Dinka wedding

One of my co-workers was getting married and invited myself and a few others to his wedding in Yei (pronounced yeah!).  So we headed off on a 4 hour journey to go 100km to a traditional tribal wedding.

The wedding was an arranged marriage that the families negotiated, and the price being cows.  In the Dinka tribe the man pays the woman’s family and she gets a higher price based on 3 things 1) height (the taller the better), 2) family lineage and 3) education (jury is still out on if this affects the price positively or negatively).  A cow goes for about 1000 pounds (or $350).  My co-worker paid 85 cows for his wife to be, approx 85,000 pounds or over $24,000.  Considering that 90% of the population makes less than $1 a day, this is quite a lot of money.

Anyway after traveling with an armed police escort we arrive in Yei and quickly dress for the wedding.  But the wedding is held up because they are still negotiating…one of the sticking points being the large bull that needs to be sacrificed at the wedding.  SO after another 2500 pounds and the process of finding the right bull, the wedding is able to finally commence. 

It was a pretty amazing experience, there was tons of chanting and a procession, we were ushered into a large tent that was covered in embroidered flowers where women (which took the bride and her friends one month to make) wiped our faces with clothes and then our feet.  Outside the tent they sacrificed the bull to the sounds of chanting and drumming.  
 

First they carefully skinned the bull then slowly removed each organ whole, they even cut a small incision in one of the 3 or 4 stomachs and then pulled out all the grass.  

The bride eventually came with 50 women in attendance and wearing a surprisingly traditional white wedding gown (with sleeves) and a veil.  Her hands and feet had dark henna and she and her maids had sparkles on their faces.  The mood became serious and she looked quite somber.  The two hadn’t really seen each other much and they definitely both seemed nervous.  In addition she is quite young and will have to leave her family.

The wedding went on for 3 hours with lots of speeches, chanting and singing. The men sat on one side, the women on the other.  Eventually they asked the kawajas (foreigners) to stand up and speak.  We took turns said a few words and then everyone sang a song about ‘welcoming people from the land where people speak Hallo!’.   It was late into the night and eventually the ceremony was over. 

Everyone trickled back to their tukuls, the men went to their homes including the grooms and the bride to hers where people stay up all night but don’t eat.

Early the next morning we were brought to the grooms family where we met all the elders (the senior negotiating team for the bride price) who turned out to be mostly women as the men had died in the war.  There we hung out with the bride and her cousins talking about marriage and traditions.  They asked me many questions about marriage, the U.S. whether we have vegetables and meat, had I gone to school, and they all assumed because I was not yet ‘grown’ (read tall) therefor I must be 15.  When I explained I wasn’t married because I hadn’t found anyone, I got many offers of 19 yr old sons and brothers, even an offer to be the 2^nd wife of a girl's father.  

Eventually another cow was slaughtered and then the women drummed and danced, which I was asked to take part in.  

We ended up eating a meal of millet porridge with warm milk and then made the long trek back to Juba.

My African Grandma

The week before Christmas, I was in a village, Nimule on the border of Uganda.  Scenary-wise its nice, there are mountains and you descend into the lush valley by the Nile.  But unlike other villages I visited this place is a shithole.  One main strip, truckers coming in from the region seemingly drunk or high, no restaurants or food, hookers, trash everywhere, rampant AIDS and just a feeling of uneasiness.  

I was at the local hospital with a documentary crew filming our projects on HIV/AIDS.  When all of a sudden a Doctor came out from one of the wards (a wooden clapboard structure open to the elements) saying 'Marguerite? Where's Marguerite?'  

I answered thinking he was looking for me.  However, he had called out to old woman, who happened to be named Marguerite, which is a very odd name in an African village.  Even though she and I could not communicate in English she was so friendly, smiley and warm.  Through a translator I asked how she got her name.   Apparently they had a lot of Italian missionaries who came through at some point and that is how she got her name.  (Another woman was named Pasqualina).  I told her that I was named after my grandmother and she was very happy to hear that.  She told me now I had a grandmother in Africa. 

Marguerite, Marguerite & Vicky

She actually probably was in her 50s but here that is old, her husband was also a soldier who died in the war (and sadly left her with HIV) she is now going around villages educating other women that this could happen to them.  Meeting her, especially in Nimule, was a welcome diversion from the dirt and grime.

Layna-town a different village but I like the picture

Climbing the Jebel

Options for physical activity in Juba are limited, which is probably the biggest thing I struggle with.  Jebel Mountain (which means mountain in juba arabic) though is a bit of a mountain on the outskirts of town.  So one weekend friends and I climbed, up, not very high, it took maybe 45 minutes to reach the top (and that included stopping for photo shoots), but you got a view of the city and it felt good to at least get some exercise.  Only thing is you must go with someone who has been up before as parts are mined. 

My friends in Juba

View of Juba town

South Sudan in the News

Some recent and interesting stories from the international press about South Sudan:

• Very interesting piece from NY Times on freedom of the press and the emerging media sector
• A sad story about the recent conflict in Jonglei
• The burgeoning limo business in South Sudan  
• Recent oil negotiations

My Personal National Geographic: Part 2

Just lots of pictures :-)

A lone villager

Old & New South Sudan

Boy scouts

Troop leader

SPLA soldiers - Sudan People's Liberation Army

Debating a bull sacrifice

More jumping

Me at work

My Personal National Geographic: Part 1

In my travels around South Sudan I have gotten to attend a number of celebrations (and I recently got to fly in a chopper!)

