Goodbye Africa

Is it possible to have culture shock in your own home culture? Because this all feels really weird.  Roads, electricity, showers, western food, plumbing, a mattress… last night I tried to tuck my mosquito net in before going to bed, only to feel really dumb when I realized there wasn’t one.  It’s hard to revert back to normal life after living such a surreal one for two months.  Waking up to an alarm clock (snooze, snooze, snooze…), going to school, having organized classes with homework, hearing people speak fluent English, cafeteria lunches, working at Weiss markets instead of the clinic, everything just seems… weird.  Not that I’m complaining- I’m ecstatic to be home.  Everything is just so different.      

This summer I attended the national Episcopal Youth Event (EYE) in Minnesota.  One of our main speakers was Cameron Vivanco, a long-term missionary in Ecuador, who was a really inspiring speaker.  She said that there are five stages to post mission, or really to any journey to a third-world country, mission or no.  (For a clarification of the whole “missionary” thing, see my dad’s post Candy for Converts)  I can’t quite remember what she said word for word so forgive me if I mess something up.  Feast, fight, flee, fit, and fruit-the five Fs of post mission.  Step 1: Feast.  When first returning from a trip, you tend to really, really happy- it’s awesome to sleep in a real bed and take showers and eat good food and everything else.  Trust me- it’s awesome.  Step 2: fight.  You get angry.  People ask, Oh how was your trip?  And you try to tell them about all the wonderful things you saw and learned, and all the wonderful people you met, but they just space out and smile and nod.  They don’t really want to hear about it, they just want to hear Oh it was great! Then move on with their day, having fulfilled their social obligations by asking.  Honestly, I’ve stopped trying to tell people.  You get angry that no one seems to give a *darn* about the problems of the world.  Step 3: Flee.  You flee your home culture.  People have done things like refuse to take hot showers, eat fancy foods, or buy new clothes.  Eventually we all realize that this helps no one, and just puts us in a bad mood (cold showers-enough said). 

Then come the really important steps.  Step 4: Fit.  In step 4, you give up.  You accept that it’s just the way of the world and you stop worrying about it.  You shove the memories away; try not to feel the guilt and shame.  Many people are successful with this.  They forget the bad stuff, pat themselves on the back for going at all, and settle in.  This is bad- you do NOT want to stop at step 4, but sadly so many people do.  Step 5 is Fruit.  In an ideal world, everyone would reach this step.  Fruit is what you get out of the trip, how it changes you and inspires you make a change.  Some people start their own non-profit organizations, some decide to be long term missionaries, some just resolve to be nicer to people in everyday life.  I think I know what my fruit is- this trip has made an everlasting impression on me.  After receiving my bachelors in biology, I’ll study for an MD PhD in tropical medicine.  I have every intention to change the world, and that is partly because of this trip. 

I don’t know how long it will be until I come back to South Sudan.  College looms large in my future (finally), and after that I don’t know where life will take me.  Maybe I’ll be back next year, maybe after college, maybe never.  I don’t know.  One thing I do know- I will always remember these months under African skies.    

You Might Be In Africa If...

·         Airport security means one guy sitting on a plastic chair by the exit with an AK-47.

·         Random people walk up to you, inform you that they are police officers or wildlife conversationalists and expect you to give them money.

·         You spend breakfast one morning debating with your friends how much your respective dowries should be in cows and shillings. 

·         You see an entire family, 20 liters of water, a pig, and a crate of chickens loaded onto a motorcycle, none of them wearing helmets (not even the chickens!) and aren’t surprised.

·         Father daughter bonding is setting up the family mosquito nets.

·         You charge your phone from a car battery-that’s still attached to the car. 

·         Backpack on the front and baby on the back is normal.

·         A small child goes missing and is picked up a police man.  Before returning the child, the police officer expects a $100 bribe.

·         I’ll be there at noon means expect me at 2 in the afternoon or later.

·         People carry more things on their head than they do in their hands.

·         Your popcorn comes in a can and your eggs have never been refrigerated.

·         You drink a cup of tea in the morning instead of coffee.

·         The milk at the grocery store isn’t refrigerated and doesn’t need to be-because it’s been so heavily pasteurized it won’t expire for another 4 months.   

·         If you have a fever, there’s a 95% chance you have malaria- but Hakuna Matata, because Malaria is like the common cold, you get it, you treat it, you move on.

·         You walk into the shower and find a goat eating your bar of soap.  

What's Up Doc?

I’ve always been fascinated by biology, and my recent diabetes diagnoses has just renewed my interest in medicine.  I honestly had no plan to pursue anything medical while in Africa this year, because I didn’t think it was possible.  However, my program with the leper colony ended about a month earlier than I expected, and I was bored out of my mind.  I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned this before- I do NOT do well with inactivity.  At all.  So I started to look for something to occupy my time with- and discovered St. Morgan’s Maternal and Child Health Care Center.

St. Morgan’s is the best private clinic in Kajo-Keji County, and people travel for hours to receive treatment there.  The government hospital refers people there on a daily basis.  They have the only ultrasound machine and technician and the only x-ray machine, which will soon be operational when they get a big enough generator to run it.  I didn’t think it would be possible to work there but it turns out they are happy to have me! I started with the internship about three weeks ago, and have learned more than I thought possible. 

I have a huge amount of respect for my mentor.  He is the only certified medical personnel there, so he works from around 7 in the morning to around 11 at night every day, and he is on call all night.  He literally sleeps at the clinic.  He is also one of the only African men I have ever met who treats me like an equal.  Most treat me as if I am inferior simply because I’m a girl.  He likes to teach and I like to learn- I would have been content to listen and watch as he interacted with patients, but he decided that wasn’t enough of a challenge. 

On my second day at the clinic he turned to me and said OK you can check his blood pressure.  I was dumbfounded and it took me a few seconds to realize that he actually meant ME.  After the first time I was more prepared for this… when he told me to give injections and perform ultrasounds I was somewhat ready.  Since then I’ve learned how to check blood pressure, give injections, both IM and IV, use the ultrasound machine, take medical histories, and perform basic examinations like palpations and checking for cyanosis, and much more. 

Every day we go into the exam room with patients, he sits in the wood chair, and both the patients and I sit in plastic chairs.  He takes the history while I watch, then consults me as to what I think it is.  Once I’ve correctly identified the disease he asked me what treatment… I’ve memorized the dosages for many common drugs.   Yesterday, we walked into the exam room and he sat in my plastic chair and looked at me expectantly.  Well thanks for the warning…  I sat in the wood chair and took the lead in talking to the patient, doing investigations (i.e. blood smear for malaria), diagnosing, and prescribing treatment.  Talk about trial by fire! If I made a mistake, he corrected me, but thanks to his merciless grilling in previous weeks I have the basics pretty well memorized. 

