The Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams has issued a statement in support of Sudan Day of Action, June 18, which calls for a renewed commitment to sustainable peace in Sudan.Read the whole story.
The Sudan Day of Action, organised by Baroness Caroline Cox and the Sudan Action Group, aims to raise awareness for the desperate plight of the people of Sudan.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Abp Williams calls for sustainable peace in Sudan
This news was a little late appearing, as it just appeared today, calling for a day of prayer for Sudan today. Episcopal Life has the story here. It begins:
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Thoughts on racism after Lui
A little girl in Lozoh checks her hand while shaking mine.
Thoughts on racism after Lui
Dan Handschy
Somewhere I read that one of the sounds most familiar to a young black man is the sound of the electric locks on car doors being locked. I have to admit that any number of times, I've been stopped at a light on Lindell or Vandeventer or some other street in town, and seen a group of three or four black men walking by, and hit the lock button. Somewhere along the line, I have received training to be afraid of a group of black men, especially young black men.
As you can imagine, I became aware of this unconscious response in Africa. In the car from the airport at Entebbe to the guest house in Kampala, along the long and crazy road late at night, I wondered what would happen to me if the car broke down. I was aware the fear was irrational, but there it was. Throughout my stay in Lui, as a group of us would be walking down the road, I would become aware that many heads were turning to watch us. I would wonder why people were watching us so closely, with that fear not far below the surface. Then it would dawn on me -- oh, yeah, they're watching us because we're white!
It really struck me the day the Baptists came to Lui. We were walking to church, and I saw a head of red hair under the mango tree, and said out loud, "Look, there's a white guy at the Cathedral." Deb laughed and said, "Yeah, I know. I'm walking next to him." We were pretty obvious. People looked at us, because we were out of the ordinary. But never, never did I experience the equivalent of the electric car locks locking. No one was afraid of us, the way white people are afraid of black people in this country. At the worst, we were treated with indifference, but never fear.
Several times, walking down the road, I would notice a group looking at us, and I would feel a bit of that fear, as they watched us closely. But then someone would break away from the group, and run over to us, and say "Deb-o-rah!" Someone she had worked with or known from her first trip would greet Deb, and our group would stand on the road for introductions and greetings. What had felt threatening (for no good reason) turned out to be an occasion for joy.
When I was a kid, a carpenter was working on the house across the street. He was a black man, and one day he brought his son with him. They boy was a year or two younger than me, so we were playing in the front yard. After shaking hands, I remember looking at my hand to see if the black rubbed off on me (I lived in a really white neighborhood). I noticed his palms were lighter than the rest of him, and wondered if that was why. Of course, the black didn't rub off. I wonder how he felt about me checking my hand.
I got the chance to know. Everywhere I went in Lui, kids came up to me and wanted to shake my hand. I felt a little like the Pied Piper. And always, they were laughing. I guess I looked goofy in my floppy hat. I noticed several of those kids check their hands after shaking mine, to see if the white rubbed off!
So, I'm left wondering how I received that training to be afraid of black men. After Lui, I find myself wishing I were back among the people of Lui. I wonder if black people in this country ever get tired of people being afraid of them. I will never have to live with people being afraid of me. Even the kids who checked their hands were only curious about my strange color, rather than afraid of it. I'll bet it gets really old.
Dan Handschy
Somewhere I read that one of the sounds most familiar to a young black man is the sound of the electric locks on car doors being locked. I have to admit that any number of times, I've been stopped at a light on Lindell or Vandeventer or some other street in town, and seen a group of three or four black men walking by, and hit the lock button. Somewhere along the line, I have received training to be afraid of a group of black men, especially young black men.
As you can imagine, I became aware of this unconscious response in Africa. In the car from the airport at Entebbe to the guest house in Kampala, along the long and crazy road late at night, I wondered what would happen to me if the car broke down. I was aware the fear was irrational, but there it was. Throughout my stay in Lui, as a group of us would be walking down the road, I would become aware that many heads were turning to watch us. I would wonder why people were watching us so closely, with that fear not far below the surface. Then it would dawn on me -- oh, yeah, they're watching us because we're white!
It really struck me the day the Baptists came to Lui. We were walking to church, and I saw a head of red hair under the mango tree, and said out loud, "Look, there's a white guy at the Cathedral." Deb laughed and said, "Yeah, I know. I'm walking next to him." We were pretty obvious. People looked at us, because we were out of the ordinary. But never, never did I experience the equivalent of the electric car locks locking. No one was afraid of us, the way white people are afraid of black people in this country. At the worst, we were treated with indifference, but never fear.
