Christmas in Nimule

Christmas greetings

Despite news reports to the contrary the whole of South Sudan is NOT a war zone. Areas affected are those which were war torn in any case: places such as Jonglei and Unity States.  Juba has now calmed down and we are no longer seeing panicking families heading for the border.  Eastern Equatoria State, where I am, has been free from violence. At Mass on Christmas Day the Deputy Governor for the state gave a very good speech appealing for a grassroots-led movement for peace and reconciliation. He said that the fighting is between government factions looking for personal power. Although the president and vice-president come from rival tribes, their struggle is personal and should be ignored. He urged the people not to cause things to escalate by making it become tribal. He asked people not to seek vengeance for their family members, but to work hard to forgive and mourn those who have died together.  He was greeted with enthusiasm.  I made sure I took his message back to the children’s home.

Christmas dinner is served

Yesterday I dropped into our local UN base to ask for news. They are very relaxed about the local situation.  They also see this area as very safe.

That said, we are being careful.  The gate-keeper to the children’s home and another male staff member have equipped themselves with traditional bows and arrows in case of emergency.  I attach photos, which don’t do them justice.  Close up, the arrows look absolutely lethal with barbed spikes to make them hard to remove.

Gatekeeper equipped

Pastor Abdullah has made a trip into Uganda and found a suitable place to rent in the event that we have to evacuate the children’s home.  The border is walking distance.

Christmas was lovely.  The boys killed three goats.  We ate together and had a feast of goat (roast and stewed), rice, fruit and sweets.  The children found the sensation of a full stomach very uncomfortable and unfamiliar.  Hardly anyone ate the evening meal.  Everyone proudly wore their new clothes.  Later in the day the older girls went out, clearly wanting to show off their swanky attire.

The only fly in the ointment was that I was attacked by a mad woman on my way to Mass on Christmas Eve.  She knocked me flying and I fell very awkwardly on my wrist.  Thankfully there was an immediate rush of people to help me, including a Dinka who took me to a local clinic for pain relief and bandages.  He then helped me get a boda to church.  I doubt if I would have had such care from strangers in London.  My wrist is still very swollen and I am therefore typing this post one-handed. An incident like this could happen anywhere in the world, including London.  The reaction of bystanders was characteristic of Sudan, north or south.

We will not be moved!

This is a photo of my three youngest charges, who were staging a ‘sit-in’ in my room and refusing to come out.  As you can see, they are blissfully unaware of the country’s problems.  Hopefully this will remain the case.

Political crisis

The President of South Sudan and his Vice-President have been at loggerheads since before I arrived here.  On Sunday, things came to a head and there was an attempted military coup in Juba by supporters of the Vice-President.  The news even reached the BBC.

Monday passed without incident although people were tense, as it turned out, with good reason.  There is a barracks in the town, and they feared that there might be clashes there between the two groups.  Other than these forebodings, and a 6pm curfew, nothing happened in Nimule.

On Tuesday things were quiet during the morning.  Pastor Abdullah gave a particularly appropriate reading and soothing sermon on the subject of ‘If God is for us, who can be against’.  He said that nobody should go out of the compound.

Later I sat and taught some children in a shady spot with a sleeping three year old on my lap.  Then, when we had had enough, I carried the sleeping child to bed.  I was followed by an eight year old carrying my books and glasses.  After depositing the little one, I went back to retrieve my books and glasses from my pupil.  She was still outside.  Suddenly some teenagers ran towards me and staff started shouting in Madi.  I looked and saw tall, thin soldiers with oversized guns coming through both sets of gates.  The army is largely Dinka, who are a very different physical type from the Madi.  For the first time I saw things through their eyes.  It was sad to see how the Madi stereotype of Dinkas is being reinforced to the children at the home through nobody's fault.  My poor pupil was panicking and stumbling and had dropped my glasses.  I went back outside to get my glasses.  Then I walked behind my pupil so she could feel that there was someone safe behind her and helped her indoors. 

My first feeling was of sheer fear, but thankfully this passed really fast.  The next thought I had was a ridiculous one: ‘Thank goodness lunch has been prepared before this happened – we won’t starve!’  I think most people reacted in the same way as everyone went immediately to get their food.  As we did so, the soldiers were silently circling around outside in a very sinister fashion, checking the school buildings and church and the surrounding homes outside the compound. 