I have them memorized because for the most part we only get a few types of cases: malaria, typhoid, respiratory tract infections, ulcers, etc.  All are very easy to identify and treat.  I absolutely love working there.  The people are friendly, the days are busy, and the work is absolutely fascinating.  I usually stay for about eight hours a day, sometimes more sometimes less, and the time flies by.  I don’t know if I’ll end up being a pediatrician, a surgeon, a diagnostician, etc… But one thing is clear: I need to start working on my elaborately illegible doctor’s signature.      

THE Mzungus

There’s one thing I don’t understand about Kajo-Keji County:  it’s the southernmost district of South Sudan, comparatively accessible by road and air from Uganda, so why aren’t there more aid agencies? The need is here, the projects are obvious and easy and it’s easily accessible.  I’m confused.  What this amounts to is that people here don’t see a lot of Mzungus.  So when they see us it’s not “Hey look it’s a mzungu!” it’s “Hey look it’s THE mzungus, those ones that come back every year.” They especially always remember Liam.  Gee, I wonder why-he’s the social butterfly of our otherwise introverted family.

OH the joys of being a mzungu in rural Africa.  NOT.  There are a lot of bad things about that.  Number 1: The staring.  Excuse me, didn’t your mother teach you not to stare? Oh no, sorry, I can see her behind you, and she’s staring, too.  Peachy.  On the bright side, nothing we do here is weird because we’re those crazy mzungus and God knows why we do what we do.  I could walk around in a chicken suit and get the same looks I do now.  I feel like an exhibit in a zoo.  Hey you, don’t tap the glass!  We don’t like it. 

Number 2:  Mzungus are drunk magnets.  When a man walks up to you, smelling strongly of alcohol and informs you that he is a police officer-trust me, he’s not.  Do not give him money; you’re going to need it when the real police officer demands a bribe.  Number 3: Mzungu girls are drunken marriage demand magnets.  Note: not proposals, demands.  You, you, how are you?  You will marry me; you will come and be my wife.  UM excuse me?! No.  First of all, I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth.  Second of all, you really need to work on your technique because your  drunk “you will marry me” isn’t going to get a lot of takers.  The usual arguments don’t work either… I’m still in primary school, I’m already married, and NO you crazy @#$%^&* get away from me!! are all met with cheerful assurance that it’s ok it’s ok.   For those of you familiar with the JennaMarbles videos on youtube… I should have used The Face.  Although honestly I doubt it would have worked. 

Number 4:  Mzungu tax.  What? No it does not cost 50,000 shillings for a boda-boda ride to Mogiri -- you just sold it to the Africans for 10,000.  Enough with the bull crap here people, just tell me the real price.  I’ve been coming here for years - I know what it should be. Side note: boda-bodas, African motorbike taxis, are a singularly terrifying experience and will probably have a post dedicated to their insanity.   

Of course there are also a lot of really wonderful things about coming to Africa, but this post just happens to be me venting about several of my least favorite things.  Such is life; you take the good with bad and roll with the punches.                  

The Prom Nail Discrepancy

             This is going to be a very short post because I want people to read it and then spend time thinking about it.  Please feel free to comment with your thoughts on the subject.  OK? Good.  Ready, set, change the world!

Today as I was eating breakfast I looked down at my feet-and I noticed something.  My nails still had a sparse, chipped coating of silver and teal nail polish-from prom.  Yeah, yeah, I know prom was three months ago.  Somehow I just never got around to finding the nail polish remover.  I looked a few times but couldn’t find it, and then I would always get distracted and forget about it.  

 ANYWAYS the reason I’m talking about my nails is The Prom Nail Discrepancy.  Upon noticing my poor, ravaged nails I started to think about the disparity among the nations of the world.  Obviously it’s something one thinks about often here but this just put it in perspective a bit.  How is it girls in one country can spend upwards of four hundred dollars on a dress they wear once and girls in another are forced to sell themselves to buy food to keep their families alive?  How is it that we leave the water running at home without a second thought, but here people ration out a single jerrycan of water- a jerrycan they had to walk kilometers to fetch?  And all we have to do is turn on a faucet?  How is it we turn our noses up at perfectly good food while people all over the world starve to death?  I’m not trying to be self-righteous here.  I’m as guilty as the next person, and I’m questioning myself as much as anyone else.

Why are some nations overflowing with plenty and some starve to death by the thousands?  WHY?

Like Daughter Like Father

http://southsudansabbatical.blogspot.com/
 hey everybody!  this is the link to my dad's blog which he recently set up... oh it seems like only yesterday I was teaching him how to text and now he's blogging all by himself! *sob* they grow up so fast! incidentally his most recent blog post was him going all sentimental nostalgic dad... if he could have pulled out an album of baby photos he would have.  He is not going to handle it well when I leave for college.  Love you dad :) Thanks for everything- tinate baba  

The Loaves and Fishes... and Soda

                Most Christians are familiar with the story of the loaves and the fishes, otherwise known as the feeding of the 5,000.  In summary, Jesus was surrounded by a large crowd of people and it was getting late.  The disciples suggested that he send the people away to go to the village and buy themselves dinner.  He rebuked his disciples and said “You yourselves give them something to eat!” They protested, saying we have only five loaves and two fish.  Then Jesus did that whole son of god thing and BAM! Miracle! There was enough to feed everyone with plenty left over. 

                Months ago as we were preparing for this trip I was wondering what I would do with my time.  The idea for the leper colony project started to worm its way into my head and my heart.  At first I completely rejected it.  No way! This trip was going to be complicated enough with worrying about homeschooling and everything else I wasn’t going to make it more complicated.  Besides I’m just one person how could I actually make a difference?  Impossible.  There’s no way it would work, it will just be a waste of time.  Little did I know.  There was no escaping-the little seed of an idea had grown into a fully fledged plan, deeply rooted in my heart.  I applied for a grant, I fundraised, etc, etc (see Introduction post) but I was still very much like the disciples.  I have only myself, how can I make a difference?  I have only 3,000 dollars it’s not enough to help these people.