The celebrations are truly amazing .  It starts with the sacrifice of a bull, which can be a bit gross and then all the important people jump over the bleeding cow. 

The State Governor jumping over the sacrificed bull

Next they are crowned with wreaths that are usually made from Christmas tree tinsel (the tinsel must come from China).  The celebrations are always elaborate, particularly in the villages with tribal dances, speeches, music, and singing.  Sometimes it can feel like a clash of civilizations as there will be men sitting there with spears, war paint, and giant feathers on their heads, while women will be wearing animal hides and beads.  In one village they told the people that we were coming so the women donned western bras and shower caps in addition to their traditional outfits.  

Usually the ceremony goes on for hours and afterwards we sit down for a communal meal of boiled goat and ugali that you eat with your hands.  I haven’t mastered how to eat gravy with my hands. 

One of the communities was called 'Hakuma Mafi', which in Arabic means ‘place of no government’ and it was notorious for cattle raiding and violence.  The valley situated between the Ioming, Chalamini and Ilieu villages located on neighboring hillsides was the scene of frequent conflict over access to water and grazing rights. 

The hillside - look closely you can see the tukuls (huts)

Our projects concentrated on bringing together village elders, the chiefs, local government, religious leaders and community members to talk and find local solutions to their security issues.  They decided that a police post was needed in the valley between the three villages to stop the conflict and cattle-raiding.  So we got the money from Canada, built a police posts as well as a borehole (place to get water), and trained new police officers.  

The community has been revitalize and at a recent ceremony of the police post where hundreds of members of the neighboring villages attended and there was talk of setting up a market, the Village Chief stated “‘Today we will call our land Hakuma Fi, a place of government, we are proud of this.  Since the police post has been built not one has died on this ground.”  I couldn’t help but think, wow, what a cool job that I have the opportunity to witness something that I could imagine reading in National Geographic.

My apologies that the photo quality is bad but the internet is very slow!

Church going

People here are very religious.  It had been a source of conflict as the North is Muslim and the south tends to be more Christian.  Every week I skirt around the issue of why I didn’t go to church or give a non-committal answer of where I ‘do my prayers’.  But I was out in a village one weekend and a woman I had met a few times asked me to go.  I couldn’t come up with many more excuses and I was desperate for a break from the film crew so I agreed.

I walked into the church and it was packed with 250 people, I was the only kawaja (Arabic for white girl), even though it was 3 hours and I couldn’t really understand what was going on, it was way more fun then any service I had ever been too.  Everyone was clapping and dancing, there were drums and lots of singing, it definitely wasn’t somber and nothing was in English so I couldn’t disagree.  At some point my colleague announced to the church that I was (obviously) visiting and the entire church afterwards lined up to shake my hand. 

Which one isn't like the other?

It can be funny especially when out in the villages, many children haven’t seen a kawaja before, so they will line up and stare, I usually smile and wave and then they wave back.  Sometimes a small one is pushed out of the crowd and dared to touch my skin, sometimes they run away screaming, other times they touch my hair.  

Young boys outside the market in Juba

Village life, a women cooking the family's 1 meal for the day

Field Tripping

Packing list for work trips in SF: 
1. Blackberry
2. Fake power suit 
3. Company credit card. 

Packing for a work trip in South Sudan: 
1. Mosquito net
2. Wilderness first aid kit
3. Sat phone & High-frequency radio   

After getting all of the security clearances, necessary signatures and approvals in order, which take about 48 hours, you are then ready to leave. 

In South Sudan we must travel by caravan and every hour we radio back to base to let them know where we are.  However, we use radio names and avoid certain details in case our messages are intercepted and we can’t travel after dusk.  On long drives it obvious that you would have to stop and pee along the way, but with no rest stops you stop at certain points and do a ‘tire check’ code for bathroom break.  Peeing alongside a road is a bit of a strange interaction to have with your colleagues, especially as on some of these trips I have been the only girl. 

Why you travel in convoy Reason #1: Getting pulled out of the mud

Why you travel in convoy Reason #2: Flat tire

Why you travel in convoy Reason #3

The road to Yei: note the tilt of the car

The first place I went was a town called Yei, (pronounced YEAH!) where we have a TB ward and some HIV projects.  Its 100km south of Juba and due to the poor roads it took us 4 hours to get there.  It is also the main road from the border of Congo, so there are many huge trucks that must make this trip to Juba to bring things in to sell. 

The TB ward

I was there because a documentary crew was going to be coming from Geneva with a funder and I needed to scope out potential people for them to interview.  Being inside a TB ward was intense, our idea of a hospital and sanitary environment is much different.  The nurses don’t use any protection even in the contagious ward.  Moreover you see things like leprosy, which I thought had been eradicated.

Record keeping at the hospital

One man, Edison, I talked with was very enthusiastic and vibrant, which many people are not happy in a TB ward.  He told me his life story of being a carpenter and the getting sick from TB, and about the good care he got.  He said next time you come back I will be running.  He then asked if he could ask me something.  I said sure.  He said there is no food here and could I help.  Hearing that almost broke my heart.

Another woman, Agnes, who I had met twice and had the pleasure of spending time with her and her family in their village was a patient and when I returned had gotten better.  Her husband died in the war and left her with their 4 young children as well as HIV.  Her father took her in to care for her and the children, he also took in her 2 sisters and their children who were also widowed by the war and left with the legacy of HIV. 

As a result Agnes is going around to the community and educating people about the disease and encouraging them to get tested and protect themselves, which can’t be easy in a closed society.  It also is sad to see how an entire generation of people may be lost.

The Hospital Monkey - never would be allowed in the US