New Home

I recently moved into my new home. It’s a mud hut. It’s square, 5 meters by 5 meters, made of mud bricks, and has a thatched roof. Definitely nothing too lavish compared to American standards, or at least the part of America that I come from. There are scorpions that hide under boxes and in the cracks in the walls between the bricks and mice that come in to feast on whatever crumbs are left out. Despite how lowly it seems looking at it in an American perspective, it is a mansion here. 

When you have a friend who has a family of seven or eight that stay in a hut that is much smaller than yours (for one person), it’s definitely humbling. When you are preparing to burn an old cardboard box because you see it as trash and someone asks if they can have it to sleep on, whoa, it’s overwhelming. When your friend who wears the same holey shirt day after day generously brings some food to share with you, it’s very sobering.

After a year and a half of constantly moving around and living in and among these conditions, with those that physically have way less than I do, I still struggle with how God is calling me to live and what He is leading me to do with my physical possessions. I pray that Jesus would enable me to walk in ceaseless thanksgiving, with tremendous generosity, and moral clarity, and that it would all be done with exceeding joy.

Home Sweet Home

Changing Seasons

Recently, God asked me to do a very difficult thing. I had to say good bye to the people I have lived with, learned language with, done life with, grown to love, and become family with for the past year and a half. I knew that one day I would have to say goodbye, but I didn’t think it would be so soon or because of circumstances due to war. 

I wasn’t ready. Tears streamed down my face as I said my last goodbyes and embraced my beautiful Nuer friends. As we drove away towards the airport, I knew that I was leaving a chunk of my heart with these people. I questioned God as to why He gave me such a love for these people and such a desire to be with them when I couldn’t stay. I didn’t want new friends from a different tribe. I was perfectly happy with the ones I have among the Nuer.

Back in Uganda, one of my friends reminded me how fortunate I was to have been able to spend that time among the Nuer. She encouraged me to not be afraid to invest in the new place I am going, and to not forget the power of intercession for my Nuer friends.

God accomplished whatever purpose that he had for me among the Nuer. He had me with the Nuer for a season, and maybe I’ll one day be reunited with them. I may never see fruit or know what my particular purpose was other than that He called me to the Nuer for a time. He gave me these people to love for a short while, and I don’t know if I could have loved them anymore. He is now giving me others to love, maybe for a short time or maybe for many years. If I loved the Nuer more than I ever thought possible, I know that Jesus will provide an even greater overflow of his love for this new tribe of people.

While my heart still hurts when I think about not being with the Nuer, I am filled with hope and expectation as I look forward to what the Lord is going to do during this season in Tonj.

Nyareat and her family

A Christmas Eve to Remember

On Christmas Eve in Gambella, Laura and I were invited to attend the annual Christmas Eve “Machin”, which is basically a church parade through town. Each Nuer church in Gambella formed a group, complete with drums, flags and wooden crosses. Everyone then proceeded to sing, dance, and march through the streets of town.

Hundreds participated, so many that the crowd of people stopped the traffic of the local Bajaj (rickshaw) taxis. As we danced down a dirt road there was so much dust in the air that had been stirred up from the ground it was as if we were caught in a dust storm, and it difficult to breathe. At one point while crossing a bridge, there were so many people dancing across the bridge at once that the whole structure was shaking (this was slightly terrifying ha).

After dancing/marching/singing for about three hours, I was so tired, sweaty and covered in dirt. Laura and I went home, but our Nuer friends went on to church to pray and worship late into the night. In fact, we later found out that many spent the night at church so that they could take part in the Christmas morning church celebrations.

It was a very joyous time as we celebrated with our Nuer friends the birth of our Lord and Savior. It was so great to experience how different cultures worship God—with their enthusiasm and loud singing, drumming and dancing. As much as I love Christmas and the traditions I have with my family, it was very refreshing to see how Christmas is celebrated outside American culture. The main focus of Christmas was not the decorations, food, or gifts, but one of joyful worship, reflecting on the gift of Jesus.

I now know that I definitely want to be a part of the Nuer celebrations in heaven!