                And yet with God all things are possible.  Upon arrival in Kampala, I discovered just how far 3,000 US dollars goes here.  We filled a truck with kilos of rice, beans, maize flour, soap, Vaseline, salt, cooking oil, etc.  The sheer amount that $2,000 dollars had bought shocked me.  (The other 1,000 was held back for whatever needs became apparent at a later date).  Once we had reached South Sudan (and delayed for a week or so… Africa time) Mama Susan suggested using some of the money to make bread.  I agreed wholeheartedly.  A few days later she suggested buying smoked fish, a rare delicacy for people here.  I again agreed, after all she knew much better than I what was needed and wanted.  On Sunday, the day we were to distribute the supplies, I walked into one of the storerooms.  I saw several tubs overflowing with homemade loaves of bread, tons of freshly smoked fish… and around eight crates of Coke, Mirinda, and Fanta.  Much to the confusion of those around me, I cracked up.  Loaves and Fish!!! That was a big time epiphany moment for me.

                The feeling grew as the day went on.  Because it had rained cats, dogs, sheep, and goats the night before and most of the morning only 30 of the 80 were able to make it (Part 2 is this Sunday) but their reaction will stay with me forever.  I literally can’t find the words to describe it.  Mama Susan introduced me, explained that she had known me since I was very young.  She said she had been surprised by my project because I was so young, but she had come to discover that God was working through me to change the world (cue me blushing).  One woman stood up and spoke for the group.  She said they were so thankful for my gift, and they asked God that I would continue to grow in Christ and gain more strength and wisdom.  She said that many of the people there had lost children or had to give them up because they couldn’t care for them because of their illness.  She then looked at me and said “You are our child.  All of us here know that we have a child in you and we love you and thank god so much for sending you to help us.”  Cue more blushing.  Talk about feeling humble. 

                I now feel that I am beginning to grow into my Bari name, Nyaret, given to me by the mamas at Amazing Grace Orphanage so many years ago.  Nyaret means she who loves.  I don’t think I’m worthy of it yet-I’ll spend my entire life trying to live up to that-but it’s a start.  I understand now why I inexplicably felt called to this project so many months ago.  God had taken whatever small gifts I had to offer and multiplied them.  Yes I am just one person- but one person can make a difference.        

First Day of School Jitters

The first day of school causes a range of different emotions in a range of different students.  Some dread it as an end to summer freedom and some are excited for it.  I’ll admit I’m usually excited for it.  With the exception of a few of my closest friends, I don’t hang out with a lot of my school friends during the summer so it’s always fun to see everyone again.  And yes, I’ll admit that sometimes I’m excited for the classes as well.  Not all of them! Just some… don’t judge me for my nerdy-ness… 8) <-- observe the nerdy, bespectacled smiley face-that’s me, minus the spectacles.  Not only is this the first day of school but it’s my LAST first day of school, of high school at least.  Oh senior year, a time to reflect on your high school experience and lord your superiority over the rest of the school… You have four more years of PSSAs (Pennsylvania’s standardized testing)?  Hahahaha suckers! 

So let me tell you about my last first day of school.  I woke up around eight o’clock local time (no alarm clock waking me up, just an overly chatty goat-I really hate that goat.  It never shuts up), climbed down from my top bunk on a precariously tiny ladder, and walked into the next room for breakfast.  As I waited for the rest of the household to clear out of the living/dining room, AKA my one room school house, I donned my first-day-of-school outfit.  A multicolored ankle length skirt and a bright blue lightweight shirt- the height of fashion here in Kajo-Keji.

We had serious weight and space constraints on the way here -All of my clothes for two months and school supplies had to be brought in my two carry-on bags.  I petitioned for my textbooks to be put in one of the 9 trunks of research equipment my mom was bringing (every single checked bag was research equipment or orphanage donations) but there simply wasn’t room.  I discovered this about 3 days before leaving and naturally started freaking out.  How was I supposed to home school myself without textbooks?? My mom had the BRILLIANT (please note the sarcasm) idea of scanning all the chapters I would need into pdfs and taking them on my laptop.  At the time, this seemed like an OK idea.  Wrong.  Besides the fact that it took me a lot of mind numbing hours to scan the darn things, a lot of them turned out blurry or cut off at the edges, and I accidently forgot to scan two chapters, and had to call home on a satellite phone to get someone to send me them.  I do not have mad scanning skills. 

As I sat in my “classroom” peering at a blurry page from the first Properties of Democracy chapter, I heard a rumor.  We might be able to go get internet today!! This caused a flurry of activity as I quickly shoved my computer and the necessary papers into a backpack.  I would be riding into town on the back of my dad’s motorbike.  Unfortunately we also had to take my little brother Liam.  Because Liam has absolutely no balance, he would be between my dad and me.  Normally this wouldn’t be so bad-but motorbikes have this weird lullaby effect on him and he always falls asleep, which leaves me holding him on the bike as I try to balance on the back of it over terrible roads.  Less than fun…

Anyways we finally got to the Baptist internet place we had discovered a few days earlier, and I got to work.  My main reason for coming, taking online quizzes for AP US history - internet failed.  They don’t work.  WHY??? The page refuses to load-but only that page.  All the other ones, yahoo, blogger, U Penn’s Website, facebook… everything else works!  My school work here is cursed.  So I got almost nothing done yesterday.  Typical Africa.  Ever heard of Africa time? It means things get done at a fraction of the speed they would otherwise.  It seeps into your very bones and makes you feel like you’re moving through a sea of molasses.  Everything. Moves. So. Slowly.  In some ways this is good.  It means that I spend the evenings talking with my dad about theology and history instead of watching TV.  It means that I have time to draw, learn how to cook, smell the roses, and all that jazz… but mostly I just get bored and restless and end up fighting with my brother. 

Why am I not working with the leper colony you ask?  Africa time strikes again! That doesn’t start until Sunday now. Hopefully… In the meantime I’ve been cranking through my school work (I actually got a ton done today!) and have set up an internship at a local clinic.  Keeping busy is imperative because I do not handle being bored and restless and useless well.  At all.           

The Use and Misuse of the Military

When people from places like western Europe and the States think of the military they usually think of security, honor, and service.  They think of brave soldiers risking their lives to protect us and our values.  By and large, the military is a well-respected institution kept in check by civilian control and democracy   However, to people in many other, less stable places in the world, their military is often an organization that inspires crippling fear.

In some of those places, the military is something dictators use to control their people.  In other places the military is used by contested regimes to beat back rebel troops and civilians alike.  In the worst places and the worst instances, the military runs as a kind of loosely-organized, feral force left unchecked to whatever impulses and atrocities its armed men and boys want to indulge.  