Several times, walking down the road, I would notice a group looking at us, and I would feel a bit of that fear, as they watched us closely. But then someone would break away from the group, and run over to us, and say "Deb-o-rah!" Someone she had worked with or known from her first trip would greet Deb, and our group would stand on the road for introductions and greetings. What had felt threatening (for no good reason) turned out to be an occasion for joy.
When I was a kid, a carpenter was working on the house across the street. He was a black man, and one day he brought his son with him. They boy was a year or two younger than me, so we were playing in the front yard. After shaking hands, I remember looking at my hand to see if the black rubbed off on me (I lived in a really white neighborhood). I noticed his palms were lighter than the rest of him, and wondered if that was why. Of course, the black didn't rub off. I wonder how he felt about me checking my hand.
I got the chance to know. Everywhere I went in Lui, kids came up to me and wanted to shake my hand. I felt a little like the Pied Piper. And always, they were laughing. I guess I looked goofy in my floppy hat. I noticed several of those kids check their hands after shaking mine, to see if the white rubbed off!
So, I'm left wondering how I received that training to be afraid of black men. After Lui, I find myself wishing I were back among the people of Lui. I wonder if black people in this country ever get tired of people being afraid of them. I will never have to live with people being afraid of me. Even the kids who checked their hands were only curious about my strange color, rather than afraid of it. I'll bet it gets really old.
Thursday, June 04, 2009
Safely Home
Over at LuLuLui, Debbie Smith reported at 7:33 p.m. that our travelers are safely home. I expect it will take them a while to rest and readjust to life back home. Debbie promises she will post photos soon.
The Companion Diocese Committee will meet Sunday, June 14, along with our three missioners. We all look forward to hearing their first-hand reports of all that was shared and done and learned in Lui. On behalf of the Committee (and the Diocese, I hope), I express deep thanks to the missioners for being our presence in Lui over the past couple of weeks.
Well done, thou good and faithful servants!
Thank God for their safe return.
The Companion Diocese Committee will meet Sunday, June 14, along with our three missioners. We all look forward to hearing their first-hand reports of all that was shared and done and learned in Lui. On behalf of the Committee (and the Diocese, I hope), I express deep thanks to the missioners for being our presence in Lui over the past couple of weeks.
Well done, thou good and faithful servants!
Thank God for their safe return.
Living Libraries
Dictionary Dan demonstrating a skateboard
Morris looking at the book from Advent 
Morris and his wife
Sylvester.
Living Libraries
Scroll Article for June, 2009
Deb Goldfeder
Someone said, when a person dies, a library burns. The life experiences, the stories heard from elders, the observations from one particular life lived are all lost at that moment. For those of us who have computer records of every thought we have ever written it may not be quite the same but, for the people who live in a verbal culture, the loss is tremendous.
Every time I asked a question about the past history of the Moru people or Lui the people around would say, “Ask Morris.” Sure enough, Morris would tell me the history of the Moru people, the origins of the word for “spoon” in Moru, or whatever other question I might have. Morris is a gifted teacher. He teaches children English and the clergy and laity Theological Education by Extension (TEE). He also runs the bookstore where you can buy the Moru Bible which he helped translate and that he typed! He has a wonderful curiosity about things and a great kindness. He was ordained a priest in the Diocese of Lui and served as the Archdeacon of Lui Parish for a time. He accomplished all this despite a third grade education. I have often pondered what Morris might have accomplished had his life not been so disrupted by war, famine and social upheaval. As it is, Morris is the library for Lui.
Morris has a great sense of joy, too, and he often could be located by the sound of his laughter. I was never sure where, exactly, he lived but his wife lived in Wiroh (pronounced Willow). When I asked why she lived fourteen miles away (or seven miles by the cutoff) he told me that when the Arabs were bombing Lui he felt he had to stay there anyway. He said he was not so important. His wife, however, was very important so she stayed with the children in her home village while he continued to work in Lui.
It was Morris who taught me about Moru dancing. I first saw what I thought must be authentic dancing at Christmastime but Morris said, “No, that is not the real dancing.” Finally when we went with Bishop Bullen to confirm candidates in Wiroh, Morris rounded up some of the elders of the community (men and women) including his wife and, with Morris beating out the rhythm on a little drum, they showed me REAL Moru dancing outside the church! Morris was my library of Moru history and culture.