This situation carried on.  At one point, soldiers came into the home itself and checked every room, including mine.  When they came to my room they asked if I had any visitors, which seemed a strange question at the time.  Since then I have been told that the reason for the search was because they had heard that one of their opponents had escaped from Juba to Nimule and was directing operations from our immediate area.

I spent most of the time while we were inside the home telling the children stories to try to de-stress them.  To give you an idea of the length of time, we worked our way through The Princess and the Pea, Jack and the Beanstalk, The Tortoise and the Hare, Cinderella, the Three Little Pigs, The Wolf and the Seven Little Kids, The Three Billy Goats Gruff, Snow White and the Seven Dwarves and Sleeping Beauty.

Then, as suddenly as the soldiers had arrived, they left.  The matron, who comes from Uganda, was very scathing.  She said if it happened in Uganda, the soldiers would be arrested for carrying guns into a children’s home.

Later, when the staff were eating, Pastor Abdullah told us about his experience.  He did a comic impression of a stupid Dinka who speaks very bad English and asked ignorant questions about the obvious.  He told us that the commander saw some of the older children, who are in their teens, and was amazed that they were still at the home.  The soldiers’ eyes lit up at the sight of our beautiful teenage girls.  One soldier asked if he could marry one of them.  The pastor said that if he wanted to marry one, he had to go through him and the marriage must take place at the Cornerstone church.  He was joking about it, but I doubt if it felt funny at the time.

Apart from the initial panic, the children behaved very calmly.  At morning devotions the next day, I congratulated them on their courage.  My opinion of Pastor Abdullah has also gone up.

Trip to the dressmakers

A typical dressmakers

Numerous people have told me that everyone must wear new clothes for Christmas.  This is a local tradition which is strictly carried out.  Everyone has seen my entire wardrobe as it is very limited, so I can’t produce something from the bottom of the pile to stun them with.  I have spent two months admiring the local ladies’ best clothes, which are made of lovely African patterned cotton, with a certain degree of envy.  Typically they wear long flared skirts with matching short sleeved tops.  After some soul-searching, because my budget is limited, I decided to treat myself to a locally made outfit. 

Making the finishing touches to my outfit

The local market has many dressmakers, working on treadle-operated machines.  I asked Christine, the matron at the children’s home, to come with me to introduce me to a good dressmaker in case I was ripped off.  Together we went to a dressmaker who is a friend of hers, only to find that she was not at the booth.  The booth is rented by a number of women who use it casually, bringing their own Singer machines on their heads, ready to attach to the treadle tables in the booth.  The dressmaker who was there phoned Christine’s friend.  In the meantime we sat and talked, watching the other dressmaker work.  In the meantime I chose some cloth in a suitably festive colour scheme.  When Christine’s friend arrived, I showed her my sarong and one of my blouses, which I wanted her to use as templates.  The price was small, 50 SSP (South Sudanese pounds) for labour plus 65 SSP for the cost of the cloth.

The finished product

Today I went to fetch the finished product.  As you will see from the photo, the outfit is not cut to match the pattern of the material.  The design of the skirt is the local traditional one, with a drawstring waist, in a very different pattern to my sarong.  The blouse has long sleeves as requested, but is not the same design as the blouse I had shown as a template.  I realise that all these women are self-taught and making a living as best they can, so this was not completely unexpected.  They do not have professional training and can only make designs that they have practised and taught each other.  The result is lovely if unorthodox, and will remind me of the dressmakers of Nimule whenever I wear it. 

On a side-issue, one day I came into the staff dining room to find two of my oldest Primary 5 girls talking to the matron.  They were very despondent because they had failed their end of year exams for the fifth year running.  Naturally they find it extremely disheartening to see the younger children passing and moving ahead while they are doomed to stay.  They were asking the matron’s advice on what to do as they are now in their teens.  Christine suggested that they stop school and learn to make clothes.  She strongly recommended this as so many local women are very successful at making a living that way.  She said that the home would pay the necessary start-up costs and find someone to teach them.  The girls accepted her advice.  Soon they will join the legion of women who create the elegant ladies who throng Nimule.