During the dark years of its long civil war (1983-2005), Sudan was one of those worst kinds of places.  It was a place where two South Sudanese boys, age 12 and 14, among hundreds of their age cohort, took shelter with the occupying Arab troops to escape their own rebel soldiers.  Why?  Because between the ages of 12 and 20, or even younger, boys were taken from their homes by those rebels ostensibly fighting on their own behalf, but then were tortured until they agreed to become soldiers themselves.  They were brain-washed, beaten, and conditioned to become killing machines.  Child soldiers are a horror known the world round, but showed up with particular regularity in many recent African conflicts.  Boys who should be playing with toy cars are handed guns and machetes and set loose.

 Thousands died in the Congo in 1997 in what was described as one of history’s worst war crimes.  Two rival forces clashed and thousands died-the incident was of much greater magnitude than that of 9/11 and yet, because it was just another in a long run of such atrocities, very few locals remember it.  There’s no memorial, no national holiday.  There has been so much violence perpetrated on civilians by men and boys in uniform that everyday folk simply lose track.  Violence is just another terrible fact of life that includes such others as hunger and widespread disease.  When people in these kinds of places hear that the military is coming they don’t sigh in relief like we might in the U.S.A. - they run into the jungle bush and hide until the killing has stopped.   

So I’m infinitely thankful that I am a citizen of the United States.  I’m thankful that our military protects me, instead of burning our town, taking my brothers as child soldiers and raping and killing everyone else.  I’m thankful that I was born luckier than most of the world’s millions.  Being born luckier also means we are born more obligated.  We are obligated, by virtue of our education, health, and self-government to try to extend our “luckiness” to those born in considerably worse situations.  We are obligated, and should feel privileged, to help those in need.  Whether you donate to the Red Cross or send someone a “Christmas cow” through Heifer International  - whether you protest regimes that employ child soldiers or spend a quiet moment honoring all those who have died in the pursuit of justice-soldiers and civilians alike, I urge you to protest corrupt military institutions, to try to end their reign of terror over innocent people.  I urge you to support our exemplary troops, because without them we would be in the same situation as many all over the world.  Our troops fought for our freedom, and continue to do so today.

The reason I thought so much about the use and misuse of the military today is that today my best friend, Hannah Cole, graduates soon from basic training with the Army.  Hannah is more like my sister than anything else and I am ridiculously proud of her.  I miss you Private Cole and I wish I could be at your graduation today!  In honor of all your hard work this summer, today I’m listening to Mindless Behavior, Enrique Iglesias, and Pitbull and eating a jalapeño- even though I hate jalapeños and will probably regret this later when my mouth is on fire…  too bad I couldn’t find ranch dressing in the local market.. Or chicken nuggets :) once I’m back we are going to make this a senior year to remember!      

Tukul Sweet Tukul

Finally finally finally we made it to Sudan!! It was one heck of a journey though.  I won’t go into the absolutely horrible time we spent in the major cities of Uganda, Kampala and Entebbe, getting our travel documents.  Let it suffice to say that our nicknames for these cities are the pit of despair, the heart of darkness, and the horcrux cities.  I prefer not to reflect on those days.  Then we drove something like 16 hours over the course of two days over bumpy dirt roads, crammed into a land rover that was NOT made to fit that many people.  With no air conditioning and windows that don’t go all the way down.  If you hate small spaces and get carsick easily (like me), I would not recommend this type of transportation.  Thank you Dwight D. Eisenhower for your gift of an awesome road and highway system in the states.  I miss it. 

All in all, from day one flying out of JFK to finally arriving at St. Bart’s Orphanage, the journey took two weeks exactly.  Some of these days were awesome, (see: Hakuna Matata post) and some were most definitely not, (see: above paragraph).  It was one of our first days at the orphanage that we realized that the internet modem which we had been assured would work in Sudan… didn’t.  And so we have a lot of catching up to do.  There will be a separate blog post dedicated to the orphanage but for now let’s focus on what happened a few days after arriving.

We moved into our tukul!  For those of you who don’t know, a tukul is a mud hut with a thatched roof.  Ours is a bit on the fancier side though.  It has a higher roof so my dad isn’t always hitting his head, and it has two rooms.  One for an eating and living space and one for sleeping.  Our tukul is located in a large family compound.  The land was given to us by Mogga, who kind of adopted my dad after he and Mogga’s son, Ezbon had been good friends for many years.  Having a family of Mzungus (white people) move in seems to be the most entertaining thing that has happened here in a long time.  The community mango grove (equivalent to large living room) is next to our house, which means that people routinely gather there to watch us.  Everyone just takes a seat on a convenient log or rock and settles in for the show.  Mzungu TV seems to have become a particular favorite of the local kids.  They sit, staring at us, and laugh or comment at the appropriate times.  It’s become a running joke for us… “Tonight! On Mzungu TV… the small mzungu gets a bath! Observe as the mother drags him towards the watering hole…” Insert a ridiculous accent of your choice. 

For the first day or two of our staying here, we attempted to cook for ourselves.  Anyone care to take bets on how well that went? Day 1 was the worst.  We tried to make pasta in our solar oven.  The pasta itself was overcooked and our attempt at homemade sauce only made it worse.  It was edible… barely.  Day 2 was significantly better.  We made homemade guacamole and ate it with chapatti, an African flat bread.  Personally, I’ve always been a fan of peanut butter crackers in situations like that…  Whenever our friends like Ezbon and Lasu visited they seemed genuinely concerned about our cooking situation.  They were not convinced our solar oven was going to work, and none of us knew how to cook with a charcoal cooker.  We were planning on hiring a cook but Mama Susan from the orphanage beat us to it.  They took pity on us and sent Betty.  Betty is AMAZING.  She is a fantastic cook, not only with traditional African food but with western food like French toast too.  I’m so so happy she’s here :)

One more thing I’ve noticed since moving in, or even since coming to Africa for that matter… HOLY RAINY SEASON STORMS!!!  I was under the impression that the rainy season meant nice, steady, rainy days like we have at home.  Wrong, false, erroneous! Most of the time the weather is beautiful- pleasant temperatures, blue skies, fluffy white cloud adorn the heavens...  Then BAM!!! Suddenly, out of nowhere the world becomes an underwater electrical storm.  Rain slams into the earth in a deluge and the thunder and lightning never seem to stop.    I have also discovered the reason for lightning rods.  When you don’t have them, not only is it a fire hazard, but the lightning will hit your house, run down through the walls, into the foundation and up through your feet.  This is a very unpleasant experience.  At first I didn’t even realized what happened because I hadn’t seen the light-I connected the dots when the thunder seemed the shake the entire world a millisecond later.  Its magnificent, it’s beautiful, it’s awe-inspiring, and frankly it’s a little bit intimidating.  But then again I suppose that holds for all of Africa.                