Generosity and a Jerrican

Here in Ethiopia, we are blessed to have a grid for electricity as well as city water. However, the power and the water are never on all the time. The water is turned on every 3 to 4 days and the electricity comes and goes as it pleases. I am still trying to figure out if there is rhyme or reason to the electricity and water supply.

We have 3 large water storage barrels that we use when the water is off. We have never run out of water completely, but we have come close. Our backup plan is to pay for jerricans to be brought in from a local borehole.

The electricity will usually be out during the day but on at night for lights and fans. However, every now and then it will be off for days at a time. Usually, multiple days without power and a shortage of water don’t come together. Yet there are those rare occasions when they do. When this happens, I must confess, I get rather annoyed.

A few weekends ago, it happened.

The water hadn’t come for 3 days. With the seven people on our team plus two guards, we were running out. Then the power was shut off. When the power is out at night and there are no fans, no one sleeps well. The house is very hot and if one person moves, either inside or outside, everyone hears it.

By day 5 of no water, we had less than a quarter of a barrel left. A few friends had already come by the compound with jerricans asking if our water was on. This informed me that there was a shortage of water all over town, meaning that the option of deep well water was quickly diminishing if not already gone. Thus bathing is only to happen if an emergency.

Lack of sleep, heat, and little water unfortunately put me in a not so good, very grumbly mood.

While visiting with my friend Nyaret, I made a comment about how I hoped the water would turn on soon so that I could bathe, as it had been 4 days since my last bath. Immediately, she perked up and told me that she would go home, get one of her jerricans and bring me water.

Whoa.

I knew that she only had two jerricans, and that water was difficult to come by. I couldn’t take her water, especially when she has seven kids. Without hesitation I told her no, I was okay, the water would come soon. She didn’t say anything more about it, and after we were finished chatting, she left.

About thirty minutes later, the gate swung open, and in walked Nyaret with a jerrican on her head. I tried to tell her that I would be okay and she needed to take the water back to her family, but she insisted I keep it.

Talk about being humbled. This small act of kindness made a huge impact on me. In my time of need, my friend provided water from her already small supply. 

I thought that I had sacrificed to come to help the Nuer by working for an organization that provides access to clean water. In reality, the Nuer have helped me and taught me so much about life, family, caring for others, and sacrifice. In the Nuer culture, if someone is in need, no matter how much or little another person has, they share it. It’s completely Biblical. Unfortunately, I am usually not so quick to give like that, especially when it is something so precious.

I pray that I will one day be as generous as Nyaret; sacrificing whatever I have, small or great, for the glory of God.

The beautiful Nyaret

Kuoth Ja Thin

Since meeting Nyabuol over a year ago, I have always known her to be “ciek mi buom buom”, or a strong woman, full of life as she is hilarious and very joyful. After being reunited with Nyabuol at the refugee camp, she shared with us all that had occurred since we had seen her in December.

There was a dispute with her son-in-law regarding the dowry paid for her daughter. As a result, her-son-in law shot her. When she was shot, she passed out and was taken to the MSF (doctors without borders) compound in town. The bullet entered through stomach and exited through her back. Her wounds were so bad that she was flown to another MSF location in South Sudan for better care.

Nyabuol remained there for a few months, having many surgeries to repair her mangled organs. When finally released from the hospital, she walked for 10 long days back to Nasir, with little to no food. Shortly after reaching Nasir, she was relocated to the refugee camp where we were reunited with her.

As Nyibol shared her story, she paused periodically to look up, point to the sky and say “Kuoth ja thin” which means “God is there”.

Nyabuol now walks with a limp and battles infection from the bullet wound. Nyabuol was a very thin woman to begin with, but after all this she is even smaller. However, she is still incredibly strong, and she hasn’t lost her humor or her joy.

Nyabuol regularly talks about the time that she “died” and how God saved her life. When I see the scar that covers the entire length of her stomach and the hole in her back from the bullet exit, I can’t help but think that she really shouldn’t be here with us today. She is a constant reminder that “Kuoth ja thin”.