Politics Nimule style

The politics of Nimule are unlike any I have seen before.  There is little or no interest in international news.  I only heard about the death of Nelson Mandela several days late because I happened to be on the internet.  Politics here is local and very much tied into tribal loyalties.  The lines are clear and there appear to be no way of resolving differences.  I am sure this is untrue, and that ‘where there is a will there is a way’, but it certainly appears like that. 

The Madi is the main local tribe, which covers the whole of the surrounding area, stretching into Uganda too.  There are small numbers of Acholi, who also range across the border.  The Madi and Acholi are settled farmers. There are also a large number of Dinka, who are nomadic cattle herdsmen.  The Dinka roam across the whole country, not just this area.  Even I can see the difference between Dinka and other local people.  The Dinka are extremely tall and long-limbed.  They often have lines of facial scarring across their foreheads.  The Madi and Acholi do not use scarification and are a more usual height.  The Dinka are famous among the Madi for being very war-like, savage, polygamous and practising their own Dinka religion, although in fact there are many Christians among them.  I have heard (from a Madi source, so this may be propaganda) that if a second wife brings children from a previous marriage, they will be killed by the first wife.

There is enmity between all, but both Madi and Acholi are bitterly opposed to the Dinka.  This is highly problematic because the national government is Dinka-led.

The staff of the children’s home and its church are almost entirely Madi, and very proud of it.  They make no bones about being partisan both on tribal grounds and regarding any other version of Christianity.  Even the youngest children at the home are indoctrinated into this tribal enmity.  One day when there was a conversation relating to the Dinka, one of the smallest children, aged three, piped up, ‘The Dinka will kill us with their guns.’

Across the valley is a church which I have been told very dismissively is Dinka.  ‘They have a strange way of praying’, I was told by an Acholi friend.  I held myself back from asking, ‘Compared to what’?  (I find the way of praying here bizarre in the extreme.)  The Catholic church, thankfully, is open to all and preaches a breaking of barriers and peace.  Even so, most of the congregation are Madi, so there is a Mass in Madi daily.  On Sundays there is also a very well attended Mass in English to cater for all non-Madi parishioners.

As mentioned earlier, during the civil war, the huge Madi population went as refugees to Uganda in one big exodus.  Their land was taken over in their absence by Dinkas.  Please bear in mind that this is ancestral land going back to medieval times.  On their return after the war they have struggled to re-establish themselves.  They complain that the land has been ruined by the Dinka cattle.  They also complain that the Dinka steal their cattle. 

There is constant friction and differences of opinion in Madi leadership circles on what to do about the land situation.  Some favour evicting the Dinkas, others would prefer to sell the land to them.

Shortly before I arrived in Nimule in September there was a major crisis.  The Paramount Chief of the Madi tribe was assassinated by persons unknown.  He is much mourned by his people.  The staff at the children’s home have told me that the police arrested all those who attended the last elders meeting with the chief, including his heir.  All those arrested were severely tortured, one to a point where he is now disabled permanently.  According to my ‘sources’ here in the home the police knew all along that the men were innocent and that it was a Dinka plot.  As the police are acting for the Dinka government they wanted to protect the Dinka assassin.  According to people at the home these elders are still in prison, without trial because the police are embarrassed that the extent of the torture will be obvious in court and that it will be so clear that the men were innocent.

I have had conversations with a US missionary who ministers in a largely Dinka area.  Apparently the Dinka view of the Madi is that they are unpatriotic cowards.  During the war, the Dinka were the backbone of the resistance fighters and won a very important local battle that changed the tide of the war.  They were very unimpressed when the Madi disappeared en-masse to Uganda’s refugee camps and feel that they were left to do the entire work of winning the war against the Arab north.  To be fair to the Madi, they were suffering terribly from the reign of terror caused by the Lords Resistance Army.  They wanted to protect their families.

According to what he has been told, the Dinkas believe it was a Madi who killed the chief.  They believe the motive was because of the different opinions on what to do about the land problem. The Paramount Chief had many opponents who disagreed with his plan to sell the land to the Dinkas.  According to the Dinkas, the only reason the elders are still in prison is because they have refused to leave as they want a well-publicised trial.  They are actually free to go, scot-free as there is no case against them.

Early this week, the pastor at the home announced that there was to be a meeting this Sunday after church for all Madis over the age of fourteen.  This includes some of the children at the home.  When I went to Mass on Sunday, there were fewer people there than usual as a result. At the end of Mass the parish priest introduced the State Governor who wanted to speak to everyone.  He gave the best speech I have heard since coming to Nimule.  Extraordinarily, it was short and to the point, addressing the importance of unity in South Sudan.  It is a shame he wasn’t heard by those who were attending the Madi meeting.