P.S: Now that we are getting settled in, my first visit to the leper colony will be tomorrow... 

Twitchy Trigger Finger

 For those who don't know me my immune system is possibly one of the most dysfunctional ones on planet earth. For starters, I'm deathly allergic to tree nuts. NOTE: not peanuts! And it is amazing how many people mix those up even after I've explained it multiple times. Peanuts are not nuts! They are legumes! If you're still confused, examples of tree nuts are almonds, walnuts, cashews, pistachios, etc.  I'm so allergic to them that if I touch a walnut, then touch a chip, then eat said chip, I'll go into anaphylactic shock (aka your throat swells up, you stop breathing, and you die unless treated) ever wonder why on the back of candy bars it'll say something like manufactured on equipment that also processed tree nuts? Yeah that's for people like me.

And to add to all the fun, I'm also a recently diagnosed type 1 diabetic. Type 1 diabetes is an auto-immune disease. My immune system completely lost it and thinks my beta cells (the cells in your pancreas that make insulin) are pathogens.. So it started attacking them. Did I mention that beta cells aren't made throughout your life? The ones you are born with are the only ones you've got. So naturally, when all the innocent little beta cells get massacred, your body gets a bit screwed up. And by a bit I mean a lot.  Without beta cells you can't make insulin, without insulin you can't take sugar into your cells. This results in ridiculously high blood sugar (normal is between 70-130... I was 395 when I was diagnosed and many people are higher). High blood sugar leads to all kinds of complications like liver and kidney damage, nausea, and even a horrible condition called DKA: diabetic ketoacidosis. VERY BAD! It's basically a high blood sugar induced coma and can be deadly. On the other hand if you take too much insulin your blood sugar will crash and go too low, which can also be deadly. So imagine you're walking on a tightrope. To your left is death from low blood sugar. To your right is death from high blood sugar. Tread carefully.

 So now you've got a better idea of just how dysfunctional my immune system is. If you are confused by the somewhat medical description I just gave, try thinking about it another way.  Lets imagine a peaceful summer day in suburbia.  Cute little houses, beautiful gardens, kids playing the street.  People planting flowers, mowing the lawn, enjoying some small talk with their neighbors over a picturesque picket fence.  A nice little town.  These people are beta cells, living in tranquil Pancreas Valley.  Enjoying their lives, doing their jobs the best they could be expected to.  How charming.  Now you see a car drive down the road.  Oh look it’s the Walnut family!  Mr. and Mrs. Walnut are on vacation with their two children and family friend, Peter Pecan.  Their being perfectly law-abiding, minding their own business, you know.  Just taking in the scenic view.  A police car takes a routine drive around the town.  In the patrol car are two officers (white-blood cells), an old veteran and a rookie.  They keep a weather eye out for any danger.  The veteran is twitching, paranoid.  The rookie spots a group of the notorious Rhinovirus gang loitering on a street corner, picking their next victims.  He alerts his boss, who has his binoculars trained on a few beta cell children playing hopscotch in the street.  His twitching has become more noticeable, he’s sweating nervously, and his fingers beat a tattoo onto his gun.  “Never mind that!” he yells.  “We’ve got a code red! Beta cells running rampant and an invasion from the sinister tree nut army! Call in back up!!”  Soon the marines, the navy seals, SWAT teams, and every other branch of the military are on sight.  Alarms are blaring, lights flash, panicking officers yell through megaphones.  The beta cells try to put up a white flag, try to tell the immune-system military they’ve done nothing wrong.  But it’s too late.  Artillery fire rains down; bombs decimate houses, machine guns thunder into the night.  The streets are awash with blood.  Not a single beta cell or tree nut was left alive.  The massacre is hushed up, and the country (body, AKA me) doesn’t realize what’s happened until blood sugars soar so high they have to call in international forces for medical treatment. 

So there you have it.  My immune system is like a paranoid veteran officer with a twitchy trigger-finger.  This is what is known as “not healthy”.   Why have I made this the topic of a blog post you ask?  Because of the unique challenges presented by being an insulin-dependent diabetic in Africa-where there is no electricity with which to refrigerate insulin.  When insulin goes over a certain temperature-I think it’s 70 degrees Fahrenheit-it gets denatured.  AKA it doesn’t work.  So you are supposed to keep insulin refrigerated until you start using it.  After that it can stay at room temperature for a month, after which it expires.  Keeping things refrigerated where there is little to no electricity is challenging to say in the least.  For the insulin we carry around with us we have these awesome little things called Frio cold packs.  You get them wet and they keep the insulin cold through evaporative cooling.  Very handy.  Then we have a ridiculous amount of extra insulin that we carry in a mini fridge in case the ones in the cold pack get messed up by someone leaving them out in the sun on safari-which I totally DIDN’T do…  BUT WAIT! How do you power a mini fridge when there’s no electricity??

It’s complicated dear reader.  We have four marine cycle batteries.  Two are big and can run the fridge for about five days.  However, one of these doesn’t work.  It’s fully charged it just doesn’t power the fridge.  No idea why.  It’s given in to Africa and doesn’t work anymore,  Surprise, surprise… And we have two little ones that can only run it for a few hours.  AND we have a generator for recharging the batteries and running the fridge in times of emergency.  Yesterday the big battery died.  And the little batteries were packed away in trunks.  And there was no gas for the generator.  So what did we do you may ask?  We hoped.  Because there is nothing else you can do.  T.I.A and all that.  For a time period of maybe 10 hours, the fridge had no charge, we just kept it closed and hoped it would hold the cold in.  By the time we got it running again the insulin was thankfully still cool. So everything is ok but I sincerely hope this is the last time that happens, because I don’t want to go into DKA hundreds of miles away from a sufficient hospital.  I don’t see that being as much fun as a barrel of monkeys… Although I’ve never understood that phrase.  Just what is so fun about a barrel of monkeys?  Sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.  Just like an insulin dependent diabetic with no electricity! Hmmm…. Maybe this is as much fun as a barrel of monkeys.  Oh well I like monkeys... and challenges :)

P.S.  To certain people at home whom I know are worrying because they read this: I’m fine and we bought two more batteries so that won’t happen again.  Everything is OK :)                  

TIA

So I should probably explain why it’s been almost a week since my last post.  Has anyone ever seen the movie Blood Diamond?  If you haven’t you should it’s a wonderful movie.   If you have you are familiar with the phrase T.I.A or this is Africa.  What this translates to is that nothing works.  Nothing.    When we were preparing for our trip this year we were told that we would have internet access.  This is completely and totally false.  Well not completely.  If we drive an hour and a half from our house in Mogiri to the border at Jale (note: squeezed in a land rover over bumpy dirt roads) we can access Uganda’s internet network- which is what I’m doing now.