I had another “reference” in Lui. Gordon, the administrator for the diocese, could always be counted on for another source of knowledge. Gordon carried the satellite phone for the diocese. Satellite phones work best outside and away from any large buildings that might obstruct the signal from the satellite so Gordon could always be found sitting under the mango tree on the cathedral grounds aiming the phone at the southern sky and waiting for calls from the diocesan offices in Nairobi. Although he is very serious, he has a great “yuk, yuk, yuk” kind of laughter which carried in the quiet of Lui. Once I commented to him that he was always sitting under the tree and he said he was, “Jeremiah 33 verse 3,” and then he quoted the Scripture to me: “Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know.” Then, he laughed that great belly-laugh again.
I discovered that Gordon, who had lived from the age of eighteen to thirty-six in the bush as war was raging all around and who had been ordained without formal theological education, could tell me where to find any verse in the Bible I could think of. As I was called upon to preach at a moment’s notice, I would turn to Gordon and ask him where to find this or that verse and he never hesitated. He was better than any concordance sitting on my shelf at home. Gordon was my human concordance.
This past December we carried a small spiral-bound book from Church of the Advent’s kids. They each had written something of their lives, families and interests on a page that held a photograph of them. We brought it for the church in Lozoh so the children there could know who was praying for them. It was probably the most popular thing either Dan or I had carried there. Each day people would gather and we would try to explain what skateboarding was, how baseball was played, what coffee hour meant (a remarkable number of Advent’s children said their favorite thing about church was coffee hour!), or any number of other things the children had written about. We tried with words to explain things so different to them but always resorted to drawing with out hands or with a stick on the ground or, most usually, acting them out.
Sylvester, the priest in charge of Lui parish church and one of my former English students, was enjoying the explanations one day when he looked at me, smiled, and said the nickname my former English class had given me—a nickname I had completely forgotten—and we both laughed. Sylvester made me think about how each person is a library. To teach English I had to use a Ugandan book so I had to explain things they didn’t have like post offices, banks, newspapers, sports and games. How ridiculous I know I looked standing over an imaginary Titleist with an invisible putter trying to sink a fifteen-foot putt into a fictitious hole [“Why do people do this?”] or skipping across the compound or hitting an imaginary backhand down the line. I’m just glad I was the only person with a video camera! My students called me the “Two-Legged Dictionary.” When I saw Dan “pushing” an invisible skateboard he had drawn in the dirt for our friends in Lui, I knew he was a Two-Legged Dictionary, too.
Scroll Article for June, 2009
Deb Goldfeder
Someone said, when a person dies, a library burns. The life experiences, the stories heard from elders, the observations from one particular life lived are all lost at that moment. For those of us who have computer records of every thought we have ever written it may not be quite the same but, for the people who live in a verbal culture, the loss is tremendous.
Every time I asked a question about the past history of the Moru people or Lui the people around would say, “Ask Morris.” Sure enough, Morris would tell me the history of the Moru people, the origins of the word for “spoon” in Moru, or whatever other question I might have. Morris is a gifted teacher. He teaches children English and the clergy and laity Theological Education by Extension (TEE). He also runs the bookstore where you can buy the Moru Bible which he helped translate and that he typed! He has a wonderful curiosity about things and a great kindness. He was ordained a priest in the Diocese of Lui and served as the Archdeacon of Lui Parish for a time. He accomplished all this despite a third grade education. I have often pondered what Morris might have accomplished had his life not been so disrupted by war, famine and social upheaval. As it is, Morris is the library for Lui.
Morris has a great sense of joy, too, and he often could be located by the sound of his laughter. I was never sure where, exactly, he lived but his wife lived in Wiroh (pronounced Willow). When I asked why she lived fourteen miles away (or seven miles by the cutoff) he told me that when the Arabs were bombing Lui he felt he had to stay there anyway. He said he was not so important. His wife, however, was very important so she stayed with the children in her home village while he continued to work in Lui.
It was Morris who taught me about Moru dancing. I first saw what I thought must be authentic dancing at Christmastime but Morris said, “No, that is not the real dancing.” Finally when we went with Bishop Bullen to confirm candidates in Wiroh, Morris rounded up some of the elders of the community (men and women) including his wife and, with Morris beating out the rhythm on a little drum, they showed me REAL Moru dancing outside the church! Morris was my library of Moru history and culture.