Thankfully things are not violent here in Eastern Equatoria State.  Elsewhere in South Sudan, particularly in Jonglei and the ironically named Unity state, there are full scale massacres happening between warring tribes.  Let us hope this doesn’t happen here.

Is that your hair or a wig?

Nursery 'graduates' try on their outfits

Although the exams are over, the teachers are still coming to school each day, but they arrive very late.  They sit in the office writing up the exam results and filling in end of year report cards.  Over the week a gradually diminishing number of school children have come, still wearing uniform, in the hope of receiving their exam results.  These are being processed very slowly by the teachers.  This must be agonising for the students, who anxiously wait outside the office each day.  I have been told that there will be a graduation ceremony.  When I asked when this would take place, I was told that the date has not yet been set because the teachers have not finished the report cards yet.  A clear case of the tail wagging the dog if ever there was one.

As predicted in previous posts, my students have very poor grades, with the worst in Primary 4.  A third of my Primary 5 students passed.  Only 7 out of 58 passed in Primary 4.  I have discussed the situation with the headmistress and asked if I could divide these students by ability next year, so that I have three classes of roughly 30, a mix of Primary 4 and 5.  She has agreed to construct the timetable so that this is possible.

I have mentioned previously that schools here are insistent that pupils must have their heads shaved very closely.  The result is that up till now it has only been possible to distinguish boys from girls by their clothes.  I am now seeing how different things are in the holidays. 

A close shave for school

Here at the children’s home, the teenagers are doing what teenagers do everywhere: making the most of their out of school time.  Both boys and girls sleep later (devotions are now at dawn rather than starting in the pitch black and finishing at dawn) and in spite of the threat of punishment, fewer children attend. 

The girls are growing their hair.  They have taken large quantities of long plaited ‘hair’ and are holding long hairdressing sessions in which they attach the hair to their own heads using the new growth of genuine hair to hold it in position.  The false hair is made of wool.  The results are spectacular, but sometimes make it difficult to recognise them as the same girls I had got to know in a bald state.

My daily routine has changed so that I am available to teach additional English literacy lessons to individual children.  I am also teaching the recorder to the children.  One boy in particular has a real gift and is learning to play the recorder very competently.  I have also started a children’s Bible study class as from this weekend.

A new Repunzel

It is my intention to hold adult literacy classes over the holidays, but I am finding it very difficult to set these up.  I have been adamant that this should not be a westerner-led project, but one that is sustainable without me.  In practical terms it will be necessary to find other willing teachers because of the huge level of need for these classes.  I struggle to get any cooperation and am now re-thinking ways forward.

The end result

Exams – failures and successes

Primary 5 exam paper

The end of November is the end of the school year in South Sudan.  Since I arrived in late September, I have been teaching two classes, Primary 4 and Primary 5.  These are large (50+) classes with a range of ages from 10 to mid-teens.  A small number of my pupils are residents in the children’s home, but the majority are from local families who struggle to pay for school fees and uniforms.  These families are pinning all their future hopes on their children’s education.  Who can blame them?  This is a country which has seen nothing but civil war for the past 50 years, with no investment in education, transport, utilities or anything else.  One local man told me very bitterly that ‘this is a Sixth World country, not a Third World country’.  This area of South Sudan was particularly hard-hit by the Lords Resistance Army resulting in tragedy for all.  Many of the children from ‘outside’ the home are also orphans living with extended family.  After all the death and destruction at last they see a light at the end of the tunnel and want to take full advantage of the chance of education. 

As mentioned previously, conditions at the school are very basic and the teachers’ approach leaves a lot to be desired.  Earlier in the term I realised that there are huge disparities between levels of English in my classes, ranging from completely illiterate and non-verbal in English, to a minority of quite fluent and able students.  I attempted to divide the Primary 4 class, which has the most chronic problems so that I had the beginners and the pastor in charge of the orphanage and school took the high achievers.  Unfortunately, although the pastor initially agreed to help, it clearly wasn’t a priority for him.  He managed to take one lesson and after that pleaded ‘busy-ness’, leaving me in the same situation as previously.