Although I’m not completely throwing in the towel, my plan for blogging is now changed a good bit.  I’ll write my posts when we are home, whenever I find something worth writing about.  Then I’ll post all of these on one day, whenever we next make the trip to the border.  It’ll be an adventure :)

A word on why getting internet access in most of South Sudan is so darn difficult: Politics and underdevelopment.  As you may know, South Sudan recently broke from Sudan and is the newest country in the world.  It is also the least developed.  Before the separation of South Sudan from northern Sudan, all internet and mobile phone access came from the capital of the north, Khartoum.  For political reasons, most of this is now being withheld.  Internet is laughable and airtime for phones, although available, is rare because a small fraction of what was previously available is now coming from the north.  Until South Sudan develops their cellular and internet networks, communication is difficult here.  Thank you Khartoum. 

Which brings us to the under development problems.  I’m living in a mud hut and the nearest water is 2 kilometers away.  We use a pit latrine (although a relatively nice one) and our showers come from a bucket of cold water and a cup.  Note: This type of shower is really not so bad… at least we aren’t wasting water!  As you can see, internet is out of the question here.  I really should have seen this coming…

So, to conclude, there’s really nothing to be done in this situation but go with the flow.  Drink some tea, engage in mindless small talk and hide from the rainy season monsoons.  T.I.A… Wish us luck :)     

Hakuna Matata

WARNING: Rave reviews upcoming.  Words cannot describe how amazing our few days in Kenya were.  As I may have mentioned before, this trip was mostly paid for by a grant my dad received to fund his work.  Part of this money was budgeted by the foundation for safari.  Presumably, they had read The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver, and know what happens to people who try to spend too much time working themselves to death in Africa.  By the way if you haven’t read this book I highly recommend it.  ANYWAYS we chose to do our Safari at Kitchwa Tembo on the Masai Mara.  Best. Choice. Ever.  Kitchwa Tembo is ranked in the top 10 internationally for tented safari camps and it’s not without good reason.  We spent three days there, doing an average of two game drives a day.  I don’t even know where to start praising this place.  The wildlife was FANTASTIC.  We saw everything I had hoped to and more.  Big five? Check, check, check, check, and check.  Hippos, zebras, giraffes, cheetahs, hyenas, jackals, ostriches, you name it and we probably saw it.  Through all of our wonderful experiences I have a few observations. 

Everything, and I mean everything, is better in baby form.  I made a list of everything we saw, and a parallel list of everything we also saw as a baby.  It should be noted that I am a stereotypical teenage girl in that I really really like cute things… so seeing the baby animals was always my favorite.  Did you know hyena cubs are completely dark, with none of the spotting of the adults?  Well they are, and its adorable.  Hippo babies are also unexpectedly cuddly looking- although I wouldn’t touch one with a 10 foot pole due to how dangerous those giant herbivores are.  Even though they are as common here as squirrels are at home, zebra foals definitely my favorite and I never got tired of looking at them.  

Observation number two: When they tell you to keep your tent zipped because of monkeys… LISTEN.  We were great about this until the last day.  The only thing we had to do that day was eat breakfast and go to the airstrip (FYI it was dirt) so I chose to sleep in.  When my mom left to go get breakfast she left the tent unzipped.  Readers should know that I am a VERY heavy sleeper.  I was woken up by monkey screeching which I assumed was from outside of the tent.  I rolled over and saw a little red-tailed monkey with his head and one paw through the door.   He saw me and froze.  If he could have talked I imagine he would have said something like “Umm hi I was just… looking for the bathroom…”  I didn’t move.  He didn’t move.  Then I jumped out of bed yelling BAD MONKEY! As if he was a dog I could punish for getting on the couch.  The monkey and his rather large group of buddies waiting outside the tent scrammed.  Upon further inspection, I found that they had eaten all the cookies the butler had left with our tea while I was asleep.  And yes we had a butler who brought us tea and cookies in the morning.  Too cool :). 

My mom and I, being biology nerds, had a list of rare animals we wanted to see.  The list included servals, genets, pangolins, klipspringers, otters, honey badgers, and aardvarks, which are so rare that the Maasai say if you see one you will live another hundred years.  Much to my surprise and delight, we actually saw two servals and a genet! They are so rare that our guide said that in all her years of working there she had only seen them a few times.  A word on our guide, Lucy: She was absolutely amazing!  She had such extensive knowledge of the animals that even my mom the biology professor was happy with it, which is rare.  She is a Maasai and so was able to share invaluable information about their culture and how the safari company gave back to the local community, which assuaged my fears about them exploiting the local tribes.  She was also an excellent spotter and tracker, which led to us seeing so many animals.  Of the things we didn’t see, especially the pangolin and aardvark… well seeing them seems more like a crazy pipe dream than anything else so I wasn’t disappointed. 

Final observation: I’m lame.  Really I am.  The number of Lion King references I made in my head, and yes even out loud, was pathetic.  Especially when the sun was rising.  When else are you going to get the chance to say “Everything the sun touches…” and every time I saw a warthog I had to say Pumba :) sadly there are no Timons in Kenya.  Lion King references make sense considering where we were but I also found myself quoting Harry Potter.  We stayed in “Hemmingway tents” with rooms and running water.  They had real beds and showers in the tents and I’m still shocked about that.  I felt like Harry Potter when he first walks into an apparently normal tent only to find it was actually more like a house.  It felt like magic!

I wish I could describe all of the amazing things we saw, but that would make this post even more ridiculously long than it already is.  Let it suffice to say that it was one of the most amazing experiences of my life and I highly recommend it to anyone and everyone.  Go on Safari.  Trust me it’s worth it.  And if I could put my two cents in, go to Kitchwa Tembo.  Considering the facilities, the food, and the services the price was definitely fair.  And you can’t beat swimming in an infinity pool that looks out on the Mara, and watching zebras and impalas run by as you do.  The whole experience gets five stars, without a doubt.  


Liam quote of the day: Lucy was telling us what elephants eat (they are herbivores) and Liam looked at her, completely dumbfounded, and said "No! Elephants eat peanuts!"

A Bird's Eye View

There are some things that I love about traveling and some things that I hate; Airplanes and subsequently airports fall into both of those categories.

