them now. I do not miss that part, I will say. But, as I was chatting with this new friend, I shared that I feel like part of the reason that I bonded so well with the girls and that we're pretty tight IS because I lived with them in the dorm and did life with them and was in and around allllllll of the time. Not super great for ones mental well-being perhaps, but it was very unique gift and blessing. Some of my most precious moments and memories and talks with them I wouldn't have been able to have if I wasn't living right beside them. It was challenging, but a great treasure to me and I think having foreigners willing to live with them where they are speaks in a special way to them as well.

It is a great and beautiful gift to visit another place that I've been gifted to call home for a season. He never seems to take us where we think we might go. Another reason that he is very, very good.

"Mostly we have just enough light to see the next step: what we have to do in the next hour or following day. The art of living is to enjoy what we can see and not complain about what remains in the dark. When we are able to take the next step with the trust that we will have enough light for the next step that follows, we can walk through life with joy and be surprised at how far we go. Let's rejoice in the little light we carry and not ask for the great beam that would take all shadows away." Henri Nouwen

Finding Words Again

It's been awhile. I went back to Juba and it was hard and good and strange I lost my words for a little while. It's taken me a few weeks in the US to start to find them again.

I have finished up in Juba for now. I spent two more months with the girls, spending time with them, finishing up what I needed to with the training, and handing over remaining responsibilities so it can keep on in my absence. A designated person to buy supplies and a person in the office to handle the money. The girls are trained, competent, and when I left we'd sold over $3,000 worth of beaded goods. 60% of that is in savings for them. It was more successful than I could have hoped when I settled into the dorm last July. A grace.

I had a proper good-bye with the girls and staff. Notes, hugs, closure. The way it should be done. The director even wrote a song about Dan and I and the girls all sang it for us at a little farewell they threw for me. It was perfect.

Leaving was bittersweet, as I'm sure you can imagine. Those sweet, amazing girls invaded my heart. But I leave them in good hands. I did what I had gone to do. I made their lives a little better I hope. It was time for me to go.

I'm back in the US now for a time. Dan, my fiancée, is still in Juba, continuing to work hard in an unstable, difficult place. He's by far the strongest man I know. South Sudan is a better place for having him there.

He'll come to the US (for the first time) a week before we get married in September. We'll be apart for 88 days, and then we'll be together for a week and then married and together for the rest of our lives. We're very, very ready for those days to hasten and to make our vows to each other after, what can only be described, as a very stressful, very tumultuous year for both of us. We're tired. And ready for a break.

Being back is hard. And to be honest I'm not coping as well as I would have thought. Yes, in large part because my love is very far away in a not-so-safe place. But also because I don't know how to deal with this last year, the things I have experienced and seen and heard, and what to do with that here and now, especially in the vast contrast of material goods and order and safety in the Western world.

I hear rain pattering on tin outside my window and freeze for a minute to see if it's gunfire. When I go running on back country road in the evenings I think about escape routes through the woods if someone tried to attack me. Throughout the day my mind drifts to all of the possible horrific things that could happen to me or my fiancée before we're able to be married.

This is not normal.

It's like my mind has shifted into some sort of crazy self-preservation mode. Like it has rationalized that with all these terrible things that I have seen and heard about, especially in South Sudan this last year, that something terrible must be coming for me. That it can't possibly be fair that unspeakable things can happen to all these people and I remain untouched. Happy. Joyous, even. Planning a wedding and a life with the best man I know. It feels like this crazy injustice. ...And so my mind is doing this thing where it's trying to think of all the awful things that could happen in order to prepare for it.

I know it's ridiculous. I know I'm being crazy. And yet, thankfully, it's not all consuming. I'm aware of it and I know it's not healthy. And I know that there is an enemy who wants to rob me of my joy. Who wants me to live in fear. Who wants me to be scared of losing the things in life that give me life. And so I'm combatting this the best way I know how. Praying, journaling. I'm running and painting and reading--trying to relieve the stress of these last several months and restore myself. I try to talk about it, but it's hard to know what to say.