Every picture tells a story.

If students don’t pass their end of year exams they have to re-take the year, putting an additional strain on their families, resulting in ridiculously old students in primary classes, or students dropping out completely.  I allocated the last two weeks before the end of term for exam preparation and mocks.  Then, last Friday afternoon, one of the teachers mentioned in passing that my two classes would now be out of school until their exams.  I rushed out of the staff room, grabbed one of my pupils and said that he was to let his classmates know that I was happy to continue revision lessons with them if they came to school as usual.  So, for the early part of the week I coached a small group of keen students.

The English exams for both my classes were two days ago (Thursday).  As I waited for breakfast, the pastor said that there was nothing to worry about and that they would all pass.  I asked him how he could be so sure.  He said he had seen the exam papers and they were ‘easy’.  I asked him if they were easy enough for someone who could not read.  That stumped him.  I was absolutely livid with his cavalier attitude.

In the morning I invigilated for Primary 5.  After collecting the papers, I had the sad task of marking them.  This took me from 11.30am until 9pm, with short breaks for meals.  To lighten things a bit for me, some of the questions show very clearly that we are in South Sudan and are amusing.  A particular gem was:

Doing well in my examinations this year I shall slaughter a cock for celebration.  (Re-write begin with ..If I ……………….). 

The papers are collected and its all over at last.

Needless to say, few students managed to correct this sentence.  28 students failed.  Only 16 passed.  Many gave nonsensical answers, with a clear lack of understanding of the questions.  I feel so sorry for the students and their families.  I mentioned the poor results to the headmistress, whose outrageous comment was, ‘That will make them learn in future.’  What about the teachers’ responsibility?  By hook or by crook, I will find a way to divide my classes in the next school year.

On the bright side, one student got a very remarkable 97%.  When I mentioned him to his class teacher, he told me that this boy’s parents died in the civil war while he was still small and he is from another tribal area (Nimule is a Madi tribal area).  Apparently he is top of the class for his other subjects too.  He is a living example of triumph over adversity.

Photo call

I don’t yet have the results of the Primary 4 English exam, but I expect it to be a lot worse than Primary 5.  However, yesterday I invigilated for Primary 4’s Science paper.  This involved going round the class reading the questions to the vast majority of students.  From the answers I could see, there was a complete lack of understanding.  This was their final exam.  At the end of the exam, they had to wait in the exam room to avoid disturbing other exams.  I took the opportunity to give them a treat by taking their photos.  This caused huge excitement.  I got the impression that this was the first time for most of them that they had ever had their photos taken. 

School begins again in mid-February, so it is a long break.  Ample time for my poor students to forget the little they have learnt, ready to start the uphill task again.  I have offered to give some coaching during the holidays, but don’t know if they will take me up on it.

A new volunteer whirlwind

Some time ago, a Hungarian called Gabor sent a speculative email to different charities hoping to come and use his considerable practical skills in South Sudan.  He is an architect and engineer as well as a journalist.  The email eventually came to Fulaa, who invited him to come. 

Fixing the solar panel on the roof in the sweltering heat

Two days ago Gabor arrived in a puff of noise, dust and smoke, having driven his motorbike all the way from Kampala in Uganda.  By the time he arrived, he and the bike were the same colour as the roads he had travelled.  The bike was piled high with a tottering pile of boxes and bags.  I had a crowd of small children around me when he arrived.  One tiny child burst into terrified tears.  I can’t blame him.  It was a startling sight.

Gabor has travelled and worked in numerous other African countries but this is his first time in South Sudan.  He had no sooner been shown his room than he was exploring the compound and surrounding area. 

Next morning, Gabor was to be found tinkering with a generator surrounded by boys.  Then he came to the medical room, where a new solar panel kit sits unused.  The medical room’s solar panel is intended to power medical equipment once this has been acquired. 

Tinkering with a generator

In his exploration of the compound, Gabor had found another broken solar panel and an old and barely functioning battery.  The panel needs replacement parts in order to work.  Unfortunately the kit in the medical room lacks some crucial components too.  Gabor wants to get a panel working and on the roof, out of reach of goats and pebble-throwing children.  It was the pebble-throwing that destroyed the old solar panel.  This will save the children’s home the cost of fuel for the current generator and mean that there is constant electricity, not just for a few hours each evening.