I had another “reference” in Lui. Gordon, the administrator for the diocese, could always be counted on for another source of knowledge. Gordon carried the satellite phone for the diocese. Satellite phones work best outside and away from any large buildings that might obstruct the signal from the satellite so Gordon could always be found sitting under the mango tree on the cathedral grounds aiming the phone at the southern sky and waiting for calls from the diocesan offices in Nairobi. Although he is very serious, he has a great “yuk, yuk, yuk” kind of laughter which carried in the quiet of Lui. Once I commented to him that he was always sitting under the tree and he said he was, “Jeremiah 33 verse 3,” and then he quoted the Scripture to me: “Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know.” Then, he laughed that great belly-laugh again.
I discovered that Gordon, who had lived from the age of eighteen to thirty-six in the bush as war was raging all around and who had been ordained without formal theological education, could tell me where to find any verse in the Bible I could think of. As I was called upon to preach at a moment’s notice, I would turn to Gordon and ask him where to find this or that verse and he never hesitated. He was better than any concordance sitting on my shelf at home. Gordon was my human concordance.
This past December we carried a small spiral-bound book from Church of the Advent’s kids. They each had written something of their lives, families and interests on a page that held a photograph of them. We brought it for the church in Lozoh so the children there could know who was praying for them. It was probably the most popular thing either Dan or I had carried there. Each day people would gather and we would try to explain what skateboarding was, how baseball was played, what coffee hour meant (a remarkable number of Advent’s children said their favorite thing about church was coffee hour!), or any number of other things the children had written about. We tried with words to explain things so different to them but always resorted to drawing with out hands or with a stick on the ground or, most usually, acting them out.
Sylvester, the priest in charge of Lui parish church and one of my former English students, was enjoying the explanations one day when he looked at me, smiled, and said the nickname my former English class had given me—a nickname I had completely forgotten—and we both laughed. Sylvester made me think about how each person is a library. To teach English I had to use a Ugandan book so I had to explain things they didn’t have like post offices, banks, newspapers, sports and games. How ridiculous I know I looked standing over an imaginary Titleist with an invisible putter trying to sink a fifteen-foot putt into a fictitious hole [“Why do people do this?”] or skipping across the compound or hitting an imaginary backhand down the line. I’m just glad I was the only person with a video camera! My students called me the “Two-Legged Dictionary.” When I saw Dan “pushing” an invisible skateboard he had drawn in the dirt for our friends in Lui, I knew he was a Two-Legged Dictionary, too.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Pilgrim's Progress: Land of the Uninvited Guest
Years ago, I was introduced to the idea of the uninvited guest by my friend Rita who always set an extra place at any holiday table. An old Polish custom,, it was held open for one of the prophets (which one I don't remember) in case he should appear unexpectedly. I have always thought it was a lovely custom and that perhaps, we might also be waiting for Jesus, or an angel unaware.
Moru Land is the land of the uninvited guest. People drop by; chairs migrate from the payot to the shade of the nearest big tree, usually a giant mango and then back. The chairs are the same plastic chairs we can buy from Home Depot/China. They have supplanted the local folding chairs crafted from local mahogany.
I have stepped into the payot to get water as I did the other day to find David, one half of the CMS couple who live just down the Juba road, sitting there with Alyssa and Akeisha, two girls from the World Harvest group in Mundri. (CMS is the Church Missionary Society out of the UK). Alyssa is a young missionary who will be in Mundri for two years and is currently living in a safari tent while Akeisha is the middle school age daughter of the senior missionary couple. She has apparently lived her whole life in one part of Africa or another. The discussion centered around being able to get goat cheese from Khartoum. There's very little dairy in this part of the world. The rest of the talk was also about food and made Mundri sound like Whole Foods south Sudan.
In the evening after supper, we sit around outside the payot and people drop by. We chat about local people, world politics and finally we all say compline together.
Stephen was telling us that if he wants to visit one of his brothers, he simply arrives and stays as long as he wants. The same thing occurs with funerals. Family and friends come from many places and long distances for the three days of the funeral. The family provides at least one tukul and the guests take turns sleeping. Food is provided for everyone.
There is a grace and fluidity to hospitality here. I will miss the ease with which people move about. It is hard to be lonely if you are near the payot. Some one will be along in a minjute.
