There are two rivers in Mundri. One is the Yei, which starts below South Sudan and runs
north into the White Nile. The
Mori is a smaller tributary of the Yei, stretching out through town. Besides
adding to the aesthetics of western equatoria, these rivers help provide many
opportunities for social interaction in Mundri town. For months I’ve been hearing about the riverside adventures
of my male teammates, who get to go to the water with other South Sudanese men
on a regular basis. As a woman, it
isn’t appropriate to casually hang out with the guys, so I’ve had to learn to
appreciate sitting with my female friends at their compounds, watching them braid
hair and embroider curtains. I must
then ride my bike back home in the evenings and listen to the guys’ accounts of
catching fish, exploring untrodden land, and swimming in the brisk river
rapids. As someone who relies on
outdoor exertion for catharsis from the day-to-day stressors, it has been
difficult to spend most days static.
The envy builds (along with the self-pity) and I tell myself that my occasional
morning runs down the road toward Okari are enough to sustain me. Of course, I could schedule a river
trip with the other girls on the team, but that would require exploration of an
unknown region in town, and I also feared burdening the other girls with a deep
longing that I assumed was only felt by me.
Then one day, while decorating Christmas sugar cookies with
Karen and Alice (two African friends in town), I was invited to go to the
river. At first I assumed my
female friends were going for a specific chore, like washing their clothes or
tending a nearby garden, but Karen informed me that they were going simply to
relax and to play. A whole day by
the river! I was elated.
River Trip #1
The next day I met them at their place, a neat, fenced-in
compound of mainly women. Their
compound is a unique one—it is dominated and run by single women. Most men fear messing around with any
of the ladies living there. These
women are serious—education and work are top priority, and no one of the
opposite sex is going to interfere with those endeavors. This particular day, five of the girls
from the compound headed out on foot to the river. The crew consisted of Karen, who is around my age; Alice and
Martha, who are teenagers; and two little five-year-olds, Helen and
Blessing. The walk to the river was
an enjoyable one of about 2 miles, passing through smaller compounds, Mundri II
Primary School, and the overgrown and isolated land surrounding Mundri
Secondary School. The girls got to
experience a little of the discomfort of being an outsider, as every child we
passed by shouted, “Kawaja, kawaja, kawaja! (slang for white person)
Howareyouhowareyouhowareyou?! It
hit them with just how different they are from their very own neighbors, who
stop and stare at the novelty of light skin.
As soon as we got to the river, the little ones stripped
down to their underwear and got in the river to play.
Martha and Alice got in as well, only they wore shirts and
leggings to stay covered.
Karen and
I didn’t dress for the river, so we wandered—along the calm bank, under the
shade of the mango trees, and through the green lines of newly planted pede
pede (greens).
We found a good
spot to sit and catch up on life.
We ate oranges that the kids had picked from the trees and we dipped our
feet in the cool water, watching the tiny fish swim nearby, cautiously.
No one else was around.
Besides the blowing breeze and the
laughter of the girls up river, no sound could be heard.
Karen spoke about how she longed for
these moments to get away from the obligations of daily life and reflect.
As someone who works six days a week in
the middle of town, amongst the loud gossip of shop ladies and the violent
arguing of drunk soldiers, she can appreciate time in solitude and
silence.
We all walked back to
town under the golden glow of the setting sun, and I thought about how foolish
I had been the past few months.
I
had complained about not being able to go out into nature, but had done nothing
to change my circumstances.
I go
around, preaching to young S. Sudanese women about working hard to make their
lives better, and I can’t even stir up the courage to orchestrate a day trip to
the river.
Biking back to my place
from town, I didn’t even notice the shouts of “Kawaja” or “Obonje.” I was
riding high from having spent the best afternoon since being in Mundri—and now
I knew that a little gumption was all I needed to pursue more wonderful
adventures in the future.
River Trip #2
A couple of weeks later, the Masso family planned a day trip
to a different part of the river. I
jumped at the opportunity for some more riverside exploration. This time, I dressed appropriately in
workout attire, planning on experiencing all the elements the river had to
offer. The Masso’s have a favorite
spot, a rocky island near some small rapids, where they can set up chairs and
have a picnic. After slowly (and
very awkwardly) carrying my belongings over the rocks to the island, I got to
have a kayak lesson from Liana and Acacia. Their bravery with the outdoors always amazes me. I carefully stepped into my kayak,
gripping onto the sides like my life depended upon it; the other two jumped
down into a narrower kayak their own way, with Acacia lounging in the seat and
Liana sitting on the bow. We
headed upstream and I got to see a side of Mundri completely new to me. Swampy grassland dipped down into water
and heavy trees hung over, casting shadows on the outer sides of the river. Small, rocky islands jutted out from
the middle of the river, and occasional groups of naked children bathed along
the banks. Sometimes their skin
blended in so well with the dark brown rocks that I didn’t see them until I
glided right passed them, their mouths gaping open at the sight of my white
skin and bright orange kayak. I
passed two men who had constructed their own means of river transportation—a
long raft made from bamboo shafts, a helpful way to catch fish in the deeper
ends of the river.
When I felt ready, I turned around to go downstream and made
my way over the rapids. Granted,
the rapids were tiny; however, I was proud of myself for getting over them smoothly
and quickly paddling my way over to shore. The rest of the day was spent sitting on the river rocks,
letting the cool water rush over my back and try to push me off my perch. When I got too cold, I would go and lie
on the flat rocks that had been warmed by the sun all day. Gaby waded in the still parts of the
water and tossed in some bread, in hopes of catching some fish in his
hand. Michael and Andrew
voluntarily turned their kayaks upside down and worked on unsinking
themselves. We snacked on bread
and g-nut paste and read the books we have all been working on. (Mine was Mansfield Park, and it did not disappoint!)
Riding back in the truck that afternoon, I nearly fell
asleep. My body had that
well-satisfied fatigue that it gets after a long day of fun busyness, like a
trip to Kings Dominion or a day at Virginia Beach. Again, God had reminded me
of His goodness and beauty, in light of all my self-pity and naysaying in
Mundri living. He graciously gave
me the desire of my heart to get outdoors and He showed me that it isn’t always
so complicated to do so.
Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for
his compassions never fail. They
are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
-Lamentations 3:22,23