Pumpkin cooking (Nyibuol on right in green jacket)

Nyabuol (green dress) teaching me Nuer tribal dances

Finding Nyabuol

On our return to Gambella in July, our desire was to find all of our Nasir employees. We had been praying earnestly that God would work to bring the others to us, much like he had with our guard and compound manager.

Soon after our return, we receive word that one of the ladies who carried water for us, Nyabuol, was in a refugee camp nearby. We knew that she had been shot by her son-in-law in March, but until now we had no idea where she was.

Early one Saturday morning, Laura, Keisha and I made the 4 hour bumpy ride to Matar, a border town with South Sudan situated very near to a refugee camp, in hopes of finding Nyabuol. We knew that finding Nyabuol in the midst of thousands of displaced people would be difficult, if not impossible. If we were to in fact find her, it would be miracle.

Car ride to Matar

As we made our way along the bumpy, muddy road in the land cruiser, we received an exciting text from Jared who had remained back in Gambella with the kids. His text said that Nyaret, the other lady who carried our water in Nasir, had randomly shown up on the compound! This was an answer to prayer. We had tried to find out information regarding her whereabouts, but had come up with nothing. To have her just walk onto the compound the same day that we went to find Nyabuol wasn’t just a coincidence.

Full of anticipation, we made it to the receiving grounds of the first refugee camp. People immediately began to recognize us from Nasir, making it easy to ask about Nyabuol. Many had seen her there recently but no one knew her exact location.

We continued on to Matar to see if we could find anything more. Reaching the main part of town, we decided to split up into two groups to cover more ground. After just 10 minutes of searching, Keisha and Laura walked up with a tall thin boy. They introduced him as Nyabuol’s son. He remembered us from Nasir and said that Nyabuol was in a different camp and that he could take us to her.

We found Nyabuol's son, Guan Neer! (tall boy next to Keisha)

We all piled into the landcruiser and headed to the camp. However, it was decided that it was best for us khawajas (white people) to wait outside the camp, as it is very difficult to be admitted to the camp if you’re not a registered aid worker or a displaced person. So Laura, Keisha and I sat under a tree with some donkeys, anxiously waiting.

On our way with Nyabuol's son

Finally, after what seemed like ages, the land cruiser pulled up, the door opened, and out came Nyabuol! The reunion was surreal. She came back to Gambella with us that day, and we were reunited with Nyaret soon after. Nyabuol and Nyaret are currently working for us here in Gambella.

Keisha teaching Nyaret and Nyebuol about frogs

Wounded in Battle

Soon after returning to Gambella, we were informed that there had been more fighting in Nasir. Some of the wounded of the White Army (rebel army) had been brought to the Gambella hospital for treatment.

Here, and in a good portion of Africa, if you go to the hospital all that is provided in regard to accommodations is a place to lie—if you’re lucky you may get a bed with a mattress, but nothing else. Your family is responsible for providing linens, food, and taking care of you---keeping you clean, aiding you in using the facilities, etc.

Since the wounded were not from Gambella, many of them had no family here to take care of them. We soon found out that many of the local churches had banded together to raise money for food, and the women of the church were cooking for the wounded. Each day, many of our friends would go together to the hospital to visit the men. This was so encouraging to see the local church reaching out to care for those in need.

One of these days, Jared, Laura and I went along with them. When we arrived at the hospital, we were taken through three wards, two of which were previously tuberculosis wards that had been converted to accommodate the wounded. All three wards were packed full of those wounded in the fighting. There was also a surgical ward nearby that was very active.

The rooms were damp, dirty, poorly lit, and there was no privacy. A musty odor filled through the room as a result of the stench of human excrement, soiled linens, and a leaky roof.

Seeing the degree of some of the wounds was a lot to take in: men wincing in pain as they gasped to take their next breath; those with freshly amputated limbs; some were so weak that they could barely move; family and friends sitting by the unconscious, waiting anxiously for the moment when they would awake. 

As I looked around I realized that some of these men were really just boys no older than 15.

Before coming here, I had just heard stories of fighting. Seeing this glimpse of the effects of the war really hit me hard. This fighting is real. People are dying. Families are being torn apart.

My heart is so burdened for the South Sudanese people. Many of them I now consider my family. I pray a lasting peace comes soon.