In spite of the hold-up due to lack of parts, today he was on the roof with some of the boys, organising cables and making a place for the panel. 

Gabor is also talking about running water….  At the moment we all use basins and buckets to carry water from the bore hole.  At the rate he is working, Cornerstone will soon be in the modern world.

This man is a real asset and inspiration to all with skills to share in the third world.

Another wedding

On Saturday evening, one of the staff told me that the church was having a wedding on Sunday and they wanted me to come.  The wedding was to be in a small town called Pageri about 45 kilometres away.  Cars would be leaving the church straight after the Cornerstone service.  She said, ‘please go to the earlier (7am) Mass so you will be in time for the car to leave at 11am.’  My heart sank.  I was very tired and looking forward to a decent night’s sleep.  The 7am Mass is in Madi, and the church is a 40 minute walk away.  But if I went to the 9am Mass, it always starts late and I am rarely back in the compound before noon.  Something in me rebelled.  I decided not to set my alarm back, but to go to my usual Mass.  After all, last week’s wedding had been a torment of endless speeches under a hot roof.  Did I really want to repeat the experience two Sundays running?

 

So, on Sunday morning I went to the 9am Mass, which, predictably didn’t start until nearly 10am.  During Mass I calmed down and realised that it would be very impolite and I would be letting people down if I didn’t go to the wedding.  It was likely that an 11am start from the church would actually be much later.  I could take a boda back to speed myself up just in case.  So that is what I did and was back in the compound at 11.50.

The service was over and people were milling around.  The cars had not arrived.  I got changed and waited with everyone.  I hadn’t yet eaten, so I got the chance to grab some dry bread and tea.  Then, finally the cars were ready, most of the children were crammed on top of the stacks of plastic chairs in an open topped truck.  Health and safety are foreign words here.  I was asked to go in a car driven by one of the elders of the Cornerstone church, who I hadn’t met before, but got on well with.  Finally we were off on the beautiful drive through the mountains to Pageri.  

Bride and bridesmaid in procession

To my relief, the wedding service was conducted out of doors with guests sitting under canopies, we were reasonably comfortable.  Most women wore beautiful local printed dresses and were a pleasure to look at.  The bride was resplendent in a most impractical dress which required the help of several bridesmaids to keep clean and avoid the muddy ground.  The speeches contained humour and weren’t nearly so long-winded as I had feared.  There was lots of music and dancing.  The whole ceremony was over within an hour and a half.  I think the ‘compere’ shared my views on brevity, because his introductions were punctuated with calls to be brief and stick to the programme.

Loading the lorry with chairs and children.  Local church to right

Afterwards we got back into the cars and went to the bridegroom’s village for the reception.  The village was off the main road, along a very small and bumpy path.  The village was made up of a few traditional round huts.  We arrived to the sound of whoops of sheer joy from the women who had been making the preparations there.  They came dancing towards us and guided our car to a convenient place to park.  The women repeated this process for each vehicle as the other guests arrived.  They had set up a canopy with labels for different categories, such as ‘invited guests’ (me) and ‘pastors’ and provided plastic chairs for us all.  There was a table for the newly weds and the pastor who had officiated.  

Local chief (rt) gives speech with translator (lft)

Presents were brought to the bride and groom.  The presents were of a totally practical nature, such as jerry cans for fetching water, basins, brooms and money.  There were more speeches, singing and dancing.  Then the food was brought.  This was a selection of different meat dishes and rice and posho.  I was starving and tucked in very seriously.  

As dusk fell, we were told that those going back to Nimule should leave.  I got into the car and we waited.  I asked why we were waiting.  The pastor who was driving said that we should all go as a convoy in case of bandits.  I find it easy to forget that outside Nimule, there is a curfew due to the unsettled state of things across South Sudan.  On the way back, all the cars had their indicator lights flashing and we stuck together closely.  

I could hear the children in the lorry, still highly excited by their outing.  It is highly unusual for them to get the chance to go anywhere outside Nimule, or even (for the younger children) out of the compound, so this was a hugely exciting event for them.

We arrived back, still in convoy.  The children were too excited to sleep and were still noisy when I dropped off.  The next day, there were very few people at the early morning devotions.  I wonder why.

Speeches, speeches

Usually, weekends here pass slowly with little activity apart from chores on Saturday and church on Sunday.  This weekend was different.