Peace,
Mary
Moru Land is the land of the uninvited guest. People drop by; chairs migrate from the payot to the shade of the nearest big tree, usually a giant mango and then back. The chairs are the same plastic chairs we can buy from Home Depot/China. They have supplanted the local folding chairs crafted from local mahogany.
I have stepped into the payot to get water as I did the other day to find David, one half of the CMS couple who live just down the Juba road, sitting there with Alyssa and Akeisha, two girls from the World Harvest group in Mundri. (CMS is the Church Missionary Society out of the UK). Alyssa is a young missionary who will be in Mundri for two years and is currently living in a safari tent while Akeisha is the middle school age daughter of the senior missionary couple. She has apparently lived her whole life in one part of Africa or another. The discussion centered around being able to get goat cheese from Khartoum. There's very little dairy in this part of the world. The rest of the talk was also about food and made Mundri sound like Whole Foods south Sudan.
In the evening after supper, we sit around outside the payot and people drop by. We chat about local people, world politics and finally we all say compline together.
Stephen was telling us that if he wants to visit one of his brothers, he simply arrives and stays as long as he wants. The same thing occurs with funerals. Family and friends come from many places and long distances for the three days of the funeral. The family provides at least one tukul and the guests take turns sleeping. Food is provided for everyone.
There is a grace and fluidity to hospitality here. I will miss the ease with which people move about. It is hard to be lonely if you are near the payot. Some one will be along in a minjute.
Peace,
Mary
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Pilgrim's Progress: Nearing the End
Ouch...I just looked the Cathedral Times and realized I ought to proof my blog better. I apologize for all the errors.
Debbie and I finished the Adult Education Teachers' Conference today, the last one of the three. There were eight teachers, three from Wandi which is on the famous road to Kediba. They work without pay to provide education for adults who missed their chance during the war. Almost everything in Sudan is a Gordian knot of scarcity. The teachers from Luinje School had very good books in Math, English and Science from the Secretariat of Education of New Sudan but only for the teachers...the teachers from the other schools were using curriculum from Uganda. And probably only books for teachers. Keep in mind there are no copiers...all supplies come from Juba or Uganda. To get more books from the govenment will mean an organized effort or a word in the ear of the appropriate official from the Bishop, maybe. Transportation and communication are a challenge all the time. Scarce and expensive.
Except for conferences, it appears they work in isolation much of the time. When I think of how much I have muttered about small glitches in my daily professional life over the years, I'm embarassed. I still believe my students are the future of our country but I'm not sure they do and it's clear they don't see themselves as helping to build it. The teachers and the youth here know they are helping to heal and build their country. Here in Sudan, everything is beginning again after the war. They are recreating their institutions pretty much from the ground up with very little money and few resources. The terrifying thing is that no one knows what will happen with the upcoming elections or the referendum. There is also the potential for more internal tribal violence. So the fragile peace and the hard-earned gains of the past five or six years could go up in smoke again.
At the end of the conference today we sang Jesus Loves Me in Moru and English with lively hand gestures, almost patty cake interspersed with clapping. Imagine Episcopalians doing something so lively...Debbie and I really enjoyed it. Then one of the teachers closed with prayer. The Moru pray almost as much as they wash their hands ...which is often. It is very clear that they know that Jesus loves them. As Pentecost approaches, are we as clear about the great rushing wind that could fill our lives with such certainty?
Mary
Debbie and I finished the Adult Education Teachers' Conference today, the last one of the three. There were eight teachers, three from Wandi which is on the famous road to Kediba. They work without pay to provide education for adults who missed their chance during the war. Almost everything in Sudan is a Gordian knot of scarcity. The teachers from Luinje School had very good books in Math, English and Science from the Secretariat of Education of New Sudan but only for the teachers...the teachers from the other schools were using curriculum from Uganda. And probably only books for teachers. Keep in mind there are no copiers...all supplies come from Juba or Uganda. To get more books from the govenment will mean an organized effort or a word in the ear of the appropriate official from the Bishop, maybe. Transportation and communication are a challenge all the time. Scarce and expensive.
Except for conferences, it appears they work in isolation much of the time. When I think of how much I have muttered about small glitches in my daily professional life over the years, I'm embarassed. I still believe my students are the future of our country but I'm not sure they do and it's clear they don't see themselves as helping to build it. The teachers and the youth here know they are helping to heal and build their country. Here in Sudan, everything is beginning again after the war. They are recreating their institutions pretty much from the ground up with very little money and few resources. The terrifying thing is that no one knows what will happen with the upcoming elections or the referendum. There is also the potential for more internal tribal violence. So the fragile peace and the hard-earned gains of the past five or six years could go up in smoke again.