People are still being killed. Children are starving. It looks like famine is getting ready to sweep the nation--already hanging on by a thread. I've held babies wounded from fighting. Sat in meetings where we talked about innocent men, women, and children had been shot. I got to know a very troubled girl who was locked in a room for three months and raped daily by a soldier. I spent months living with girls who were beaten and raped on the streets. I know of people who had happy lives and solid jobs who are now forced to live in UN camps, idling their days away, for they know if they venture out, because of their tribe, they're likely to be killed.

My mind cannot compute. I struggle to explain, because I don't even understand myself. I don't understand how these things can happen. And I know that with knowledge comes responsibility. What do I do with this knowledge right now? I feel weary and emotionally exhausted. I'm getting the break I need--a tremendous luxury.

And I'm marrying a man who cares about these things as I do. Who is as passionate and driven to do something as I am. I am grateful beyond words. We're not exactly sure where or what is next for us, but we know that we can't sit back idly, we can't choose a life of ease knowing what we know. We know that letting evil happen without doing anything is as bad as doing it ourselves.

So as I continue to seek the words and seek for understanding, I ask that you'd pray over Dan and I. For this difficult season and for rest in mind and body for both of us. We are weary.

New Kids and a Weepy Heart

Things at CCC are a bit different these days. About half of the girls are still at another children's home in Yei, a town about 4-5 hours drive south. This means that things are a bit quieter here than they were last year. I wouldn't say serene, but the feel is overall lighter and less frenetic. With some of the girlies gone, it has made space for new kids.

With all the fighting going on there are many children who are newly orphaned, as well as kids who were injured in the fighting.

There are a group of five new little ones, ages 5-6. They've been here for about two months. They have a pretty incredible story, though I don't know all of the details. So, it's not unusual for some of the ethnic groups here when doing cattle raids and attacking villages, to abduct children. In Bor a soldier took it upon himself to round up these children who had been abducted. There was a group of about 50 of them, and the ministry there worked to find the children's families. They were able to reunite 38 of the 50 kids with their families, which is really quite incredible. When fighting broke out in December in Bor and the town was decimated, the kids were left there alone, with no one responsible for them. Someone got them on an NGO flight out to Juba. But when they arrived, there was no one to collect them, no one who even knew about them, and they had no where to go. Apparently they were just at the airport milling about until someone took pity on them and took them home. A few days later the ministry brought them here. So crazy!

These kids have been through a lot. In the evenings a few of them have nightmares and wake up screaming. One boy has started talking about a woman who would beat them, and then pushed them out into the street during the fighting. Traumatized, is the word.

We have a new baby here. He is about thirteen months old, but no one knows for sure. In the most recent fighting in Bor, (It's genocide. Let's call it what it is.) his mother was killed. He has a deep cut on his leg that was sustained while he was in his mothers arms as she was being killed. They day UNICEF brought him here, he was wailing and crying. The girls know the basics of his story, and were sad and don't understand what sort of people kill mothers and babies. He was wailing and I had to step inside a moment to keep myself together.

He's an amazing kid. So much personality, a beautiful smile. He waves at me when I walk by and the other day, smiling, threw all of his toys at me and told me to take them. "Shiilu! Shiilu!" He doesn't talk enough yet for anyone to be able to find out his name, so he was given a new one. He mostly babbles in his mother tounge, which no one here knows. He is gorgeous and hilarious and I know his mother must have been amazing to have a child this beaming. But she was killed because of her tribe. There is always mercy in a life spared, but I can't help but get a lump in my throat each time I look at him. Why was his mothers life not spared too?

There is so much that I don't understand. I have run out of words of horror and sadness and disbelief about what is happening in this country. There is so much darkness here! And on evenings and weekends Dan and I are trying to plan a wedding. We are thrilled for our life together, and we are preparing to spend lots of money to celebrate that. I'm trying to care about guest lists and cute décor and venues that seem so dang expensive and a dress that I'll feel pretty in and it seems wrong somehow! HOW can I have so much to love and treasure and a viable future and hope and yet GENOCIDE IS HAPPENING HERE.