I woke on Saturday morning feeling that I must do something.  I called a friend who is a locally based missionary from the US hoping I could visit.  He sounded distinctly stressed on the phone.  He told me that this was graduation day for his pastor training centre and he would be very busy, but I was welcome to come and join them.  He and his wife have three young children who keep them very busy in addition to their mission responsibilities.  For some reason these children have latched onto me and adopted me as a surrogate grandmother after only meeting me for the first time a few weeks ago.  I find it very puzzling that I do not have this effect on children in the UK, but find myself an unconscious Pied Piper of Hamelin both to these children and those at Cornerstone.  It must be something in the water.

I got on a boda, which is the nearest thing to public transport in Nimule.  A boda is a privately owned motorcycle on which passengers ride pillion.  Eddie’s mission church is in the bush, only accessible by very rough, muddy tracks.  The boda driver contended with a large herd of cattle on the way, picking his way around ruts large enough to have destroyed the motorcycle, while I tried (and failed) to sit serenely as all the local women do, eventually giving up on my dignity and clutching onto the driver’s shoulders for dear life.

When I arrived, I found the mission church decorated with balloons and coloured paper, and the walls covered in texts from scripture all on the theme of the love of God.  The church was full of local families waiting with eager anticipation for the long speeches which accompany all occasions here.  They were not disappointed.  The ceremony started over an hour late, with a procession of the graduate pastors, in full academic robes, dancing into the church, singing as they came.  Then the speeches began, and continued ….. for a very long time.  My friend was succinct, but nobody else was.

The three children on another occasion

Then it was time to feed the many mouths in a serious logistical operation.  My friend's wife was asked to help serve food.  This was very difficult for her because of the competing demands of her little ones.  Luckily I was able to step in and take over the older two children.  This was amusing, as the eldest, is at the ‘dangers’ stage and very keen to talk about the extreme dangers of all sorts of things from tornadoes to bats.  The more teeth an animal has the better.  I have fond memories of my son at a similar age and stage, when he had a dinosaur obsession.  The younger sister is far more placid and was keen for me to experience the soft hug her teddy bear was able to give me.  The baby remained with his mother.  The food was local, including three goats, killed the day before.  They were deliciously tender.  The children had inadvertently witnessed the slaughter, but were clearly far less worried by the experience than their mother.  When it was time to leave, Emily thanked me profusely for looking after the children.  I was pleased to have something to do, and really enjoyed myself so it was no hardship.  When I returned to Cornerstone, I went to my room to find a bevy of children wanting to learn English, play the recorder or draw. 

On Sunday the whole town had been invited to a wedding at the Seventh Day Adventist Church.  According to the invitation the ceremony started at 9am.  Knowing from experience that this would be a time plucked from the air I went to 9am Mass first.  Afterwards I went to visit someone.  Finally at 1pm I went to the wedding.  The church was full, with large numbers of people outside too.  Ushers found a seat for me in the church.  It was extremely hot under the metal roof.  Speeches were in full swing and continued for another two hours, before the actual ceremony.  I was so glad I was four hours late!

Afterwards I was tired and looked forward to a quiet evening when I returned, but it was not to be.  The Pied Piper effect was still in evidence.  A repeat of Saturday evening occurred as large numbers of children appeared as if by magic, all wanting a bit of time with me for English, music or drawing.

Later on, one of the older boys asked about my day.  I mentioned the long speeches at the wedding.  It turned out that he had been there too.  He was wildly enthusiastic and grinned broadly at the memory of the length of the speeches.  I have to come to the conclusion that excitement over lengthy speeches is one of the peculiarities of the South Sudanese temperament.  I wonder if it is because, being such a poor country, it is a way to feel that they have had their money’s worth, without any cost.  Maybe, maybe not.

Animals at the home

Cow at the market

There are many animals in Nimule.  Goats are in the majority, followed by cattle.  The cattle are considerably smaller than European cattle.  There are also sheep, which are far less attractive than their British equivalents.  They have very little wool and large fat tails, generally covered in muck.  The goats by contrast are beautiful with lovely markings.  All these animals wander around freely, often deciding to stop and sit down in the middle of the main road from Uganda to Juba, causing major disruption to the petrol tankers and motorcycles which form the majority of traffic here.