At the end of the conference today we sang Jesus Loves Me in Moru and English with lively hand gestures, almost patty cake interspersed with clapping. Imagine Episcopalians doing something so lively...Debbie and I really enjoyed it. Then one of the teachers closed with prayer. The Moru pray almost as much as they wash their hands ...which is often. It is very clear that they know that Jesus loves them. As Pentecost approaches, are we as clear about the great rushing wind that could fill our lives with such certainty?
Mary
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Pilgrim's Progress: Incarnation/Bathing
One of the reasons I wanted to come to Lui was to retrieve the nitty gritty of my body from the obsessive cleanliness of American culture. Every culture has different definitions but I've felt for years that we have carried this washing, sanitizing, this coverup of natural odors to a paranoid and unnatural extreme. Something is wrong when doctors tell us we're too clean, that we're preventing children from developing immunities to garden variety germs.
I grew up as a grubby little tomboy whose mother would laugh and say,"We all have to eat a peck of dirt before we die, anyway." Not that I'm dirty but there some things I just can't get that excited about.Cooking odors, for example. I discovered as a side benefit of being close to a complete vegetarian that my house smelled much better. Without meat grease, it's much easier to clean.
Don't get me wrong. I like hot showers and tub baths as well as the next one. I'd prefer a tile floor to a dirt one, a rug to a dirt floor but I can quite happily deal with dirty feet for a while. Do I enjoy sweating and smelling? Not particularly but it's been a while since that happened. (Consumer tip: nice organic deordorants don't make the grade here.) I'm glad to know that my body will still produce odors.
I've gone back to bathing twice a day the way I did in Venezuela. I feel better if I do. It's much easier to be a guest. John Noel, the compound manager, makes sure that the big iron cauldron is full of hot water twice a day. He makes a fire of sticks or bundles of grass. Steam rises off the water. I go get the blue plastic basin from the washing room and dip the hot water into it. There's also a jerry can of cool water nearby to add to the hot water. I learned not fill it too full because there's a high step into the washing room. Jim suggested filling the basin in the room. Debbie suggested as an alternative setting the full basin on the step first.
Once inside with my clothes hanging on the one hook (I don't take a change of clothing because there's really no place to hang it.) first I use the tin cup to pour water over my entire body to get it wet. Then I use Dr.Bronner's Lavender Castile Liquid soap as a shampoo, the extra suds under my arms etc. I use cake soap on my face. Then I scrub everything with my wash cloth. Then I rinse everything a couple of times with the tin cup. Then I dry myself off with my extra special technical towel which dries rapidly when I hang it on my mosquito net with clothespins.
A number of times I've done this in the dark resting my head lamp and my small flashlight on the high window ledge. It's kind of like Ray Charles shaving in the dark. I know where my body parts are and I can tell which soap by touch.
This time period has helped me reconnect with the simple minimum of how do things. I have a more intimate sense of my own body again. It's helped remind me how little I really need to be comfortable. Would I want to do this for a really long time? Probably not. It reminds me how much I don't need. Do I love my servomechanisms? My washer? My dryer? My dishwasher? My shower? Yes, but Lui has reminded I don't have to have them.
Mary
I grew up as a grubby little tomboy whose mother would laugh and say,"We all have to eat a peck of dirt before we die, anyway." Not that I'm dirty but there some things I just can't get that excited about.Cooking odors, for example. I discovered as a side benefit of being close to a complete vegetarian that my house smelled much better. Without meat grease, it's much easier to clean.
Don't get me wrong. I like hot showers and tub baths as well as the next one. I'd prefer a tile floor to a dirt one, a rug to a dirt floor but I can quite happily deal with dirty feet for a while. Do I enjoy sweating and smelling? Not particularly but it's been a while since that happened. (Consumer tip: nice organic deordorants don't make the grade here.) I'm glad to know that my body will still produce odors.