Things I hate and/or seriously dislike:

• Lines.  Check-in lines, security lines, boarding lines, visa lines, customs lines, baggage lines… it’s a seemingly never ending list.  There’s a reason we try to get to airports for international flights 4 hours early. 
• Muffled loudspeakers. “Attention all passengers on flight number sadgaflinuglu.  Your departure gate has been moved to gate number thrusinglasmer.  Please proceed there immediately for boarding.”  It always sounds like some strange mixture of Greek and Swahili spoken in a heavy accent according to what country we are in.  Chaos ensues as everyone tries to find out what flight and which gate and where is it and OMG I’M GOING TO MISS MY FLIGHT! Airports should really post riot police at terminals just for these occasions.
• Babies.  We all know that crying babies shouldn’t make us grumpy.  I mean it’s a baby for crying out loud! It can’t help crying when upset.  And yet... sound cancelling headphones are a blessing.
• Reclining Seats.  Don’t you just hate when that person in front of you leans their chair back as far as possible… when you’re in the middle of eating your in-flight meal on the little fold up table? Another chair annoyance: When that one irritating little kid keeps kicking the back of your chair and his parent does nothing to stop him.
• Diabetic meals.  If you have ever had the pleasure of traveling overseas via plane you will know that when booking your seat you have a few choices for in-flight meals.  Adult, child, diabetic, allergies, etc.  This is the first time I’ve had the diabetic meal and frankly it sucks.  1. The only thing they do to make it “diabetic” is take out some of the carbs-but I like carbs! I’d rather take more insulin to cover the extra carbs. 2. We all know airplane food isn’t exactly gourmet, but I swear the diabetic meals are worse.  As some one who has experience eating all four of the above mentioned types, the diabetic meals suck.  And I am never ordering them again.
• Jet lag.  It took approximately 520 sheep for me to fall asleep last night. At 2 in the morning local time. Not. Cool.

Things I love and/or seriously like:

• Mobile charging stations.  I have never seen these before but may I just say this: Samsung, I love you.  Going overseas with a 20% charge on your phone is less than desirable and you saved me from that.  Thank you. Also if anyone is wondering: JFK airport. 
• Babies. One word: adorable.  A happy, laughing baby is one of the cutest, most uplifting things on this planet.  :)
• Reclining seats.  Note that I also hate these, so I am always careful to only recline my seat so far, and only if I see that the person behind me is not using their table.
• TVs.  I love love love long flights because they usually give you the cute little TV sets in the back of the seat in front of you, with hundreds of selections of movies, TV shows, and music, both old and new.  Which seriously helps alleviate the boredom caused by a 10 hour flight.
• Window Views.  Obviously, I always want the window seat.  I love watching the world grow small as we take off, and expand as we land.  I love night flights because when you fly over big cities, they look like spider’s webs covered in millions of drops of multicolored dew.  I love day flights because before you get too high, the world looks like a patchwork quilt of fields and forests, and once you are higher there are the clouds themselves.  When we would fly when I was younger I would spend ages staring at the clouds finding shapes and animals in them.

Istanbul

            Every time we come to Africa we have to do it in two separate flights; one to Europe, then from there on to Entebbe, Uganda.  The first two times I came, we flew through Heathrow Airport in London.  We went into the city once or twice in the four layovers we’ve had there. I don’t recall it being all that memorable, but that could have something to do with my very young age at the time, and the extremely short duration of our visit.  Last year we flew through Amsterdam, and on the way back were able to spend a few hours in the city.  It was a beautiful city and I’m glad we took the time to leave the airport.  However, nothing can compare to our stay in Istanbul a few days ago.

            This may be due in part to the fact that we had a layover of over 24 hours, so we were able to see the city much more extensively.  We arrived at our hotel in the evening, and were soon met by my mom’s childhood friend, Dr. Karakas (He was a foreign exchange student who stayed with her family while she was in high school).  He took us to an absolutely amazing restaurant with an incredible view of the city skyline.  We ate a traditional meal that was absolutely fantastic… as well as interesting. Note: sheep cheese is actually very good.  So is bacon-but-not-bacon-because-its-from-a-cow. I have no idea what it was called.  All in all it was a wonderful cultural experience. 

The next day we managed to do a few touristy things before we had to return to the airport, namely visiting the Haggia Sophia and the Grand Bazaar.  The Hagia Sophia was MAGNIFICENT.  The mosaics (by the way, the Byzantine Emperors had a notable habit of placing themselves next to Jesus or the Virgin Mary in several mosaics-although I suppose when you rule over an empire you can tend to feel a bit God-like), the huge dome, the sheer knowledge of how old the building was and all the history it had seen was just mind-boggling.  Also, I have decided that since my parents lived in Turkey about 3 years before I was born, the Haggia Sophia was the inspiration for my name.  The Grand Bazaar was also impressive, although not nearly as much so.  It was complete chaos, and I have no doubt I would get lost in there and possibly never come back out.  It’s a seemingly never-ending labyrinth.  I’m convinced if you wandered long enough you could find an entrance into Narnia, a vanishing cabinet into the room of requirement, and probably a wormhole leading to some alternate dimension.  

            Speaking of Narnia, I tried Turkish delight for the first time, which I have been dreaming of doing for ages.  Sadly, this was a bit of a let down.  In retrospect it never could have lived up to the expectations I’ve been building up since I first read the chronicles about 7 years ago.  I mean really its supposed to represent the ultimate temptation in food form! Turkish Delight is no where near sufficient… Sorry C.S. Lewis but it’s just my opinion.  Edmund has poor taste in food.

            In other news… If you are ever in the position to eat at Burger King in Turkey, be warned that the chicken nuggets contain curry.  It’s not overpowering, or even bad.  It was an interesting flavor, and definitely a surprise. :)  Please note that we NEVER would have eaten at Burger King had we been able to get Liam to eat any of the amazing Turkish food that was all around us.

Liam Quote of the Day: “It tastes like old shoes! No… new shoes! :P” - talking about Turkish orange soda.  In his defense it was pretty bad.

I really can’t say enough in Istanbul’s favor.  The city is literally built in and around ruins-we drove under an ancient Roman Aqueduct! The highway literally goes through the arches.  Hundreds and hundreds of years old! If that isn’t amazing I don’t know what is. 

Side note/preview of future post: It’s one heck of a reality check to be driving around the historic splendor of Istanbul one day, visiting an ancient church/mosque and eating at a rooftop restaurant, and driving around the trash ridden streets of a 3^rd world city the next, where the smell of burning plastic fills your nose and the sound of crying children and beggars fills your ears.   