At the home itself, I found a cow with very impressive horns named Sara, with her new-born calf.  There is a magnificent rooster and a collection of hens who are sometimes chased and killed for dinner.  There is a very forlorn dog called JP, who leads ‘a dog’s life’, much hated by all apart from the American Fulaa members.  I am no dog-lover, but even I cringe when I see how he is treated. 

The cow

A fortnight ago the cow and calf vanished without trace or comment from anyone.  I have now discovered that the cow is part of a herd belonging to the children’s home which lives further up the mountain.  She makes her own way to Cornerstone whenever she is ill or heavily pregnant.  She waits until she and the calf are ready to travel before making the reverse journey.  She is the only cow in the herd that does this.

Until last week the scene at the home and school was dominated by large numbers of goats and their kids, who came into the children’s home at night leaving piles of droppings everywhere. 

Then, at the beginning of one school day all the older children were asked to throw the goats out of the grounds.  They spent a happy half hour running around after the animals, herding them towards the gates.  It was a very amusing scene.  It turned out that most of the goats are intruders, taking advantage of an open gate to make their unofficial home here.  Apparently they do have homes elsewhere, although given the length of time they have lived here, they probably don’t remember that. 

Two of the home goats

During the course of the day, the goats gradually filtered back in through the open gate.  The next morning the usual piles of goat dung were in the corridors of the children’s home.  The campaign continued, but this time the children from the children’s home were told to check which belonged to the home, tie them up and report how many actually belonged there.  There are sixteen, including kids and one ram.  These goats now have ropes tied permanently around their necks to avoid them being chased away.

Today's dinner

A couple of days ago, during devotions (!!!), the pastor told the children to catch and kill the ram at the weekend for dinner.  This morning I watched as the older boys led the ram.  I was worried that the killing would be unsupervised and inexpert, and was relieved when the caretaker turned up and instructed them.  The ram was killed by having its throat slit.  Thankfully it was over very quickly and soon they were draining the blood into a large cooking pot.

Apart from the episode of the goats which I have just described, livestock are largely ignored by the human inhabitants.  If animals get too close, people throw pebbles at them.  There is no animal husbandry practised, even when the cow was clearly suffering an infection after giving birth.  Fortunately it cleared up by itself as there is no vet in Nimule.  This is not surprising as, even for humans, there is only one doctor in the hospital.

I find the neglect of animals very surprising in a country area where they could be a valuable part of the economy.  Animals and humans lead parallel lives which are very separate, with animals either ignored or treated as unwanted.  I can understand that people don’t go to the western extreme of treating animals better than their fellow humans.  In a poor country people must be pragmatic.  However total neglect is the other extreme.  

Food at Cornerstone

The food at Cornerstone is fascinating to watch being prepared, but less interesting to eat.  While Brenda and her family were here they got to a point where they started to prepare food for themselves.

Cooking in the children's home kitchen

The kitchen facilities consist of a wooden shack with corrugated iron roof, open at the sides except for rattan strips.  There are no work surfaces.  Food preparation is done outside as a communal activity.  Cooking is done on a mud-built stove, fed by firewood.  As the kitchen is open to the elements, if it rains the cook gets wet and sometimes the fire is extinguished. 

A few days ago I watched the stove being re-lit following a downpour.  A girl went to fetch a piece of white hot charcoal from another kitchen.  She then tore some of the rattan wall down and used it to make a fire.  The burning rattan was then put into the stove as kindling.

Typical meal of bean stew and posho

For breakfast we have ‘bread’ which are really small doughnuts.  For other meals the local staple is called Posho.  It is a type of thick porridge made out of maize (sweetcorn) flour.  The consistency is similar to thick mashed potato.  It is almost tasteless and is never salted.  Sometimes we have rice instead.  Usually the posho is accompanied by a bean stew.  It is also sometimes served with a glutinous vegetable dish.  Sometimes we also have either fresh or dried fish.  If we are really lucky, there is a beef stew or grilled chicken.  The beef and fresh fish are delicious.  The chicken is caught in the compound and has had an extremely free-range existence, hence very tough.  There is a complete absence of fresh fruit in the children’s home diet, although these are easily obtainable at the local market. 

Food is bought at the local market, very close to the children’s home.  The market is a joy to wander in. Below are some photos.

Onion sellers

Market stalls

Main road into the market

Tomato seller

Main road into the market