I've gone back to bathing twice a day the way I did in Venezuela. I feel better if I do. It's much easier to be a guest. John Noel, the compound manager, makes sure that the big iron cauldron is full of hot water twice a day. He makes a fire of sticks or bundles of grass. Steam rises off the water. I go get the blue plastic basin from the washing room and dip the hot water into it. There's also a jerry can of cool water nearby to add to the hot water. I learned not fill it too full because there's a high step into the washing room. Jim suggested filling the basin in the room. Debbie suggested as an alternative setting the full basin on the step first.
Once inside with my clothes hanging on the one hook (I don't take a change of clothing because there's really no place to hang it.) first I use the tin cup to pour water over my entire body to get it wet. Then I use Dr.Bronner's Lavender Castile Liquid soap as a shampoo, the extra suds under my arms etc. I use cake soap on my face. Then I scrub everything with my wash cloth. Then I rinse everything a couple of times with the tin cup. Then I dry myself off with my extra special technical towel which dries rapidly when I hang it on my mosquito net with clothespins.
A number of times I've done this in the dark resting my head lamp and my small flashlight on the high window ledge. It's kind of like Ray Charles shaving in the dark. I know where my body parts are and I can tell which soap by touch.
This time period has helped me reconnect with the simple minimum of how do things. I have a more intimate sense of my own body again. It's helped remind me how little I really need to be comfortable. Would I want to do this for a really long time? Probably not. It reminds me how much I don't need. Do I love my servomechanisms? My washer? My dryer? My dishwasher? My shower? Yes, but Lui has reminded I don't have to have them.
Mary
Monday, May 25, 2009
Pilgrim's Progress: Ironies
It's alway seemed ironic to me that doing good works in the developing world produce opportunities worthy of an Evelyn Waugh of Paul Theroux novel.
I find it odd that I can preach twice in two weeks in Lui and schmooze with the bishop when in the States, I certainly wouldn't be allowed the pulpit at the Cathedral. I've only passed pleasantries with the last two bishops of Missouri but was invited to be part of a discussion about finding a replacement for a pastor who had recently died here. I'm aware of the novelty factor of being an American in an impoverished community although Europeans of various NGO sorts appear to be thick on the ground in this part of Africa. No backpackers carryingthe Lonely Planet at all.
I preached at Buwagyi yesterday to a full church. Oneil, one of the pastors, who had come back from Juba for the funeral of the pastor who died, translated for me. He kindly lent me hisMoru hymnal so I could follow the hymns which I could usually work outby the antepenultimate verse thanks toMorris' Moru lessons. No clue what they meantbut I could utter the words. Working with a translator creates a kind of split page. I had time to look at the congregation and wished I could take photographs of some of the congregation. I think it went well but the Moru are very polite so I probably won't know with any certainty what they actually thought.
This coming Sunday I preach at Fraser Cathedral which given the season of Pentecost, will give mean opportunity to talk about unity in Jesus.
Remind me next time you see me about the time the governor of the state of Aragua,Venezuela, invited himself to lunch at my house in the barrio. He came without his bodyguards but plunked a pearl handled revolver down on the table next to his plate. That's one chapter in the novel.
Next, how to bath in a large blue plastic basin from China whhich I'm going to go do now.
Peace,
Mary
I find it odd that I can preach twice in two weeks in Lui and schmooze with the bishop when in the States, I certainly wouldn't be allowed the pulpit at the Cathedral. I've only passed pleasantries with the last two bishops of Missouri but was invited to be part of a discussion about finding a replacement for a pastor who had recently died here. I'm aware of the novelty factor of being an American in an impoverished community although Europeans of various NGO sorts appear to be thick on the ground in this part of Africa. No backpackers carryingthe Lonely Planet at all.
I preached at Buwagyi yesterday to a full church. Oneil, one of the pastors, who had come back from Juba for the funeral of the pastor who died, translated for me. He kindly lent me hisMoru hymnal so I could follow the hymns which I could usually work outby the antepenultimate verse thanks toMorris' Moru lessons. No clue what they meantbut I could utter the words. Working with a translator creates a kind of split page. I had time to look at the congregation and wished I could take photographs of some of the congregation. I think it went well but the Moru are very polite so I probably won't know with any certainty what they actually thought.
This coming Sunday I preach at Fraser Cathedral which given the season of Pentecost, will give mean opportunity to talk about unity in Jesus.
Remind me next time you see me about the time the governor of the state of Aragua,Venezuela, invited himself to lunch at my house in the barrio. He came without his bodyguards but plunked a pearl handled revolver down on the table next to his plate. That's one chapter in the novel.