Introduction :)

Introduction time! You know those awkward introduction games you play on the first day of a new class or summer camp?  EX:  Hi my name is Sophia, I’m from Pennsylvania and my favorite color is purple.  Repeat wayyyyy too many times with wayyyy too many people. Lame.
  Yeah this isn’t going to be like that.  Thankfully.  It’ll hopefully be a lot more interesting!  My family caught the Africa bug a long time ago.  We just can’t stay away.  My dad is on his 7^th trip, my mom is on her 5^Th and my younger brother and I are on our 4^th trip.  My older brother is actually South Sudanese so we will be meeting up with him there

 It all started way back when, when my dad was in seminary (priest school for the lay people in the audience) and he and a bunch of the other students went on a mission trip to Uganda to work in a small orphanage and in the refugee camps (more on the political and civil situation there later).  Most of the other students moved on to other callings after seminary but for my dad it was different.  The culture, the people, the place, all of it had gotten into him, body, mind and soul.  He was hooked and he soon passed it on to the rest of us.  And so begins the Reeder saga of African trips.  All of our experiences have been a huge influence on my life.  I would not be the person I am today without them.  It’s become a passion for me just like for the rest of my family.

 It’s even decided what I want to do with my life.  Because of our work there, my future career path is to get an M.D./ PhD in tropical medicine, focusing on third world countries.  I’m honestly disgusted with the way the medical world works.  Fun fact: 90% of the world’s funding for medical research goes towards ailments that affect 10% of the population; such as male-pattern baldness and impotency.  PATHETIC.  People are dying every day, every minute, from diseases that could be cured if scientists were given the resources to study them, but instead we spend our money on receding hairlines.  Does anyone else see a problem with this?  So that’s what I plan on doing with my life.  Not just finding the cures, but campaigning for the rights of those who cannot speak for themselves - or more accurately, those who are trying as hard as they can to speak for themselves, but whose voices are drowned out by the clamor of the developed world. 

Along those lines, while my parents will be pursuing their usual occupations during our time in South Sudan, I feel called to do something a bit different this time.  The umbrella group that we work with, IWASSRU (International Widows Association of Southern Sudanese Refugees in Uganda), is composed of three main branches: The widows themselves, the orphans (residing at either Amazing Grace Orphanage in Uganda or St. Bartholomew’s Orphanage in South Sudan) and the leper colony.  I will be spending my time this summer working in the sub-village designated for people suffering with Hansen’s Disease (Leprosy), AKA the leper colony.

As you may imagine, the far-reaching devastation in Sudan caused by decades of civil war and the associated ills of famine and disease have produced no shortage of people in desperate need of help.  Thankfully, international aid agencies (NGOs) and governments are bringing extensive resources to bear on many of these needs.  However, there is still not enough help for all of those who are suffering.  Some groups have been overlooked.  Those suffering with Hansen’s Disease (Leprosy) are among those most neglected.  The forgotten status of these people is the precise reason why I would like to turn my attention and efforts to them. 

In the developing nations (third world) even today, people suffering from Hansen’s Disease are treated in much the same way as lepers where in the ancient world that we read about in the Bible.  In those times lepers were looked upon with fear and disgust.  They were segregated from society, shunned, forced to live apart, cut off from relationships and resources.  It is the same today in Sudan, Brazil, India, and many other underdeveloped nations that have populations of people infected with Hansen’s Disease.  The reason for the persistence of this sad circumstance is a lack of modern scientific and medical knowledge about leprosy coupled with entrenched traditions of fear and marginalization. 

Hansen’s Disease is infectious, but not highly so.  Left untreated it causes nerve damage, which results in infection, which can further result in loss or disfigurement of extremities and limbs.  It is the disfigurement of untreated leprosy that has caused so much fear over the centuries.  Nevertheless, today medical scientists know that nearly 95% of people are naturally immune from the bacteria that cause the infection.  If one becomes infected, Hansen’s Disease is highly treatable with a multiple drug antibiotic regimen, provided those drugs are available.  In other words, there is no rational medical or scientific reason to avoid casual social contact with people infected with leprosy, and certainly not to quarantine them in segregated colonies.  And yet here we are. 

In practical terms what this situation looks like in Kajo-Keji, South Sudan is a group of disfigured people who have been ostracized and segregated by mainstream society and so have grouped together in a separate cluster of huts and homes away from non-infected people.    Oftentimes their faces are disfigured due to loss of tissue around the ears, eyelids, lips and nostrils.  This causes social fear and has resulted in their isolation.  So they have to fend for themselves, economically-speaking.  But they have often also suffered the loss of fingers, hands, toes, and feet, making fending for themselves difficult to impossible.  Even basic subsistence farming is a great challenge.  Many have no choice but to beg for handouts.

The situation has become so desperate that these people have little or no access to such basic commodities as food, soap, salt, clothes, cooking pans and the like.  And while some anti-leprosy drug treatments have become haltingly available through government programs, it is even more difficult for them to get basic medicine such as anti-malarial pills and even analgesics and vitamins.  Because of this they often have health problems aside from leprosy. 

In order for a person with leprosy to receive any of these items a non-infected person must agree to travel to a local village or city and bring those supplies back to the colony.  To add to the difficulty of procuring such items, people with leprosy have little if any money for such purchases

My project is multi-faceted and includes not only offering material support.  I hope to take an accurate and up-to-date census of the people living the Kajo-Keji leper colony, not just to provide needed data to aid agencies and government ministries who may be able to help, but also so that I can get to know these people by name.  I want them to know that there is someone who cares not just about their disease but about them as individual human beings.  With photographs, videos, and diaries I plan to document their living conditions to share with the outside world in the hope that with knowledge comes action.  I hope to teach people, little by little, that they don’t have to fear and segregate those with leprosy.  Of course I hope to temporarily alleviate some of the more immediate needs by providing bags of rice and beans, soap, bandages, flour, medicines, and other such useful items.

This trip has been in the planning stage for what seems like forever and it’s almost unreal that we leave in two days.  I’m excited but also a wee bit apprehensive as this is the first time I’ll be managing a project of my own.  Wish me luck! And just so you know… all of the posts will NOT be this long,(and if they are they are probably covering a longer period of time due to lack of daily internet access.  Feel free to read them in sections)  there was just a whole heck of a lot of background information that I thought was important… otherwise you guys would be like what the heck is she doing? Weirdo… and although it’s a possibility that you still think I’m a weirdo at least you’ll think it for the right reasons, whatever those may be, now that you are well educated about my trip.  Ta ta for now dears :)