CCC will be getting two new little girls, about age 8, as soon as they've finished recovering in the hospital from their GUNSHOT WOUNDS sustained when running away from the people killing their families.

I am thankful I can be here now. But I don't know how much more my heart can take. I'm tired. I feel like I have little left to give. I don't want to go but I know for my mental, physical, emotional health, I need an extended break from such stressful circumstances. I have a CHOICE about being here. Such a luxury. I am thankful for all I have and I feel guilty for it. Does one come to a point of resolution inside with all of these mixed feelings and emotions? In understanding this devastating world? I don't think understanding will ever come.

Oh, South Sudan. God must be weeping too.

BIG NEWS

I am back in Juba for the next 6 weeks to try and finish up the project here and pass along my responsibilities in the hopes that it can continue once I go.

I had a very joyful reception from the girls--they literally ran when they saw me. I'm in the process of trying to sort and locate all of the odds and ends, which is proving to be more difficult than I anticipated.

But that's not the big news.

The big news is that I'M ENGAGED!

 

His name is Dan. He's British and we met in Juba in August, started dating in October, were evacuated together in December and I was able to spend Christmas with him and his family in the UK. We got serious very early on--I'm not one to mess around and Juba is an intense place. At some point I hope to do a little version of our story on the blog, for those who are interested. Fingerprints of the divine all over.

But he's wonderful. I'm twitterpated and smitten head over heels. Which is all very new and delightful for me. And my family and friends are pretty amused to see me like this. I've perhaps been a bit jaded about these things the last few years and, as my dad said when we called him with the good news, I'm not one to get giddy. Especially about a boy. So what a fun, amazing surprise in life. I never dared to hope it could get this good!

I'll try to update the blog over the next several weeks, but my time in South Sudan is going to be intense (it's so hot here!) and any extra mind space I might have is being occupied with plans and ideas for us as we unite our lives.

So, I'm spinning really. Lots going on. It's exciting. And intense--an interesting choice for us to spend the first 6 weeks of our engagement in Juba. As Dan said, we're either very cool and exciting or possibly quite stupid. :)

Thanks for all the love and support. It's proving to be another whirlwind year so far!

More Changes

My plans have changed again. And I am unsurprised. I have settled (somewhat) into the fact that my life is going to remain in an increased state of flux and change for the next several months. By nature of where I'm living and the unstable places I've chosen to live, things are ever in flux. This is compounded by the fact that I am trying to make my plans around another person these days, too. Ah, love. Has us doing things we never thought we would.

In about two weeks I'll be heading back to Juba for, likely, all of April and May.

I'm nervous.

Life is continuing on in a new sort of normal and is stable on the surface. But there is heavy fighting and opposition groups in other parts of the country. Fighting has sporadically broken out in Juba in the last few weeks, but it has been controlled, and there are many, many, many forces in the city. There is stability, but a shaky stability at best. Plus, I'll again be living where I work. A mixed blessing. Don't have to be out and about in the city too much. But, also, I am always at work.

Some of the girls are back at CCC and the rest will return in April. I miss them. I am so very much looking forward to reuniting with them for a little while. And helping at CCC. I'm nervous about diving back in and finding myself burnt-out and stressed-out and overwhelmed all over again. But my little sister has lectured me about boundaries. (Sweet.) And it is only for 2 months. You can do anything for 2 months. It is going to be intense and hard. But I can hack it for 8 weeks. And I feel like, when I left, my work there wasn't quite done. I'm happy to have the chance to go back and try and finish what I started.

Many of my Juba friends with NGO's who were also evacuated are back in the city. I'll have people to look out for me. I won't be all alone. So I'm mustering all the strength and energy I can, trusting God again in all of my weakness, and heading back. I'm planning on heading to the States for a little while in June. I'll need to decompress and recover. This whole year has just been bonkers. So having that as the finish line at the end will help.

Please pray for me, for CCC, for Juba, for South Sudan.

"The best thing about the future is that it comes one day at a time." Abraham Lincoln