Next, how to bath in a large blue plastic basin from China whhich I'm going to go do now.
Peace,
Mary
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Today in Lui
Be sure to check Debbie Smith’s account of the missioners’ activities today (May 24) at LuLuLui. Debbie reports that Mary Seager preached at Buwagyi, and they had a very full day.
Debbie writes of Mary: “I don't think she's going to blog today; she mostly wants to lie down from the heat ….” Apparently, it is awfully hot and humid now.
In the meantime, here’s a photo I took of the Buwagyi church -- where Mary preached today -- back in 2006:
And of the interior, with Manyigugu/Darius holding the bishop’s crozier:
I remember this church well, because it had artwork all around the walls. Drawings like this went all the way around the chancel walls and down the walls of the nave.
I wonder whether it still looks that way.
I hope you all don't mind my "chipping in" with updates and old photos.
I’m sure that, like me, you are eager to hear first-hand from Mary and Jim, but they’re sleeping now. Remember Lui is 8 hours later than CDT.
Debbie writes of Mary: “I don't think she's going to blog today; she mostly wants to lie down from the heat ….” Apparently, it is awfully hot and humid now.
In the meantime, here’s a photo I took of the Buwagyi church -- where Mary preached today -- back in 2006:
And of the interior, with Manyigugu/Darius holding the bishop’s crozier:
I remember this church well, because it had artwork all around the walls. Drawings like this went all the way around the chancel walls and down the walls of the nave.
I wonder whether it still looks that way.
I hope you all don't mind my "chipping in" with updates and old photos.
I’m sure that, like me, you are eager to hear first-hand from Mary and Jim, but they’re sleeping now. Remember Lui is 8 hours later than CDT.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Pilgrim's Progress: Finding my rhythm
I'm procrastinating. I should be starting to work on my sermon but I wanted to do this first. I just reread the last blog and I apologize for the omitted words. I was using the laptop on which the space bar sticks, typing using my head lamp for light (indispensable for reading in bed and finding my way to the lat...greatest attribute besides light is that it's hands free.)
It's taken me a week but I'm finding my rhythm within the rhythm of life here. We are saying compline about 9 pm and then to bed. I'm taking one bath in the evening to wash off the day's dust (think Georgia on my mind) and sweat...there is hot water from a giant cauldron) and then another in the morning to wake up. We have breakfast, usually breads of some kind with Ugandan tea or tinned coffee I brought from Uganda. Then some activity. The last two days it was the youth conference. We walked from the cathedral compound to Luinje School in the early evening on the Juba road...the only two lane graded road in the area...red dust...with Stephen and Gordon pulling us out the way of enormous speeding trucks, motorcycles. The flock of sheep with one trailing lamb managed to get across on its own. Then dinner. Some sitting around telling stories with Ramsey, Stephen and Darius. Ramsey told us about witnessing the birth of his son and how it changed his life. Stephen described hunting dikdik and antelope in the forest with bows and arrows.
Moru lesson with Morris who translated the Bible into Moru. Lunch with the team with Gordon whom we had check an article about the Moru from Wikipedia. It apparently was accurate because it turned out that Debbie and Gordon knew most of the people whose work had been referenced. More Moru shortly. Then to the sermon.
Peace,
Mary
It's taken me a week but I'm finding my rhythm within the rhythm of life here. We are saying compline about 9 pm and then to bed. I'm taking one bath in the evening to wash off the day's dust (think Georgia on my mind) and sweat...there is hot water from a giant cauldron) and then another in the morning to wake up. We have breakfast, usually breads of some kind with Ugandan tea or tinned coffee I brought from Uganda. Then some activity. The last two days it was the youth conference. We walked from the cathedral compound to Luinje School in the early evening on the Juba road...the only two lane graded road in the area...red dust...with Stephen and Gordon pulling us out the way of enormous speeding trucks, motorcycles. The flock of sheep with one trailing lamb managed to get across on its own. Then dinner. Some sitting around telling stories with Ramsey, Stephen and Darius. Ramsey told us about witnessing the birth of his son and how it changed his life. Stephen described hunting dikdik and antelope in the forest with bows and arrows.
Moru lesson with Morris who translated the Bible into Moru. Lunch with the team with Gordon whom we had check an article about the Moru from Wikipedia. It apparently was accurate because it turned out that Debbie and Gordon knew most of the people whose work had been referenced. More Moru shortly. Then to the sermon.
Peace,
Mary
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