THE BAD
Of course, there were some bad parts to my goodbye trip in Mundri. It would be unrealistic not to expect them, so I had prepared myself ahead for some of these hard things. Of course, it doesn't make it any easier.
- Those Roads: I can't believe I had forgotten about the roads of South Sudan. Not only are they unpaved, but they are also completely uneven, flooded with water, and thick with layers mud that are just waiting to swallow your vehicle whole and render it useless for days on end. I don't know how the goods suppliers do it, traveling over these conditions at 10 miles an hour, only slightly confident that they will even make it to their distribution centers. In Mundri, lorries blocked the roads for days, while their drivers were forced to camp out underneath them, surviving only the meals from gracious families living near the road. I, personally, despise having to ride in a vehicle in Mundri. You get a headache from bouncing all over the place and become impatient from having to slow to a crawl at many points along the way. I prefer just riding my bike, even if it means a back drenched with sweat and a chance of showing up late to things.
- Politics: It angers me to hear about a majority of good people having to fear and suffer because a small minority is too prideful and power hungry to seek peace, or even a simple compromise. I am thankful that the state of Western Equatoria has not been hit with violence that has destroyed other Sudanese towns and forced people from their homes. The people of Mundri have been able to tend to their gardens, which has led to an amazingly diverse harvest this year. I was shocked to walk through the market and see an abundance of cucumbers, zuchini, and even carrots during this last visit. I am thankful for God's protection over this peace-loving tribe, amidst the greater chaos in the country as a whole. However, even though there is peace in Mundri, there is always corruption and dissent, even on the local level. I found myself, as usual, ignoring any visits by government offices, where I still harbor a distrust of those in power. Of course, it isn't just politicians who look for self-gain. Doctors and teachers refuse to work, police officers misuse their power, young people steal, churches manipulate. South Sudan is a sinful nation, just like the United States. However, I sometimes think it is easier to see the problems in a rural, underdeveloped nation, where the sin can't be hidden by busy schedules and financial stability.
- Goodbyes: The obvious downside to this trip was the inevitable-- having to say goodbye. Everyone asked me when John and I would return. I responded with the safe answer of "Rabuuna arif bes." (Only God knows.) John, as usual, was more brave and honest with his response, admitting that we might never return to Africa. I couldn't bring myself to that point. I really find it hard to admit that something is completely closed, never again to be revisited. I cannot imagine never again landing on that red, rocky airstrip in Mundri town, as swarms of children run out from the tall grass to greet the kawajas, and Elinai, the airstrip director, smiles his broad, toothy grin, welcoming us home. I cannot imagine never again eating the piping hot, stewed meat from the Ethiopian restaurant in town, while the sun sets and the loud buzz of a generator turns on neon bulbs. I cannot imagine never again biking through the dreadful rainy season mud, as my bike becomes stuck and I almost fall over, but I persevere and show up to teach my English lesson with splatter marks all the way up my skirt and back. And I cannot imagine (even though it is the reality of things) not being around as Fatna grows up, as she struggles through primary school and works through secondary school, fighting off persuasive boys and making the tough decisions that all adolescents must make. There are so many people, places, things, feelings, and experiences that I had to say goodbye to. Although I don't feel ready to leave them for good, God gave me the peace I needed to walk away and admit that only He knows the future.
Of course, there were some bad parts to my goodbye trip in Mundri. It would be unrealistic not to expect them, so I had prepared myself ahead for some of these hard things. Of course, it doesn't make it any easier.
- Those Roads: I can't believe I had forgotten about the roads of South Sudan. Not only are they unpaved, but they are also completely uneven, flooded with water, and thick with layers mud that are just waiting to swallow your vehicle whole and render it useless for days on end. I don't know how the goods suppliers do it, traveling over these conditions at 10 miles an hour, only slightly confident that they will even make it to their distribution centers. In Mundri, lorries blocked the roads for days, while their drivers were forced to camp out underneath them, surviving only the meals from gracious families living near the road. I, personally, despise having to ride in a vehicle in Mundri. You get a headache from bouncing all over the place and become impatient from having to slow to a crawl at many points along the way. I prefer just riding my bike, even if it means a back drenched with sweat and a chance of showing up late to things.
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| Mundri airstrip |
- Goodbyes: The obvious downside to this trip was the inevitable-- having to say goodbye. Everyone asked me when John and I would return. I responded with the safe answer of "Rabuuna arif bes." (Only God knows.) John, as usual, was more brave and honest with his response, admitting that we might never return to Africa. I couldn't bring myself to that point. I really find it hard to admit that something is completely closed, never again to be revisited. I cannot imagine never again landing on that red, rocky airstrip in Mundri town, as swarms of children run out from the tall grass to greet the kawajas, and Elinai, the airstrip director, smiles his broad, toothy grin, welcoming us home. I cannot imagine never again eating the piping hot, stewed meat from the Ethiopian restaurant in town, while the sun sets and the loud buzz of a generator turns on neon bulbs. I cannot imagine never again biking through the dreadful rainy season mud, as my bike becomes stuck and I almost fall over, but I persevere and show up to teach my English lesson with splatter marks all the way up my skirt and back. And I cannot imagine (even though it is the reality of things) not being around as Fatna grows up, as she struggles through primary school and works through secondary school, fighting off persuasive boys and making the tough decisions that all adolescents must make. There are so many people, places, things, feelings, and experiences that I had to say goodbye to. Although I don't feel ready to leave them for good, God gave me the peace I needed to walk away and admit that only He knows the future.
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| Goodbye songs at Okari Church |
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